I've Been Seeing An Older Woman

So I’ve been seeing an older woman. Haha.

When I used to live on Seventh St. I would walk more. I walked to work, to school, to bars, and I would walk early for classes and late for work and for bars. And I would see this elderly Asian lady with too much make up on walking at the weirdest hours, just up and down the street. I worried about it, she was always in a house dress with sandals and cakey white foundation, bright blue eye shadow, and thick eyeliner. I would nod to her but she wouldn’t nod back. Did she have fucking dementia? Someone should be walking with her. The old ladies on my street in Fremont would walk early but never alone, or in the middle of the night, or with sandals on. This was like, downtown San Jose by the shady ass ‘phone-repair’ shop.

The thing is, I lived with a lot of people. People who maybe didn’t walk at the same time as me, but still, they never saw her even though I would see her almost daily. Which is like… whatever. And I forgot about it.

But then I was walking with Angela in a different part of downtown. It was by the park on Third St. I think maybe we were walking from campus to San Pedro. But I saw her! And as she passed in her usual silent way, I felt like she was a very obvious sore thumb on the street. An old lady with bright blue eye shadow and white face paint and stringy black hair.

Once she was out of ear-shot I was like “Angela! Did you see her?” And they hadn’t. They didn’t know what I was talking about. Which I thought was just hilarious. Ange is so oblivious. Ha ha ha. By that time I didn’t live in downtown anymore and I haven’t run into her since.

My thing now is that I’ve been feeling more feminine lately. Which is so embarrassing, even though there’s nothing embarrassing about it. Its just that- expressing anything, trying anything, changing, being a sexual being- is fucking mortifying. You can see my body. You can see it moving. There’s shit on my face. Ohhh I’m so perfect and young and attractive- I’m so flawed, my face isn’t right, my posture is fucked, my clothes are too tight. Everybody knows I don’t usually dress this way. Being feminine is a distraction from how out of place I feel, how little I belong. It makes people treat you like you’re stupid. People watch pretty girls do just about everything and the feeling of being watched makes me worse at everything. Looking so good with red lips and long black hair and a body con dress is paralyzing. Its paralyzing in a sensible pair of sneakers. Its paralyzing in ponytail, bra, and t shirt. I got as far away from it as a could. I don’t know who that girl was. I archived her photo on instagram. I made up a new guy to be, my own original character. And I’ve never been more capable.

There’s actually absolutely nothing I can’t do. Women love me. Men accept me as their pals. Their little protege. A whole world I’ve never had access to. Of course- the vast majority of the heterosexual world still holds me at arms length and has a certain level of distrust of me, my appearance, my betrayal of their values. But its all worth it. Because I am filled with a delusional level of self confidence and I had been uncomfortable everywhere for my entire life. I build castles, I write sonnets, I own stadiums, I race McClarens.

But I feel like I could do all that shit, because I feel unmarked. Invisible. I escaped the ever present leering of men, and more importantly the male voyeur in the back of my own mind. I think he starved to death. But maybe he still lives in me because I project that feeling onto other women all the time. Are all you bitches really paralyzing yourselves for beauty? Don’t you see that escape hatch up there? Even though I know. I really do know that they don’t feel that way at all. And I haven’t really escaped anything, just traded my old neurosis out for something new.

And I’m still on the outside of things. Even if I feel above it, I’m on the fucking outside of everything. I feel now that I understand what it’s like to be a woman AND how it feels to be a man on a deeper level than I think many people do for EITHER, I’m still an outsider to everything.

That’s why I’ve been coming back to femininity. When the high of my freedom dies down I just want to be a seamless part of an average group, it is actually so fucking painful, egregious, and embarrassing that I have become this blank sexless thing in the eyes of all these nice normal people. Why have I done it? What’s the point of all this freedom if now no one sees me at all?

Its that l'm attracted to men. Which I try not to think about. And it is of course very painful to be invisible to straight women who see unattractive women and gay people as subhuman. And it makes me a target for every lead-addled boomer in America. I’m instantly recognized by every sweet lonely gay girl and trans person I’d pass on the street. Making it even more painful that some lesbians and bisexuals don’t really see me as a person either, just an attractive, double-sided idiot that they can put to work like a woman and punish for being a man. Or is it the other way around? I’m the spectre of their mothers and their ex-boyfriends. ***That*** is fucking painful.

So I’ve been trying out being feminine more to try to alleviate some of these issues. And I’ve been growing my hair out just because I want a change and it makes me look like a little kid. And I wear eyeliner and I don’t tell anyone I’m doing it. And I still feel strange and ugly in my shirts and pants even though my breasts are hardly there. I feel awkward in my body in front of people even when I like how I look alone.

‘Cause I’m such a fucking hypocrite who’s scared of being a woman and doesn’t really want to be a man and only desperately wants to fit in everywhere all the time. Paradoxically making me a freak. I’m terrified of being fat and I want to destroy the nuclear family. I want to break down all the boundaries of gender norms but I also want to feel safe and get married and raise somebody’s baby before I get too old and I’m worthless like all old ugly women are.

When I came home tonight from Anai’s party after feeling all night like a ripe rotten plum, in my dark lipstick with black on my waterline. And I had been so high on the couch watching Beyonce with all my friends who have their own complicated relationships with their faces, bodies, and the interpretations inflicted on them that I will never understand.

After all that, I went into my room and put on my long white nightshirt. I gave up on taking my makeup off. I rubbed at my greasy eyes, looked in the mirror, and saw that I look just like that old woman on the street that no one else can see.