By Guest Blogger: ST aka @Hidden_Gold
I first starting watching Big Brother during season 10 and quickly became addicted—it’s a sadistic social experiment and human game of chess all rolled into one. Shortly after, I began following Jun on Twitter for her insights. For those of you reading this blog who are living under a rock or only got to this page by googling dry hump, husband, fetish, and cleaning wench, Jun was the winner of Big Brother US Season 4 and continues to tweet and blog about the show. She is a fan as well as a winner and always on point about current contestants and alums. No holds barred. After season 10 ended, I continued following.
Part of the beauty of my own Twitter experience is my anonymity. I feel free to share (almost) every brain fart, and I’ll have a transcript of my oddball stream of consciousness for all time. In fact, it’ll be my Twitter feed archived in the Library of Congress that will explain to the aliens what caused the end of western civilization. So, it’s integral stuff.
What drew me to Jun, and what I suspect draws many to her, including her rabid haters, something that comes with the Twitter and Big Brother territories, is her lack of fear of opening up her world to the world. Jun’s giant balls. While I find similarities in my own (and my tweeting sister @waldette314’s) personality, I think my own balls are still growing and haven’t fully dropped yet.
I’m not sure when Jun started following me—I do know that right after, I sent her a DM that said “It’s about time!” At some point, Jun, @waldette314, and I began to joke that Jun was our long-lost adopted Korean-American-living-in-Belgium sister. We have foreign moms, similar senses of humor, are tough yet sensitive but really don’t care a whole lot about what other people think of us. Jun doesn’t have a sister so we adopted her as our own.*
I’ve never felt more like Jun was my actual sister until now. Jun asked me do two blog posts for her while she’s in Amsterdam with her husband Davy for a pansexual fetish party called Wasteland. I was being asked to support her sex life and love of interesting adventures (seriously, if ever someone needed their own reality show, it’s Jun).
Assisting so she’s free to get it on? That’s a sister call of duty.
Also, Jun knows I have both the desire to write and a paralyzing fear of it due to an insecurity about the quality of my skills, in general. So she gave me the opportunity specifically—without ever having read a writing sample. Giving someone you know well a giant kick in the ass to do something they’re afraid of and trusting them without having a proven reason to? That’s total sister territory.
Last year, months before Jun and Davy and baby Noah came to NYC to visit in November, Jun reached out to me, asking whether I wanted to meet up. I was flattered she asked, but I also wasn’t totally surprised. I knew so much about her, as whoever follows her life does, but I also felt like she knew me (and my awesomeness) pretty well too. So @waldette314 and I emailed Jun (disclosing our real identities, which was big for us), and we made tentative plans to get together. Plans have a way of falling through so I didn’t fully believe it was going to happen. Leading up to the Sunday brunch date, we each kept sending emails about how we couldn’t believe it was actually finally happening.
That day, as per usual, I was running late. I remember I started to feel the slight nerves I feel before a blind date. I’m confident that I can be charming on demand even while feeling uncomfortable with a new person, but always right before a blind date begins, I feel the beginning of a washing machine cycle churning in the pit of my stomach. It was the oddest feeling to have before finally meeting my adopted sister.
I texted @waldette314 “Where are you?” She responded: “Here. With Jun.”
Although @waldette314 is always brief to the point of infuriating in her texts, it did sound like she already felt at ease. Twenty minutes late, I finally walked into the café I had chosen, a small mom-and-pop shop run by a nice Israeli couple who call me by name whenever I walk in, something you don’t get often in NYC. My eyes scanned the room and zeroed in on my adopted sister, brother-in-law, and nephew sitting at a table chatting it up with my sister.
It felt like, “Oh hello, perfect stranger who I know better than most people I’ve known for years.” It felt comfortable—simultaneously normal and nutty.
It felt like home.
*I must say I also have a non-tweeting sister who is pretty awesome in her own distinctly unique way. She may not ever read this, but I need to protect my (so-flat-that-it-is-concave) ass.