Always with the gender identity

I have a playlist called “Gay Shit!” and on it resides the songs that one would think lived up to the title. I forced my husband and roommate to listen to it on our way back from a day trip to San Jose. (We saw Bianca Del Rio’s stand-up show.) Now, I say forced because my husband doesn’t like a single song on the list. He’s more of a country and 80-90’s rock kind of beast; our roommate couldn’t have given two shits, as long as it wasn’t more country.

As I raced along I-5 in the middle of the night, we bumped the usual kind of club beats. As it reached the end I felt a pang of guilt for subjecting them to my “poor taste.” So, I readied up my next favorite playlist called “The 90’s.” I didn’t, however, tell them that I was doing that and after about eight or nine songs into it our roommate said, “Damn, this is all on ‘Gay Shit.’ I like all these songs.”

I quickly corrected him and changed the subject.

After harmlessly rolling over his statement it occurred to me, even if these songs he liked were on my “Gay Shit” playlist what would that have meant? That he is somehow ‘gay’ for liking them? It should be noted, that our roommate is the gayest heterosexual I have ever encountered. It is this detail that gives me the confidence to say that he meant nothing by his statement. But it definitely got me thinking.

For instance, why did I even feel the need to label the playlist “gay shit” in the first place? Couldn’t it just be “fun favorites?” Just because a song happens to be attracted to a sub-group of society doesn’t mean that it should just be bulked with them.

I get that this is just me being over analytical about a mundane statement. No matter what way I cut it. My title was just me being cute for the sake of myself. But is there a level of shame from both of us in what we said and did?

For me I concluded that it goes back to the idea of gender identity and what is and isn’t masculine and “appropriate” for a man to do. Society is so hung up on what is meant for one sex to do over another. If a man goes outside of the usual tropes they’re seen as a sissy or less than a man. Because of these deeply ingrained ideas we keep ourselves from enjoying things without some sort of baggage or label attached to them.

God, I hate people. We can never let someone just enjoy something. Even I am super guilty of that. I made catty and bitchy comments about this dude at the Bianca Del Rio show.

First off, this queen was GOING OFF. He was standing, waving his finger until it was just a blur above his knuckles, shouting “YAS QUEEN,” and snapping like he was at some sort of slam poetry. It was relentless. It got to a point where this dude, just enjoying himself, was distracting me from the show and I was having a horrible time. I couldn’t stop watching. (Plus it didn’t help that some fag-stag’s head was in my way of viewing Bianca Del Rio so I was forced to see only this queen.)

Now, I’d like to think that I hated this stranger because he was being super obnoxious. However, I’m afraid that it’s because of the bullshit male stereotypes I found his overabundant “faggotry” to be offensive and thus ruin my time. Although he was having a blast. Well, until Bianca turned on him and told him to kill himself. The entire theatre erupted in cheers and the bitch rushed from the theatre in shame.

So maybe it was just that he was annoying as fuck.

High school sweethearts

Today my husband encountered something that shocked and astounded me. 

He’s taking the photojournalism class I took last semester and today they did the assignment for “portrait.” One of the volunteer models was this 15 year old boy. 

My husband said that this boy had brought another along with him and they were being playful with each other in a way that gave him the impression that they were together. They were lightly touching the others waist or arms. Nothing that screamed “hey! We got a gay here!”

All of the students in the class grabbed a model and disappeared to do the assignment, other than my husband and this boy. He went up and asked him to be his model and they took pictures.

As they were walking my husband asked if he and the boy were together and the boy said “how could you tell?” 

It turns out that this 15 year old boy and his boyfriend are engaged to be married in a year. A year. He’ll be sixteen. His fiancé is 18. 

What I find so shocking is that in my conservative, bible buckle of the Bible Belt, town that not only do this boy’s parents accept him as a gay man BUT also have given permission for the two to be married. That’s insane!

I shouldn’t be this amazed, my mother alone is testament to the power of love and acceptance, but I think this a testament to change. Real change. 

While I wish the best for these two, part of me thinks that they won’t make it very long. Teenage romance has it tough already, the fact that they’re also gay men doesn’t really add to the potential success rate of this relationship. 

Pessimism aside, the fact that I even have this story to tell brings me so much joy. 

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.