On Love, On Life, and On the Two F´s

It´s 3:00 pm in Barcelona, and we are just now leaving the hotel. We’ve learned that his city doesn’t like to go to bed, and after being invited to stay after hours at the little bar across the street, we finally called it a day at 4:45 am.

Now, I´m waiting for the tribe to get ready, and I’m hiding in the sexy basement of our sexy hotel stealing some moments to leave a little imprint here. There’s so much more to come, but I don’t want to miss a minute of this city, so I will write more later from the mental notes I’ve been collecting.

I will tell you this, however…

I think I love this city even more than I loved Paris. Perhaps it is because here, on this trip, I’m surrounded by so much love. Or because the pace is so easy and casual, and people are literally strolling through the streets. Perhaps it’s because I am happier than I’ve ever felt in my entire life, or because I feel so strong and assured. Perhaps it’s the food, the RIDICULOUS generosity with which every bartender pours, the swarthy he and she pirates that inhabit this place, everywhere you turn. Perhaps it’s the undulating curves of the architecture, the fine, delicate iron work of the Julietta balconies, the graceful tumble of flowers from wrought iron framework, spreading across old stone like tentative fingers across a lover’s chest…

There is poetry everywhere here, and I am instantly comfortable and at home.

Spanish sounds like music, music sounds like magic, and the three of us want to return and set up shop with our little ones some day. We are in love with each other, we are in love with Barcelona, and Barcelona seems to love us in return.

While Paris was the perfect boyfriend, Barcelona is the crone-like, witchy Grandmaman who still wears red lipstick and has a mischievous twinkle in her eye because she’s seen and done it all. She hugs us close to her Sandalwood perfumed breasts and our history is mirrored in the musky, familiar scent, and the warmth of her unconditional understanding and approval. She knows that all we have in this life is love and every breath we take means one more chance to celebrate our love, and make vivid our own stories.

Yesterday, after lunch and shopping, we strolled through the streets on the way back to the hotel, and ahead of us was a family, not much older than we are. On the outside – a little boy of about four, then a lovely woman who held his hand, on her other hand a girl of perhaps two, attached to her a handsome man who looked just like her, and on his other arm another beautiful woman ripe with child. I saw them and my breath caught. I realized with intuitive certainty that I’m not the last unicorn. There are others like us, who live like us and love like us, and raise beautiful families like us. With one quiet glance and a slow-spreading smile exchanged between the lot of us, we shared recognition and understanding, and the power and beauty of that brief meeting was more beautiful than I can effectively describe. It was perfect, and we all felt its power.

Yesterday I held a tiny pair of baby shoes in my hand, placed there adoringly by the man who will some day father my children. On my arm was the woman who will help me raise these children, and who will be my guide through the experience of pregnancy and childbirth. A warm, delicious knot took hold of my throat and made it impossible for me to speak.

There aren’t many who can look upon their lives and realize they have everything they could ever wish for, and then some extra for dipping. Each morning (or afternoon) when I wake, I whisper a silent prayer of gratitude that I am one of them.

Gracias, gracias, gracias…

Poly. Want a Cracker?

Fiesta Party Pack - Best Served With Tequila

Fiesta Party Pack – Best Served With Tequila

Last night was one of the most lovely, multi-layered social gatherings I’ve ever been a part of. A backyard concert, gypsy jazz style, with delicious treats to pass around and lots of family and familiar faces. And lots of first-time introductions.

In the course of one week, both my parents are now in the know about the fact that I’m bisexual. And now, I suppose, so are the rest of you.

In kindergarten, I got busted trying very hard to see what was up Mrs. Squires’ skirt during story time, and this curiosity has played out in games of doctor, tickle fight, show and tell, spin the bottle, and I’m in art school so why-the-fuck-not until I was entirely aware that it wasn’t ever going to go away. At 33, I’d only ever made it to second base with another woman, and then, finally single for an extended period, I admitted that I could not go the rest of my life never really knowing just how gay I am.

This year, I finally found the girl for me. I’m her first full-fledged foray into the land of Sapphic delights too, and I’m happy to say that I’m now a card-carrying member of the bisexual community, and have discarded my bi-curious training wheels once and for all.

I believe, in my case, that it is part of my genetic make up. I don’t think I chose this, I think it chose me, back in the zygote days. Also, from the time I started preschool, I demonstrated an openness and acceptance that was rare in children in the Catholic school system. I’m positive that I had gay friends long before any of us knew what gay was.

Being a bisexual in a heterosexual, monogamous relationship is impossible. My love of girl parts goes a long way to relieving my fear that I would never be able to have a “normal” relationship with a man, marry again, or have babies. As it turns out, I don’t want to. Have a “normal” relationship, that is. That model just doesn’t work for me.

Around the same time I met my girl, I also met an extraordinary man. One of the sexiest men I’ve ever known in fact. I was captivated, and more than a little afraid of a very powerful attraction that I thought I had hidden quite well.

Somehow, I had met both an incredible attractive woman, and an incredibly attractive man who share my love of life, of living in the moment, finding beauty everywhere in the world, and my love of tradition and family. True sensualists, they both love food, art, great music, books, travel…they are brilliant and inspiring, and they each happen to love me in all my Schnooie goodness, exactly as I am.

The best part of this story? They were a package deal. I met them as an existing couple, who have been together for many years. Who have a beautiful home, and a beautiful family, and our friendship blossomed into something most extraordinary.

I write this today, on the tail end of telling the closest members of my family about this decision. About this relationship that I am committed to pursuing. I’ve decided to write about our experience here, because I’m comfortable sharing so much of myself, and because I hope that this will be useful to anyone else who has chosen a similar path.

This window into Schnooville has always been an exploration of life, and love, and my own pursuit of happiness, and this next chapter will be no different. I just feel it’s important to let you know that there are a few more characters in the story now.

When I stopped looking, I realized that everything I wanted was here all along. Now social gatherings, and soirees are spent deciding how to cleverly introduce each other to our loved ones, and to whom we will disclose our relationship over tapenade or cracked pepper chevre spread.

High fives all around, Universe.