I love my rainbow flipflops

Not long ago, i made the break and unearthed my technologically dysphoric self long enough to get a facebook account. I've been teased for it by a few friends, but i do enjoy being able to keep in touch with people. The multitude of "applications" is obnoxious, but hey, they gotta make their money somewhere.

This tool of "social networking" has helped me to become more unfettered by my ubiquitous self-consciousness. Today i even let the (facebook) world know that I was considering attending the 30th annual Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Festival and Parade that will be taking place this weekend.

Now, if you know me at all or have read anything I've written, you will know that I do NOT profess to belong to one of these categories. (I'm sexually ambivalent - i fell in love with a person despite of the genitalia, not because of it...) Here's the thing. I used to hang out with the gay crowd in Montrose ALL the time. It was fun to be a straight girl around gay guys. I felt a whole lot more comfortable hanging out at JR's pre-relationship than I do now.

But I really, REALLY want to go to Pride this weekend for one reason and one reason only. I have the most AWESOME pair of rainbow flipflops. I think I can handle being labeled a lesbian for the weekend if it means I get to wear my flipflops.

Superficial, whatever.

The Spectrum

I started writing a book, but I don't think it's going to take. This is the gist of what I wanted to say in one of my as-yet unwritten bestsellers.

I believe that sexuality has a sliding scale.
There are currently 5 definitions in which to fit every individual's personal sexuality.

1) Straight. We know this one: the man prefers women, the woman prefers men. Simple enough.

2) Gay. Man prefers men.

3) Lesbian. Woman prefers women.

4) Bisexual. Man or woman prefers either men or women. I hate this word. It has terrible insinuations and implies promiscuity.

5) Transgender. Usually man (but sometimes woman) feels as though he or she has been born in a body of the wrong gender.

Somehow or another all 18 cajillion people on this planet are supposed to fall squarely in to one of these 5 categories. I find this simply impossible. Its like trying to categorize all of mankind in to one of five clearly defined ethnicities or even better, one of five clearly defined shoe sizes.

Here's where the sliding scale comes in; Imagine a spectrum if you will. At the one end, you've got your reds. These are the people that are 100%, without a doubt, dyed in the wool heterosexuals. The men want women and only women. The women want men and only men. Nothing else has ever crossed their minds, not even once.

At the other end, you've got your violets. These are your 100%, can't do anything about it (though throughout the years, sadly, many have tried) were born that way homosexuals. These are the people who grew up knowing something was different about them, and may or may not have known what was different about them. My girlfriend, D, for example, began proposing to her sister-in-law with the rings that come out of a gumball machine at the age of 3. Every trip to the gumball machine revealed a new ring to be presented to her brother's then girlfriend, now wife. D claims she probably went through over a thousand of the tin rings over the course of those early years. She knew she was not like the rest of the world, but tried anyways. She dated a few boys in high school, but did not fully embrace her sexuality until college. Many, many homosexuals feel this way. This how God made them, and this is how they are meant to live their lives.

I fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. I refuse to call myself a lesbian - I am not a bright violet who has always known there was something different about me. I enjoyed relationships with men, and quite frankly, should anything happen to D, I'd have to say that I'd begin looking for a partner with a penis when I decided I was ready to get involved with someone again. Not that I wouldn't be open to another relationship with a woman, but I really can't see myself hanging out at Chances trying to pick up chicks. If I must fall into a label, then I've created one of my own: Sexually Ambivalent. I fall in love with the heart and soul of a person, rather than the definition of a person by his or her genitalia.

I wonder if it will catch on. Maybe I should call Ellen.

The sweetest thing

Yesterday, two little old ladies, Del and Phyllis stood before the mayor of San Fransisco and got married. They have been together for 55 years. Fifty-five years!

Yeah, the gay thing kinda weirds people out sometimes. I used to be one of them. [I STILL have no desire to EVER go to a melissa etheridge concert again (scaaarrry...)]

Chances are, the extreme right will figure out a way to change it back, but it amazes me to read stories of couples travelling from all over to marry after 20, 30, 40 or more years of loving each other. (Unlike Massachusetts, California has no residency requirements.) Even my uncle hinted at me that he and his partner of over 25 years may even head over the border from Arizona sometime soon.

I don't care who you are, the most conservative of conservatives, how can one not see how sweet it is that two little old ladies, who have loved each other for fifty five years are finally able to unite themselves in that love? How can it not be? Love is love is love. You can't help what kind of package that love comes in...

10 months later, I still dislike Hillary Clinton...

...But it's been damn close to a year since I wrote anything here. I've been thinking about doing this for a while, but I think its time to resume the therapeutic process once again. I plan to go through and filter out some of the more meaningless mumbo jumbo, leaving mostly the gems behind. Admittedly, there area few gems. (check out Birthday Bash...)

And, yes, I still dislike Hillary Clinton, though not as vehemently. However, it does make me want to vomit that D drives around with that damn sticker on her car window, even though Hillary lost the nomination. ("The sticker doesn't have a year!" she says. Argh!)

So here we go...