Author: Angel Beldam

The beautiful flowers I got right before the breakup died overnight. They lasted 10 days. I’m not sure why I kept them. It hurt to look at them and continued to recreate the confusion I felt, but it felt karmic to keep them until they died.

Now I can throw them in the trash. Symbolically letting go, releasing the feeling of failure that always seems to come at the end of a relationship.

Fear of failure is not something new to me and I know I’m not alone in this fear.

My best friend was waylaid by an injury a few years back and was going stir crazy not being able to do many of her normal creative pursuits. I recommended a few things she could do and one of those was write poetry. She said she wasn’t any good at that, so I said then write bad poetry. She laughed but I told her I was serious. My birthday was coming up and that was what I wanted — a collection of bad poetry.

She had a great time writing them and some of them really were truly awful, but the laughter they produced was priceless. I still have the little booklet she made and grin every time I see it.

Yesterday a friend of mine told me about an experiment she did a few years back. She called it a “20 Bad Dates” experiment.

I admit I blew it off at first, but it’s been percolating in my brain and now I am intrigued. What if instead of fearing that I’ll never find my person, I intentionally go out and have bad dates? Knowing they’ll likely be a failure. Could I do that?

I still have some healing to do before I have to decide, but I think I might just try it. Some might be truly awful, but maybe there will be lots of laughter too.

Stay tuned and be well by friends.

I might have to change my description of this blog to include ravings of an occasional lunatic.

There are so many wonderful things about this time of year. PSL, scarves, sweaters, boots, costume parties, honey crisp apples, MLB Playoffs, NFL, NHL, NBA are all playing, crock pot suppers, sun rises I don’t have to get up too early for, magnificent color on the trees.

But every year we also get at least a little bit of political folly. Every other year though it gets even more insane, and I find myself saying where are all beer ads, where’s that awful local car dealer ad? It’s the only time of year that I miss them.

Instead the airways and our mailboxes, virtual and literal, are full of political trash. ARGH! Thank goodness this is not a presidential year; that last one was ridiculous.

I’m not going to tell you who or what to vote for–my profession has pretty strict rules regarding my ability to do that. Besides anybody who knows me already knows how I’m likely to vote. I am not even going to rant about the awful, hateful rhetoric that takes traditional mudslinging to the next level.

I am complaining about the sheer volume. Text messages, emails, media sites, snail mail, social news sites. It’s exhausting. Make it stop!

I have lived in and visited many countries around the world. Some do elections better than us, others worse, some don’t have the option.

We have the option, most of us anyway. It never ceases to amaze me though how many people can’t be bothered to vote. I once read we get the government we deserve, which is truer when you don’t vote I think.

Ballots should be arriving soon in Colorado. Vote! Vote! Vote! Like your life depends on it, because for some of us, it does.

Stepping off my soap box-for now.

Also, I don’t actually like PSL, that was a nod to a couple really good friends of mine. I prefer mochas.

Be well my friends.

I once had a conversation with a bi-sexual friend of mine about how difficult it was to date women. And I found that we had some similar experiences.

It seems there’s this thing called a “Goldstar” lesbian, which as I understand it means they have never and will never be with a man. Which is cool, except there are women who will ONLY date another gold star lesbian, which leaves all of us late bloomers out in the cold, as well as those who are bisexual and transgender. Oh well it’s their loss. There are so many amazing humans out there.

We all put limits on those we want in our lives, and we use labels to identify those limits. Our brains use labels to swiftly categorize things into known and unknown. It has so many millions of things to process each day that the only way we can function is to label things, so we know where they fit or don’t.

Labels are necessary but become dangerous when we use them to box people in to some rigid one-dimensional being, or worse, a non-being, when we “other” them.

I find myself resistant to the label of lesbian, which consternates some of my friends. I feel more comfortable with queer, but that words has negative connotations for some of my older friends especially. They lament that the L in LGBT is being lost, something they fought so hard for; and I understand, but I don’t really have a connection to that fight, not like they do.

I listen to their stories, and I’m fascinated. They fought so hard for the right to love who they love and live how they live without fear of losing their freedom, their jobs, or their lives. I will forever be grateful to all the women who have fought for my rights and privileges. Especially those rights the far right is trying to take away right now.

I will never object to being labelled a lesbian-be it taunt or tribute-because I am. But it feels limiting and chafes a bit, for reasons I don’t yet fully understand. I do know that mostly it’s about not letting other people put limits on who I am.

Don’t let anyone put limits on you. Be well my friends.

One of the branches of my support network consists of hundreds of people I’ve never met on a social media group. To be a member of this group you have to be liberal, queer, sex positive, and fat positive. Through their candid conversations and enthusiastic support of one another, I have learned that there are a whole lot of people who are attracted to people who look like me and that there is no shame in being different regardless of what that difference is.

I reached out to them yesterday because I was feeling insecure about my body after the breakup and wanted some reassurance and positive feedback and they responded with a flood of both. For example one person wrote:

“First off, before I even saw the text I saw your picture and thought ‘that is the PERFECT hair’. So there’s that. You are stunning. Secondly, I know it’s so hard not to associate your romantic life with your worth. But I swear to you there is literally zero correlation. You are incredible just the way you are.”

Normally, I would credit the quote. However, they consented to the quote without attribution for privacy and safety’s sake.  

Another wonderfully supportive responder asked me how I would feel about having art done of me. I was intrigued and said yes. I sent him a boudoir photo that my best friend had taken of me before I came out to help boost my self-esteem and courage. Here’s what he sent me.

I feel beautiful and sexy when I look at it.  I know this may make some feel uncomfortable, but I don’t care. All humans should be allowed to feel this way.

Thank you Stephen at https://www.instagram.com/lenceloch/. His work is really good and he does commissions. Check him out.

Do you believe in the supernatural? That spirit ancestors or people from parallel universes can speak to you through your dreams?

The poem I posted yesterday was something I felt compelled to write when I woke up yesterday morning. It was as if someone or something was preparing me for the other shoe to fall. Well, seven hours later I found myself single again.  

The real bummer is that my mom actually said she was more comfortable with this one than the last one. Oh well, maybe the next one? Will there be a next one?

Time to grieve, reflect, regroup, revitalize. Time to write, read, win trivia night, knit some caps, plan my next vacation, learn ASL, and start ‘A League of Their Own’ since I just finished ‘Wynonna Earp’. 

After this period of grief and reflection I will have to decide – do I give up on ever finding the love of my life or do I head back out into the fray?

I actually already know the answer. I’m not a quitter. But this dating stuff is really hard. It can be so damn discouraging. 

For instance, how do I know which philosophical approach is better? If I build it will they come? Or do I have to stop sitting around and go out and find her? 

Wouldn’t it suck if I actually already met her and did not recognize her and now it’s too late? Or worse, that there is no room in my karmic storehouse for my true love in this lifetime and I’ll have to wait for the next?

Fortunately I’ve got a great support system with really good friends, many of whom have already reached out to support me. I appreciate them more than they will ever be able to truly know, though I will try to convey it.

Be well my friends.

Hundreds of people

no one who cares

I am invisible

They don’t see me

look right through me

Wait there’s hope

look at me

No

eyes averted

appalled

It’s not my fault

I am what you made me

My dad died seven years ago this October. I miss him, sometimes so much it nearly crushes me, even all these years later. However, in some ways his passing was the key to my being able to live the life I have now, and I struggle with the guilt that produces in me. If he was still alive I am not sure I would have had the courage to come out.

My dad reminded me of Archie Bunker, the character played by the late Carroll O’Connor, who from all accounts was nothing like the character he played so believably. My dad was a closet bigot and misogynist, and thoroughly a man of his times, though he was pretty good at hiding it. It was only in his last days that I saw it openly appear and I was very disappointed to have it confirmed.

I would like to think he would have just wanted me to be happy, but I’m not sure he could have crossed that bridge. This makes me sad because, of course, I’ll never know.

When I came out on social media, I only did it with a change in my relationship status. I heard from many with congratulations, but not all. I figured I would lose some friends, and I did, but was lucky and pleased that I did not receive any spewing of hatred, only quiet unfriending or just plain silence.

Since starting this blog and announcing it on social media, I am thrilled to say that some of those voices that had been silent have reached out from the void and given me the gift of their support, renewing our connection. I’ve missed them. Welcome back.

I am grateful to all of those who crossed that bridge to support me, no matter when you did it. I ‘m happy to have you on my side.

Be well my friends.

I have been a voracious reader all of my remembered life. I always have at least three books going: an audiobook, an eBook, and an actual physical book. My favorite will always be the physical kind. I love the feel and smell of books, especially old ones.

But I only have so much space and money, so library books I can download feed the bulk of my appetite.

I am embarrassed to say I dated and broke up with my first girlfriend before I realized that I could read romance novels that had lesbians as the main characters. How had I not known this was a thing?

I devoured every library book I could find; I spent tons of money on Kindle and Audible during the pandemic. But while I like a good sappy or fiery romance, my favorite genres to read are mysteries and Sci-Fi/fantasy. Those were way more difficult to find with lead sapphic or queer characters. And the ones that are out there are typically YA, which are fun but not very spicy and those that have even a little spice I feel a bit weird reading.

The romances almost exclusively have 20-or 30-something year old characters, predominantly white, able-bodied, successful and gorgeous. It is what sells, I get that, but representation matters. This lack of representation and genre cross over is what finally got me motivated to write my first novel. If no one else was going to write what I wanted to read, I would.

I am working on the second draft, but editing is not nearly as much fun as creating. I really didn’t want to start another big project, however. Thus the birth of this blog. A way to continue being creative daily and who knows maybe someone will find a nugget or two of something useful or helpful from time to time.

Well, I can’t have a post about Sapphic books and not have a recommendation:

“Light From Uncommon Stars” by Ryka Aoki

From the publisher’s website:

Good Omens meets The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet in Ryka Aoki’s Light From Uncommon Stars, a defiantly joyful adventure set in California’s San Gabriel Valley, with cursed violins, Faustian bargains, and queer alien courtship over fresh-made donuts.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250789075/lightfromuncommonstars

I loved this book! I hope you will too.

Be well my friends.

I think romance is a bit like comedy – very subjective. What one person thinks is romantic another might not.

In the heteronormative world I existed in before, receiving flowers was a sure sign you were being romanced, but it is in many ways considered a bit cliché. There is a lot of pressure to come up with unique romantic gestures.

Cliché or not, I love getting flowers, especially if the bouquet was specifically selected to include my favorite flower, lilies. I’m thrilled that I didn’t have to give that up.   

Mainstream media has this tendency to show the LGBT community as strictly a hook-up culture. Since I didn’t have a lot to go on when I started this journey, I was really worried about that. I longed for romance and intimacy.

Not that I have any objection to sex, I’m a big fan, and my libido seems to be in overdrive now that I’m actually experiencing orgasms despite being middle-aged. But I digress, more on that in later posts.

As you know, intimacy and sex are very different things. If I had to choose between the two, I would pick intimacy every time. Sex is literally just a physical, biological act. But intimacy touches your mind and your soul. Having that with someone feels like a miracle. And if you get to share mind blowing sex too, BONUS!

(Um, wow, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have to choose one or the other.)

Anyway, I recently had a lovely romantic date. There were flowers, dinner, candlelight and even chocolate. The dinner was take-out, the chocolate was hot cocoa, and the candles were inside the pumpkins that we spent the evening carving while we talked. It was sweet and wonderful and intimate and touched my soul.

I love this life I’m living.  I’m very optimistic about the future. And yes, I do know how lucky I am.

Be well my friends.

When I was trying to decide what to call my blog I threw some ideas at a wonderful friend of mine, who kept trying to give me ideas that did not include the word fat.

What’s wrong with fat? I asked. I never got a satisfactory answer only more suggestions that did not include fat.

I know she does not think of herself as fat phobic, nor has she ever, in any way, intentionally hurt me or made me feel bad for being fat. But like many people, she has an aversion or discomfort when I use that word, especially to describe myself.

I too used to hate that word. The irony is I hated it at a time when my body was merely classified as overweight versus that awful other “O” word. That last “O” word is particularly hateful and hurtful. It is actually a medical term, one that is used by the medical establishment as an excuse to ignore you when you have a medical issue.

For those that are saying in their head or even out loud, ‘but we just want you to be healthy’, I call bullshit. Every number in my medical record that is usually an indicator of ill health, cholesterol, triglycerides, A1C, blood pressure, they are all in the normal range as of my most recent birthday. Every single measurable number in my file, well except the one measured by the scale. All my other ailments have initial causes other than my weight. So again, I call bullshit. Don’t bring that non-sense here.

Fat is just a noun that is sometimes also used as an adjective. It’s like short or old. I am short and old and fat. These are merely words that describe my physical body. Who I am as a being cannot be confined to such a narrow definition.

Now, I could wax poetic about societal standards of beauty being absurd, or the impact capitalism and the patriarchy have on keeping women ‘in their place’ by way of the diet and fashion industries, but not today. (Don’t worry, there’s not much of a chance I won’t have many words to say on those topics in the future.)

Today, however, is about setting expectations. I will use fat as a noun or an adjective, never as a slur or an insult. If you don’t like it, go somewhere else. I’ve spent most of my life being ashamed of my body. No more. There will be no fat shaming here.

This directive is for me as well as you, my lovely reader. If I forget myself, you can call me out. I will always welcome gentle reminders or kind corrections.

In fact I hope to hear from you all often with questions, comments, kudos, corrections or even the occasional cuss word. I love alliteration. Don’t you?

Be well my friends