It's one of those days again, dear readers. You know the kind of day I'm talking about. It's the kind of day where you can't park in your regular spot because some 50-foot truck carrying cement blocks is parked horizontally across the entire row. It's the kind of day where you step up to the urinal to...unleash the dragon, as it were, only you can't get at the dragon, because it turns out you put your underwear on backwards this morning. It's the kind of day where you're dead tired and then "Waterfalls" by TLC comes on the radio, and you get all jazzed, and you stand up and start dancing -- just to keep up your energy, you know, and because it's a good song and it's from back in the day when you and your friends listened to the radio all the time, and I don't have to defend myself to you people; It's my office and I'll dance if I want to -- and that's when you realize that the office door is swinging wide open and people on the street are pointing at you and laughing.
It's that kind of day.
It actually hasn't been a bad day, per se, just sort of farcical. And now the modem is all jammed up or something, so it takes my pages like three hours to load, which is just great. My savings bonds mature in the time it takes to access everything2.com, my current favorite font of useless knowledge. However, I spent the morning sort of revamping my weblog, here, so I feel a bit productive at least. Of course, if the internet goes out altogether, it's going to turn into Lord of the Flies in here, or something.
I didn't make any huge changes, but you'll notice I moved the links to my next and last entries to the bottom of the page and threw a title up on the header bar, which, for a boy who knows squat about html, is really pretty impressive. I also dropped the cutesy "In Which Our Hero" post titles in favor of something a little less wordy. That was a hard decision to make, but it was the right one. I originally started it, thinking it would be a fun and unique way to chronicle my life on a day to day basis, but instead it became limiting and cumbersome. I mean, eventually a title like "In Which Our Hero Goes to the Store" will no longer be an easily identifiable title, and people will be like, "Which time? Which store? Is that the one where he fell on his face, or the one where he dropped everything and knocked that old lady into the yogurt bin?" So, a change.
On Tuesday, Annabelle, for whom I work, asked me, "So what's your story? Are you seeing anyone? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?" And it wasn't meant to be intrusive or harrassmenty, but it threw me for a second. I think she truly was curious about my life, and not just so far as to whether I like boys or girls as most people seem to be, but I was still a bit put-off.
Now, it's not like I'm offended by people thinking I might be gay (I mean, obviously), but I do have a problem with people asking about it like it's all their business or some shit like that. I mean, I don't go around asking people things like, "So, are you wearing panties today?" That would be rude and intrusive, not to mention none of my business. And I know that in today's climate, "Are you gay?" doesn't carry the same connotations as it did back in the sixth grade when it would be coming from a kid three times your size with anger management issues, and phrased more like, "What are you -- some kinda fag?" Still, I bristle when I'm at the library and some girl waltzes up to the table and goes, "Excuse me...my friends and I were talking, and we just wanted to know...are you gay?" Like, people are getting bombed in Pakistan, and this is what you have to talk about?
Whatever. I mean, as many people assume I'm straight as assume I'm not. In college, my best friend Solitaire, assumed I was gay. No real harm there, except that it just kind of bugs me when people assume. Then again, it bugs when people ask, so what the hell do I want? Anyway, later, when I started talking to her about my ex-girlfriend (Honey Ryder, who, I should mention, recently got married. To a woman. Not that there's anything wrong with that) she got all weird. Then she decided I was totally straight and started viciously defending my sexuality to other people, so when I started dating a guy our senior year, my friendship with her took a really strong hit. The issue was compounded by her homophobic boyfriend, who pretty much had her wrapped around his finger.
See, the subject of sexuality never came up between us. She assumed, and I assumed, and we both assumed wrong. Then I found out that all along, unbeknownst to me, she had been playing my advocate when I wasn't around. I was flattered by her fierce loyalty, but completely unsure how to say, "But..." Also, I was getting really pissed by the fact that she should have to defend me at all. Again, not that being thought of as gay is a bad thing, but why are people sitting around analyzing my hormones like the Department of Defense or something?
And maybe I'm a little ultra-sensitive about it anyway, due to the fact that in those first, vulnerable stages of the Coming Out process, I was grabbed by my metaphoric hair and dragged out forcibly by Honey Ryder, who came out herself at full tilt and pulled most of her friends along with her. Suddenly, something that should have been mine to divulge at my own discretion was made public knowledge. I even lost a friend over it, which wasn't terribly reassuring. Then, I went off to college, determined to be completely open about everything, and that went down in flames (no pun intended) before it even hit cruising altitude. I tried to tell some people, but I totally blew the dismount and...well, basically went back into the closet. Sort of.
It's hard to describe. The point is that I reached the point where I was quite comfortable with my sexuality, but I became this weird object of curiosity for my friends, who would whisper and gossip about me behind my back and declare that they "knew", and then smile to my face and act like they were my best buds. And that? Pissed me off. Fuck 'em all, I thought. They don't deserve my confidence.
So what's my point? Hell if I know. I've got no problem with Annabelle knowing my preferences, especially if she can hook me up with a cute gay boy model, as she promised. I just resent having my chemical impulses be a hot-button issue. It makes you want to knock an old lady into the yogurt bin.