Cat Skinner Club

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…

Actually, It’s Pronounced “th”.

barcelona

Ok, if you weren’t already peuce with jealousy…

Tomorrow I’m getting on a plane mid-day, falling asleep, and then more or less waking up in Barcelona. Once in Barcelona, my partners and I will check into a very sexy boutique hotel, unleash ourselves on the city over the weekend, then on Monday night we will see Leonard Cohen perform on his 75th birthday. Hours later we will turn around and come back home.

I. Shit. You. Not.

So, dear readers, let this be a lesson to you:

If you are not happy with your life, if you feel like something is missing, and that there’s a whole hell of a lot out there that you could be experiencing, take the effing bull by the horns and make some big fat scary changes. What is that stupid movie line…”If you build it, they will cum”…or something to that effect? As far as I’m concerned, I’m living proof that acting in your own best interest, and listening to your gut will be heavily rewarded. Barcelona aside, my life is the kind of toasted marshmallow stuff that dreams are made of.

So, for those of you who might be wondering if my recent choices and declarations have changed me, the answer is “Yes, they have.”

I feel like I fell in love with me, and as a result could love even bigger and better than ever before. This big, throbbing heart of mine has been an issue in the past. At first, everyone’s eyes light up at the mere mention of it, and they can’t wait to get their hands on it. Then, after the first few earnest strokes, they get freaked out, and overwhelmed, and suddenly it’s too much to take on. Not anymore. Now everything is fitting together perfectly. I’m living my Trojan Magnum years, kids. The whole world is opening up before me. I can’t wait for it to swallow me whole.

Ok, enough of that.

What I’m really trying to say is

“Barthelona, here we come!”

The Tribal Council

tribes5

Nearly twice a week the adult members of my tribe, usually at that quiet time once the kids are finally asleep, sit down sleepily with a nightcap in hand and our latest Genius list to amuse and delight our ears. Inevitably, especially after a series of really good days, a collection of horizontal lines creases up my forehead like a tiny, fleshy accordion.

That’s when the male member of my tribe will gently trace a finger over my brow and softly ask “what’s on your mind”? And I will sigh heartily, and muse silently about whether or not to have the same conversation we’ve had about 1000 times already. Then, because I believe communication will be paramount to this relationship, I launch into my familiar litany:

Will I have to remain a secret forever?
How and when do we tell the girls?
When can we stop pretending that I sleep on the couch?
How much do we care about what outsiders think, and how open can we be with our displays of affection when we’re all together?
How worried are you about other people thinking you are having an affair?
If we decide to have another child what/how do we tell the girls?
Will I ever be able to appear at family functions? Will my family accept you at ours?
What will we do when family members start trying to set me up with other people?

At this moment, I have a three and a half year old in my lap who is licking me like a puppy…

Both of my partners listen patiently. Then we talk through possible scenarios and what ifs. We usually laugh together, and get a bit pensive. I apologize for ONCE AGAIN having to talk about all the same things, but nobody is mad at me. My male partner tells me that only through talking about my fears are we all able to address our worry, and put it into context, and take away some of its power. My female partner usually sits silently listening, but will then look up at me and the calm, quiet of her gaze says all of the words that I need to hear.

In this relationship, more than any other in my life, I am positive that I will realize everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Though we three are all very different, we have the exact same approach to life, and we all want the same kind of experience of the world. We love the same things, from music to food, we’re committed to seeing as much of the world that we can, we realize that beyond family and close friends there isn’t much else that’s truly important. When you take the lid off and look inside, it’s a really ideal diorama. However, the problem with lifting off the lid is that the rest of the world can squeak in. Some of the rest of the world isn’t so thrilled for us.

Something that I read last night stated that what we are doing is challenging thousands of years of the tradition of marriage. I think this was worded more like “flipping the bird at” but I really couldn’t disagree more. In my own Schnooie head, we are kicking it WAAAY old school. Like pre-Christian old school when tribes came together and lovingly raised children collectively. People in those days didn’t claim ownership of children. They were gifts from the gods, and a very serious responsibility for everyone. Am I naive to think that this model has a place in our modern age?

I have a lawyer friend who specializes in family law who is near drooling whenever I talk about my relationship. She says proudly that we are setting a new precedent. After years and years of helping heterosexual couples weed through messy divorces and child custody battles, she believes that we are brave and enlightened.

Last week my partners hosted a dinner party for some of my oldest, closest friends. He cooked a truly elaborate and spectacular Thai feast and she assisted, and turned the house into a lovely, tidy little haven. The girls were at their most charming, and everyone was cast in warm light, smiling and laughing together like old friends. I can’t remember the last time I was so happy.

One of my girlfriends, who has borne witness to my last two big relationships, told me last night that she has never seen me so still, so calm, and so committed. Not even to the man who I went on to marry. She doesn’t comment often on my relationships. She usually is a great ear, but will only give her opinion if pressed. Last night she offered this freely.

I think of my gay friends who have had to deal with outside scrutiny for their whole lives. Who move forward with life and love despite the popular opinion that their existence is ‘strange’ or ‘abnormal’. From the time I was very wee, I realized that I wasn’t like the other kids, and only now, at 33 am I beginning to understand exactly what that means. My new realizations, my new choices don’t change who I am. I feel like this is the next essential layer on my path to self-realization. My life feels ‘normal’ now. The restlessness I’ve always fought with has dissipated. Perhaps it will come back, but for now I’m enjoying this great sense of peace, and this near-overwhelming sense of happiness and belonging. I suppose everything must come with a price, and negotiating the judgements and criticism of the outside world is nothing new to me.

On Sunday I planned and executed the six year old’s first official birthday party. It was a huge success, and I met many of the parents of her school mates, who all seemed like warm, lovely people. We offered no explanation about our relationship, and when two of the moms asked my female partner what our relation was, she said “Schnoo is a very, very dear friend.” The both smiled and shook their heads ruefully and said “Where can WE get a Schnoo?”

I like to think they’d be even more eager to acquire one of me if they knew how my love extends well beyond party planning.

The Falling Game

Last week, my partners and I made our first “out” outing. We went to a baseball game, which I suppose is all full of outs, and innings. And switch hitters, and home runs. Anyway, I digress…

My girl was playing, and her whole team seemed to be “in the know” because while my guy and I sat in the bleachers with their darling three year old cheering mommy on, we were getting lots of curious stares. Nothing malicious, a few nervous smiles, some genuine warm greetings and conversation, but definitely more attention than we would have attracted under other circumstances.

That’s not the point of this story though.

While the ball game was being played, I witnessed another game unfold. My partner would scoot his little girl’s feet so her toes were just meeting the edge of the bleachers, and then he’d have her put her arms out, and close her eyes. As she trembled with anticipation, he would then give her a little push, and then immediately catch her as she erupted in fits of giggles. She demanded he do this over and over, and when he asked her if she was afraid she said “No daddy! You never drop me! Not ever!!”.

I was so moved by this.

My father was the kind of dad who, as I imagine was the case with most of his generation, treated child-rearing like it was my mother and grandmother’s job. (I grew up in a three-parent household). He was pretty hands off, and not really very affectionate. We had some good bonding experiences over music, but to the best of my memory, there were very few hugs, or snuggles, or kisses. As a result, it’s always been strange, and perhaps even a little uncomfortable for me to witness modern daddies being as affectionate as mommies are with their kidlets. Maybe my dad was terrified of being perceived as doing something inappropriate?

At any rate, this falling game filled me with such a strange mixture of joy and sorrow. Joy because I realized that this simple, silly exercise was in fact building layers of trust so deep that this little lady would never even really know where they came from; trust in men, trust in other people, trust in her daddy, trust in taking risks. My sadness came from realizing there was no such equivalent in my own childhood experience.

I loved my partner so fiercely in that moment for having such finely-honed paternal instincts.

It’s been almost 24 hours since I hit ‘send’ on the very difficult, very heartfelt email I composed for my dad after my mom outed me to him. I haven’t heard a peep. I thought about calling, but it just feels too raw, and too hard to form the words. We’ve never really been able to talk about personal things, and I just don’t even know where to begin with this. I feel like the reality of who I am, and the choices I am making  have taken him to a whole new level of uncomfortable where his little girl is concerned.

My mom suggested that I give him space to digest all of the information, and of course I understand this, and respect it. I’m just scared that things will never be the same, and that the special voice that he reserves only for me will be something I never hear again.

I can count on one hand the times I’ve seen my father display a lot of emotion. The first was the week that my Nana, his mom, died. He found her in cardiac arrest in her room downstairs as he returned from his night shift. He attempted to resuscitate her while the paramedics came, but it was too late. After the funeral, we were in the kitchen, and I was in the fridge getting some milk to go with our chocolate chip cookies. He was musing about growing up as an only child, and how his dad died when he was only twelve. He said “I guess your mom and you kids are all I have left now.” The warble in his voice made my throat clench up so hard that I spent an extra five minutes poking around the cheese and condiments to I wouldn’t have to see him cry.

The second moment was when he was about to walk me down the aisle. That moment is the proudest and happiest I’ve ever seen him in relation to me. He suddenly turned to me, squeezed my hand, and whispered fiercely with shining eyes. “I LOVE you.”

I’m still the same me daddy. Somewhere in all of the grown up stuff that’s been layered on is the little girl who used to fall asleep listening to your old records with your giant headphones. I’m still the duck-faced social butterfly who could delight shop keepers with my precocious vocabulary. (A snow-suited six year old me, when told by the variety store lady that I looked adorable declared “I look RIDICK U LEEZ!”) I’m still excited about watching nature documentaries and old Next Generation re-runs together. I still think you’re the funniest, smartest man I know.

I hope you still love me, and will come to embrace everyone else who loves me too.

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.