whether you're coming out as gay, nerdy, trendy, a Belieber, a knitter, etc., the world can and probably will be unkind.
it's amazing the lengths we're willing to go in order to find that sense of community, and how desperate we are when we're harboring so many secrets.
whenever i think back to my days in the Lesbian Closet, it's hard to believe that the person experiencing all those woes existed in the very same body that carries me today.
and some of the things i did to hide myself now strike me as ridiculous:
1. dating boys.
2. throwing on a parka after swim practice and sprinting through the locker room instead of lingering around to shower and change with my teammates.
because, well, girls made/make me uncomfortable.
3. when a girl i was deeply in love with at swim practice offered to let me touch her abs as she was laying down, and we were alone on the deck in just our swim suits, i panicked and blurted out that i had to use the bathroom.
4. telling my parents, at the age of 8, "I know everyone thinks I'm a lesbian, but I just want you to know that I'm NOT."
5. laughing and nodding a little too rigorously when friends commented on a boy's frumpiness.
6. blushing whenever someone asked me what boy i was crushing on.
which actually worked well, as everyone tended to misinterpret the reasons behind my shade.
7. reading Jane Austen novels.
--
and when i finally started to deal with the gay thing and decided to look into the larger community, as well as to more fully accept it, kind of:
1. i googled "gay nerds" and found a forum that featured topics like "Hott Spock" and "Willow, Will-WOW."
i felt "connected."
after watching episode after episode of The L Word, it was nice to see that not ALL lesbians were wildly attractive, articulate, well dressed women.
2. watching The L Word on mute on the basement TV when everyone was asleep.
3. i avoided that girl i liked all the more.
too many feelings to deal with.
4. watching Ellen.
5. looking at colleges that were as far away from home as possible.
as well as their respective LGBT resource centres.
6. hugging people more often.
this seems a little irrelevant, but lemme tell you: when you're so determined to keep that Gay Secret, somehow you irrationally believe that your gayness can be discovered through osmosis or something.
--
but now that the gay thing's all done and dealt with, i laugh, really, at how melodramatic i made everything seem.
my Coming Out process was really anti-climactic and unexpectedly funny.
awkward, yes, and painful at times, but still easier to cope with than anticipated.
so now i find myself finally dealing with all sorts of things that were kept on the backburner: my inability to open up; my overall awkwardness; my nerdiness; my addiction to food; my weird insecurities.
it's almost as if my bored subconscious is trying to refill the big Worry Void that Coming Out left in its wake with whatever it can find.
my biggest concern nowadays is coming to terms with my awkwardness/social skills.
Lesbianism is so passe.
Showing posts with label lgbt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lgbt. Show all posts
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
33. hot damn i'm stupid.
I wouldn’t call myself a cuddle connoisseur.
Addict, yes, but my limited experiences don’t match up to those of my well handled utensil contemporaries.
But don’t worry: this isn’t going to be a too-long self-deprecating piece overridden with annoying insertions and lacking in embarrassingly silly and valuable learning-tidbits.
If anything, I’m proud of the progress I’ve managed to make over the past few years since my very first Spooning experience.
[Which was, I’ll say now, one of the most terrifying but enlightening experiences of my life.]
When I was in the process of sailing to the island of Lesbos, armed only with Birkenstocks and flannel - or the superficial knowledge of the lesbian being - sex was the last thing on my mind.
Raised in the clutches of a South Korean and a Dominican Army Colonel, who taught my sisters and me that handholding counts as a base and hugging leads to sex, zero attention was paid to the goings-on of my south of the border interests.
At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, the only thing I was concerned with was making my very first batch of gay friends.
So when a fellow, however more-experienced lesbian invited me over to her place to watch SNL instead of going partying with the other gays I met at one of my first-ever LGBT meetings, I didn’t take it to mean anything more than, “Yay! I have a new lesbian friend!”
When we got to her place, she switched the TV on, offered me a glass of wine, and told me to make myself at home on her 4-person couch.
Hospitable, I thought.
She sat at one end and I absentmindedly found myself at the exact opposite end.
As the show wore on, though, I noticed that the gap between us started shrinking.
Well, I guess that WAS an oddly huge space.
And when it got to the point where she was practically sitting on my right arm, and I awkwardly gripped onto the armrest with my left, I wondered if this was just how lesbians bonded.
After the show ended we talked a bit, but at 2am I felt that I’d intruded too long.
“Well, it’s getting pretty late...I should probably get out of your hair.”
“No, it’s too late for you to try to get home,” she said sweetly, “but you can sleep here.”
I hesitated before privately applauding her generosity.
She disappeared into her bedroom, and, assuming I was supposed to sleep on her couch, I made myself comfortable.
But, seconds later, she returned.
“No, no, you can sleep in my room.”
I hesitated again, an unfamiliar tingling going down my spine.
I ignored it.
...She probably has a futon.
And then it occurred to me that I might be sleeping in very close quarters to someone else for the first time.
Please, for the love of God, have a futon.
I followed her into her bedroom, which was devoid of futon; just a red sportscar bed, with high walls to prevent escape.
...Falling off.
I didn’t sleep that night, especially with her body pressed into my back.
Instead, I laid rigidly on my side, my nose touching the bed’s wall.
After, my friends abused me for my cluelessness and urged me to, “Go for it.”
Given that this was the very first time someone of the same-sex was showing interest in me, I was a little eager to see where it went.
The more Spooner and I talked, the more I appreciated her patience and intentions.
She was kind, knowledgeable, encouraging, and understanding.
I confessed things I’d never shared before, and found myself in the new position of wanting and being able to pursue a completely open and sincere relationship with someone, even in non-romantic terms.
Finally, a connection.
We hung out a couple more times, holding hands, me continuing to spout out awkward sappy lines and thoughts.
It was a nice, strange feeling, all those firsts.
Sharing firsts, hugging firsts, handholding firsts, flirting firsts.
Later, when she asked me what I was going to be up to over the weekend, I blurted out the fact that my roommates were all going out of town and I was probably just going to have quiet nights-in with some movies and food.
She said she wanted to keep me company and I, being slightly more savvy by this point, conceded.
When she arrived, I gave her my obscenely full binder of movies and told her that she could choose.
I didn’t expect her to pick the raciest movie in my collection, Y Tu Mama Tambien (which, if you haven’t seen it, is about 85% porn (but, of course, I only own it for its artistic value)).
But she did.
I put the movie on, we ate, and eventually we found ourselves on the couch.
It was my first intentionally-cuddling experience.
She laid across my lap, and the fact that this was physically the closest I’d ever been to someone didn’t escape me.
I relished it.
Though I still had no idea what I was doing.
My hand was around her waist at the beginning of the film, but as the minutes trickled by I noticed that, somehow, my hand was mysteriously finding its way further up her body.
And my heart was up in my throat.
I tested it, concentrating on my hand to make sure that I wasn’t the one responsible.
Sure enough, I was positive that it wasn’t me.
And I was positive that it wasn’t going to stop any time soon.
And, sure enough, I was very much aware that the latest part of the body that I was touching wasn’t flat like the rest.
Like some X-rated Ouiji board, my hand found its way to a new revelation: real-life second base.
I panicked.
My hand was as stiff as my back had been on our very first night together.
And it stayed that way all the way through the end of the credits.
Finally, we got up and moved, commented on how late it was, and agreed to get to bed.
Wait, MY bed?! I thought to myself, trying hard [and probably failing] at keeping my face neutral.
We went into my bedroom, and, unlike Spoon Mishap #1, I was very much aware of the event’s significance.
She climbed onto my too-high bed and I clumsily followed suit.
She laid down, fully relaxed, and I tried my best to do the same.
She was on her side, facing me, while I concentrated very deeply on the various cracks in my ceiling.
My heart rate accelerated; I could feel it fighting its way through my chest.
I couldn’t help thinking that she was quietly watching me.
So close.
This is it, a small voice told me.
Wait, what is “it?” a more urgent and anxious voice asked.
Desperate, I wracked my brains for the few potentially telling clues I picked up during the past few weeks.
Nothing came to me.
I decided to attempt to subtly watch Spooner for hints; maybe she knew what this was all about.
It was an impossible task, I discovered, as I slowly craned my neck as carefully as possible, trying to get a glimpse of her.
She caught me, though, and I knew it.
Tensed even more.
I thought I sensed her smiling.
I tried to breathe.
The jig was up; I surrendered and strained a smile at my own awkwardness before facing her.
A long pause.
This IS it.
“Here,” she whispered, placing a gentle hand on the back of my neck, pulling me towards her.
Closer.
Oh, God, I thought, and, Please don’t let me be bad at this.
I’m pretty sure I was, but I couldn’t have really cared less.
In a lot of ways, I was more preoccupied with the fact that it was happening, period.
Here it was: a testament to the progress I made in Coming Out of both my shell and the Closet.
Close.
I’m still very much an idiot when it comes to all matters of of showing affection; I’m either too timid to show the truth or I’m overzealous and end up mucking things up.
And now Spooner’s off to greener pastures, I’m sure, and I’m still navigating through this mess that is my timidness.
But I’m closer, I think, to figuring things out: laughing at my poor choices and learning from them.
At least, that’s what I’m starting to tell myself.
Every time I stay true to my cluelessness and muck things up.
::Sigh::
Addict, yes, but my limited experiences don’t match up to those of my well handled utensil contemporaries.
But don’t worry: this isn’t going to be a too-long self-deprecating piece overridden with annoying insertions and lacking in embarrassingly silly and valuable learning-tidbits.
If anything, I’m proud of the progress I’ve managed to make over the past few years since my very first Spooning experience.
[Which was, I’ll say now, one of the most terrifying but enlightening experiences of my life.]
When I was in the process of sailing to the island of Lesbos, armed only with Birkenstocks and flannel - or the superficial knowledge of the lesbian being - sex was the last thing on my mind.
Raised in the clutches of a South Korean and a Dominican Army Colonel, who taught my sisters and me that handholding counts as a base and hugging leads to sex, zero attention was paid to the goings-on of my south of the border interests.
At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, the only thing I was concerned with was making my very first batch of gay friends.
So when a fellow, however more-experienced lesbian invited me over to her place to watch SNL instead of going partying with the other gays I met at one of my first-ever LGBT meetings, I didn’t take it to mean anything more than, “Yay! I have a new lesbian friend!”
When we got to her place, she switched the TV on, offered me a glass of wine, and told me to make myself at home on her 4-person couch.
Hospitable, I thought.
She sat at one end and I absentmindedly found myself at the exact opposite end.
As the show wore on, though, I noticed that the gap between us started shrinking.
Well, I guess that WAS an oddly huge space.
And when it got to the point where she was practically sitting on my right arm, and I awkwardly gripped onto the armrest with my left, I wondered if this was just how lesbians bonded.
After the show ended we talked a bit, but at 2am I felt that I’d intruded too long.
“Well, it’s getting pretty late...I should probably get out of your hair.”
“No, it’s too late for you to try to get home,” she said sweetly, “but you can sleep here.”
I hesitated before privately applauding her generosity.
She disappeared into her bedroom, and, assuming I was supposed to sleep on her couch, I made myself comfortable.
But, seconds later, she returned.
“No, no, you can sleep in my room.”
I hesitated again, an unfamiliar tingling going down my spine.
I ignored it.
...She probably has a futon.
And then it occurred to me that I might be sleeping in very close quarters to someone else for the first time.
Please, for the love of God, have a futon.
I followed her into her bedroom, which was devoid of futon; just a red sportscar bed, with high walls to prevent escape.
...Falling off.
I didn’t sleep that night, especially with her body pressed into my back.
Instead, I laid rigidly on my side, my nose touching the bed’s wall.
After, my friends abused me for my cluelessness and urged me to, “Go for it.”
Given that this was the very first time someone of the same-sex was showing interest in me, I was a little eager to see where it went.
The more Spooner and I talked, the more I appreciated her patience and intentions.
She was kind, knowledgeable, encouraging, and understanding.
I confessed things I’d never shared before, and found myself in the new position of wanting and being able to pursue a completely open and sincere relationship with someone, even in non-romantic terms.
Finally, a connection.
We hung out a couple more times, holding hands, me continuing to spout out awkward sappy lines and thoughts.
It was a nice, strange feeling, all those firsts.
Sharing firsts, hugging firsts, handholding firsts, flirting firsts.
Later, when she asked me what I was going to be up to over the weekend, I blurted out the fact that my roommates were all going out of town and I was probably just going to have quiet nights-in with some movies and food.
She said she wanted to keep me company and I, being slightly more savvy by this point, conceded.
When she arrived, I gave her my obscenely full binder of movies and told her that she could choose.
I didn’t expect her to pick the raciest movie in my collection, Y Tu Mama Tambien (which, if you haven’t seen it, is about 85% porn (but, of course, I only own it for its artistic value)).
But she did.
I put the movie on, we ate, and eventually we found ourselves on the couch.
It was my first intentionally-cuddling experience.
She laid across my lap, and the fact that this was physically the closest I’d ever been to someone didn’t escape me.
I relished it.
Though I still had no idea what I was doing.
My hand was around her waist at the beginning of the film, but as the minutes trickled by I noticed that, somehow, my hand was mysteriously finding its way further up her body.
And my heart was up in my throat.
I tested it, concentrating on my hand to make sure that I wasn’t the one responsible.
Sure enough, I was positive that it wasn’t me.
And I was positive that it wasn’t going to stop any time soon.
And, sure enough, I was very much aware that the latest part of the body that I was touching wasn’t flat like the rest.
Like some X-rated Ouiji board, my hand found its way to a new revelation: real-life second base.
I panicked.
My hand was as stiff as my back had been on our very first night together.
And it stayed that way all the way through the end of the credits.
Finally, we got up and moved, commented on how late it was, and agreed to get to bed.
Wait, MY bed?! I thought to myself, trying hard [and probably failing] at keeping my face neutral.
We went into my bedroom, and, unlike Spoon Mishap #1, I was very much aware of the event’s significance.
She climbed onto my too-high bed and I clumsily followed suit.
She laid down, fully relaxed, and I tried my best to do the same.
She was on her side, facing me, while I concentrated very deeply on the various cracks in my ceiling.
My heart rate accelerated; I could feel it fighting its way through my chest.
I couldn’t help thinking that she was quietly watching me.
So close.
This is it, a small voice told me.
Wait, what is “it?” a more urgent and anxious voice asked.
Desperate, I wracked my brains for the few potentially telling clues I picked up during the past few weeks.
Nothing came to me.
I decided to attempt to subtly watch Spooner for hints; maybe she knew what this was all about.
It was an impossible task, I discovered, as I slowly craned my neck as carefully as possible, trying to get a glimpse of her.
She caught me, though, and I knew it.
Tensed even more.
I thought I sensed her smiling.
I tried to breathe.
The jig was up; I surrendered and strained a smile at my own awkwardness before facing her.
A long pause.
This IS it.
“Here,” she whispered, placing a gentle hand on the back of my neck, pulling me towards her.
Closer.
Oh, God, I thought, and, Please don’t let me be bad at this.
I’m pretty sure I was, but I couldn’t have really cared less.
In a lot of ways, I was more preoccupied with the fact that it was happening, period.
Here it was: a testament to the progress I made in Coming Out of both my shell and the Closet.
Close.
I’m still very much an idiot when it comes to all matters of of showing affection; I’m either too timid to show the truth or I’m overzealous and end up mucking things up.
And now Spooner’s off to greener pastures, I’m sure, and I’m still navigating through this mess that is my timidness.
But I’m closer, I think, to figuring things out: laughing at my poor choices and learning from them.
At least, that’s what I’m starting to tell myself.
Every time I stay true to my cluelessness and muck things up.
::Sigh::
Monday, January 3, 2011
32. Coming Out means you go through a second phase of adolescence. or my parents are just overcompensating.
before i Came Out, i seldom said a word about crushes.
or myself.
nobody - my parents, in particular - knew a thing about my taste in...anything.
i kept to myself, opted to impersonate my mother rather than offer up my own thoughts and feelings.
as such - that is, after shipping off to college and the island of Lesbos - after practicing trial-and-error for as long as i have (emphasis on the error), i'm realizing that these feelings of uncertainty and dumbassness and self-absorption in the context of relationships and self must be akin to those my hetero peers mucked around in several years ago.
after you Come Out of the Closet you Dive Blindly Into a Dark, Complicated, Terrifying Bedroom.
and, well, world, i guess.
if i was the kind to tap into that level of sappiness.
which i'm not.
aloud.
anywho.
my understanding of Involved Parenthood of Hetero Teenagers is that mom and dad are so nosy they can't help but say and do embarrassing things in the pursuit of buried, angsty feelings and preferences.
at least, that's how it goes in movies.
with the parents constantly making assumptions and causing their spawn to blush or throw unnecessarily emotional fits.
being that my parents were under the impression that they managed to raise three of the most a-sexual, pure young women imaginable, none of the Toro girls faced much interrogation growing up.
it was only when one of my sisters accidentally let some key piece of information slip that my parents became curious.
for me, that curiosity or concern for my love life didn't come about until i Came Out, and my parents were suddenly aware of the fact that, contrary to 18 some odd years of denial and silence, i actually DID have some kind of "drive."
so those cringeworthy conversations came about.
but instead of being completely agonizing, looking back i'm pretty sure it was all hilarious.
1. just months after i Came Out, my dad and i were at Borders partaking in some Daddy-Daughter Bonding Time [as he called it].
at one point, he called me over to the calendar rack - a crazy look in his eye.
"Pssst, Vickie! Hey, Vickie!"
"...Yes?"
"Come over here!"
"What is it?"
he pointed.
right at a Sports Illustrated calendar.
i blushed.
"Oh...um...great, dad. Awesome."
"You know what I JUST realized?" he asked, in one of those non-whispers-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-whisper.
"What?"
"When I say things about women, you could be thinking the SAME THING."
afterward, when i tried to change the conversation, my dad was determined to uncover my taste in women.
and was excited to find that i was, in fact, my father's daughter.
i was nauseous.
2. at Bath and Body Works, during yet another Daddy-Daughter outing, my dad caught me looking through some scents.
"Whacha got there?"
"Hm? I dunno. Nothing. Just looking."
he grabbed another bottle of the same scent and sprayed it.
sniffed it.
"Hm...Maybe not that one."
"Okay."
"'Cos you know, women like scents. If you wanna get girls, you have to have your own scent. So make it a really good one."
i stared.
"Here! This one's pretty good. I'll go pay for it."
3. my mother doesn't like too many people.
actually, for the longest time, i wasn't even sure if she liked me all that much.
but i digress.
one day, my oldest sister brought her boyfriend over for the holidays.
after, while my mom and i were in a car together, i asked her what she thought of him.
"Eh, I don't like him."
"Really?" i asked, "He's so nice, though! And Olivia likes him a lot."
"I know. But ugh. Beside, I'm yoh mommy. I'm gonna hate any boy you bring home."
"Ha! Well, that's lucky for me!"
at the red light, she stopped, looked me square in the eye.
"Girls, too."
and i knew that she was finally okay with my gayness.
4. i was lamenting the fact that i was single and clueless and hopeless.
my mother's words of comfort were a little uncouth.
"You know, iss actually kinda lucky you're a lesbian."
"...Why?"
"Women tend to like awkward, nerdy people better. Eben the pretty ones. Look at me and yoh daddy."
5. i told my dad that i'd drunkenly gotten a girl's number, but that i wasn't sure about giving her a call.
he was pumped that i shared this with him.
"Ha! You and I ARE alike!" he exclaimed, "When I was your age, and I'd get home from some party, I'd find girls' phone numbers IN MY CLOTHES. It was crazy, but I didn't know what it meant. My friends were like, 'Man, you should totally call her.' And I'd be like, '...Why?' It was hopeless. Ha! It's nice at least ONE of you girls took after me. Nice for me, not for you."
6. my mom told me she was a little surprised by my first girlfriend.
because she had always hoped i wouldn't pick someone like my mother.
i didn't see the resemblance til after that conversation.
and then it was all i saw.
7. the usual talks about how i'm a "wonderful girl, of whom no one is deserving."
gross.
and this is all i've got for now.
or myself.
nobody - my parents, in particular - knew a thing about my taste in...anything.
i kept to myself, opted to impersonate my mother rather than offer up my own thoughts and feelings.
as such - that is, after shipping off to college and the island of Lesbos - after practicing trial-and-error for as long as i have (emphasis on the error), i'm realizing that these feelings of uncertainty and dumbassness and self-absorption in the context of relationships and self must be akin to those my hetero peers mucked around in several years ago.
after you Come Out of the Closet you Dive Blindly Into a Dark, Complicated, Terrifying Bedroom.
and, well, world, i guess.
if i was the kind to tap into that level of sappiness.
which i'm not.
aloud.
anywho.
my understanding of Involved Parenthood of Hetero Teenagers is that mom and dad are so nosy they can't help but say and do embarrassing things in the pursuit of buried, angsty feelings and preferences.
at least, that's how it goes in movies.
with the parents constantly making assumptions and causing their spawn to blush or throw unnecessarily emotional fits.
being that my parents were under the impression that they managed to raise three of the most a-sexual, pure young women imaginable, none of the Toro girls faced much interrogation growing up.
it was only when one of my sisters accidentally let some key piece of information slip that my parents became curious.
for me, that curiosity or concern for my love life didn't come about until i Came Out, and my parents were suddenly aware of the fact that, contrary to 18 some odd years of denial and silence, i actually DID have some kind of "drive."
so those cringeworthy conversations came about.
but instead of being completely agonizing, looking back i'm pretty sure it was all hilarious.
1. just months after i Came Out, my dad and i were at Borders partaking in some Daddy-Daughter Bonding Time [as he called it].
at one point, he called me over to the calendar rack - a crazy look in his eye.
"Pssst, Vickie! Hey, Vickie!"
"...Yes?"
"Come over here!"
"What is it?"
he pointed.
right at a Sports Illustrated calendar.
i blushed.
"Oh...um...great, dad. Awesome."
"You know what I JUST realized?" he asked, in one of those non-whispers-that-was-supposed-to-be-a-whisper.
"What?"
"When I say things about women, you could be thinking the SAME THING."
afterward, when i tried to change the conversation, my dad was determined to uncover my taste in women.
and was excited to find that i was, in fact, my father's daughter.
i was nauseous.
2. at Bath and Body Works, during yet another Daddy-Daughter outing, my dad caught me looking through some scents.
"Whacha got there?"
"Hm? I dunno. Nothing. Just looking."
he grabbed another bottle of the same scent and sprayed it.
sniffed it.
"Hm...Maybe not that one."
"Okay."
"'Cos you know, women like scents. If you wanna get girls, you have to have your own scent. So make it a really good one."
i stared.
"Here! This one's pretty good. I'll go pay for it."
3. my mother doesn't like too many people.
actually, for the longest time, i wasn't even sure if she liked me all that much.
but i digress.
one day, my oldest sister brought her boyfriend over for the holidays.
after, while my mom and i were in a car together, i asked her what she thought of him.
"Eh, I don't like him."
"Really?" i asked, "He's so nice, though! And Olivia likes him a lot."
"I know. But ugh. Beside, I'm yoh mommy. I'm gonna hate any boy you bring home."
"Ha! Well, that's lucky for me!"
at the red light, she stopped, looked me square in the eye.
"Girls, too."
and i knew that she was finally okay with my gayness.
4. i was lamenting the fact that i was single and clueless and hopeless.
my mother's words of comfort were a little uncouth.
"You know, iss actually kinda lucky you're a lesbian."
"...Why?"
"Women tend to like awkward, nerdy people better. Eben the pretty ones. Look at me and yoh daddy."
5. i told my dad that i'd drunkenly gotten a girl's number, but that i wasn't sure about giving her a call.
he was pumped that i shared this with him.
"Ha! You and I ARE alike!" he exclaimed, "When I was your age, and I'd get home from some party, I'd find girls' phone numbers IN MY CLOTHES. It was crazy, but I didn't know what it meant. My friends were like, 'Man, you should totally call her.' And I'd be like, '...Why?' It was hopeless. Ha! It's nice at least ONE of you girls took after me. Nice for me, not for you."
6. my mom told me she was a little surprised by my first girlfriend.
because she had always hoped i wouldn't pick someone like my mother.
i didn't see the resemblance til after that conversation.
and then it was all i saw.
7. the usual talks about how i'm a "wonderful girl, of whom no one is deserving."
gross.
and this is all i've got for now.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
10. Beware of Working Gays.
a little while ago, Governor Bob McDonnell, of Virginia, passed a measure that excludes the LGBT community from an anti-discrimination law.
but be cool, my babies: surely there's a reasonable explanation for this.
several.
probably.
i mean, it's a law, right?
the thought process probably went something like this:
1. gayness is a choice.
2. gays make bad choices.
3. if they were smart, they'd wanna keep overpopulating the planet.
4. crazies.
5. crazies don't belong in the workplace.
6. they belong in asylums and closets.
7. gays look better in uniforms/suits/pantsuits.
8. it's harder to make hospital gowns as flattering as pantsuits/suits/uniforms.
9. lack of sunlight wouldn't do them any good, either.
10. they'd be pale.
11. and powerless.
12. unless they were vampires.
13. in which case, they'd just be pale.
14. then we'd know for sure that they were evil.
15. it's science.
16. God invented science.
17. but He didn't invent gayness.
18. they belong in asylums and closets.
19. plus, i'm pretty sure they'd be checking us out all the time.
20. distracting.
21. science.
Monday, April 12, 2010
9. Never Walk Alone. On a Playground. In Daylight.
seriously.
it's common sense.
and nobody had to really tell me about it.
i found out on my own.
once, when i was in second grade, my class was walking across campus to the PE building when i decided to lag behind a bit to stop at the water fountain.
i wasn't bothered when my class disappeared around the corner; honestly, what's the worst that can happen on a playground?
but as i drew back from the fountain and took just two steps, i found out exactly what.
in a flurry of hair, pink light-up sneakers, and frills, a mysterious force socked me right in the stomach and pushed me onto the ground.
for the first couple of seconds, i was sure only of two things:
1. i'm on the ground.
2. there is a weird hip thrust action going on.
and it was over as soon as it started.
briefly, i managed to catch a small glimpse of my attacker: a girl i only knew by face and reputation.
the second grade weirdo.
i laid there for a bit longer, trying to let the recent events register.
a third thought popped into my prematurely lesbian-aware mind: How did she KNOW?
slowly, i sat up, stood up, re-oriented myself, and made my way towards my PE class.
when i rounded the corner, my teacher ran up; suspicious, probably, because of the disheveled state of my hair and clothes, and the look of pure confusion and wonder on my face.
"Vickie!" she said, "What happened? Where were you?"
i looked up at her, speechless.
i wracked my brain for the right words.
i wasn't even sure if there were any words in the English language that could completely do the story justice.
and then i remembered the James Bond movies my sisters let me watch.
and the Dawson's Creek and Titanic.
i tapped into my no-no vocabulary.
i came to my senses.
"She," i started, still hesitating, still trying to fully register what had happened, "Sh-sh-sh..."
"...Yes?!"
"She...HUMPED me!"
she stared.
"She...what?" she whispered.
"HUMPED!" i repeated loudly.
"Shhhhhh" she said, urgently, "What do you mean by 'humped?'"
thinking that she wasn't quite on my level of vocabulary, i decided to help her out by demonstrating.
"Humped!" i said again, thrusting my hips, "HUMPED!"
she immediately grabbed my shoulder, "Stop that!"
i suddenly remembered why that word was in my no-no list.
i thought i was in trouble, or that no one would understand.
then, out of nowhere, a classmate of mine, a girl, came out from behind the teacher.
her face was streamed with tears and it was obvious that she had been listening the entire time.
my teacher and i considered her for a shocked moment before she finally managed to sob, "ME, TOOOOOOOOO!"
so, really, i learned two important lessons:
1. never walk alone.
2. i'm not the only secret lesbian in second grade.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
6. Confederates Need Remembering, Too.
recently, Governor McDonnell, of Virginia, declared the month of April "Confederate History Month."
this declaration comes not long after he and his attorney general's attempts to encourage discrimination against LGBT individuals in Virginia universities.
consequently, he's gotten quite a bit of flack for his radically conservative actions.
...the latest in these selective and conservative actions was the governor's decision to exclude any mention of slavery in his seven-paragraph Confederate History/proposal for the Month.
but really, Liberal-Minded Media?
what's the matter with polishing up some unpleasant, wishy-washy details, between friends?
you're all overreacting.
i mean, the Confederates deserve as much respect and remembrance as any other culturally/racially/socio-economically oppressed sect of society, right?
plus, Confederacy is so much fun!
i even googled/wikipedia'd it to make sure.
here's what McDonnell must've been thinking:
1. when else would i be able to wear my wizard hat?
2. slavery is soooo depressing.
3. plus, it got shiz done.
4. plus, it was ages ago.
5. let's face it, Lincoln was kind of a tool.
6. wizard hats > top hats.
7. i <3 secession.
8. equality is for pansies.
9. it never hurts to remind people of how white Virginia is.
10. and of God.
11. there are way too many heathens in Virginia these days.
12. gays, i mean.
13. gays and brown people are taking away the rights of good people.
14. er, straight people.
15. and Christians.
16. ...and white people.
17. right people.
18. they're everywhere now.
19. the wrong people, i mean.
20. er, "different" people.
21. people judge me if i hang up my Confederate flag.
22. or deny people equal rights.
23. sheesh.
24. i can't say anything anymore.
25. but maybe if i remind them of how important the Confederates were, They'll get off my back.
26. Confederate History Month.
---
it's okay, McDonnell: this multiracial, queer woman has your back.
no worries.
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