|Not pictured: Nutcracker|
My friend So is a total bro-brah.
Which is particularly fun considering that growing up, So was my best friend. And he was a girl.
A few days after Christmas, the two of us were in a warm bar on a cold Vermont night. I was explaining something extremely important about my life: "Well, I think I kind of, but maybe, well I could make it work but- what if- however, then again-" and picking at the sugar crystals on the rim of my glass. So leaned back, crossed his arms and shook his head.
"Oh, you ladies." He said. "You're always saying things like this."
We really are.
I'm sure there's a lot to say about his transition into bro-hood. I keep trying to type it out, but each time I loop back to the same conclusion: I don't really care all that much.
Bare with me. I care enough to brag about him. I care enough to be really proud of him. And I love that he's willing to talk about all of it, answer all of my questions, no matter how straightforwardly I pose them. Sometimes he'll launch into a monolog about gender identity and queer stuff and I'll have to stop him and say, "What on earth are you talking about Sophia I mean So? Are you a boy? Are you a girl? Does this make you straight now? What exactly is going on here?"
Always, he'll stop, smile at me, and say, "Ahh....that's why I love you, Lina."
Thank God I don't have to be all, "Well, I celebrate the spirit that is you that is unnamed that is unlabeled that is pure creature that is hardwired that is learned." Because what the?
Curiosity and pride aside, I don't care. At all. Maybe because it's not a total surprise. Maybe because I'm shallow as shit and whenever we talk about gender I mostly want to steer the conversation back to me and whether or not bangs would be a BIG mistake. (Talk about a transformation!) Or maybe because people are people regardless of what goes on in the pants. Whatever. We'll never know.
Yesterday, So and I were drinking hot cider with ginger brandy and orange zest. What we were drinking has nothing to do with the story but it was really very delicious.
I really regret using that term.
Anway, I asked him the changes that T brought on and he said, "Well, my stomach is rock hard, the bone structure in my face is more defined and I can eat a lot more."
Jesus. Sign me up.
After he went back to LA I got to thinking. I think I read a few pages of a book about it while eating sushi alone. "Okay," I decided, "Let's be sad because we're losing Sophia and then be joyous because we're getting a So, a boy!" I'm a little proud of how many successful friendships I have with boys, so having one more will be peaches.
Boy, that was a bust. That sort of reasoning was totally lost on me. First of all, I don't use the word 'joyous' unless we're discussing waffles with stuff on them.
Secondly, and arguably more importantly, both So and I have lost people people before, as in they are dead. It's NOT THE SAME. So and I lost our first climbing partner, Ben, after he fell off something tall, and we miss the shit out of him. God damned it we miss him! But I don't wake up in the morning missing Sophia. Not at all. Although some people might.
I know that gender matters. Totally. I'm a girl through and through and oh, I love being a girl. And getting away with things that only girls get away with. Here's an example. At the restaurant last night, there was a life sized nut cracker. I really wanted to take a photo booth photo shoot with my iPhone with So and I and the nutcracker.
He was not into that idea.
I can think of more than a few girls who would totally do the nutcracker shot. Then we'd probably make a collage out of it and text it to each other. And my friends and I aren't even particularly girly.
I can't think of one single boy who would participate in such a thing willingly.
Another reason I know I'm all girl: I frequently browse Facebook looking for the opportunity to write this: Oh what a great pic!!! I love you soooooooo much!! xoxoxo. Usually on a photo of someone I haven't seen in six years.
Funny thing is, I always mean it.
That's a girl thing if ever there was.
You wanna know what a 'boy thing' is, by the way? A boy thing is to text: Oh I loved that story you told I think I'm in love with you. So then you, the girl, text them back about New Years plans and maybe having a bonfire and they don't get back to you for TWO DAYS and then they say something like, "Oh, sorry, I was on the bike trainer."
You were on the bike trainer for TWO DAYS?
God, boys are such pains in the ass. And now there's another one! Oh, man, So! Why??!
But as you can see, those are my own issues.
In conclusion, I love that boy. Gender matters but I really don't care which gender So is. I do trip up a lot when talking about him:"She said- wait- He said, I mean sophia said, not that's not right- well-" but it's only because I've had 14 wonderful years of calling So Sophia. That's all.
Otherwise, eh.....whatever. I love you!
Now, let's get back to the issue of my bangs. Yay? Nay?