Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: living alone

The choice is yours

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My brother and  Iwere talking about dating last night. He has been working the apps hard and having a steady stream of dates. Unfortunately, he’s having the same trouble I usually have–falling for people who aren’t currently emotionally available. But, that’s not the point of this post. We were talking about the criteria we would have for a dating partner. He has graduated college as his base education level. He said that he knew it was probably cutting off some women he would click with, but he felt it would at least indicate a level of conversation he wanted.

I could tell that he thought I would argue with him though we have talked about this before. He had said some of his other critieria, and I had been critical about it. For example, he likes really skinny white women. Which, ok. I firmly believe you like what you like. However, it’s undeniable that media affects what is and isn’t considered beauty, and it’s not coincidental that skinny blondes are considered the ideal.

What I DID push back on was when he talked about heavier women in disparaging terms. Saying obese like it was an epithet, for example. Or when he put down Asian women with accents as sounding less intelligent. Yes, internalized racism is a thing, sadly. I did not brook with either of these especially as there was a hint of ‘fat women are gross’ to the former. In addition, he’s not skinny himself. And my brother likes skinny. No boobs, but with hips. No ass, though. I had to let him know that what he liked wasn’t that achievable for most women.

Also, I do not truck with hearing how gross he thinks big boobs are. I have massive tits! They are not gross. They might not appeal to everyone (but, honestly, they do to most people), but they are not disgusting–which was the vibe my brother was giving. Not about my boobs, obviously, but about big boobs in general. I tried to get him to understand that I wasn’t saying he hated to date fat women or women with big tits, but he might want to mind how he talked about them. And take into account how deeply sexisst our society was in the demand that women take up less space.

I did emphasize, though, that of course he was attracted to whomever he was attracted to. I didn’t like the castigation from people saying everyone should be attracted to_______. I read an article by a trans woman who said that if you did not want to date a trans woman, you were transphobic. Or that if you did not want to date black men, for example, you were racist. Which might or might not be true, but why the hell would byou want someone to be guilted into dating you?


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Living my life

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It’s been three days since my parents left. I can breathe freely, even though my mom is emailing me every day. Sometimes, more than once a day. That’s much more bearable than having them around, though. My shoulders are already less tense than before. Maybe 50% less tense. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding in my shoulders until after my parents left. The first night, I had trouble falling asleep. It was because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or for my father to start an argument with my mother while they were half-asleep. That was one of his favorite tactics, by the way. To ambush her while she was asleep to accuse her of all sorts of crazy things. And I’m using the word ‘crazy’ deliberately. I’m not one who is precious about the word because I can apply it to myself quite easily. And because in the view of the normies, I’m pretty crazy in many ways.

In this case, I mean it clinically. My father has paranoid delusions, including his most prevalent that we (my brother, my mother, and I) are trying to steal his money. He’s made my mom look for trust (their money is in a trust) papers that he swore he put  in a certain drawer (which he didn’t. I can say that with certainty). He’s also accused her of enslaving him (very bitter laugh as he does jack and shit) and various other things.

I want nothing to do with them. I’ll be honest. I can handle a phone call once a month or even every other week, but that’s about it. I feel some guilt for being so relieved, but not much. All I can think is, “I’m free.”

Today, it’s 10 degrees and it’s snowing. It wasn’t snowing when I woke up, but is now. I had decided to go for a little walk (not caring how far I went or if I walked farther than yesterday) and was delightfully surprised when I saw snow. And not just drizzling, either. It’s snowing big fat flakes. My brother bought me unders from Costco that are thin, sleek, and wicks away moisture while retaining heat. In black. I put those on under my clothes to brave the elements.


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One frayed nerve

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I’m hyped to be on my own again. It’s the way life was meant to be lived. And yet….

I’m nervous. I’ll admit it here. My system worked (calling the cops when I felt faint and Ian contacting my brother when he, Ian, hadn’t heard from me the next day). My brother found me and everything marched ahead accordingly. But, there was a healthy element of luck in there that I called 911 before fainting. Had I waited two seconds longer, I probably wouldn’t have been able to make the call.

For a while, my mother was obsessed with figuring out how I got the pneumonia. I’m sure in her mind she was thinking if we could pinpoint what gave me pneumonia, then I could avoid it. As I pointed out to her, however, we could guess until the end of time and not be entirely sure what caused the pneumonia.

I finally had to tell her that she can’t wrap me in bubble wrap for the rest of my life. I was going to die at some point because that’s what we’re all going to do. She got an unhappy look on her face and I knew that she wanted to disagree, but she could not. She did say that we could be careful and not be too risky. Which, yes, it’s true. I pointed out that I don’t do risky things. Before I ended up in the hospital, I was especially careful as we were in a pandemic. Granted, I opened up a little bit after getting both vaxxes, but that meant I went to Cubs twice and went to get lunch to go with my brother.

Yes, my brother had Coronavirus and didn’t tell me until after he’d seen me, but I got tested and did not have it. Plus, I had non-COVID-related pneumonia, so that wasn’t the problem, anyway. I have bronchial issues and have had all my life. I get bronchitis like once a year (though, ironically, not during the pandemic) and it lasts for months at a time.

My mom was really annoying me by suggesting that being out in the cold caused the pneumonia (which I’m sure stemmed from my father as that’s one of his beliefs. He told me he believed that the cold open the pores and made it easier for germs to enter the body. Which, I mean….This is something that has actual science behind it and he has it exactly backwards. Heat opens your pores which is why it’s recommended you take a shower when your nose is plugged or use a Neti pot with hot water. When I told my father this, he got that hateful mulish look on his face and repeated that it was just his belief. Which was wrong. Putting that aside, that’s not how germs work! Sigh.). Even if she were right, I did not take morning walks before I landed in the hospital so that wasn’t how I got pneumonia in the first place. I told her somewhat snarkily that I only started taking a morning walk after I got out of the hospital and I didn’t do anything other than go to the pharmacy once a month before the hospital. In my car.

It’s been frustrating because facts don’t matter at all to my father and to a lesser extent, my mother, either. I know we all have our areas in which we cling to misbeliefs. In my case, however, I will think about the contrary evidence even if I denounce it upfront, and I may later change my mind. But my parents? No. What’s even more frustrating about my mother is that she will ask for advice and then reject it out of hand. I know this. She’s been that way since I was a kid and has only gotten worse the older she gets.


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