Touch-a-Touch-a-Touch-a-Touch Me!

I have returned from wi-filess purgatory!

            First of all, happy roughly 20 days into the New Year, everyone! This is about the time where people start slacking on their resolutions, so if you made one for yourself, stick to it!

            Mini update: I’ll be officially completely out of the Dago Den by next weekend, though I never go there save to grab a couple of boxes when I have the time. Life at the new place is great. It’s cozy, laid-back, and so far has very few complications, save for my animals. Stella has her good days and her bad days with household accidents. Strangely, though, Rufio and Luka have decided that peeing on the floor next to the bookcase is okay, which has the potential to be disastrous. Since Rufio had had accidents on the bookshelf in the old place, I think it will be resolved if I toss it and get a new one. But yeah, other than that, living with Swarley is great, and living so close to Main Street is freaking awesome. I am about a block from Grounds for Thought. Life is sweet.

            On with my first rant of the year!

            For the record, this one is going to be terrible.

            If there is one thing with which I am synonymous…you know, other than the Joker, belly dance, and eating in a sensual fashion (which I still maintain I do NOT do!)…it’s that I love to touch. I definitely experience the world through my fingertips. I prefer to hug new people rather than share the traditional distant handshake. If I haven’t seen you in a while, I will leap into your arms regardless of how crowded or cramped the room is. If you’re sitting next to me, you’re going to get patted, petted, and affectionately squeezed. And if I have a ridiculous amount of affection for you, I’ll play with your hair, stroke your shoulder, and nuzzle up against you without even realizing it. Yes, I am one of those people who makes strangers feel incredibly uncomfortable.

            I also think I hold the record for most reprimands at the Toledo Art Museum for a person over the age of six due to my obsession with the texture of marble statues.

            I love my tactile nature, though it can become a bit of a hassle sometimes. In comparison to other countries, especially European ones, we Americans have some big ass personal bubbles. Touch is a very personal, private, and often misinterpreted experience for most of us. For me, this especially happens when my guy friends get new girlfriends, girlfriends who don’t know me at all and just see some crazy bitch burying her face in their boyfriend’s chest. American culture sees touch as very intimate, when doing the same thing in a country in Europe would be completely platonic.

            As a tactile person, I’ve always found touch in various cultures interesting, especially (of course) when it contrasts. For instance, American guys do some of the most homoerotic things; ass slapping, ball tapping, flashing their scrotums at each other; and yet they freak out about the fact that men in Saudi Arabia hold hands. The European cheek kiss greeting is just completely out of the question. I’ve always wondered why our culture is so rigid about men’s need to be MEN, but I could write a whole other blog about that topic.

            In my year and a half of being single, I’ve come to realize that I simply cannot live without touch. Naturally, when you’re in a relationship, you have a source of touch all the time; not just intimate touch, mind you, but platonic touch as well. I’ve always been a touchy person, and since I’ve been single, that has expanded and seeped into my daily interactions with friends. Nearly all of my friends are just fine with my constant hair-ruffling, arm-linking, and embracing. I rarely run into someone who just doesn’t like to be touched. That might be because I tend to run with a lot of theatre kids, but honestly, I think it’s more than that. I’ve come to believe that everyone likes to be touched more than we allow ourselves to be in our daily lives.

La la la, aesthetic paragraph break…

Now obviously, this excludes the formal workplace and things like that. For instance, I’d never put my hand around my boss’s shoulders or waist if we were walking somewhere together like I do with my friends. But what I’ve found is that many simple physical interactions that we automatically deem “intimate” are perfectly well accepted as platonic when I use them with my friends. I don’t mean things like kissing and caressing and ass-grabbing (though Drunk Dee has grabbed many an ass!) but I regularly hold hands and link arms with friends. I put my arms around their waists and lean into them. I love playing with their hair. If they’re sitting down, I’ll greet them by wrapping my arms around them from behind. Many of these gestures are seen as reserved for romantic relationships, but more often than not my friends welcome it, single and taken, gay and straight, outgoing or reserved.

I’m sure not everyone is okay with being manhandled by just anyone. The mantra of most of my loved ones is “Oh, that’s just D. She’s just like that.” I do have friends whom I don’t touch as much as others, friends who are okay with a greeting hug and that’s about it. But for the most part, my excessive physical affection is accepted. That assessment has made me wonder; why do we go out of our way to avoid touching each other in our culture? I’m not saying we should all be cuddlesluts like me, but what’s so weird about squeezing a friend’s arm or running your fingers through their hair?

I often tell this story to emphasize my point when I rant about this in the real world. At the last Black Swamp Arts Festival, a totally awesome annual tradition in BG, my parents were visiting because I was in a Shakespeare show going on at the same time. Before we went to the show, my parents, Venus, St. Jimmy, and I decided to walk around the festival. As we were walking, Venus and I ended up holding hands, a common occurrence, while we drooled over chocolate covered cheesecake on a stick and admired the handmade art around us. A few steps behind us, my mother was apparently raising her eyebrows.

“You guys are doing that lesbian thing again.” she said with a note of obvious discomfort strong in her voice.

Venus and I laughed about it, but I was actually surprised by my mother’s reaction. She and my dad have always been accepting of the gay community (seeing as I have a gay great aunt, aunt, cousin, and brother,) but apparently their straight daughter holding hands with her straight friend was uncomfortable. And let’s not forget the fiasco with George Bush holding hands with the Prince of Saudi Arabia a few years ago.

Touch is extremely important to human beings, and we take it for granted. Babies who are not touched can die, a condition known as Failure to Thrive. A single touch in a single place (minds out of the gutter, people!) can change a person’s entire mood.

It’s not even just about touching people. I’m infamous for touching things; leather jackets, soft fabrics, poles and shrubbery as I walk by them, and I already mentioned the statues at the art museum (sorry, art protectors!) When you think about it, we put our hands on so many things during the day, but we don’t really stop to experience it. I suppose if there’s any point at all to this pretty nonsensical rant, it’s that touch is one of the senses we take most for granted.

Yep…time to evacuate pathetic blog attempt.

Better one to come Thursday!