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Friday, May 25, 2012

Innie or outie?

And no, I'm not talking about belly buttons. Although maybe I should. I can fit a short stack of dimes into my belly button. I probably could do pennies, but it felt like a tight squeeze when I was testing coins. I was ambitious, I tried a quarter first because I figured my button was probably pretty stretchy, but alas, not stretchy enough for a quarter...or a nickel...and the penny was iffy. But the dime, well the dime was a good fit. Like the glass slipper to Cinderella's foot. Only more like a dime to a belly button. So yeah, I can fit dimes in my belly button. But that's not the main point of this...anymore.

Yesterday, Jim Parsons declared his membership to my church. A few days before that, Jillian Michaels had her membership confirmed, which lez-be-honest, was fantastic to hear, because although she has gay-face, she has fucking hot as hell gay-face, and our congregation could use some more caramel-y goodness. My god, the shine of her hair, the rasp of her voice, the ripple of her muscles, the throbbing of my...I mean, her um, veins. What I wouldn't give to lick her abs, among other...crap, I just blacked out. Sorry. So...what? Oh yeah, Jim and Jill, out of les closet.

The best part about this news, besides the hotness of Jillian, was that it...wasn't really news. At least not huge news, or mind blowing news. In fact, if you read the People article too fast, you wouldn't have even noticed the mention of Jillian's partner, some bitch named Heidi, who I'm sure is perfectly lovely, but Jillian's hair and muscles and hot face would go so much better with my curls and softness and cartoony looks...I LOVE YOU JILLIAN!!! Okay, I just splashed some water on my face, I'm fine. Anymuscle, the news wasn't earth shattering, it was more matter-of-fact than anything, and THAT'S the huge news.

I've long been a believer in the need for being "out". And by "long" I mean I decided this like, 3 years ago, and ever since then I talk about it a lot and I'm sure I've written about it before. Whatever. Harvey Milk has been my inspiration in this. He said "If they know us, they can't vote against us" and I absolutely believe this to be the truth. Coming out is the only way they'll know us. It's a terrifying process initially, and one that never truly ends, but my Gaga, it gets easier each time. There was one group of girls in particular who were older than me, and pretty, and fun, and just...they made me a little nervous. We became friends when I was just a puppy-queer, and I was terrified about being gay in front of them. But you know what? They could not have been more amazing to me. They could not have treated me with more kindness. And we could not have had more of a fahckin ball together. And I was out and gay the whole time we were friends. Any time I get nervous now, I think about those girls and that time in my life and I know it'll be gravy. Fahck, gravy...on Jillan's abs. It'd have to be low fat gravy, naturally, but still, lickin gravy off Jillian's abs. Abtastic. I need more water...

The more out we are, the less scary and hard it becomes, and the less "news" it will make when someone famous joins our congregation. I'm hopeful that down the line, it won't even be news, it will just be. Gay will be the new normal. I mean, if 70 can be the new 30, then gay can be the new normal. Fahck, maybe someday, coming out as straight will be news...because you know me, I think everyone is queer and bisexual and unfortunately, society needs to see sexuality as something that is black and white when really, it's the grayest fucking thing in the world, but that's a rant for a different time. Catch me after a few whiskeys, that's the perfect time(insert wink here).

"If they know us, they can't vote against us"...come on queers, let's introduce ourselves.

Oh, and I love you, Jillian.

Friday, May 18, 2012

TGI...shut the f*ck up

I hate the expression "TGIF", and I use it all the time. I used it just this morning, when greeting my friend Beth on IM. First f*cking thing out of my mouth. Not "good morning", not "hi", not "Community was hilarious last night!", I led with "TGIF". I'm fairly certain I lead with this word-wedgie in at least one cyber-conversation every.single.f*cking.Friday. TGIF.

I blame ABC for pounding that phrase into my brain back in the 90's, when shows like Full House, Just the Ten Of Us, and Boy Meets World ruled Friday nights. I can remember being excited about TGIF, not because I was Thanking God It was Friday, but because I couldn't wait to see what sort of pickle DJ Tanner might get into. Oh hell naw, I think I may have even sung along with the TGIF theme song! That makes me sad.

Nowadays, we beleaguered working stiffs TGIF every Friday, don't we? We look forward to Friday night every Monday morning. All day Sunday, I can see The Joyous One slipping into her Sunday night depression. It's a sad time, the end of the weekend. A sad, sad time. We see things as the end of something, and are not able to see past it. I mean, thousands of people have said this, this sentiment is echoed on t-shirts, quote walls, quote websites, all over the place, but I think I'm just starting to get it now. Without ends, there are no beginnings, we need ends so that something new can start. Circle of life, Hakuna Matata, and all that shit. My god I hate the Lion King. Anymustafa, I'm all for allowing myself a little sadness at the end of stuff, like a hot dog for example. But I need to be getting more excited about the end signifying the start of something else, like a Choco Taco. The end of my hot dog means I get to start on a Choco Taco...the end of my Choco Taco means the start of my Sleepytime Waltz...the end of my Sleepytime Waltz means the beginning of actual sleep...the end of my sleep means the beginning of a new day...etc etc etc. You get my point...which is Choco Tacos are awesome. Or something.

My wonderful friend Jessica always encourages me to look forward to something every day. She'll ask "what are you looking forward to today?", and it gives me pause. It forces me to think about my day, my night, my life, dissect it, examine it, poke it, shake it, and find something, anything, to be excited about, and every day I do, even if it's just going home from work. But that's okay because somedays, that's all that it takes. I've often been told I get excited by the little things, but the truth is, in my world, nothing is little. This is where my childlike exuberance, my refusal to grow up(read:immaturity), has served me well.

So TGIF, f*ck you. I'm not going to Thank God for *just* you anymore. I'm going to keep finding ways to make every day a day to TG for. I'm going to take walks, read books, listen to music, scratch my back, go out for dinner, hit golf balls, see movies, wash sheets, call friends, visit my niece, use my All-Clad frying pan, go home from work, greet birds, look around, laugh about farts, eat Choco Tacos, I'm gonna fill my weeks up with things to look forward to, no matter what they are, and every day...every day, I'ma Thank God It's Today...TGIT...which of course I read as "TIT"...aaaaaand scene.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Soft Cell...

Crap, I'm sensitive. I have known this for awhile, but I've had one of those weeks where it feels like a spotlight is being shown right on that ripple in my force field. I say that as if I don't have thousands of ripples in my force field, because...literally, there has to be thousands of ripples. In my force field. The way I'm saying this has me wondering what I'm actually talking about when I say "ripples in my force field", and my God, the word "ripples" makes me think of both Kelly Ripa and nipples. What am I talking about? I was going to use the term "chink in my armor", but after that Jeremy Lin-cident, where that sportswriter was fired because he used the headline "Chink in the Armor" when referencing a bad game by Mr. Lin, who just happens to be Chinese, and woops! racist...I'm never using that statement again. Except for when talking about that sportswriter who got fired for using "Chink in the Armor" for his story about Jeremy Lin. So yeah, my sensitivity: it is a huge ripple in my force field. Kelly Ripa. Nipples.

I wonder why I feel this way. Why I feel like it's a weakness in my otherwise super human bulletproof hard candy shell. I mean, where do I get off thinking I have a super human bulletproof hard candy shell? Seriously? Where did this idea, this notion, come from? I'm a hard ass? Really? I don't think so. I don't think I ever have been like, a "for real" hard ass. Not ever in my life. Now that I'm thinking about it, I think it's my face! I think I have a snotty face when it's in it's normal position, therefore making me seem like I'm some sort of badass. Or making me seem "hard".

To be fair, there was a period of time through high school where I was an absolutely horrible piece of shit. My parents, sister, teachers, strangers who I threw eggs at, they all can attest to this. I was miserable for a lovely stretch of time that must have felt like an eternity to some people. And yes, I admittedly did not care about much, I lied, I did unspeakable things, I was mean...let's be honest, I was a true c*nt. But I think when you average it all out, my childhood, teen years, twenties, and now...I'm more sensitive than anything, and I always have been.

I've had a few friends tell me that before they met me, they thought I was mean, and were maybe a little scared of me. While this did puff up my already sizeable chest, it didn't take long for them to realize that I'm pretty much cotton candy. Soft, sugary, I dissolve in water, and make children crazy. On the real though, I'm soft as shit. Or cotton candy. While shit is in fact soft, it does not smell pleasant, and I'm one of those people who smells awesome most of the time. I lost myself again...

Right, I'm sensitive. How does one change that trait about oneself? Is "oneself" a real word? I don't mind that I cry at everything, tearing up happens on the regular with me, and I'm fine with it. I actually like crying. I think it's healthy. But maybe I'm too sensitive. I've seen that it can lead to a certain...ugliness in me. An ugliness tainted with insecurity, and snottiness, because what you just said hurt me, but you didn't mean for it to hurt me, but it did, probably because I'm sensitive, and that's weak, right? And I feel it happening, I feel the words bubbling up in me that I know are the wrong words to say, I know this, and they won't help anything, and FAHCK! I just said them, and now I can't take them back, and I'm wounded, scrambling, cursing myself because I know what I've done and why, and FAHCK! this hurts, and how do I explain why it hurts, because now I'm not being talked to, or I'm angry, and I don't want to talk, and I'm angry with myself because again, I know, I did this, I know, and I'm hurt, I'm hurt, I'm hurt, and I'm hurt because I'm too fucking sensitive, and I've just essentially diarrhea'd on myself and am standing alone in a mess not knowing how to clean it.

Maybe I take things too personally. Am I sensitive, or do I take things too personally? Or is it both? I'm not looking for answers(unless, of course, you've got some), I just...guess I needed to write this. I cry a lot. I like to be held, either by a person, or by words, it doesn't matter, I like to be held. I'm sensitive to a lot of things, and to a lot of things that don't have *anything* to do with me. Which means I take things personally. And I shouldn't. But I do. And those two things, sensitivity and TIP(taking it personally), are like, beer before liquor, they make me sick, and ugly with puke face. And I'm sorry to those of you who have been caught in that with me,'s Thursday, May 3rd. And this is how I feel today.