A Gay ‘ol Anniversary

It’s strange to think that I’ve been out of the closet for the past 12 years.  It’s really not that long, but looking at how much I struggled with my sexuality prior to my admission it is astounding that I ever came out at all.  I guess all it took was a pretty face.

In retrospect the face I thought was “handsome” was in fact not at all.  Looking at the pictures now I have NO IDEA what I was thinking at the time.  The dude is hideous.  But in that moment I was smitten and only two days after telling my friend, at her bowling birthday party, that I liked guys and her friend, I went on my first date.

The friend I had made my admission to was someone I had at once had a “crush on.”  She was a buxom 12 year old with a mouth like a sailor.  We could make each other laugh.  I think we went on one “date” that comprised of us walking the length of the mall.  Our relationship was a flash in the pan.  After that we never spoke again until her 17th birthday when I told her a part of myself no one in the world (and in reality myself) knew. It’s a strange bit of kismet when I think back on it now.

I had originally left my friend Becky’s birthday without saying a word.  I had no intention of telling anyone, in fact.  But when I went out to my car the battery was cold dead.  I don’t know if it just bit the dust cause it had run it’s last or because I left the lights on.  Either way, while waiting for AAA to give me a jump or a tow, I went back inside and told her.

The thought has crossed my mind so many times before, what if I had gone out to my car and it had worked.  Where would I be?  Would I have driven home and never-ever-ever made that admission to anyone? Would I have married some poor girl and forced myself into a life I didn’t want at all?  Or would I have told someone some day… At this point it’s all speculation.

Like I said, I don’t’ even know how I admitted it to her.  Seriously.  I was still struggling with myself.  Even the day after I had I mentally berated myself for saying anything.  How could I!?  I’m not gay!

Whatever caused that spur of courage I am grateful for it every day.  My life has turned out wonderfully because of it.  Even though it ultimately resulted in a ton of heartbreak, I eventually met the man I’ve spent the last 11 years with and I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

I Got Blue Halls and I Need to Deck Them

I cannot wait for Christmas.  It has nothing to do with the usual trappings associated like, presents, candy, holiday pastries, or family.  No.  What I’m looking forward to is decorating.  That has to be one of gayest statements I’ve ever made…  But it’s true.  A few of my favorite parts is throwing up some tinsel, the tree, and all my various Christmassy knick-knacks.  It honestly brings me more joy than it should.

My husband on the other hand… Well, he leans more toward the Grinch than anything else.  He hates every piece of garland strung in our house.  I had originally wanted to decorate at the beginning of November and his response was “You’re trying to kill me. Do you want me to die?”  To this, I say… Yes.  If he gets in the way of my “festive faggottry”, he had better just accept his demise.

In his defense, he told me that the other day he saw a sign advertising for someone that installs Christmas lights and he took the number down.  That’s adorable and completely out of character.  Slowly but surely I’m chipping away at his anti-christmas exterior to reveal the shimmering Christmas bulb beneath.

My husband’s dislike of Christmas stems from the fact that he came from a single parent family.  His dad up and left with his secretary (no joke) and left his mom to fend for herself.  She was in her mid 20’s and stuck with raising and providing for two kids.  That means she was solely responsible for buying gifts and making the season wonderful.  Although there is only so much one woman can do on a bar tenders salary.  So, for him Christmas has always been a stressful event.  He is much too worried about his mother spending way more, in an attempt to make her kids’ Christmas ‘magical.’ The result is his current dislike of the holiday and everything that comes along with this time of year.

I guess I just had a lucky youth.  It probably helped that I am an only child.  Which is probably why I feel the need to give every one of my friends and family a similar styled Christmas.  My husband likes to say that I think I have endless amounts of money. I do, Charlie. Why, why are you trying to burst my bubble of delusion?  (Probably because he’ll be the one paying it off down the road.)

To give you an example of my “money is free” mentality, I went nuts while in London at Mark & Spencer’s.  They had so much nifty Christmas stuff that I ended up buying: an ugly Christmas sweater (I tried to get one for the hubby but he was having none of it), Christmas underwear, socks, and a knitted Santa cap with corresponding knitted beard.  Needless to say, I’m ready for this shit to begin.

I’m so sick of hearing/reading “it’s against my religious beliefs.” Fuck you.

I’m broken. I know I am. I have this absolute need to be completely accepted and loved/liked by everyone. The thing I know but have yet to grasp is that will not under any circumstance happen. It’s impossible. And whether they like me or not does not guarantee I will like them in return and I probably won’t. (Just kidding.)(maybe)

I bring this up cause last weeks topic for my Human Sexuality class was about the LGBT community. And per usual we were required to have a “discussion” on the weeks topic, which consists of listing the required media and our personal views on the topic. Let’s just say the posts were… Uh… Well, they were colorful. They brought up a time in my life that made me more miserable than I care to mention. But it was because of my undying need to be loved and accepted by everyone.

I broke down and responded to one of the hate filled posts. I know I shouldn’t have but… Fuck it was like someone punched me in the gut it was just so hateful! It’s amazing how behind a keyboard and people can and will say anything. I find it impossible to believe that these same people would have made these comments in an actual classroom. In fact I think they would have said nothing. You know why? They’d be embarrassed because in some corner of themselves they know they’re full of shit and an all around terrible person.

We’ve mainly slept in London

We’ve been in London for two days and already we have fucked up our schedule. Jet lag is a bitch, yes, but there are ways to make it worse. For instance, he got the advice from his father that the first day you arrive try to make it to 9 o’clock. The last time we were here we failed to do that and end up waking at early hours. This time I suffered through the first day just craving sleep and walking around like a zombie (I had gotten 0 sleep on the plane.). We make it to bed by 9 and are out instantly. We then proceed to sleep until 4 in the evening. Evidently we were tired. So my tip: sleep when you’re tired. Good thing we have 2 weeks here or I would have been PISSED to waste an entire day sleeping. By the way, it gets dark by 4:30.

To not make the day a complete waste we went on a Walking Ghost Tour led by an amazing guide named Sara with a thick Wisconsin accent. As it turned out she was from Michigan but most people think she’s Canadian and the Brits love Canadians. So she goes with it. The tour was par for the course. It was good and very little happened. Except when the tour wound its way to St. James park and she explained that this park had a tendency to have moments of debauchery. My husband and I turn to each other and go “what kind?” Debauchery is such a vague term. Our ideas of misconduct happen to be sexual, cause as it happens in our little neck of the world parks are notorious hook-up spots.

So far things have gone well. We got ourselves set up with a weekly tube ticket that, when purchased at any train station (not tube), offers a good number of 2 for 1 specials on different tours, sites, and dining. Today’s ghostly tour being one of them.