Wednesday, February 23, 2005

(semi) irrational fear

It was years ago. I should be over this. But it's dark. There was a moon...almost full. I can see it, but there's no light down here on the back streets of the place I call home. There doesn't seem to be anyone moving tonight. Except, there's this feeling. That I'm being watched. As I walk to my car, I look over my shoulder. Continually. I must just be paranoid, right? A dark night, lonely streets, a chill in the's the stuff of fiction. And thrillers. And you know what happens in thrillers. Just how far away is that damned car? It happened to him. What if I'm next? Or one of my friends? And then I hear it...there IS something there. I know it. Look now...dammit, I'm hearing things again. My brain is working overtime. I really AM getting paranoi... There is a moment of paralyzation. I can turn around, but my feet won't move and my arms are dead weight. My heart has stopped, I'm certain. My brain recognizes the shape...matches it with a picture in my brain. Sign, signifier, signified. My consciousness receives the message so slowly: not a threat. Just a person on a bike. Not headed for me. Not stalking me. My lungs start working just a beat after my heart. I'm still tense, but that probably the adrenaline, right? Take stock...I'm okay. Start walking again. Who knew a few blocks could be so far? But...I feel ashamed. Why am I still so damned nervous? It doesn't happen all the time. But once in a while... All this because I couldn't get the car in time to drive to an AIDS Walk Meeting.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Post 101: Gay Hope

Sometimes in SafeZone I give a group homework: delete the most important person in your life for one week. Put them in a closet, and you might get a taste of what it's like for GLBT people on a daily basis. A recent participant wrote me recently, and had this to say:

I am writing to tell you that I tried your suggestion, to not speak in gender specific terms for one week. I chose my husband to cut out of my life, and starting (and ending) the following day, I spoke of him as "my partner," "my roommate," "my friend," etc. I was quite unsuccessful, and outed myself at least five times in as many hours. I stopped to visit [him] at his office that afternoon, and when I was leaving, I shook his hand, and he said, "Don't I even get a hug?" He had forgotten about my experiment. I answered quietly, "No, we're in public. I'll hug you when you get home." He laughed and said okay, but it bothered me. It bothered me all the rest of the afternoon, through dinner, through class, and on my drive home. I was afraid I had hurt him. and that hurt me. I was even thinking things like "What if he has an accident, and I DIDN'T HUG HIM WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE?!" I thought, would it have hurt to just give him a quick hug? That's when it hit on me, that's when I *truly got it.* I understood the idea behind it, I sympathize, I fight for GLBT rights, but now I KNOW. actually feeling it, even for just a little while was way different. Even though I knew it was just an experiment, not for my whole life, I *still* felt awful. I spoke with my friend back in Chicago about it, and she said she also feels resentment when she can't acknowledge her partner at work. Very interesting experiment, and it works!

Monday, February 14, 2005

Post 100! - Black Monday Recap

I normally celebrate Villain-tine's Day, as a protest of happy couples in the face of my singleness. Today I did something different: I delivered for Killian's Florist instead. Since the numbered lists have been in vogue of late on the Blogsphere, I thought I'd join in the merry-making.

10.5 - number of hours I was a gay florist
59 - number of stops I made today
65 - number of orders I delivered
4 - number of runs I made
2 - number of times I got lost and had to call for directions
8 - number of orders I couldn't get delivered, because people weren't home
136 - total number of orders we delivered today
0 - number of minutes I spent depressed because I'm single (too damned busy!)
2 - number of gin and tonics I had while swapping war stories after the chaos ended

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Shallow fucking graves

As many of you have already heard, there is a certain professor with whom I am...annoyed. Okay, outright fucking pissed is a bit closer. Fuming mad. I even used the term "You fucking cunt" in my office with the door open, so those of you who know me will understand just how livid I am. I have spent the last two days making myself sick with the stress of dealing with her. I have decided to be more creative and that I should express my frustration in more cathartic ways. So I give you a short list of the gruesome tortures I have designed for her in my brain. To the pain, and FUCKING EXCOMMUNICATED INDEED!

  • Hundreds of tiny paper cuts, lemon juice, tobasco, and cayenne pepper
  • Drawn and quartered by 4X4 pickup trucks and barbed wire
  • Fire ants and sugar syrup
  • Dinner with George W. Bush (I know it seems cruel and unusual, but she has asked for it)
  • A super high voltage butt plug (though this would require removing the stick from her ass first)
  • Spraying her coat with bobcat lure and sending her hiking
  • A small, smoky room and a hive of hornets
  • A leisurely swim in a mountain lake. Above tree line. In January.
  • An international flight in a small airplane with a Urugauyan rugby team
  • A free box of Krusty Brand Cereal, with a free jagged metal Krusty-O in every box!
  • Injection of a tiny air bubble in the vein of her choice
  • Relaxing river trip in Georgia, CD of free banjo music included!
  • A no-expenses paid trip to sunny Lebanon!
  • A brown recluse spider in the bowl she uses to get that oh-so-stylish haircut!
  • A mambo. Oops...I meant black mamba! Silly me.

See, I feel better now. Don't you? What lesson have we learned, class? Don't fuck with a pissed off queen!

Monday, February 07, 2005


...for the Legislature is not lost! I received an email today telling me that HB0184 (The Defense of Marriage Act) was dead in committee. Not one to believe rumors on important issues, I went to the Wyoming Legislature homepage, with which I am becoming quite familiar. The current digest listing reads "No report before CoW (Committee of the Whole) cutoff." I spent about an hour tonight reading through the website, scouring state statutes, and trying to decipher this little phrase. I don't have a definitive answer, but it sounds like the rumors are true, and marriage is still safe from those purporting to "defend" it. Tomorrow I'll be calling the Legislative Hotline to confirm. Cross your fingers and put the champagne on ice...I have.