Long Legs in the Twin Cities; Memoirs from a misogynistic lesbian.
By: Samantha Koshiol



Forward
1. Paige
2. Elise
3. Martha
4. Ellie
5. Gabby
6. Kristen
7. Kelly
8. Nancy
9. Lizzy
10. Betty
11. Felicia




Forward-

	Damaged women are beautiful. How come they never see it that way? Problems make a person passionate. Passion equals beauty. Therefore my cold claims are valid. See, this can be broken down to a simple science. Each interaction acts as a single molecule on strand of DNA, requiring it's own response which is uniquely comparitive to previous or future situations. Not one moment is a like for one single person at any given time.
	Interpretations have caused much distress throughout the bulk of my history and many of these so-called damaged women can probably relate. When I call them damaged it is not a negative knock at their personalities, it is merely my perspective towards the type of lady whom has been faced with a hardship, weathered the storm, and was forced to somehow rebuild.
	Some of them have rebuilt stronger, surrounding themselves by the comfort of stability much like the foundation of a brick building. Others have altered their previous failures in attempts to reach log cabin status; they can quickly be cycled back if flames carrying multitudes of problems threaten to engulf the space they chose to resurface. The unfortunate souls wind up consistently challeneged, never learning from their loses and begging for gratitude to bail them out. Think a chain link fence on a windy day, stable long enough for little to stick to it's surface.
	This is a truly never-ending cycle though. I have aligned with all three during various periods of my life for various amounts of time. This is where we come back to interpretations and the tricks that subliminal ideologies play. Ladies have caused my perceptions to become challenged and have staked claim in changing my life.
	Women have been the most inspiring and motivating presence throughout my adult life. The interactions with them, whether they be beautiful, ugly or heartwarming, leave imprints and create moments frozen in time. Mental snapshots of bare chested women and long legs tangled between sheets and sobriety keep piling higher in my mind.
	The following, are stories of those interactions with women from the Twin Cities area. All names have been changed for the privacy of those involved. Implications may have been made and third parties may be offended. At this point in my life, I don't really give a fuck if you are or not. Cheers!





Paige-

	The tan line only reached so far on Paige’s arm. She screamed recluse and embodied anxiety. Alone in her mind was an average day. Books were her escape and her favorite snack was vanilla pudding. You know her type of girl. At least it seemed so on the surface. What lay beneath the freckles and glasses was a woman drunk on control with the brain power to bring her evil and calculated ideologies to life.
	The smartest ones always end up being the craziest ones; there's something about them that makes me want to understand why. Paige was completely imperfect on every level. We even met while she was dating a member of the opposite sex, which we will come back to. It wasn't long before she brought me home and changed me forever. She was my first and I quickly wound up infatuated. Stuck on what would turn into a life-long conquest. Paige is to thank for that.
	It was a Tuesday and she was bored. No, Paige had never intended more than an evening of meaningless, vodka-fueled foreplay. She had no idea it would give life to a new form of self-destruction for me. Paige actually had no idea of the self-destruction I was prone to yet, though she eventually saw the manifestation and culmination of the worst. To say Paige didn't care would be selling her short. To say she didn't care much would be a more factual statement.
	For months Paige kept me in a friendly zone while she dated Ed. Ed deserved far better than the manipulating woman who frequently found herself waking up in beds other than his or her own. He was just another sap in love, and soon I would find myself sharing this deadly disease.
	Paige and I started hanging out more, and of course my mind had remained consistent on swiping her blindly from poor old Ed. The second time we romped my gears cranked to maximum. This was when I knew for a fact she was crazy and knew I needed more. We were at a birthday party and Ed had passed out on a couch early, being that he was one of the few real “adults” at this party and was up early working a desk job that morning. Paige proceeded to flirtatiously massage my back while in the same room as sleeping Ed. She further motioned me outdoors when lips started being placed on various spots of exposed skin. We came back maybe an hour later; Ed was still dozing off on the couch so she chose to spend the rest of nightfall in my arms.
	To anyone else, a girl who is willing to treat their partner with such disgrace would not evoke thoughts of wanting to settle down. I am unlike most people and set a goal. With this new wind under my wings I had the determination of a rookie Quarterback. Not quite as skillful as Robert Griffin III but as self assured as Cam Newton.
	After that encounter less than one week later Paige agreed to spend the night at my place. Unbeknownst to Ed, I only had one small bed and he would wake up to a voice mail dismissing him from future relational commitments and titles. See, I had given Paige an ultimatum that night and thought at the time she made the right choice.
	Over the course of the next 6 months she proved her capabilities to destroy hearts and began to turn smug about the increasing number of them on her list. Towards the end of everything her dark side really sparkled bright. I was also in an extremely dark place, but our mental states were not coinciding with each other. Mine wasn't malicious like Paige's; it was more a sad, depressing and empty place. Even though that describes a majority of my life, this was the bottom and she knew that.
	When I called her mid-pharmaceutical binge, she dared me to take more and gave me the sound advice to leave her alone for good. So I took more—Xanax, Prozac, Oxycontin, Vicodin, Abilify, Morphine, Tramadol-- anything and everything, intending to make her wishes of being forever left alone come true. Reflecting in my manic mind on previous failures with SSRI's and painkillers, I felt the binge would not do. I desired completion and knew a place that may help provide it, so I grabbed my keys and took off.
	Fortunately we live in a land of sensible drivers that make sure the wide open road has detours. In the land of America our detour to true freedom has been painted as many things but in my case that evening, it was a Sheriff and his friends.
	The details remain foggy because of that vile pill cocktail that induced a 5-day haze and crash period. When I woke up sober for the first time in jail, it was cold. I had been given a velcro suit along with no other clothing because of the whole suicide watch thing. Eventually I coaxed the guards to give me some scrubs and promised I would do no harm. Paige was all I could think about. Forced into isolation and thought- sober thought mind you- I finally had some new perspective.
	I was able to call Paige, thanks to a cell-mate with empathy. It cost money to call people in jail and I was arrested without the privilege of keeping any in a spendable account because of my incoherence. Though the phone call did not cost anything along the lines of sexual favors it did induce a great amount of anxiety so when she picked up and told me she was on a date and would have to call back I was even more crushed than before. How could she move on that quick? This kind of just proved my suspicions that she didn't care and it hurt.
	Everyone had told me she didn't, and to be honest I knew they were right the whole time. I was just so infatuated that at the time it wasn't a worry. Luckily this new-found sobriety gave me a clear outlook and made me question why things even spiraled into what they did. Obviously the drugs were a huge factor but they weren't the cause. This thing with women was new and exciting. It made my heart race and palms sweat. Sometimes it wore me down into a shaky bumbling mess. It was a drug all of its own and Paige was my gateway.
	Though we both probably resent much of our time together I can say thank you to her for exposing me to a new addiction. This one is far healthier than some of my previous ones and she helped shape the boundaries for the habit. Who knows how life would have been without Paige. Possibly better, possibly worse but I can guarantee that I would not be the same person I've grown to be.



Elise-

Has the world gone so fucking mad that we don't understand ourselves anymore? Elise gave up that battle years ago but it seems as if the rest of the nation is catching pace and taking a page from her playbook. How do you love someone who can't understand themselves yet? Seeing the good in others isn't a challenge.
	Empathy soothes and she's been told that kisses heal heart-wounds; But what if they were the cause? Committing your all to someone only works when they reciprocate. If you have nothing to commit, you might as well give up before the dance begins in order to save face and heartbreak for those who cross your path. Eyes are the window to the soul, and Elise can see through yours. Reading you like an anxious preteen whose hormones can't decide a proper speed to travel so they settle at 60 mph, tricking traffic patrols by riding the line.
	If you're not prepared for baggage and a long haul, leave your keys and allow a well fit suitor to replace you. No, that's not always the correct answer. Elise looks for passion and compassion. Someone who can build a world around them, yet doesn't lose sight of themselves. That is more difficult than you think, people are either selfish or selfless. There's not much echo room between the two personality types.
	Elise is her own kind of beast though. One I may never understand, though I know her the best. We've spent years and years fighting over values and rightfully earning what is deserved. Elise cheats karma constantly. Focused on present pleasures all the while negating future conversations.
	Sometimes she carries this rough mentality that life is her merciless bitch that she will force into submission, but that's really only on the up and up, mania filled days.
	Many would be surprised to find someone as sociable and masked as Elise contain dark, self-deprecating demons. She's hollow and will most likely be the death of herself; but dammit if I don't love her to all hell. For now, I'm keeping Elise around because really, without her life would be non-existent.






Ellie-

	Ellie walks around head consistently held high and passes it off as effortless to her peers. So wrapped up in the world of giving, loving and caring that she lacks time to reflect on self-worth. It's truly a shame; seeing the value in the flawed, yet focused on the only crack in perfection. No sign of guilt, which reeks of independence and general strength women her age can't yet comprehend. Wise beyond years, held back by fears. It is the tragic tale of the few malcontents that choose to remain incognito, faking their fleeting of despair.
	That is what made us what we became; two intelligent, emotional, society-rejecting beings, hungry for love and nurture based off of years of abandonment and betrayal. Ellie and I built something no one else may ever understand, dodging unacceptability and distance, gleaming and dreaming to beat all odds. It was beautiful, and perfect in every impractical way. Uncharted territories, curiosity and desire led to a chapter in my life that will never be matched. It was a union founded on love; the kind of love that was destined to be faced with hardships but meant to withstand them.
	The first time we kissed was admittedly awkward which proved from the get-go that this meant more; I was in my head, worried Ellie wouldn't be impressed and that never happened. Our first date was a testament towards what the rest of our relationship deserved- hours and hours into the night discussing our lives and listening on a level that felt surreal. More of that and we may have survived the deconstruction period. Unaware when it began, it was clear that it did but still foggy as to why.
	There's no one answer, it was a conglomerate of built up angst, emotional displacement and projections of unflattering mental health issues, not my suspected motive: infidelity. Though, she really always felt too loving to be capable of causing that much intentional pain. That is really what makes this the hardest; 2 1/2 years and most would have many negatives with anyone but not with Ellie. That's what always made her so special. She's honest, with herself and those involved. She's mature enough to understand games are meant to be handled by Microsoft and Nintendo.
	The unfathomable part is that in Ellie’s mirror, none of this positivity is reflected even though it radiates from her pores. The smile always seemed too perfect and genuine to be a lie so I will choose to believe that it wasn't. The memories will always bring tears, both happy and sad so they will become barred off until grain alcohol brings her back to life, which ultimately proves they can't be ignored.
	My room now generates enough anxiety to power a steam engine. Places where she once laid suffocate me. Hell, the same blank space where she set her phone would probably cause a panic attack if occupancy threatened to disregard the hollowness forever placed there. The movies we shared now set on alternate endings forever. Call me jaded but knowing these words mean nothing more than ink strokes on paper make me feel cheated.
	Sitting at one of the fine watering well establishments we used to frequent together it comes crashing. This placement, along with many strangers in passing over the last week, questioned the tears but did nothing but open the flood gates further. Constantly wondering how Ellie is and what she's doing puts me in a dark place and once again I'm choking back salty streaks of memories and regrets while writing this. To go on, moving seamlessly is easier when surrounded by people who are impartial and active but when solidarity arrives I crumble into raw emotion and obliteration.
	Writing this is like ripping open fresh wounds with tongs made of salt but I feel that it's necessary. I've always relied on words and their tangibility to make sense of chaos and distress. Regurgitate them until they make sense or develop a purpose. Part of me buys into the idea that more expressive letters and excerpts of our life presented to her would have changed the result but the more sensible side of me knows that's not true. She doesn't give a damn about words, no Ellie needs to see it in action and coming to culmination.
	Was I too late to pull the trigger? That question will never quit haunting which provides validity that I was. She just wanted to be loved. Was it that hard for myself to show the most amazing woman in the world she was loved? Apparently. That will always deteriorate ones self-esteem. Does she ever want me back? Or should I dis-associate? Those who know me best know that's not possible. Ellie's got a part of me that I'll never get back and it's the best part: her.






Gabby-

Gabby was immediately drawing. With a fresh bachelors degree from a prestigious university and a peculiar fascination with Sci-Fy; More particularly David Duchovny. That is an odd interest we shared, only to her he was Agent Mulder whereas to me he was Hank Moody. Nonetheless I felt a bond and connection with another emotionally detached straight woman. Getting Gabby to try the other side became an unfathomable goal that I could not let go of, even despite categorizing myself as taken. My evening plans were set in clay until hearing from her.
	She made me smile, though she had trouble finding reasons to smile on her own. This drove me to offer change, offer hope, offer things I could never bring to life. They were empty promises from the start so I never called them promises, but I recall the temptation to do so. It's still here and will forever be aligned with our history. Gabby on the other hand, wants no part of me.
	She's intelligent, remember? I can usually garner enough attention from smart chicks to rouse some lip service but that's where they draw the lines. This case was no different so I didn't treat it like it was. She'd met monsters like me before, even fallen in love with a couple male versions so it wasn't a surprise that it took a long time to break that wall down and little to have her build it right back up.
	Good for her, I thought. Unlucky for me, I felt. Gabby was untameable and my desires never felt higher but I was nowhere near ready to work the system as a cheater. She knew these things, as I've always lived by one misogynistic rule: only lie to one person per affair. She had my honesty from the get-go. Soon I found myself spilling ugly truths to her and she tugged hard. Not in the way that dogs tug your pant leg when they want to play but in the way that reclaimed her individuality.
	Gabby was the third wheel, my intentions were never to love her but she left me with little choice. Imagine, someone genuinely exposing their raw feelings for a moment, promoting love and the next minute, they deny the possibility of applying those emotions. I forced her to live in this world for months before she made the wise choice to halt further non-innocent behaviors or any contact at all. For this I can't blame her, but my flame burned and left third degree blisters on my self-esteem. Of course, that's all Gabby was for me in the beginning but we couldn't deny what it was and that's what killed it.
	Now that I'm alone and ready to provide more she's vacant, distant and annoyed by who she truly got to know. She will always creep into my mind, taunting what could have been. It's out of my hands as she maintains her ground. Little does Gabby know, it only makes me want her more.







Kristen-

Kristen is your typical "woo girl" minus the actual “woo-ing”. If you're not familiar with Barney Stinson, let me clear that up for you: she has no clue what she wants but she goes for what she thinks she needs on a regular basis, ignoring the toes being stepped on in the process.
	Women who give no fucks are captivating for the single reason that they're up for nearly anything; affairs, public sex, foreplay under tables at bars, and just about anything else you could imagine that doesn't involve children or animals. The only other major thing these girls draw the line at is a date. Though I had more respect for Kristen than just a tryst behind closed (and sometimes open) doors, we kept it as that. We had this bizarre understanding that all this could be was physical and I think both of us preferred it that way.
	Kristen harnessed little guilt while I manifested it, yet continued to allow myself to ride behind the wheel of hormones and steer it to the edge. One sharp memory with Kristen was one that isn't frequently discussed between either parties. School was ending for the semester so we made the best of it and compared bucket lists. Upon finding we both had a voyeuristic goal of sex on campus, we staked out a spot and set up a time.
	Walking down the hallway to the secret bathroom (it was the only on campus outside of a major hallway with lockable doors), my shoes began to increase in weight and my heart anchored into my gut. There was no excuse if we were caught. At an institution such as a college, on campus sexual acts don't go unannounced when spotted. This was dangerous and Kristen obviously felt the same way as she waited for me with the door locked, only allowing entry per-predetermined knocks.
	When Kristen heard my knuckles wrapping on the cold steel door I waited with baited breath. The few seconds felt like days. I imagined myself as an escapee from an internment camp, disguised by brush anxiously inducing panic attacks which would give me away. When I began to hyperventilate, she opened the door with a painted look on her face that advised me not to worry. In I went, once again cycloning into hedonistic tendencies.
	After our short and heavy session ended I left before Kristen with a simple thank you and a kiss. I returned to my next class, ready to ace my last final while she returned to class, ready to face one of her boyfriends.
	He was one of many which made that manifested guilt dissipate momentarily. That was until my morals took to defining my actions. To say I'm sorry to Kristen would make no sense. We both expressed the want, we showcased the need, we each created the scenarios, and we entirely enjoyed exploring the dynamics.
	For that, I can truly never be sorry, but to every Steve, Bobby, Derrick or Scott: I am sorry you've loved such carefree women. This is a learning lesson in magnetism, no matter how much you may try to disrupt its path, ultimately positive and negative will conjoin forces.