Welcome back, bitchez. Grab your favorite beverage, sit back and relax while I tell you about the wild goings-on that happened over the weekend. I finally got to meet my twin, Kel, in person, and boy did we have a ball. I got to lick her bunny and watch her strip her chicken!
I was nervous as I got off the plane because I still harbored the fear that I would disappoint Kel. It’s something that is ingrained in me from years of disappointing my real family. I had learned my lesson well–I am not enough. No matter how much Kel reassured me that I just had to be myself, I still had a fluttering of doubt as I stepped off the plane. Before I went, I emailed her to see what I should and shouldn’t say in front of her kids. She told me to just be myself, which wasn’t very reassuring to me. I told her I was bringing underwear because I didn’t want to offend/disturb anyone by going commando under my boxers. She told me not to be ridiculous–they didn’t wear unders, either, under their boxers. Still, I packed the panties just in case.
I called Kel as I got off the plane, and to my dismay, she didn’t answer. She ALWAYS has her phone on. I told her to turn on her damn phone and that I would see her in a few minutes.
When I saw her, I hugged her tightly and felt as if we were just continuing a conversation that we had started a year ago. We started babbling at each other as she took a pic of us to send the kids, her sis, and her husband. I stuck out my tongue, and we were off to the races after that.
Her house is an hour away from the airport. On the way, I texted everyone who texted her and made ribald suggestions (no, really?). She and I talked about everything under the sun, including what we were going to do the next day. The kids were at home waiting for us to return, despite the fact that it was going to be after midnight by the time we finally touched down. As we approached her house, two kids burst out of the garage door and started fighting with each other. Kel laughed and said they were fighting to see who would hug me first. I had started to get out of the van, but I quickly got back in and joked that I was skeered of them.
Finally, Soccer Boy won the battle and grabbed me in a big hug. Then, Punk Girl (middle child) hugged me fiercely, too. They were both so excited, I felt like I was the president of the USA or something like that. I looked around for my Irish Dancer, and there she was, slowly sauntering out the door. She hugged me tightly, too, and I felt the last bit of my tension seep out.
Soccer Boy took my bags into my room, and then he went to bed. Kel, the girls and I stayed up until roughly two in the morning talking. Kel’s husband, the Triad Legend, Bear Oak Druid was out geocaching, so I didn’t get to meet him until Sunday night, sad to say.
The girls were so excited to see me, they were bouncing–literally. I was gobsmacked by how readily they accepted me into their lives. They chattered away at me as if they’d known me forever. I mean, they’ve been FB friends of mine for awhile, but still. This was the first time we’d met in person. I email with Kel every day, but not with the girls. I was blown away by their enthusiasm for me.
Kel and the girls finally staggered off to sleep. I surfed the net for a bit before hitting the sack. I fell asleep around four. Kel woke me up at seven so we could take Soccer Boy to school. She said I could sleep in, but I wanted to tag along. We stopped at Starfucks on the way home, and then we just chilled and talked for awhile. Then, she made a yummy omelet, and I stripped so she could shoot me. No, I am not using a euphemism this time.
Let me digress for a minute.
As regular readers of my blog know, I have struggled with issues of sexual abuse from my childhood. A tandem issue has been my ED shit. Both of these together have given me a very very dim view of my body. In simple terms, I hate it. I hate it for being fat (right now), but I hated it when I was thin, too (for a variety of reasons). I read awhile ago about a woman who photographs abused women in the nude to give them another perspective of their bodies. With this in mind, I asked Kel how she felt about such photographing. She was cool with it, so we planned on doing it when the kids weren’t home.
So, while the omelet was cooking, I stripped nekkid (not to hard to do as I was wearing a t-shirt, a bra, and boxers) and got ready to pose. We had talked earlier about what pose I wanted, and I thought a sitting in a backwards-chair pose would be neat. So, we did that as we talked. I thought I would be freaked out by it a little, but Kel made it easy for me. I almost forgot she was taking my picture. Later, when she was editing the pictures, I realized that I actually liked more than one–of my face, anyway. That’s a tribute to Kel’s talent. I will post some of them in a future post (how’s that for a tease?). I still don’t like my body, but at least I did not cringe upon seeing the pictures.
After that, we went to pic up the girls and get yummies before picking up Soccer Boy. The girls go to a community college (they both graduated early), and they are very intelligent girls.
Irish Dancer is the oldest. She is statuesque, Rubenesque, and dances (literally) to the beat of her own drummer. As her name suggests, she does Irish dancing whenever the spirit moves her–even on the sidelines of the soccer field. She has OCD tendencies as do I, so we bonded over that. We both prefer washing at night in order not to soil the sheets. She needs everything to be straightened and in its place. I, on the other hand, am an unrepentant slob. However, if I fixate on something, I can’t let it go. An example: I was trying to find a rhyme for gelid, and it had to be a color. This was in the van on the way back from Vienna. I did my alphabet thing (run through the alphabet to see if I can come up with anything simple), and then I got creative. I did this on and off for a couple of hours. I finally settled on shallot gelid. Irish Dancer would say something to me, I would say something in response, and she would say, “You really get me.”
And, I did. She has way more confidence than I did at that age, but I can understand her thought process for the most part and much of the loneliness she feels in being caught between being too mature for her peers and even some of her cohorts. I said to Kel, “Ten years from now, she’s going to own the world. Until then, though, it’s going to be difficult for her.” She has a natural grace and sensuality when she walks, and when she realizes how utterly devastating she is, and if she ever truly sets her mind on a guy, that guy is fucked. He won’t stand a chance. Oh, she also runs into things the way I do, so we bonded over that, too.
Next up, Punk Girl. She has a firm sense of her own style. She is slim, long and lean, and she’s absolutely stunning. Irish Dancer is a classic beauty, and Punk Girl is stunning. Her problem is her lack of confidence. As I told her, chin up, boobs out, and act like you own your space. She is sarcastic and clever and angsty. She refuses to wear dresses, and she’s more likely to be swinging a bat than shopping for shoes. She’s sensitive, so she covers it up with a healthy layer of snark. She’s confident of her brain, but not so confident in other ways. I can completely relate to that. She has more people in love with her than I ever did at her age, but I can sense so much of the longing and fears that she has that are similar to mine.
She cracks my shit up, and when she’s up, she sparkles. When she’s down, though, it’s as if the sun has refused to shine. Again, I can relate to the moods as mine swing from one extreme to the other (admittedly, mostly in a downward motion). For her, once she truly grasps how amazing she is, she will be quite the force with which to reckon.
Soccer Boy is next. He chose to go to public school rather than be home-schooled in part because he is a people person. He’s a really sweet boy with a flair for smirking. He’s as brilliant as the other two (also going to graduate early), and his passion is soccer. Friday night, we watched a futbol game, and he explained the finer details to me. I know the general rules of soccer, of course (only of course because I’m a sports fiend), but he gallantly explained some of the details that I tend to ignore.
He is a sensitive boy who would be a lousy poker player. Every emotion is clear on his face. When he is happy, his smile lights up the room. When he’s upset, it breaks the heart. He was the only guy in a house with four women, and he held his own pretty damn well.
Back to my travelogue. Friday, we chilled in Kel’s room while she edited the pictures. Punk Girl crashed as she only got a few hours of sleep the night before. Soccer Boy passed out on Kel’s bed, and Irish Dancer chatted with me while we watched her mom edit my photos. Damn Kel, she didn’t airbrush out my rolls of fat or my double chin. Harumph.
After that, we had dinner. It was a beef brisket on pasta, and apparently, I was the only one who really dug it. The beef was chewy, which reminded me of my childhood, but it was supposed to be fall-off-the-fork tender, according to Kel. Irish Dancer also made orange and chocolate cupcakes with a vanilla I wanna say frosting for us to take to the concert the next day. We each had one, and they were yummmmmmmy!
Then, Soccer Boy did something that made me vow to kill him: He handed me a puzzle in which you had to slide a block of wood with a red dot out of the hole on the bottom of the box. There are other blocks of wood in the way, of course. I told him I was really bad at spatial puzzles, but he gave it to me, anyway. Admittedly, I was holding out my hand, but still. You don’t give a person with OCD something she says she sucks at because no good can come out of that. In fact, Irish Dancer specifically said that she never tried it because she knew that she would suck at it.
With a sinking heart, I gave it a go. I made Soccer Boy not look at me while I did it because he was smirking at me. He could do it in under two minutes, and I threatened him bodily harm when he offered to show me the solution. One by one, they all drifted off to bed, leaving me with the dratted puzzle (after Soccer Boy reset it a few times for me).
By the way, I watched Paula Dean earlier in the day for the first time. She fascinated me in a horrifying way. She was making ballpark food. So, she took a hot dog, and wrapped bacon around it ‘of couse’, then added grilled onions, a whole gallon of melted cheese, a jalapeno pepper, and a slathering of slaw. Then she took a huge bite, masticated, and threw a bunch of peanuts at me.
Anyway, back to the puzzle. I worked on it and worked on it until I was approximately three steps away from solving it. Then, all the pieces fell out, so I had to set it aside until Soccer Boy could reset it for me in the morning. I glanced at the clock and saw that I had been working on it for three hours.
I cursed Soccer Boy for giving it to me before taking a shower and going to bed. I didn’t even bother going online because I had only had three hours of sleep the night before.
Here is the thing I liked best about being around Kel’s family: I didn’t have to tailor my behavior much to be with them. I am so used to blocking all the essence of me when I visit my real family, it was a breath of fresh air to be able to be me with Kel’s family and not get hammered for it. Not only that, they actually liked the real me. That still blows my mind.
Gr. This is running long, of course. I will write more later.
P.S. There is a reason I tagged Alan Rickman in this post, but I did not reach it yet.