In light of the recent tragedy in Charleston South Carolina, and the racial, political, and religious violence emerging all over the world, I can’t help but to think about how uncomfortable I feel in my own skin. Here’s the thing, I don’t much like the white community as of late, and it’s not like I’m dense enough to blame all white people for some moron’s egregious act. But, those white people who do commit egregious racial acts—like that crazy douchebag from South Carolina—well they clump an entire group of people together and pretend like they understand the world. They pretend like they understand what it means to be black, or Jewish, or Muslim, or gay, or anything other than ignorant, uneducated and white. But, they don’t.
So, I don’t know how else to say this, but I AM NOT PROUD TO BE WHITE. What is there to be proud of? I didn’t accomplish whiteness! That’s ridiculous. If anything, I accomplished a nice healthy shade of brown when I was out in the sun for two hours last weekend. And, do you know how many compliments I get on my awesome tan every summer? A LOT. If that makes me too liberal, so be it. Bring it on. I’m fine with whatever the fuck you want to call it. If people can’t understand the difference between white pride and black or gay pride then they need to have their heads slammed into a door over and over until they can’t talk anymore. Words are dangerous, people…particularly if you’re a closed-minded idiot who enjoys spewing them around the Internet anonymously. Fuck you. That’s what I say. Life’s too short for this bullshit. No one cares what YOU THINK…except other racist bigots.So, with that being said, and with my prayers and thoughts directed at the African Methodist Episcopal Church, the victims, their families and friends, and the entire African-American community for having to endure struggles and tragedies like this since 1776—I have another thought I’d like to explore. But, this one’s directed at the lesbian community. Where are my lesbians? Oh, that’s right; they’re not here.
And, by not here, I mean, they’re either sitting at home with their live-in girlfriend of seventeen years (which I can totally understand) or hanging around with their entourage of ex-girlfriends at Lady’s Tea making the rest of us look like our own deranged form of misogynist. That’s where. What the fuck, ladies? Seriously…what. the. fuck. (That last one was rhetorical.)
When you hear the term homosexual, do you think of a.) Lesbian, b.) Gay, or c.) Both? When I hear it, I think of d.) All of the above. But, when most people refer to gay or homosexual they’re only referring to one section of the LGBT community: the male section. Why? Perhaps it’s because they live in a more “classically” dangerous world. Maybe it’s because they just work together a lot more diligently than their female counterparts. Or, maybe it has something to do with misogynist ideals that are still alive and present to this day. I don’t have all the answers, clearly. But, I do think it has something to do with the fact that they openly and actively support one another.We, however, are just as caddy and fucking arrogant-insecure (how that happens is beyond me) as the idiots who hate gay men for being gay and love lesbians for being lesbians. You’re ridiculous. You should know that. I really want you to know that.
See, here’s the thing ladies, if I approach you at pride, or at a bar, or on the street, or anywhere at all…if I walk over to you to say “hello, friend”, or to simply make conversation with someone who can readily understand the struggles and triumphs of being a female homosexual in a misogynist, judgmental, fucked up world—that absolutely does not mean I am hitting on you. I have a wife. She’s amazing; she’s also hot, smart, and wonderful. We share the same last name; we share the same ideals; we share a level of love and loyalty that I am very proud of.I don’t want you. Stop freaking out like I’m trying to get with you, or your girl, or her ex, or your ex’s ex…no one cares. I’m not interested in that part of you; I don’t want you; and I am—without a doubt—definitely not—in no way EVER—hitting on you. I just wish you could keep your blonde spikey-headed brain clear enough for one moment so that maybe, for one second, you can try to realize that sometimes we just need to support one another. (I am not prejudice against blonde spikey hair, I promise.)
Some of us, ladies, just want a community, too. I’m not black. I’m not Jewish. I’m not a gay man. I’m just a plain old lesbian who happens to be part Greek, part Irish, and part a few other random things, too. But, I love all of those communities, regardless. And, I love the lesbian community. Sadly, the lesbian community rarely seems to love itself.
Why are women so hopeless when it comes to supporting one another? Even lesbians are self-hating, insecure, and caddy. It confounds me. It really does. You don’t want to help your own community? You don’t want to stand together united, to work together harmoniously like every other community since the beginning of time? Fine. Be that way. I don’t need YOU then.
I don’t think this new era of lesbians really understands the struggle. They’ve seriously missed out on that part; and, perhaps that’s what people need to find peace within one another. I don’t know. But, the struggle is still here; you’re just not looking at it. Every time a random dude suggests that perhaps you haven’t been with the right guy yet, you’re looking at the struggle. Every time a straight girl makes out with another straight girl to gain male attention—yep that’s part of the struggle. We not only allow men to speak to—and treat—us however they want; we fucking encourage it. Did you ever think about the fact that women are the least likely to ban together for a common cause if it doesn’t involve men? I’m all about helping men, women, and children alike. But, what can we do for everyone else if we can’t even work together for our own common cause?
Now, I don’t want these comments to undermine the hard, incredible work done by so many fantastic lesbian activists, feminists, politicians, and musicians out there. To you, I am INCREDIBLY thankful. But, before I leave this issue alone, let me just ask you to think about the last time you went to a Tegan and Sara concert or a LeTigre show (or for those of you under the age of 25, a Lady Gaga concert). Now riddle me this: did you meet any new lesbian friends? Did you avert your eyes when other lesbians looked in your general direction—like we’re all about to jump your bones right here and now because we can’t control our ferocious appetite for total strangers. Did you roll your eyes when a lesbian you WERE NOT ATTRACTED TO tried to make normal conversation with you? If so, what the fuck is wrong with you? You’re part of the problem. I mean, if the steel-toed boot fits, lace that shit on up and wear it all over P Street. Be my guest.
In fact, listen to Margaret Cho’s standup comedy one time, and tell me how often she refers to gay men versus gay women. Do people even use the term gay women anymore? I do, because we are all one big fat fucking gay community. But, the women, the lesbians…well, there’s something wrong with the way we view one another and ourselves. It’s not all about you, ladies. It’s about US. It’s about the bigger picture. It’s about the one thing that every single other community in the world has successfully seen and understood EXCEPT FOR US: coming together to support and love one another in difficult times for a greater purpose.
If your biggest concern is Facebook stalking your ex girlfriend, you’re either 15 or you need to get your fucking priorities straight. That’s all I’m saying. We can come up with an entire lesbian/gay/queer set of rules, regulations, and verbal cues, and then we can call it forward thinking all day long. But, if we still hate each other out of fear, or because of decades of insecurity, body dysmorphia, self-hatred, jealousy, and the like…well then, we haven’t moved in any direction at all. Least of all, forward.
So, I’m creating a community of my very own. That’s right: I want to be part of a mixed-up, loving, kind, and ‘equally different’ type of community. I’ll invite all of my white friends, my black friends, my gay friends, my straight friends, my Latino friends, my 70-year-old friends, my Christian friends, Catholic friends, Jewish friends, Muslim friends, and even my 21-year-old friends (you guys are a little harder to tolerate, but that’s OK, I am too), and then I’ll invite all of your mother fucking dogs. And, that just leaves two groups missing: lesbians and racist asshole bigots.
I would gladly invite the former to join in and be part of the community, but so many of you have it so mixed up that I’m beginning to wonder if you really even know what it means to partake in something bigger than you and your weird, small, incestuous entourage of ex-girlfriends. There are racist homophobic assholes out there! Did you know that? Seriously. It’s bad. They exist, and most importantly, SO DO WE. So what the fuck are you doing about it?
See, I think all women—white, black, Latino, Asian, gay, straight—we all need each other. But, so many of us are too busy with our man or our girlfriend to be worried about creating a sense of community for one another. And, I don’t get it. I really don’t. You must not be listening to the same lyrics as I am. Your momma’s must have fed you a different type of Cheerios than my mother fed me. You must be on some different kind of shit than I am. I don’t know.
But, you know what, we need each other. All of us. Because, we are nothing without one another. Life, my friends, is too short for all of this ignorant, unnecessary, hateful bullshit. And, death doesn’t care what color, religion, denomination, gender, or sexual orientation you are. Death is about as equal opportunity as it gets. So, let’s just choose to live. That’s all I’m saying. That and, if you’ve never read Zora Neale Hurston’s “How It Feels to Be Colored Me”, you should stop whatever you’re doing, pick up the book, and start reading. In fact, I’ve literally extracted the final paragraph for the sake of this blog post, because if you have never read this complex, powerful, and unrivaled piece of literature, you have never truly lived:
But in the main, I feel like a brown bag of miscellany propped against a wall. Against a wall in company with other bags, white, red and yellow. Pour out the contents, and there is discovered a jumble of small, things priceless and worthless. A first-water diamond, an empty spool, bits of broken glass, lengths of string, a key to a door long since crumbled away, a rusty knife-blade, old shoes saved for a road that never was and never will be, a nail bent under the weight of things too heavy for any nail, a dried flower or two still a little fragrant. In your hand is the brown bag. On the ground before you is the jumble it held–so much like the jumble in the bags, could they be emptied, that all might be dumped in a single heap and the bags refilled without altering the content of any greatly. A bit of colored glass more or less would not matter. Perhaps that is how the Great Stuffer of Bags filled them in the first place–who knows.