Now with 50% less metal

In February of last year, I got a microdermal piercing on my sternum. I loved it. Body modification, for me, is kind of a way that I can control my body. I've written about the war I've waged on my body since I went through puberty and for some reason, controlling the way my body looked by sticking some metal into it really helped. I would look down and there would be this little piece of metal, peeking at me from between my breasts, which were already contentious to me. Were they too big, too small? Do the pock marks from the heat rash I get every summer ruin them? But there was this little piece of titanium that made them beautiful accessories.

It made me a little more confident. People I didn't even known would stop and ask me what that was on my chest, and, no matter what the reaction was, I still loved it.
It started to reject over summer break when I was pulling on my swimsuits every morning, then layering a PDF over it for teaching canoeing. By the time I got back to school it was ok, but a little pronounced and over the past 6 months, it has turned purple with scar tissue as my body pushed the little metal feet up to the top layers of skin. It needed to go. I'm working at the same camp this summer, doing the same thing, and I can't imagine what it would be like to have it reject while I'm basically living in a glorified lean-to on the sand dunes of Lake Michigan.

It's been through a lot with me. A mental illness, my last horrible relationship, many hook-ups and a summer back at camp. It's been through coming-out and fights but it has always been there, maybe even lymphing for a day or two or pressing into my sternum when I gave a particularly tight hug to remind me that it was still there.

And now it's not and all I have is a little purple scar and a weird brown scab to remind me of my titanium friend. I guess now carrying my bags across my chest won't be as painful or dangerous and I won't have to explain why I have metal sticking out of my chest. I'll just have to make up a story for how I got this scar.

I am way too much of a stereotype for my own good

From the Jezebel site and inspired by a conversation I had last night. Things I have done/worn are in red. Clarifications are in brackets and in purple.

Dress Code (Unless The Lesbian Is The Femme)

• Appropriate footwear: Birkenstocks, Airwalks, chucks, Doc Martens or sports sandals. Socks are never optional [I actually abhore wearing socks, and do so only because my feet get really gross in the summer. That said, the only time I have ever worn socks with my Chacos was when I was pretending to be Super Awkward. That said, I have worn wool socks with Birkenstock sandals].
• Make-up: not allowed.
• Undergarments: Bras are frowned upon.
• Appropriate tops: flannel, more flannel [I actually wish I owned more flannel, but I am working on a quilt made out of flannel], folksy prints and Polar fleece.
• Appropriate bottoms: jeans, cords, jean shorts or walking shorts.
• "Hygiene": Shaving of armpits or legs is frowned upon [I have, and will continue to shave religiously because I don't want to look like the missing link like my brother].
• Accessories may include: Nalgene bottles [Actually, now its a Sigg bottle since my Nalgene got stolen]; carabiners; keys at your belt; fanny packs [it's a lumbar pack]; femme lesbians who only dress girly for the attention or to get a real man [Not a femme fan].

Score: 14/23

Lifestyle Attributes

• Appropriate automobiles: Saabs, pickup trucks, Subaru Outbacks, Jeep Wranglers, Xterras, Mini Coopers and Volvos [Booyah! I ride a bike! Hmm, maybe that's not the least dykey mode of transportation. Nor is my last car, a Toyota Corolla].
• Pop cultural influences: Melissa Etheridge; Ani DiFranco; Indigo Girls; and The L Word. No exceptions.
• Pets: At least one cat, and preferably more [I hate cats. Why aren't there dogs on this?].
• Food: Vegetarians preferred [Been there, done that. I will only be an omnivore from now on]
  
• Colleges/alma maters: Smith; Bryn Mawr; Mount Holyoke; and Wellesley.
• Partner choices: Recruiting straight women preferred.
• Career choices: P.E. teacher; basketball player; softball player; and professional golfer.

Score: 2/22 I feel this one is a little rigged though because you can't own all those cars at once. Plus, lesbians are poor. This one is.

Psychology

• History: Must have been abused.
• Oedipal Complex: Hatred of fathers, except when they over-identify with them.
• Childhood Obsessions: Monkeys as pets.
• Adult Obsessions: Hating men.
• Penis Envy: Yes.
• Child lust: No.

Score: 5 /7. To be fair, the Penis envy is only because I make penis jokes approximately 30 times per day, and child lust is wrong so even if I did have that why would I admit it. And any interesting girl had a dream of owning a monkey for a pet.

Sex & Relationships

• Onset of lesbianism: College — until graduation, in some cases.
• Conversion: Lesbians can be converted with one internal application of human penis.
• Madonna/Whore Complex: Many are technically virgins, because they've never gotten down with a dude.
• Roles: Every lesbian relationship has a butch and a femme.
• Timing: Lesbians move in together on the second date.
• Sex: Once two lesbians move in together, they will never have sex again.
• Break Ups: Bunny boiling provides the maximum drama all lesbians require.

Score: 2/8. To be fair, the Conversion was obviously proven wrong, and I've never really had the chance to move in with someone. Bunny boiling drama on the break-up front though. Christ almighty.

Total: 25/60
Less than half lesbian stereotype!

Post the First

The war I declared on my body has lasted longer than the infamous war in Iraq. Thinking about that really puts it into perspective for me. I'll remember forever the day I got my first period, when I "became a woman", to use a phrase my grandmother surely loves. It was traumatizing but because I didn't expect it, but because it was a point of no return.

I'll start out with my own gender perception. I don't really feel comfortable, even at 20 years old, being called a woman. Woman is sexualized, and despite my feelings against the word "womyn", it suggests "man". I like being a girl. Not girly. A girl. I don't even mind being a boy, or boyish. I love it. The words "girl" and "boy" aren't sexualized. They're more equal.
That's not to say I'm not a sexual being. Because I am, very much so; I just don't feel comfortable having that on the forefront. I'm sure at a point in my life, maybe not even in the distant future, I'll grow out of being a girl and into being a woman. But maybe not.

Back to this body war of mine. My hips started getting think, breasts began to bud and my hair. Oh, my hair. It got think and curly and dark, and that was just the stuff on my head. I want to think this war has reached some sort of new period in coming out. I don't have to worry about how my intelligence "scares away boys" (and in doing so, future husbands) or fear being perceived as a lesbian. I like the way I look right now, when my hair sticks up in the front. I like the way my face looks framed by fuzzy hair and how it gets wind-burnt and pink in Iowa winters. I miss being able to go outside on a cold day without a hat on, but come summer, this hair will do better for me. After all, I'm a short hair kind of girl.

I think my dissertation on butch should come later. When I, myself, have formed that identity. I'm still convincing myself that what I am is ok. And being happy with myself without a girlfriend by my side. When I realized I was ready to admit to myself that I was attracted to women and then pursue that attraction, I did it alone. I can do this alone. Single lesbian first, one half of a lesbian couple later.