Proud to be me

It was December 2001 in Omaha, Nebraska. The Twin Towers had just fallen a couple months back, and the nation was still on edge. The things discussed at home were how gas prices sky-rocketed, terrorists are taking over the nation, anyone who isn’t white is a bad guy and Cody, when are you moving out of the apartment? That last part was more of a discussion with myself, I couldn’t live with my family anymore. I was 18 years old and one semester in college. What wasn’t discussed was how I was doing in school. Shitty. I was working full-time trying to earn enough money so I could move out of my Mother’s apartment. I was working full-time so I could pay for school on my own. I didn’t have financial support for school, and my emotional support was lacking. But I get it, my brothers had their things going on, my mom was single and making ends meet, I needed to focus on Cody. I would have aggressive physical fights with my little brother while my older brother would root me on, “kick his ass, Cody, don’t be a pussy”. Well, maybe I had a little support there. That wasn’t the first time a neighbor knocked on the door wondering where my Mother was and shall they call the cops? I don’t blame him, I really tore up my little brother, mostly just scratches on his back, but whatever. My brothers wore my clothes obsessively, and it pissed me off so much! I would hide them in my Mom’s closet, like other things about myself, just so they wouldn’t find them. I wouldn’t mind if they wore them, if only they would take care of them and not stain them or stretch them out. I was much tinier than both of them, so it never made sense to me why they would want to wear my smalls? I know now that it was because I had a sense of fashion. Button downs and polo shirts from American Eagle and jeans from Hollister, how could they not want to steal my clothes? In February 2002, I came out to a co-worker, and she embraced me with her lesbian arms. She took me out and introduced me to a whole new world that intrigued me. A place where I can learn about myself and let it all out! Everything I had building up inside of myself finally had a place to shine in the world. The Max and Club Joy were the places to be in Omaha. I stole my older brother’s military ID that he obviously didn’t use anymore. I tied a bandana on my head and headed to the bar with Jen, Maria and Karla. My heart was racing before I entered The Max for the first time. The girls told me to have a beer wrapped in a brown paper bag with me the first time I go in. They will be so distracted that I’m already drinking that they won’t even second-guess my expired military ID that obviously doesn’t look like me. The ID expired in 2000, my brother is 3 years older than me, although I looked 15, though I was 18 years old, and his weight on the ID was 175 lbs and I was about 130lbs. “You can’t bring that in!” yelled the bouncer, then he grabbed the beer, browsed my ID, stamped me and pushed me through. Hello gay bar! My older brother had no idea, but he helped me get into the gay bars for the next 2 ½ years without a single hiccup. It wasn’t until Pride in Kansa City, a couple years later, that I tried to get into a bar behind another guy with a fake military ID that I got caught. So instead of giving up on that night, my friends did me up in drag and not more than 30 minutes later, I entered the Dixie Belle with a blonde wig, red dress and combat boots. I stuffed my bra with my pants, t-shirt and baby wipes. After I walked the bar, I went to the bathroom and chucked the dress in the trash, baby-wiped my makeup and checked the wig at coat check. That’s how we did it. Just for a few hours to be surrounded by sweaty gay boys and witty drag queens, it was well worth it. I felt proud. I was proud to have friends that looked out for me and that I looked up to, and proud of my courage. I will never forget those boys. The KC crew really brought me out of my shell, and I am forever grateful. Happy Pride.

A brief insight to my Burning Man Experience

I recently went on a vacation to Black Rock City for the Burning Man Festival in Nevada. A place that many people think they know. An event that is unknown to many, spoken about by some, experienced by those who need it without knowing that they needed it and revisited by those who found a new home and are anxious to go back for their reunion.

I went to a dried up desert with no said expectations, although with many expectations. I wanted to be wowed, blown away, and inspired. What I took away was so much more than I ever expected. Before I went, I was watching videos, looking at photos and reading blogs, then I thought I was over saturating myself with what has happened in the past, and I didn't want to be let down, so I stopped researching and left it to the Universe.

What I discovered was complete acceptance of everyone and everything. Every burner has their very own experience and adventures, and here is a glimpse at mine. Adventures make up your day and night. You don’t say “let’s go to the Temple”, you don’t say “let’s go get snow cones” and you don’t say “where are we going, and what are we doing” rather you say “let’s go on an adventure”. You may think you know, but at each turn and every camp, there is a new adventure. In Black Rock City, you don’t second-guess your actions, you just DO. Something in you wanted to stop and park your bike, walk up to the seesaw and take it for a ride. Something in you said to go to the Temple at that exact moment. Something in you decided to make a move that was merely the next step in your adventure. Immediacy is precious and important at Burning Man. I thought I “lived in the now” prior to going to Burning Man, but it really presented to me that I didn’t, and I thank this event for shining light on that for me. 

I had a spiritual journey. I had an emotional journey. I had a dance journey. I had a music journey. I had a fulfilling journey. The way of living is beautiful in Black Rock City. One day I went on an adventure on my own. I had a Bloody Mary and a piece of bacon next door, and then I got on my bike and went to The Playa, the main playground/museum/dance floor of the city. I went to a small structure that was built like a Mayan Temple. I went to rest. A girl walked up to the top and sat in the middle and played a song on her ukulele. It was perfectly beautiful. I then went to a tall structure of the woman statue that is probably one of the most photographed pieces of art from Burning Man. There was a sweet lady who spoke very little English taking pictures with her camera. I had a view of the woman holding the light, so I asked her if I might take a picture with her camera. Without hesitation, she smiled, said yes and handed me her camera. I took two photos of what I saw, in an attempt to share with her the beauty I witnessed. I told her to wait until later to look, and I hugged her and rode off to the main Temple. I parked my bike and entered the main Temple, a place to mourn, pray and celebrate life and death. This is the quietest place in the city. Built without a single nail, the entire temple is covered in prayers, articles and personal belongings that would eventually be burned at the end of the week. The center has a of the temple has massive hematite stones, known for absorbing energy, stacked on each other. I wrote some prayers and my favorite quote on the temple walls, “Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end”. Once I put the period at the end of my quote, I started uncontrollably crying. The energy in the temple is so incredible, that my body felt empathy, compassion, sadness and happiness all at once. I walked to the center and I saw Frenchy sitting on the ground, we locked eyes and he smiled and waved me over. Frenchy was part of my camp, so we knew one another. I sat with him in silence and we started crying together. Crying for nothing and everything. A woman behind me placed her hand on my shoulder and I melted. I turned and she just smiled. About 15 minutes went by and we decided to leave. We exited and had someone take a photo of us in front of the Temple.

We were set to go our separate ways, and Frenchy said, “I’m going on an adventure, would you like to join”, and without hesitation, I said “yes, yes I would”. Went rode off to The French Quarter. I wanted to send a postcard to a fellow camper at the post office near the French Quarter known as BRC3PO, which is Black Rock City at the 3pm Post Office.

 While I went to send the card, Frenchy waited in line at Café Du’Monde. While he was in line, he met two girls who so happened to know his co-worker, so we asked them to join us for coffee in the café. Let me make note, that we do not pay for anything in the city, there is no currency except for ice and coffee in the center camp. This was not “center camp”, this was what felt like New Orleans. After coffee, we went and had cereal at the cereal bar across the street. The Cereal bartender specialized in making cereal cocktails, which is mixing various types of cereal in a martini shaker and pouring them into a bowl, adding soy milk for us to enjoy. I attempted to bring a bowl of cereal to the girl that helped me send the postcard, but she kindly refused. We went across the street again and I had a snow cone. We crossed the street again and had Mojitos. While we were waiting for the mojito, a man in his 50’s, with a cowboy hat and completely nude had a conversation with Frenchy and I that was delightful. While in line I met people from Morocco, Brazil, London, Texas and New Mexico. We finished our mojitos and continued on our adventure out of The French Quarter. A girl was announcing on the street that they were serving margaritas, so we quickly pulled over. I sat on a merry-go-round while Frenhcy went to get our margaritas. Someone spun the structure so when Frenchy arrived, I was going round and round, seeing him every 3 seconds until it finally stopped.  We saw a big structure that looked like an amphitheater, so we headed that direction. It was a place that had petrified cats as décor and specialized in hot teas, while in the theatre, they had circus acts performing. There were couches to sit on and enjoy your tea and performing acrobats. We continued on to another place that had margaritas. They also had some people singing karaoke to “Love Shack”, so I picked up a plastic blow up guitar and pretended to jam out with them. In the back area of their camp, they had markers and scarves for guests to create their own scarves. Frenchy and I took the last two and each created a scarf. They spray them with alcohol and vinegar and let them dry in the sun while we finish our second margarita. On our way back to camp, we hear the sloppy sound of spaghetti being plopped on a plate, so we quickly brake, park and enjoy spaghetti. This was on one day between the hours of 11am-4pm. There are so many adventures to share, but this was one of my delightful and calm favorites.

Everyone eventually gets a “burner name”, usually determined by others. Frenchy, because he has a thick accent, and is from France. My name is Smiles.