home is where the heart is

A year ago this weekend, I found myself packing up everything from my life in the past three years and moving. It was all surprisingly emotional for me.

You see, it took me a month to find that place on the Hill. I didn’t know anyone in the area so I didn’t have any help looking for a place, nor did I have anyone to stay with until I found one. I was literally living at the Doubletree near GW until I found a place where I would feel comfortable living. It was like Eloise but lonely and not fun. I checked out many rooms for rent, including one in Georgetown where the (male) landlord told me in all seriousness, “We’re looking for a girl to move in so she can do all the cooking and cleaning.” Eventually, I went out on a limb and checked out a room in NE, even though one of my classmates had told me never to go to NE because it was ghetto (her words, not mine). Little did I know I was going to check out a rowhouse on the Hill, a place I would call home for 3 years.

It was beautiful—the master bedroom in a 5 bedroom house, I even had my own bath. It was month to month and the roommates were rarely home. I took the room and finally got to leave the hotel. Now my DC life could officially begin.

I loved the neighborhood. I would grab a bite to eat at the Bistro Italiano. I would stock up on wine and liquor at Schneiders. I would sit and read at Stanton Park. I would check out Eastern Market on the occasional weekend. I would sit on the patio at La Loma with a margarita. My roommates were cool, sometimes (actually, there was one who was super cool, my friend Shell, and she set a high standard that no one came close to matching). The revolving door of roommates took its toll eventually. None of this really mattered too much once I started seeing Jesse. I started spending most of my time with him.

So in late March of 2006, when the opportunity to live with Jesse came to fruition, I jumped at the chance with some hesitation. After all, the arrangement was only ‘temporary.’ Jesse had just bought his own place a few months ago and he wanted to feel like it was his own space, at least for awhile. But it was what I had wanted to live with Jesse all along. I was ready to share my life with him. I didn’t understand why he would want his own space when we already spent so much time together. Was he not happy with me? Did he not want to take that next step in our relationship?

As we packed up the last of my stuff on April 1, 2006, I closed the door to the Hill rowhouse one last time and got into Jesse’s car. And then it hit me. I was leaving my house, the place I called home for 3 years, for uncertainty. It was déjà vu. It was just like when I had left California for DC, living in that hotel, living in limbo and loneliness until I found my next home.

After the last box was put away, I sat on Jesse’s couch and cried. All the emotions of moving and not having a real home hit me all at once. I cried like I had never cried (in front of Jesse) before. I just couldn’t believe that after all these years I didn’t have a home again. Jesse held me in his arms and just let me cry. I don’t think he understood why I was upset. But he tried to comfort me anyways. Holding me in his arms was really all he could do.

The following weeks were hard on me. I looked for another place to live. I held back because I didn’t want to enjoy living with Jesse, knowing that I would have to move again. But I couldn’t hide how much I loved waking up to Jesse every morning. I couldn’t hide how much I came to expect a hug and a kiss good bye in the morning and a hug and a kiss hello in the evening. I couldn’t hide how much I loved cooking for Jesse and how much I enjoyed Jesse cooking for me. And I definitely couldn’t deny how much I loved cooking together, stealing the occasional kiss as the food sautéed or baked. Slowly but surely (and despite my best efforts against this), Jesse’s home started to feel like home to me.

You peeps know how this story ends. I ended up staying. Jesse got used to the idea that I was always around and he didn’t want me to go.

And me? Well, I realized that Jesse feels like home to me.

My home is where he is. And I don’t want to be anywhere else.

Happy Moving-In Anniversary, Boo Boo!

the biggest secret I’ve ever kept

For my birthday, I have decided to put myself out there (even more than I usually do) and reveal a secret that I’ve had to keep for the longest time.

I’m not a virgin.

I know you’re all shocked.

Keeping with the honesty theme here, I should probably tell you that everyone in my life knows that I’m not a virgin except for one, lonely soul—my mom. My poor mom thinks I’m still as pure as freshly fallen snow. And frankly, I’m not prepared to burst her little hopeful bubble.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering how it is that my mom doesn’t know I’m not a virgin despite the fact that I:

• Work in the sexual health field
• Have blogged about sex
• Have blogged about getting paid to talk about sex
• Live with my boyfriend where we presumably share a bed
  

Luckily for me, my mom doesn’t know because:

• I’ve lied to her about it
• She trusts me
• She’s computer illiterate and has only seen this blog once
  
• My brother and sister haven’t told her anything.
  

My mom is very conservative. She is extremely religious. She doesn’t question much. She has lived in this country for over 40 years and still has the thickest accent. She primarily watches Spanish-language TV. She is old-school traditional and probably will always be. I’ve come a long way in helping her come around to keep up with the changing times. I’ve informed her of many things to keep her in the know (like how AIDS isn’t a gay man’s disease, why we haven’t won the war in Iraq, how a virus causes cervical cancer, how important it is to get a mammogram, etc.). I encourage her to keep an open mind. But with some issues, I know she will not be open-minded about. And sex is definitely one of them.

I have never talked to my mom about sex. I imagine that she’ll finally tell me about it right before my wedding night. She has no idea that I’m pro-choice. She’s not quite sure what I do for a living. One day at work, I was translating into Spanish a patient ed. brochure on contraception methods. I called her because I wasn’t sure of the proper sentence structure to use. It just so happened to be the blurb about diaphragms. When I read her the sentence I came up with, her comment was, “Well, you know the best form of contraception is the rhythm method.” I smiled to myself and said teasingly, “Oh isn’t that what you were practicing when you had me?” (actually it is)

I love my mom dearly. And I am very honest with her about other aspects of my life. Despite that, I’m planning on taking this secret with me to the grave. If I told my mom that I’ve had sex, she’d be angry at first. She’d probably make some comment about all the money she spent sending me to good Catholic schools and if I had ever learned anything from that. She’d probably ask how I could possibly disrespect the Lord and my body like that especially after taking me to church every day when I was a kid. And then she’d cry and be sad.

But what’s worse is that she would be so disappointed in me that she would never look at me the same way again. The whole religious concept of being “pure” until marriage is so important to her. With her whole heart, she hopes that my sister and I will stay virginal until marriage. If I told her the truth, she would be devastated.

Sure, I could tell her someday. But what would be the point? It would be selfish of me to unload my conscience only to hurt her immensely.

So instead, I'll lie.

the empty space that is my heart

I had a hard time sleeping last night. I wasn’t the only one. Jesse kept on tossing as I turned and vice versa. I’m not sure why he couldn’t sleep, but I know where my insomnia was coming from. This morning, Jesse left me to go to Denver (for work again) for a week and I was dreading his absence.

I thought that maybe this time I would approach his trip a little differently. I tried to think about all the things that I could get done while he is away. I could go to happy hour more often. I could cook dinner for some friends. I could read one of the 3 books I bought this weekend. I could try to watch all 7 seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in one week. I could catch up on some phone calls I really have to make (Aditi, you’re first on my list!) I could organize my closet. Clearly I had some options on how I could keep myself busy. But when it came down to it, all of my planning turned out to be an effort to delay the inevitable—I’m gonna miss Jesse terribly. So much so that I didn’t want to think about it.

The alarm went off at 6 this morning and Jesse got up to take a quick shower. I stayed in bed for a bit, thinking of how empty it felt without him. I put the blanket over his side of the bed, hoping it would capture the warmth of his body. As he showered, I tried not to think of his departure so I went about my morning routine. I started packing my gym bag. I planned my work outfit. Because he asked last night, I got my camera ready for Jesse to take with him. He came into the bedroom to get dressed and my sadness became unavoidable.

“No,” I said. He replied with a gentle smile, “No?”
With a lump in my throat, I said, “Please don’t go.”
He says, “It’ll be ok. It’s only for a couple of days.”
“Please don’t leave me.”
“It’s ok. I’ll be back on Friday.”
“But you could stay here. No one will notice.”
“I’m sure work will notice if I don’t go. It won’t be long.”
Really? It sure felt like an eternity last time.

Before he left for National, Jesse came and gave me the longest hug (maybe it was long because we didn’t want to let go). “Please don’t forget about me,” I said. With a smile in his voice, he said, “I won’t.”

“I love you.”
“I love you too.”

Jesse gathered his luggage and carry-on together.
A few seconds later…

“I love you.”
“I love you too.”

And then he left.

When Jesse left, not only did the condo feel empty but I feel empty too.

living in sin is GREAT

Yesterday, while I was locking the door to the condo, an older woman was holding the elevator for me. I rushed in there and thanked her profusely. With a thick Spanish accent, she asked me, “Are you new to the building?” Jesse and I have seen this woman before and we’ve been friendly with her. Perhaps she didn’t remember. I replied, “No, I’ve been here a couple of months.” She said, “Oh, I never see you before. I in unit XXX.” I said, “I’m in unit XXY. My name is Liz.” As she shook my extended hand, she said, “I’m Maria.” As we walked out of the building together, she told me, “I’m wonna take de bus. You too?” I told her that I was headed there too and we made some small talk on our way to the bus stop.

The wait for the bus was longer than usual. I guess Maria isn’t one for uncomfortable silences so she kept on talking and talking. At some point she told me a story about how she bought her condo really cheap (5 years ago at $85000!!!) and how she’s really glad that she did. She then asked me, “Do you rent oh own?” I told her, “My boyfriend owns the unit and I live with him.” Her reply: “Oh and you not married?” I calmly said, “No.” And then the uncomfortable silence began…and continued until my bus came. I did a little small wave goodbye as I was getting on the bus and she did not respond.

I thought it was very strange that she stopped talking to me. I also thought it was a strange coincidence that she stopped talking to me when I told her that I am unmarried and living with my boyfriend. I’m not sure how to react to that. I don’t really care what she thinks of me personally. But I wonder if she started to judge me for not being married yet living with a man. After all, she is an older woman. I’m sure that my situation is completely unacceptable in her eyes.

My interaction with Maria made me think about my mom’s reaction to living with Jesse. I’ve blogged about her and her conservative, religious thinking before. So it should come as no surprise that she wasn’t pleased that I was living with Jesse initially. My mom understood that the opportunity arose when I decided not to live with Not-So-Smart Girl. She didn’t want me to live with her, knowing that she had already caused so much drama in my life and I had yet to become her roommate. She wanted me to be happy and she knew that living with Jesse would make me happy. But still, she wasn’t pleased. Shortly after moving in, my mom told me, “He’ll never marry you now.”

I refuse to blog about my mom’s comment because then I would feel that I am validating it. However, is it so wrong to live with your significant other while not married (I suppose it’s wrong from a religious perspective, but let’s just take that out of the equation for now)? I don’t see my situation this way, but I can see why some people would do this as a trial run for marriage. Every relationship takes work, but living together puts it on a whole new work level. Now that we live together, compromising has never been more important. Rather than thinking of “me,” we have to think about “we.” It definitely took some adjusting at first, but Jesse and I are doing well now. For other couples, living together may not work out as well. If you're not open to compromise, the living situation will not work. If you're using it as a way to get to know each other before marriage and you're not willing to compromise, then maybe you're not ready to take the next step. Wouldn't it be better to find out now then to realize this one year into marriage?

In a world where over 50% of marriages end in divorce, where’s the harm in practicing?

Jesse and I are happy together and marriage has nothing to do with it. Regardless, it’s none of Maria’s business.