California killed my dream of a future with someone I love today.
Ironically, my best friend is heterosexually getting married on Sunday. It's very hard to be happy for her right now.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Ignorance shall be mankind's doom...
I know that ignorance is everywhere, not just in the Central Valley, where I hail from, but I was very surprised to witness so much of it in the house that I lived in for over 20 years.
I visited my mother for Christmas. As I'm driving into the area, putting on the layers of protection reserved only for when I go to visit my mother. Among the topics of this past weekend's discussion:
Proposition 8 and the fitness requirements of the police force. My mom has deduced that fat people should get special treatment if they want to join the police force (in keeping with the equal rights that the anti-Proposition 8 team has pushed for.) Oh yeah. Strong connection there.
My college career as a social science major (emphasis in women's studies) is too specified and won't help me get a job later. And my brief stint as a vocal performance major wasn't too specific? How about my two years as a trumpet performance major?
Dicks belong in vaginae. Not in lesbian vaginae.
Lesbians should pretend to be straight until absolutely necessary. My mom wanted to know why I'm so out. I explained that it tended to ward off the Christian right and, in general, people who won't accept me and therefore I don't want to waste my time with.
My mom told me that Dr. Phil said that employers look at Facebook (where I'm listed as interested in women.) Am I sure that I really want potential employers to know about...that?
"YES!" I told her (repeatedly.) "Because where I live now, no one has treated me any differently after finding out about me. If someone doesn't want to hire me because I'm a dyke, I don't want to work for them anyway."
"But Dr. Phil says..." mom began.
"Dr. Phil is probably a homophobe himself." (Isn't he from a red state?) "eHarmony doesn't help with setting up homosexual couples. Just because there's a 'Dr.' in front of his name doesn't make him an expert on anything."
"I just don't understand why you need to be so up front about it." And because I'm young and immature and haven't really learned to deal with people yet, I bit the bait and recounted the following story: I was at a party and started talking to a guy. He's an artist and I was very excited to talk to him because I saw a part of his exhibit at school. Anyway, he eventually turned sort of flirty, so I tried to casually bring up that I'm gay. And he looked like I just told him his guinea pig ran away while he was at summer camp.
"Why couldn't you have just flirted back and gone to coffee with him or something?" Hmm...do you mean: why couldn't I just be straight?
UGH. And on and on. Just recounting the conversation is exhausting. She has had 15 months, over a year, to get used to this idea, yet she has made no visible strides toward acceptance. Sometimes I wish she just would've been a normal Central Valley parent by cutting me off and kicking me out. So, since I've kicked myself out of her house, I think the next step is to just cut myself off from her, since she won't.
I visited my mother for Christmas. As I'm driving into the area, putting on the layers of protection reserved only for when I go to visit my mother. Among the topics of this past weekend's discussion:
Proposition 8 and the fitness requirements of the police force. My mom has deduced that fat people should get special treatment if they want to join the police force (in keeping with the equal rights that the anti-Proposition 8 team has pushed for.) Oh yeah. Strong connection there.
My college career as a social science major (emphasis in women's studies) is too specified and won't help me get a job later. And my brief stint as a vocal performance major wasn't too specific? How about my two years as a trumpet performance major?
Dicks belong in vaginae. Not in lesbian vaginae.
Lesbians should pretend to be straight until absolutely necessary. My mom wanted to know why I'm so out. I explained that it tended to ward off the Christian right and, in general, people who won't accept me and therefore I don't want to waste my time with.
My mom told me that Dr. Phil said that employers look at Facebook (where I'm listed as interested in women.) Am I sure that I really want potential employers to know about...that?
"YES!" I told her (repeatedly.) "Because where I live now, no one has treated me any differently after finding out about me. If someone doesn't want to hire me because I'm a dyke, I don't want to work for them anyway."
"But Dr. Phil says..." mom began.
"Dr. Phil is probably a homophobe himself." (Isn't he from a red state?) "eHarmony doesn't help with setting up homosexual couples. Just because there's a 'Dr.' in front of his name doesn't make him an expert on anything."
"I just don't understand why you need to be so up front about it." And because I'm young and immature and haven't really learned to deal with people yet, I bit the bait and recounted the following story: I was at a party and started talking to a guy. He's an artist and I was very excited to talk to him because I saw a part of his exhibit at school. Anyway, he eventually turned sort of flirty, so I tried to casually bring up that I'm gay. And he looked like I just told him his guinea pig ran away while he was at summer camp.
"Why couldn't you have just flirted back and gone to coffee with him or something?" Hmm...do you mean: why couldn't I just be straight?
UGH. And on and on. Just recounting the conversation is exhausting. She has had 15 months, over a year, to get used to this idea, yet she has made no visible strides toward acceptance. Sometimes I wish she just would've been a normal Central Valley parent by cutting me off and kicking me out. So, since I've kicked myself out of her house, I think the next step is to just cut myself off from her, since she won't.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Her
I can just imagine
My head on your shoulder
Relishing your scent
The brushing of my lips on your collarbone
Your hair tickling my face
That first imploring kiss
Tongues searching, soothing, savoring
The heat of your skin
Bringing sweat to my brow
Fingers tracing every curve
Wetness, burning loins- a miserable merciless master
Hands hesitant, hopeful, hungering
Leaving finger prints on the way
To ecstasy
My head on your shoulder
Relishing your scent
The brushing of my lips on your collarbone
Your hair tickling my face
That first imploring kiss
Tongues searching, soothing, savoring
The heat of your skin
Bringing sweat to my brow
Fingers tracing every curve
Wetness, burning loins- a miserable merciless master
Hands hesitant, hopeful, hungering
Leaving finger prints on the way
To ecstasy
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Me of Little Faith
I used to be such a good Catholic. I didn't pray the rosary everyday, but I felt guilty about it like every other good Catholic. It's not so much that I don't believe in God anymore, it's just that everything associated with religion has stripped me of all my positive energy. My anger at the followers of the religion who told me in the eighth grade that a friend of mine was going to hell for loving another woman slowly became directed towards God.
Does He/She still love me? Am I expected to overcome this? Everything in my logic self is screaming that no, it doesn't make sense. Why would this Someone who loves me instill these desires in my heart, if He/She intended me to submit to society's heterocentric values?
Yet, my heart still desires a relationship with this Being, who may or may not hold me to the expectations that Catholics/society holds me to.
"Do you think any less of me?" my friend asked when she came out to me.
"No, because I love you. It doesn't even matter. Just don't hit on me," I remember saying.
"Uh, don't worry. I won't." Frankly, I was a little insulted.
God, if I don't hit on You, will You still love me?
Does He/She still love me? Am I expected to overcome this? Everything in my logic self is screaming that no, it doesn't make sense. Why would this Someone who loves me instill these desires in my heart, if He/She intended me to submit to society's heterocentric values?
Yet, my heart still desires a relationship with this Being, who may or may not hold me to the expectations that Catholics/society holds me to.
"Do you think any less of me?" my friend asked when she came out to me.
"No, because I love you. It doesn't even matter. Just don't hit on me," I remember saying.
"Uh, don't worry. I won't." Frankly, I was a little insulted.
God, if I don't hit on You, will You still love me?
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Endings
Forget happy endings. What about just plain old endings?
I crave endings like rain in 100-degree weather. It's not that I'm suicidal: I'm not. It's more that I wish I had control over time. Like I could just say "stop" and the world would obey: and I could just sit and quench my thirst for silence.
But even silence isn't all that comforting anymore.
I feel tired and empty. I don't know how to escape. It's troubling that I still have so much life to live.
I crave endings like rain in 100-degree weather. It's not that I'm suicidal: I'm not. It's more that I wish I had control over time. Like I could just say "stop" and the world would obey: and I could just sit and quench my thirst for silence.
But even silence isn't all that comforting anymore.
I feel tired and empty. I don't know how to escape. It's troubling that I still have so much life to live.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Flashback
In the seventh grade, I remember telling a girl that she was beautiful and that if I were a guy, I would date her. And she was beautiful. Golden brown hair, bright green eyes, contagious laugh. Of course, within seconds, the entire school started calling me a lesbian: it was considered "name-calling" because I was incredibly insulted.
Even if it's what you are, to be labeled as "other" by your peers, especially during a time when you want nothing more than to be invisible. For the fat girl to be invisible was such a huge accomplishment. The only attention I remember getting from my peers focused solely on my boobs- the fat in my chest.
For the fat girl to be heard was equally unattainable. I played Edmund in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in 7th grade; I wasn't even pretty enough to play the wicked witch. I was onstage, mocking myself, destroying the lives of people I loved for a dessert that would love me back. I pushed people away, kept things superficial, lying to everyone and myself. But at least as Edmund, I could play up the angle of being sexually attracted to the witch: if you have a dick, that's allowed.
Today, I still don't like the label "lesbian." Just call me a big ol' "dyke."
Even if it's what you are, to be labeled as "other" by your peers, especially during a time when you want nothing more than to be invisible. For the fat girl to be invisible was such a huge accomplishment. The only attention I remember getting from my peers focused solely on my boobs- the fat in my chest.
For the fat girl to be heard was equally unattainable. I played Edmund in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in 7th grade; I wasn't even pretty enough to play the wicked witch. I was onstage, mocking myself, destroying the lives of people I loved for a dessert that would love me back. I pushed people away, kept things superficial, lying to everyone and myself. But at least as Edmund, I could play up the angle of being sexually attracted to the witch: if you have a dick, that's allowed.
Today, I still don't like the label "lesbian." Just call me a big ol' "dyke."
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