Underneath my yellow skin

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Dating, sex, and tech, part seven

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Apparently, I have more to say about dating, sex, and tech. Techs in the city? Text in the city? Oh, wait. It’s Sex AND the City. Whatever. I never watched the showl/movie?/whatever, anyway. This is my post from yesterday in which I talk about what I thought was going to happen in my life versus what I really wanted to happen in my life.

Today, I had my Taiji Zoom class. It’s in the basement of a church that is like a concrete bunker. My teacher uses a headset so we online can hear her. Without fail, at some point, the connection goes out. We may be able to see her, but we can’t hear her. Or vice-versa. This is usually when she switches from using her headset to not using it, which she does after ne do meditation. She takes off the headset during meditation, which makes sense. For whatever reason, when plugging the headset back in, it totally disconnects her from the internet.

Sometimes, it’s because she accidentally hits a button on her headset. Other times, who knows? Tech is going to tech.

I will say on my end, I had a few months of frustration with my audio when attending the Zoom classes. It was after a Zoom update, of course. I fucking hate updates because for every positive update, there’s two to three unintended negative consequences. Also, I really don’t need updates every month. Maybe keep it to once a quarter.

Of course I want my computer to run as smoothly as possible, but I hate it when the negatives outweighs the positives. And it’s often the case of , “How the fuck do I return this to the way it was? Fuck if I know!”

By the way, I’m playing a game called, Birdigo, by John August and Corey Martin. They say it’s inspired by Wordle and Balatro; it’s simple and addictive. However, it would not accept the word ‘fuck’, which made me lift an eyebrow. Really? ‘Fuck’ isn’t in the dictionary? I was very disappointed by that.

Anyway, back to my computer issues. Suddenly, after a Zoom update, my audio did not work in Zoom. It worked just fine the week before. I fiddled with my settings, and they said that they could hear me, but I was extremely quiet.

The next week, I realized that I was somehow had two Zooms open. One was the app and one was the in-browser Normally, I used the in-browser, but it didn’t automatically come up like it used to. Now, it was the app that came up, but I didn’t use the app. Therefore, there was no audio through the app. The audio would only come through the browser.

This took two sessions to figure out. I checked it after class, and it was correct. I had no idea why the app was opening since I did not use the app and did not want to use the app. I only used the browser, but Zoom didn’t like that. It wanted me to use the app, probably so it could get my details.


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Dating and tech, part six

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Just when I thought I would have a tech issue-free day….I will say it was not anything big, nor, sadly was it unexpected. It was just my internet deciding to go out for a minute. For no reason. It does this once every few weeks. Sometimes, it’s the internet actually going out for a minute. Other times, it’s just my computer decided not to be connected. The latter is infinitely more frustrating and annoying because if my connection is good, then I should be able to internet.

Fortunately, it usually clears up in a few minutes, and today was no exception.

Let’s talk more about dating! As I have talked about in past, the one thing I appreciate the older I get is that I have a firmer idea of what is acceptable in a partner and what isn’t. It’s interesting to me how different it is for me than it is for most normies.

When I was a kid, I thought I’d grow up, gett married, and have children. Happily ever after and the rest of our lives, etc. To death do us part and all that jazz. It didn’t fill me with joy, but I was indoctrinated brought up to believe that it was the only path for a young woman. It wasn’t even implicit–my mother flat out said that the job of a woman was to have children. When I told her I didn’t want them, she said it didn’t matter what I wanted–it was my duty. She straight up said it!

I was twenty-two when I realized that I didn’t want them. So hard. Like, it was the thing I wanted least in the world. Me dying twice and coming back? Preferable to having children. Of course, I did come back, so that makes me biased, but still. It was such a relief to realize I didn’t actually have to have children, no matter how much my mother pressured me to do so.

Here’s my post from yesterday in which I talked more about my tech issues than anything else. Look. I live online. If I can’t access my computer, it’s a big deal. Yes, I’m very lucky that I have a laptop and a desktop so I can go to one if the other isn’t working, but I prefer doing some stuff on my desktop and some stuff on my laptop, so I highly prefer both to be working.

Around the same time I realized I did not want children, I also discovered that I was sexually attracted to women. And now, to people of any or no gender. Gender doesn’t matter. We like to say race is a construct, and so is gender. That’s not what this post is about, though, so I’ll move past that with dificulty.

Let’s talk about now. I am tired. I’m tired of the hatred of my LGBTQ+ kinfolk, and I just don’t have the will to deal with it any longer. Which means–no cishetdudes for me. It’s too much like all the isms 101, and I don’t have the patience for that. I mean, I never have, but it’s really gone now.


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More about dating…and tech issues, part five

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Day three? Four? Something like that of tech issues. This time, it’s completely self-inflicted, which doesn’t make it any less frustrating. In fact, it’s more frustrating because why the hell did I do that? If only I hadn’t done that! Here’s what happened.

A couple days ago, I accidentally kicked my PC tower. Hard. It was fine, but I had to make sure all the cables were plugged in firmly. They seemed to be, and all was well. Today, suddenly, my PC stopped working. Just out of the blue. I immediately deduced that it had something to do with the accidental kick I had given the PC tower a few days ago.

I checked cables. All seemed fine. I checked the power strip. Also seemed fine. I unplugged it and replugged it in, and then I turned it off and on again. It was all fine. It was late at night (for normies), so I didn’t want to call my brother. I knew that he went to bed by eleven/midnight, and I didn’t know how long it would take me to fix the issue. Though I had a hunch that he would know what it was.

I did some more hunting around to see what I might have missed. I finally realized that I was looking at the wrong cord when I was checking out the  power cord. The actual power cord had come unplugged on the PC tower side, so I plugged it back in. Did that take care of the problem? Yes! My computer booted up, and it was fine. Except.

Why wasn’t my second monitor working? I futzed with the settings, but my computer said that the second monitor was not available. What the hell? I was mad at myself for kicking my PC,  even though it was an accident.

I checked the cable on the back of my second monitor, and the other end was unplugged. I knew it had to go into my PC tower, but I had no idea where. By the shape of the cable, I only seemed to have one option. I plugged it in, but it wasn’t the one. I Googled it, and it said not to plug into the HDMI at the top of the PC tower, but to use the port that was lower. I could not see another HDMI port, but I knew there had to be one.

I got onto the ground with my phone (as my flashlight), and I found the right HDMI port. Finally! Everything was back to the way it should be. Except. About five minutes later, several YouTube videos started playing at the same time. I had about a hundred tabs open in roughly thirty different bunches. I had to quickly go through them to find the ones that were playing. Of course, it was nearly the last bunch that was the culprit, so I got rid of almost all my YouTube tabs. It doesn’t bother me because I’m sure I’ll have a hundred open again in no time flat.


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Sexy times in my future? (Part three)

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Sex. Dating. I have more thoughts on this, but before I get there, I want to touch a bit more on technology and when it doesn’t work. Facebook rolled out the encryption in chat thing, and because I cleared my cache, it now won’t recognize me in one specific chat–the only one I use on a regular basis. (With my bestie, K.) I did what I could to try to access the almost year’s worth of messages I can’t get, including ones from this week, but in the end, I gave up.

I followed all the tutorials telling me how to get it. I finally was able to use the code to get into the chat, and a portion of the messages were still missing. That’s when I realized that it wsas Meta being Meta (ughhhhhhhh), so I mentally  shrugged and moved on. I was still irritated, mind, but what could I do about it?

Back to dating. Here’s my post from yesterday in which I talk about dating–and technology.

I am flummoxed when it comes to dating because gender is such an anathema to me. Being queer, many of the hetero norms just don’t matter to me. I mean, they probably wouldn’t even if I were straight, but they’re truly meaningless. When you have two people (or more) of the same gender (or different varying genders), the old rules for hets don’t make any sense. In fact, when you look at the norms through queer lenses, so many of them fall by the wayside.

As a girl/woman, I heard the following: “Don’t ask a boy out. Let him do the asking.” “Let the guy pay.” “Don’t ever beat a guy in–” well, anything, really. So many of the rules for women were to make yourself as small as possible and not take up any noticeable room. Cater to the guy’s needs/desires/sensibilities, and don’t you dare have any needs of your own.

Don’t be high maintenance. Don’t be needy. Don’t eat anything too _________ fill in the blank with anything but salad. Oh, and don’t offer to pay. Apparently, that’s emasculating.

It all boiled down to, “Be a living, breathing doll who has no opinions of her own.”

Even if I could do all that (and I couldn’t), why the fuck would I want to? I read The Rules when it came out because I wanted a laugh. Instead, I was horrified by how antiquated the advice was (and it was a runaway best seller), and the last sentence sent a chill down my spine. It was something like, “And the rules don’t end once you get married because you have to put in the work to keep the man who’s biggest benefit is that he’s breathing.” That’s paraphrased, yes, but it was that sentiment.

I remember thinking, “Oh, great. I never get a breather?”

By the way, when the next edition or the sequel came out, there was a note stating that one of the authors got a divorce. That made me laugh uproariously as I admired her chutpah.


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Let’s talk about dating, sex, and more

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I want to talk more about dating, but not necssary about labels. I mean, the topic may come up, but that’s not the main purpose of this post.

The last two times I thought about dating to the point of composing the ad in my head, the world got in my way. The first time was in early February, 2020. I probably don’t need to say what happened that pushed the thought of dating out of my mind completely. In case you were in your once-in-a-lifetime coma at that time (I can juoke because I was in one myself), there was a little thing called a pandemic that was in full swing by early March.

There was Zoom dating during the pandemic, but that was not of interest to me. It seems like it combined all the worst parts of dating (heavy focus on looks, talking to someone you don’t know for at least fifcteen minutes if not longer, and small talk). I  mean, it’s not all that much different than going to a cafe with someone and having a coffee, but it feels much different.

Additionally, all I want is sex, which is not doable via Zoom. At least not actual skin touching skin sex. Which is what I want. If I just want to get off, then I could do that on my own. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, if it’s just about me getting off, I can do that just fine by myself. In fact, I am the best at getting me off. I can do it in three sceonds if I want. If I’m going to be with someone else, it’s about the exploration and the physical interaction.

Look. Let’s be real and honest with each other. I have no interest in dating for the sake of dating or a long-term relationship. If I am going to go through the effort of dating and getting to know someone(s), then I’m going to eventually want sex. I’m specifically looking for booty is what I’m saying.

After the vax was created and I got both my shots (and several weeks afeter to let it sink in), I started to cautiously go out again. I’ve mentioned this several times, but I’ll restate it once again. I went to Cubs to start shopping for food again, the local Thai place with my brother, and (the worst decision in the world), Target. The last was a nightmare with so many people, the vast majority of theem unmasked.

This was around June/July. I started thinking about dating again–which was nearer to the end of August. Then, I got incredibly tired–the most tired I’ve been in my life–and that’s saying something. I’m tired most of the time after a lifetime of not sleeping well or much at all. This time, though, I was utterly exhausted. As in, I could not get out of bed exhausted.

Right before that, I started thinking about dating again. I was planning my ad, and then, I got hit with the medical crisis of my life. As in, being in the hospital unconscious for a week with the premise that I was not going to wake up.

That’s not the weirdest thing about the whole experience, by the way. You would think it was, but it wasn’t. I don’t know why that didn’t shake me–probably because I was drugged out of my mind. I was so strung out, and it felt great. For the first time, I could truly understand why people did drugs (I’ve never done them before) because I wavs flying high–and feeling no pain.

That’s not the point of this post, though. The point is that the last two times I thought about dating, the world said, “NOPE.” Not only did it say no, it said no in the most brutal way possible. I have started thinking I wanted to try to date again, but I”m worried. I’ll admit it. I don’t believe that bad luck comes in threes, but I don’t not believe it, either. More to the point, I’m not sure I want to test that theory.


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Labels and dating, part seven

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I’m back! And this time I am definitely going to talk about dating and labels. For sure. I am not going to veer off onto another topic and talk about that for over a thousand words. That is not like me at all, and I won’t deviate from the path at all in this post, either.

In the last post, I actually touched on dating, which was what I’ve wanted to talk about for the past few posts. If I were in my ideal world, this is the ad I would write. “I”m looking for a fuck buddy or three. Hit me up if you’re interested.”

That’s the basic gist of what I want, but, of course, we don’t live in an ideal world so I have to qualify that statement to get closer to what I really want. First of all, no Republicans. That is still my unberakable will not tolerate. Even more so now than when I dated thirty years ago, just no. Anyone who is a Republican in this day and age is on the wrong side of history. There is no moderation in today’s Republican Party. They are trying to destroy me and my kin; why the hell would I want to be a part of that?

Back when Marriage Equality was being debated, some Republicans were clutching their pearls and bleating about how uncivilized the queers were being in what they (we) said. “Why can’t we be civil about this?” They would say in earnest.

Because, motherfuckers, there’s nothing civil about trying to classify me as not a human being deserving of basic human rights. Our words may be uncivil, but your beliefs are worse. Besides, it’s not as if they would listen to us if we just used nicer words. Believe me, I’ve being fighting this fight for thirty years along with several other concerning civil rights. We are in danger of losing many of the rights we have gained over the last few decades, which breaks my heart.

And it’s made me draw a hard line in the sand. If you’re part of the current Republican Party, then you’re actively against me as a human being with equal rights to you. I do not have to date that if I don’t want to, and I most definitely do not want to.

By the way, the ‘both sides are bad’ people irritate the fuck out of me, too. No, both sides are not equally bad. I’m not saying either side is particularly great, but there is one side that is actively trying to strip me of my civil rights. There is one party that was behind the occupation of Minneapolis and the  terror it wrought on my home state.

This is something I touched on previous posts. When it comes to dating, people are allowed to be as discriminatory as possible. In fact, it always makes me chuckle  darkly when people tell me I have to give someone a chance. Interestingly, men usually say it with the belief that women and perceived women don’t have the right to turn down anyone who shows interest in them. The woman should be flattered! Especially when she’s not conventionally attractive.

The women who used to tell me I should give any guy a shot were coming at it from a different point of view–that any man was better than none. But they also believed that any man who had the courage to ask me out deserved a chance. “You never know!”


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Labels, labels, labels everywhere (part three)

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I want to talk more about gender identity, sexual orientation, and dating. And labels. Maybe. It’s been at the forefront of my mind for several reasons. I mentioned in the last post a few times when it was helpful to have labels (mostly with health issues), and I am not going to muse whether or not it’s helpful in dating.

I will say I don’t like the labels I’ve chosen for my sexual and gender identities. They are both the least worst of the bad, and I’m not satisfied with either. Bisexual and agender, by the way. I’ve had the former label for over thirty years, and it has never sat right with me. I like queer the best, but it now is synonymous with gay. I’m not happy about it, but it’s not a fight I’m up for fighting.

Same with genderqueer. I really like it as a descriptor for not being on the binary in the fullest sense of the term. But now it means nonbinary in the same way queer means gay.

Sigh.

I’m irritated with myself for always making life so difficult. This is part of being neurodivergent, too, though. I’ve read that people who are neurodivergent often feel the need to be really explicit and on point with their words. I can attest that this is me, and it’s annoying as fuck. Even to me when it’s me doing it.

I overexplain things and belabor the point until the other person is ready to scream. I can see the shift on their face (or hear it in their message), and yet, it takes a Herculean effort for me to shut the fuck up. The person I’m talking to doesn’t need a twenty-page backstory to every idea I want to present. When I found out this was a thing with autistic people, I felt validated.

Another thing is that everything is related in my brain. I can’t tell a story without bringing in what others would consider extraneous information and tidbits. When I talked to my autistic friend about it, she was in enthusiastic agreement that her brain worked that way, too. It’s one reason we can have comfortable conversations (in messages). We can pepper in as many non sequiturs as we want without worrying. And if one of us goes really far down a weird road, the other will bring the first person back again.

Or not. Sometimes, I join her on the side path to nowhere (and vice-versa), which can lead to some wild journeys. And once in a great while, I don’t know where she’s going. I can usually figure it out, but if I can’t, I just ask questions until I get the gist of what she was trying to say.

Knowing that this is a thing for neurodivergent people is such a relief to me. It doesn’t mean that I just let myself ramble all I want whenever I want, but it does mean that I can be a bit kinder to myself when I can’t seem to stop utter nonsense from coming out of my mouth.


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Getting out of my comfort zone

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I am a creature of habit. I tend to stick to the same thing day after day. I don’t have a problem eating the same thing on the daily, and it’s comforting to have a routine. I mention this because I’ve been thinking about dating. Just thinking about it. As I’ve mused about it in past posts.

I have waxed poetic about how I envy my brother for being decisive and energetic. When he started dating again, he made his plan and followed it to a T. He signed up with several dating sites and swiped, er, right? Left? Whichever is the ‘yes’ option many times. He put hours a day into dating. In other words, he took it as seriously as a job.

I warned him that Asian men and black women got the least responses on dating apps, but it deterred him not. He did admit it got tiresome at times, but he stuck it out. He averaged a date a week, and in a year, he found the love of his life.

In the process, he went on a trip outside the country by himself for the first time. He found a new layer of confidence in himself that he did not know he had. Over two years later, he’s still with his girlfriend, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy before. Well, that’s before all the shit that has happened in Minneapolis.

Putting that aside with great difficulty, I want to focus on my brother for a bit longer. When he started dating, I was thinking I might want to try, too. I looked at my OKCupid dating app, but I just couldn’t get into it.

See, here’s the thing. My inertia is way higher than my desire to get laid. I remember how great sex was. Believe me, I love sex. But. I don’t love what I need to do to actually get it. I mean, I probably could get sex fairly easily if I wanted to. Still at my age. But I’m not motivated to actually do anything about it. That’s my problem through and through.

I’ve been reading up on autism. There are articles about how there is no such thing as lazy and how somoene with autism has to fight their own brain to get shit done. This is the hardest thing for me.

Side note: I was looking for a song/video to include in this post as I do. I Googled songs about being the best me or something like that. One was a Bad Bunny song. I had heard a few of his songs, but hadn’t gotten too deep into it. Then, I saw his skits on SNL, and I noticed that he wore dresses in many of them. Somebody said something about him being pansexual and wearing dresses. I


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Looking for lust in all the wrong–well, no–places

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In the last post, I was talking about the possibility of me dating again. I summed it up in the last post, kind of, but I’m going to break it down in this post, kind of.

Here’s the thing. I’ve mostly fallen into my romantic relationships in the past. Meaning, a romantic relationship sprang up out of a friendship. While I have a type (quick recap: short dark hair, nerdy glasses, warm smile, deep voice, square body (thick), a nerd in general, funny, and, weirdly enough, optimistic), it’s not something that I stick to in real life, mostly because as I said, friendship leads to romance, and I don’t restrict my friendships by appearance.

I didn’t really date, either. I started dating my first boyfriend when I was sixteen. That was probably the closest to dating I did. We lived forty minutes apart, so we only saw each other on the weekends. He was a sweet guy and extremely smart, and we dated for two years. That was the closest to a typical relationship I’ve had.

My first boyfriend in college, we were good friends who spent a lot of time together. He asked me out, and I said why not? That ended up being a really complicated relationship that turned me off dating, unfortunately. It also wasn’t typical in that we didn’t go out on dates, really. We just hung out like friends–except with romance included.

I have always been good at sex. VERY good at sex. My motto was that I’d try (almost) anything once. Unless it was truly something I could not stomach, I was good to go. And I liked most of what I experienced. Sex is amazing! Sex is awesome! Sex is life-affirming!

Romance and dating, on the other hand, were hard. The examples I had in my childhood were terrible, and I was deeply and negatively affected by them. I was brought up in a cult-like church that was heavily sexist, conservative, evangelical, and fear/shame-based. Plus, Asian culture is deeply sexist in a different way to American sexism. So I got so much sexism shoved at me on a daily basis.

It’s hard to unlearn that stuff. And I noticed in my last relationship (about fifteen years ago) that I still immediately fell into my traininng as a subservient woman whose only purpose was to please the man* within my vicinity.

I hated who I became, and I realized that dating wasn’t worth it to me. In adidtion, I like being on my own. A lot. If I’m going to be around someone for a significant amount of time, it had better be a very positive experience. I like to say that I’m the cake and the other person would be the frosting. Meaning that the would be additive and not part of the substance.


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Typcasting my love

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Just for a change of pace, let’s talk about something more frivolous than the shitty state of the world. Which, quite honestly, could be anything. Literally anything. In this case, it’s romance sex,  and it’s still related to everything that’s going on.

I have a type. I noticed it decades ago. Alan Rickman.

I could leave it there, but I won’t.

Let’s add to him, Rachel Maddow.

Those were the gold standard for so long. I added to my list Erika Ishii because they are just my everything. That voice. That personality. That bod. That face. That hair! Just, they are the whole package.

Ever since the hell started in Minnesota, I’ve been watching way more news than I used to (and than is probably good for me). I glommed onto a local news anchor, Jana Shortal, who has short, curly hair, is acerbic, yet warm, has a lovely deep voice, and is a lesbian.

I mention the last because that’s been a theme, starting with Rachel Maddow. Dark short hair, wonky glasses (wonky as in wonk, not as in broken/weird), deep, warm voice (of course, these days, a reporter has to have a great voice), nerdy, and a sarcastic yet rousing sense of humor.

Next up was Kara Swisher. Pretty much rinse, lather, repeat. Yes, I know that it should be lather, rinse, repeat, but I’ve always said rinse, leather, repeat–and I won’t ever stop. It’s gotten to the point where I’ll send K a name and a bio with a wry, “So my type!”, and she’ll quip something back in return.

Side note: K and I are both pretty passionate about politics. We agree on most everything just to different degrees. I can count the number of times we’ve flat-out disagreed on something on one hand. We can tell each other things we would not share to the world at large. We’ve been friends for thirty years, and I still learn things about her that I didn’t know before.

We’ve discussed our love lives, sure. She’s been married the entire time we’ve been friends and had her child about ten years into our friendship. I told her that she got the first year free to talk about the baby as much as she wanted. This is the thing I say to all my friends when they have something momentous happen to them. After that, I expect them to return to a more balanced conversation.

K never needed that time. She and I kept on as we always were with her talk of her kid being an additive. I commented on it from time to time, and she said that she was glad to be talking about other things with me. What I inferred was that she wanted to retain her identity as K and not just as L’s mom. I could dig that, and I was happpy to be that person for her. Everyone needs the friend who will just let you be you. And, I love her (now young adult) child as if they were one of my niblings.

K has been my rock throughout my, well, rocky dating history. She’s been there for my heartbreaks and thrills, and she’s not judged me along the way. She’s not coddled me either, though. She’s a straight-shooter, which I appreciate. She’s also been my wingwoman when we went out dancing, back when she lived here. A best gal pal who will hype you up is to be treasured.


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