Why I Hate Straight People

And by that I don’t mean heterosexuals, I’m talking about those mall-walking, mom-jean wearing, double-wide baby strollering, still think pink hair is craaaazy, normal types that make up the majority of our population.

I went out Christmas shopping today with a mild hangover brought on via a night out with my extra gay friend Paolo and the totally rocking Army of Darkness. I adore Paolo and always have the greatest time with him, even though we have nothing in common. He calls me Myrtle, I call him Prissy. He hates rock and roll and worships Madonna, she annoys the hell out of me, and we invariably spend our time together arguing about her no matter how hard I try to steer the conversation elsewhere. If we’re not arguing about Madonna directly we’re still arguing about his love of crap pop culture and my hatred for it. Somehow it works for us. And the AOD, well, they just rule.

I behaved like an absolute idiot last night after drinking a LOT of liquor, starting out with sake at an employee birthday dinner, then ouzo at Patricia Field’s fabulous apartment, then lots of beer at 3 of Cups with the AOD. I capped off the night by throwing Paolo to the filthy bar floor (in a $1200 coat) and doing a flailing, grinding dance on my knees over him while “Burning Up” played. This morning he called me and said,
“Oh sweet Myrt, we are an embarrassment to heavy metal heteros and Chelsea faggots everywhere.”

Um, yes, Prissy, indeed we are.

Anyway, so my head is a little tender today but I braved the cold weather and dutifully shopped, and stopped into Trash and Vaudeville. I havenï’t been in there in a year or so and I find it comforting that it hasn’ really changed in format in 20 years. And apparently, some other things never change as well. As I stood perusing the hooker boots and creepers I heard a commotion coming from the front of the store, loud laughter and the sound of chortling voices. It was a group of six or eight men and women, obviously couples, all over 35 or so, and all of them very overweight. They lumbered to the back of the store, picking up hangers and shouting, “Hey Judy, you should wear THIS tonight!! Hahahahahahahahaha”and “Hey, what are these, FRANKENSTEIN SHOES??”and “Oh my God, Dave, what is this thing?! Har, har, har!!”

You know the drill: apparently, even in 2005, even with the success of MTV, Hot Topic and the internet, they’re still coming to town to places like Trash so they can foist their ignorance and ill manners on the freaks. This bunch was so obnoxious and irritating under hangover conditions that I was forced to run out, needing peace and feeling too infuriated at their incredibly boorish, uneducated, self-satisfied behavior to maintain silence for too long. Ugh. Why is there never a fire hose around when you need one? Why can’t I perfect my mental power to make people bleed from their eyes and asses when I concentrate?

The other incident that is making me consider clinging to my own status as “other” is this one:

I had a friend in high school who was a very naive, sweet Texas country boy, who was madly in love with me and of course never got a moment’s play because he was exactly the opposite of what I was looking for (and come to think of it, still is). But he was so nice that I just regularly deflected his advances and we remained pals even after I started dating his close friend. He moved back to Texas after high school and we have kept in touch on and off over the last couple of years via the internet, just brief updates, never any deep or inner conversations.

So he sends me an email wanting to know what I’m up to and I give him a brief synopsis and tell him if he’s really interested he can look at my myspace page. Here is his response:

Thank you for your thoughts.  I did visit your site yesterday.  Colorful friends you have…
I didn’t have time to read many of your blogs though.  I’ll try to visit from time to time.  Seems as that many of your friends think the world of you.  No surprise there.
Do I detect an emptiness somewhere in your heart?
Grrr. Every fucking straight person from my past always gets around to this same presumptive, self-important question. It’s so incredibly annoying. But as you can see he is very nice and so I swallowed the rage that came up to respond:

Emptiness? No way! I have been happier the last few years than I ever was in my life. No worries there.
And then the second part of it comes, and I should have seen it coming because the “there must be something wrong with you” question is almost always followed by this one:

So happy to hear that.  Don’t mean to pry… just want for your happiness.  Neat how life somewhere along the way does get more rewarding.  It takes on a meaningfulness that we could not see as children.

I must ask… hope you will not mind.  I have reached a point where I am not afraid to broach the subject…

Do you know Jesus? I won’t preach at you, but am available to talk if you so desire…
AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!! Okay, now I feel totally sideswiped, and I’m really fucking pissed, and this is my answer:

Oh Lord. First the emptiness question, then the Jesus question? Is there some script out there in the Midwest and down South, meant to rescue us city folk from our evil and empty ways? Please, not you, too!

 I consider myself very spiritual and I am familiar with the teachings of many masters, including Jesus. I pray, I meditate, I try to follow his (and others) example, sometimes more successfully than others, of course. But please don’t hit me with the born again thing. I know it’s part of that particular belief to work to bring others in, but I don’t believe in organized religion or straight Christian teaching and I really resent it when people try to force their religious beliefs on others. I think it’s very invasive and completely arrogant. There are all kinds of valid ways to worship God.
That being said, I respect your right to believe whatever you want to.

I expected an apology but none has been forthcoming, and I have just been fuming about it ever since. I can’t stop being mad. But I wondered, why am I feeling so defensive and angry? Why do I care what he thinks about my lifestyle or that he’s dragging out the whole you need me to teach you the ways of Jesus thing, which btw, I swear to fucking God, nearly every “normal” friend or acquaintance that I have ever tried to be kind to and respond when they reached out, always fucking tries to foist on me after they work their way up to the whole emptiness bullshit! It’s like, well gee, your life looks good–you still look attractive, had your 15 minutes of fame, traveled the world and met all kinds of cool people, all while I’ve been sitting in my barcalounger in the same town I grew up in, eating bacon and assuming I know all there is to know about the world… but surely there must be SOMETHING wrong with the way you are living. Surely there must be some hole that was meant to be filled with babies and the bible! You can’t be having as much fun as you appear to have, because otherwise I may have to admit that my own life might not be as much of an adventure as I had once hoped it would be.

So after examining my anger to figure out where it came from, I reached the conclusion that what is pissing me off is not that I have once again been hit with this narrow kind of condescension. It’s that I was hit with it by one of the people that I trusted enough let in to my world. Every time I give one of these people from my past a little inch they take their country mile and the result is that I end up feeling like I got duped into laying myself open for the attack when I was simply trying to be friendly and open-minded. I spent my whole childhood and teen years defending who I am to the world around me and at this point in time I am not at all interested in doing it again. That is why I’ve gone to great pains to set up my world so that the only people I see and converse with in an intimate manner are of the same ilk.

But does that mean I have to be close-minded and think that the only cool people on the planet are the ones with tattoos and bands or jobs as trance channelers or pet psychics? Maybe! I really don’t want to be a big snob who thinks every normal person out there in rural and middle America is a mouth-breathing Bush fan. And I don’t want to reject a possibly wonderful person because they appear too straight or lead a life unlike mine. But I see no other choice at the moment. I have no time or energy to expend on being annoyed by people I’m not close to anymore or tourists looking to feel better about their sorry lives by guffawing at platform shoes. Sometimes, like in the latter case, it may be unavoidable. But in my own personal life, I think the ranks will have to remain closed and bigoted for the time being– liberals, new agers, faggots and freaks only, please. And I don’t mean the Jesus kind, fuckers.

Author: Raffaele

Rock and roll juggernaut, writer, muse, animal lover, Cycle Slut from Hell, friend, lover, sister, daughter, nerd, fagwoman, Slytherin, killer queen.

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