Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Reading is fundamental

Recently someone told me that my life sounds like a John Waters movie gone bad.  I took it as a compliment because of course, it's completely true.  What made the statement more amusing was that it was said by a drag queen.

I inadvertently came out to someone as Bi today. Well, I guess I was never really "in," to begin with, but it's not usually something I talk about.  Usually, the only things I talk about are stupid, useless and random.  Like telling people about the time I met Method Man while holding a sign that said "I even shaved my cooch for this." But let me get back to the point, which was I came out as bi today and it all came about because I can't read.  Which is a nice reminder of why reading is fundamental.

Let me start over.  I've always been bisexual, as far back as I can remember.  I really hate that word for some reason, The term bisexual reminds me of this joke I saw in one of my father's copies of Playboy magazine, when I was too young to be looking at those magazines.  The punchline was "a bisexual built for two."  I don't remember the actual joke, just the dumb punchline.  I prefer to tell people that I'm ambidextrous or tell them I'm an independent voter or something.  Those terms seem more appropriate, plus it always makes me laugh on election day when someone tells me that I'm registered as an Independent.  I've always been attracted to people and it never really had to do with a specific gender.   However, recently someone said I was actually "pansexual," and up until that day I didn't think that there could be a term that I hated more "steampunk;" but lo and behold, there was.

Anyways, I've always known I like people and it was apparent at a young age.  I remember not being able to decide who I liked more Luke or Leia, and I was probably about 4 or 5.  After having crushes and a few relationships in my teenage years, I finally decided to inform my family at some point around the age of 18 or 19.  At the time I was very interested in someone who happened to be female, and as luck would have it she was interested in me too.  I had talked to my mentor/college drama teacher, who said it was important that if I wanted to be open, to get this out of the way with my family.  I remember going into the kitchen at my parent's house where my mother, father and brother were.  I recall announcing that I was bi to the 3 of them and wasn't exactly sure how my news would be received.  My mother was the first to speak, she said "OK. I'm getting your brother a bedtime snack, is there anything I can get you?" My brother got up from his seat at the kitchen island, still keeping his focus on the kitchen television behind me.  He spoke over his shoulder, while carrying his ice cream and his cocoa into the dinning room.  I can still hear him saying "oh my god, shut up!  I can't hear the TV."  My father was the last to speak, as he was hunting around for the cigarettes that he was pretending that he had quit smoking.  He glanced over at me while rummaging through piles of stuff on the table and said "No, you're just playful.  Can a bum a cigarette off of you?  I think I left mine in the van."

It wasn't a tragic coming out story, but it wasn't one filled with love and understanding either.  Just eye rolling, avoidance and apathy.  It's a apt example of what my relationship with my family looks like though.  I guess it's probably the reason why I don't really approach the subject of my sexuality.  It's not really that I don't think that it's anyones business, which is why I don't talk about it.  It's just that I was given the feeling that it's more of a "nobody cares," issue.

For the past 10 or so years, I've kept a low profile.  Not just on these subject matters but really about everything. I've been cautious with the people I talk to and don't really let them see anything but the humor.  Most of this blog is dedicated to the funny, fucked up, randomness that goes on in my life. I only season gently with seriousness when it's absolutely necessary.  People from the past know about my history, but most of those people are just a part of the past.  My New Year's resolution was to be more honest, more open about things in my life.  Today, I casually opened up about something, and it was like an unearthing of this version of myself. Of course because this is my life it came about in an "only you," sort of way.  It wasn't like I just had this bout of courage to unleash this little known fact about myself.  It was actually because I'm a total moron and misread a text message.  Which is probably the reason behind why texting and driving are prohibited in most states.  And why reading is fundamental. But my honesty today was kinda nice. I guess I can even surprise myself from time to time. I'm comfortable telling people that this is who the am.  I am Bisexual.  I can't read.  I like Star Wars. I text and drive.  I hold up signs in Times Square about my cooch and it allows me the opportunity to meet people like Method Man.

Thank you for reading and sorry if it was more honest and less funny than it normal.  There's a line by the performance artist Holly Hughes in the monologue called World Without End, that I always think of when it comes to my sexuality.  It's a scene set in a dinner about her mother asking about her sexuality over a fried shrimp basket.  Her mother asks "do you like boys or girls or both." She replies by saying "both." At which point the waitress appears with cocktail sauce in one hand and tartar sauce in the other and says "oh, I'm so sorry!  I should have guessed!  I should have asked! You can have both, honey.  Help yourself!"

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Chicken. Parakeet. DUCK!

Yesterday I was at the gym and got to see a guy walk over to a mirror, blow his nose and then wipe his face with the open tissue.  This goes back to the theme in my life of things that seem to only happen to me, or things that I witness on a regular basis.  I talked about it in early episode called Only You.  I will refer to these blog posts as episodes.  That way it can sound dramatic like "I'm having an episode!" Maybe I'll start by giving them fucked up, out of sequence numbers too.  It will be my homage to Star Wars.

A few weeks ago I was almost hit by flying birds.  This happened at work.  I was inside.  I should probably mention that I work in a pet store as a dog trainer, so this doesn't seem too out of the ordinary.   These birds had gotten loose during a deep clean of their habitat and didn't have their wings clipped, so they were pretty excited about busting out.  Both birds spent the night stalking me.  One bird swooped down and touched the top of my head during my first class.  The other bird almost flew into my forehead during my second class.  Luckily, I was able to duck.  Although not a duck, a parakeet. Normally, I would just laugh and think this was funny, but I have a fear of birds.

When I was in 5th grade I went to a religious school, even though my parent's are considered a "mixed marriage," and totally not religious.  Half the day was spent studying a foreign language that I didn't understand because I hadn't been there since kindergarten and you know, wasn't religious.  So there was some holiday that was going on and as a symbol of good luck or something, the teacher brought in a live chicken.  I would love to tell you more about this mystery holiday but alas, the language barrier prevented me from knowing what was happening.  All I know is that I was dressed up that day, and at recess our teacher was with us outside.  He had said something to my friend and then removed the live chicken from the cage it was in.  I wasn't sure what was about to happen but my friend stood next to me  and seemed to brace herself for something.  The next thing I knew, my teacher grabbed the chicken by the legs and swung it over our heads.  Up until then the only chickens I've really ever witnessed were in the Muppet Show, so I wasn't accustom to their typical behaviors.  But I can guarantee you that chickens do not like being grabbed by their legs and swung over unsuspecting minors.  I know that I screamed and ducked. Although not a duck, a chicken. I know that I screamed, then chicken screamed and my friend just stood there.  I never remember running, not in gym class or playing tag or anything like that.  I remember running that day.  Not like when I ran away from school, but actual "get me the fuck out of here," running.  I remember thinking how fucked up it was that I had just had a live animal swung over my head and was also trying to run in dress shoes. I totally pulled a Forrest Gump and ran and ran until I was somewhere in the woods, away from school, away from stoic friends, away from teachers and their religious, swinging chickens.  Ever since then I have tried my damnedest to steer clear of anything flappy, or beaky with pointy feet.

Over the summer my friend wanted to help me get over my fear of birds.  She had gotten some baby chicks and invited me over to see them.  Seeing tiny chickens with names like "Damnit Janet," definitely made the experience less traumatic for me.  Also the fact that they were just walking around and not being waved over my head helped.  One of them was constipated and I thought that was funny.   And then in typical "only you," fashion, the other sneezed on me.

So yesterday at work my manager had mentioned the incident when the birds got loose in the store.  He asked me why I was afraid of birds.  He assumed I just thought they were gross or something, as I had previously admitted during the job interview that I didn't care for anything "flappy and beaky with pointy feet."  He was not expecting the dissertation I was about to give on my fear of birds.  He looked shocked and tried not to laugh, then admitted that he had a new found respect for me.  And once again I heard the phrase "Only You."

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Your Pussy Is Showing

We made it into 2017.  I know it sounds lame but I've actually made my New Year's resolutions.  In 2017 I need to be more honest in this blog and to try I need to write more.  I feel that problem with my writing is that I feel the need to sugar coat things and make them funny.  But not everything can be sugar coated and not everything can be funny, some things just are.  My fear is that I will come across as the pantload friend.  You know, the one who shows up at your house, complains about their life and then you both stare at your phones for 45 minutes until they finally decide to leave.  I don't want to be The Perennial Pantload.

When I think of my sensitive, vulnerable side I get defensive and immediately deem that "my pussy side."  I try to hide that as much as I can because I have this genuine fear of showing any weakness.  I guess we've all been conditioned to hide our "pussy," in some way.  I know that this often makes me come off as the ice queen, devoid of any emotion.  But I guarantee you, my pussy is real and I do have feelings.

For 2017 I need to tear down these walls.  I need "tear down that bitch of a bearing wall and put a window where one ought to be."  I need a window into my soul.  A window into my pussy.  I need a real outlet for myself to speak of the unspeakable.  To finally come out with the truth, even if it requires my "pussy" to be showing.  Last year I wanted to "wemble less and heckle more."  But this year is the year of the pussy. 2017 let your pussy show!

So from now on I will try to show my pussy without shame.  I will help to shed light on all of the big old uglies in the world.  I will no longer keep silent, I will be resilient and try to speak for all pussies that have yet to find their voice.  Because "hath not a pussy hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer?  If you prick us do we not bleed?"