Feb 172010
 

(This post first appeared over at Edencafe.com)


First let me explain my take on the “typical” brain of feminine vs masculine. I do realize that just by saying that I’ve already ruffled some feathers. The saying “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus” DOE S have its valid points.

I’m equally a logical and emotional person. It’s hell, lemme tell ya. I need to totally *understand* something, I need to know why. Why, why, why. I’m like a 2 year old. I cannot just do something “because”. If I at least know why I’m doing it and what comes next then I’m much better able to do my part. But I also act and react very emotionally, I’m very much an empath. Anyways, back to the logic. I have fibromyalgia which is a very misunderstood disease (but they do know that brain chemicals are either affected or a partial cause and I believe that the main chemicals affected are serotonin and dopamine) and I have a dopamine deficiency. ADD, ADHD, whatever label you want to put on it. When you run down the symptoms, I’m a textbook case. But I have other oddities that make me hard to diagnose. So in the course of trying to figure out what is wrong with me, I’ve done a lot of research. Learning what others like me are like. Forming my own theories that may or may not be a grand revelation to the science community at large.

Even if you don’t have a “mental disorder”, I believe that everyone’s brain hormones/chemicals are not all at perfectly balanced middle-of-the-road levels. Everyone has a skew, and that forms your personality. It’s when the skew is too severe that one is then diagnosed with depression, anxiety, bi-polar, ADD, etc. So my outlook is kinda like…..a horoscope. I am most compatible with other people that have a similar chemical skew/imbalance. If their dopamine is lower, I’ll get along with them. ( I hope this explanation makes sense to you all, lol).

They already know that biological men and women use their brains differently. But that’s what they can see and measure. What they haven’t been able to measure yet are the levels of the brain hormones. So I’m not saying here that my thoughts on the chemical differences pertain to *biological* male/female roles, obviously, but the self-identifying masculine/feminine roles. The typical feminine brain skews a little lower on serotonin. The typical masculine brain skews a little lower on dopamine. Disclaimer: I’m not saying that this is fact, I am saying that in all my logical thoughts, this has to be true. One big reasoning is that many of my little ADD-quirks/issues/problems….to some degree are all complaints that wives generally have about their husbands. Like I’m more likely to forget birthdays and anniversaries. I lose track of time. That whole domestic drive to  clean the house and run errands when you’d really rather sit on yer butt? Yeah I don’t have that and you’ll find me sitting on my ass till there’s no clean undies and we’re outta milk. When a female asks me if I notice anything different, I’m going to be staring blankly at her just like most men would.

I hope I didn’t lose you – this topic of brain chemistry and why I, without fail, get along the best with people with similar chemistry levels as my own is all seriously fascinating to me. Even if the knowledge doesn’t do me any good with treatment I still like understanding it all as best as possible.

Anyways. Contradictions, contrasts, puzzle pieces.

I’m the girl in full makeup who’s fixing your computer and babbling in geek-speak.

I’m the girl wearing perfume who’s hanging with the guys, playing MMORPG games and being just as competitive as them.

I’m the girl in the group of people who will admonish the man with a “Don’t be such a pig!” to his pervy comment all the while silently agreeing and staring at that chicks ass right along with him.

I’m the girl in sexy clothes and kitten heels who would be happily tagging along to a car show, admiring the details and work on big, loud muscle car or a sleek, expensive sports car.

In my mind I objectify women as I ogle them but I don’t let on outloud, for that’s not proper. I know it’s not right but it happens anyway. I’m terrible at being domestic even when it has to be done. I didn’t inherit the gene that makes my mind think “We’re having company! I better dust!” like my mother and her mother before her. I drive too fast, I swear too much and I don’t remember your birth date. I could spend just as much money at Sephora as I could at Newegg.com. I am competitive beyond compare and fuck you if you beat me.

And when I read about other bisexual or bi-curious women talking about how softly they would kiss a woman, how the sex would be sensual and spiritual and *cue sound of abrupt record-scratching to signify a halt* – I think “why??” I want to kiss and be kissed like I would kiss a man. Kissing men, kissing women, it’s not a different activity for me it’s kissing a person and I like it passionate. Not feathery kitten kisses. I want to have hot, sweaty, kinda-rough passionate sex with a woman just as I would with a man.

But yet I want to be swept off of my feet in romance. I want the grand gestures. I want the Dom type of guy sometimes, to a degree. I have my days of wanting to be pampered and beautiful and wanted and loved. You don’t have to hold the door for me unless my hands are full, but I’d appreciate it if you compliment how I look, even though I may blush and dip my head.

I am a contradiction in flesh and blood and sometimes I just don’t know which way to go.

Jan 242010
 

This originally appeared over at Edencafe.com, but I’m re-posting it here in hopes of some helpful comments and giving my thoughts more exposure.


As a little kid I can remember being quite the tomboy. I disliked Barbie Dolls. I preferred my toy guns and make-believe horses to baby dolls and playing dress-up. I can remember being just as dirty as a boy, with just as poor hygiene habits. Shameful, but true. Eventually peer pressure and friends ahead of me in terms of femme influenced my behavior (in other words: Junior High).

I can remember painting my nails. I can remember that it never lasted long, I picked even back then. I can remember owning numerous skirts and dresses. In fact, I had one year in High School where I wore little other than skirts and dresses to school. Why? No clue. I think perhaps I had just truly discovered that boys were attracted to my looks (and by looks I now realize it was more like my C cup tits). And of course I used to wear pantyhose a lot with those skirts and dresses. I owned numerous pairs of cute dress shoes. Not high fashion, mind you….. keep in mind this was the 90’s and High School girls then did NOT look like High School girls now (and HS girls these days are better at hair, make-up and stylish clothes than me. Aren’t I supposed to be more wise??).

And then it all tapered off again.

Recently I thought very hard as to why;  what happened, what was the catalyst?

Ahh yes. I can almost pinpoint it now. I gained weight slowly after my dad died. So slowly at first that I almost didn’t notice. I bought cheap, crappy “temporary” clothes because I was in denial. But then they became tight as well. In short order, I got fat.

The fatter I became, the less choices I had for clothing. The worse I felt, the worse I looked. I can remember a time period when I barely wore makeup, hell some days I didn’t even wear a proper bra! I worked retail jobs so my work clothes were a genderless outfit. I wasn’t a big social butterfly, so my other clothes weren’t that great because they didn’t need to be. I had a fiance who loved me and wanted me just the way I was, so what did it matter? It only mattered when I was occasionally around a certain friend who always looked pretty no matter what, who was thin and wore better clothes. I felt “dumpy” no matter how hard I tried, when I did try. I reverted back to my tomboy childhood ways and stopped caring. I scoffed at the women who got manicures. What a waste of money! How silly! I could spend that $50 on a computer part and be WAY happier! Oh how I laugh at that, now.

The catalyst for the revival of femme within myself was that I met someone online; my monogamous relationship opened up. For a while there though my style was half-femme half-slut. If it was low cut and sexy while still being flattering and covering up my bad spots, then it was for me. In some ways that is still my fashion sense. Over the next few years I slowly, very slowly, crept back into my femme.

Last year, meeting my then-Dom created an even bigger catalyst. He didn’t try to change me, he just saw the potential in me and he knew me – he knew that I saw the office women around the city and felt incredibly inferior and ugly. There’s so many women surrounding me that are SO put together. They looked like they had been through a grand makeover and came out as a shining example of what happens when a skilled stylist has a good canvas to work with. Classy, feminine, always in heels that are still going to be out of my reach.

He encouraged me to go get that manicure that I laughed at years ago, and after a few weeks of attempting on my own to transform my nails from raggedy jaggy stubs to healthy canvasses I gave in. I think I must have stopped to look at them 50 times in the first few days. Then I became minorly obsessed with the littlest hang-nail or chip in my polish. I always had my nailcare kit in my bag. Recently I’ve slacked off a little but I’m ready to get back into it for ME. I don’t want to look longingly at other classy, feminine, pretty women and be jealous. I want to BE one.

I managed to find a pair of “heels” that are femme and cute and make me feel better than my dressy Sketchers. Kitten heels, but its progress. I’ll never wear the towering heels, because my body/feet just can’t do it. But I’ll keep on the lookout for more like these heels.

It’s been years since I would allow myself to leave the house without the basics in makeup, but I need someone experienced to teach me the finer points of being polished. I want to learn more eye make-up styles. And oh my hair…..my poor hair. I have the fine/thin unruly hair of a stylist’s nightmares. Either I am completely unskilled or my hair will just never have that polished feminine look. The 35 different hair products cluttering up my tiny bathroom are a testament though that I try.

I’m still fat. I’m still thoroughly discouraged by my clothes and the clothes that I can find in my size that are equally flattering, age-appropriate, and the right blend of sexy and classy. Perhaps if I had more money to spend on clothes, then I would dress myself the way I want. But for now, the only way that I see out is to lose a lot of weight. And man, that’s about as depressing as looking inside my own closet.

Maybe not. Maybe I just need a mentor. A Femme Guru. Send me to finishing school where I learn to walk in heels with a book balanced on my head.


Or just fuckin nominate me for “What Not to Wear”.