friends


I’ve written before about my friend Ehren and her myspace blog. After the recent failure of a majority of Californians to vote NO to the heinous Prop. 8 (and who are these YES voting people, I want to know? In my mind, they are scowling, bitter, uneducated and desperately miserable people), Ehren wrote a blog so important that I think everyone on the planet could benefit from reading it. She gave me permission to reprint it here.

HATERADE!
by Ehren O’Neal

this week, the cover of the advocate, looks like this:

people are pissed.

i personally have avoided trying to pin the same level of injustice that black americans have had to contend with on my experience of being a gay american. the cruelty on which this country was founded with was such that comparing anything else to it seems to be a further a front and injustice to the horrors those people endured. i always thought that gay people comparing themselves to black people was crossing a line and thought that it was a comparison best not made. in my mind, there was no comparison.

i have had a change of heart though. and allow me to tell you why.

about ten or so years ago, i thought that i would never have the chance to be married. i more than thought it, i firmly believed it. when the idea of domestic partnering was first becoming a reality, i was amazed but i was thankful. i thought that this was the best that things would ever be. a large part of the reason i was so willing to accept this and not even question why things had to be different for us was because deep down inside, i thought the idea of gay marriage was just the silliest thing ever. and i thought this because every gay person, growing up in america, has their own internalized homophobia to deal with. and this is some of mine.

i have been essentially out of the closet since i was about fifteen years old. while i have intellectually known that there is nothing wrong with being gay, i have lived most of my life with the nagging feeling that something was wrong with me for being gay. i have gotten this idea because i have been told that there is something wrong with being gay my entire life. it’s not because i’m gay that i feel this way, it’s because i have been told an naseum, that i am wrong for being this way.

have you ever thought you had an std? ever thought you were pregnant or had a cancer scare? maybe you have gotten a tattoo or hurt a part of your body? in these times, have you ever felt like whatever you situation is, it is being mentioned constantly around you? or in the case of your injured limb, you have never thought that anyone has touched you in that spot more than they did once you got a bandage put on it? it’s not that these things are happening more because of what you are going though, it is just that you are noticing something that normally does not apply to you. in a normal day, when you are not afraid you have the clap, you tune out how many times someone jokes about it, or mentions it. it doesn’t apply to you.

when you are growing up gay in america, you are surrounded by how other you are. it is constantly beating you on top of the head at every turn. you do not belong, you are unequivocally other and most certainly less than. you don’t grow up inside that world without internalizing it, it is impossible and because of this you accept a lot of things without question, no matter how self deprecating it may or may not be.

i grew up this way. even though i hated having to hide my relationship from any unfamiliar eye, i felt like this was the road i had to walk no matter what. in my mind, there was no other option. i would live in fear in my stupid suburban life until i was eighteen and i would immediately move to the gay ghetto of my choice so that i wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt by anyone ever again . i would forgo things in life that i wanted because if i was going to be gay, that was what the price i was going to have to pay.

as time went on and i got older, more of these notions started to fade away. i got more comfortable in my own skin as a person, i got more okay with my sexuality. and world around me started to get more okay with my sexuality. gay people started being recognized enough that most of middle america could and did say, “one of my friends happens to be gay. i don’t have a problem with gay people.” but, they did and a lot of people still do. and since so many people have found it in their hearts to be okay with us faggots, we in turn keep our mouths shut every time they say soemthing that reveals that maybe that okay isn’t really that okay after all. like when we get to listen to our straight guy friends talk about how okay they are with their sexuality and aren’t scared of gay guys, but then go camp it up at the parade acting like “nancy boys.”

so, why should i have to settle for a civil union? why can’t i be married? why do i need to wait to let other people get okay with the idea of things? where the fuck did i ever get the idea that it was okay to keep putting myself on the back burner for the good of everyone else all the time? oh that’s right, because of the institutionalized structure of society and how slow it is to change for anyone that is other. i keep forgetting.

now, the reason i am getting all soap boxy here, other than it being my nature, is because i watched this controversy bloom over the worn wood table on the view this morning. the idea of us getting the same rights as heterosexuals but not getting to call it marriage came up. well, see first it started that we were out of line for calling ourselves the new black. it’s not the same thing. i’ve heard this argument but over the last few years, it seems that most people don’t have that same connection with the civil rights movement and slavery that i do. and that you could talk about one, in theory at least, without having to consider the other, (that is provided you are smart enough to understand how one lead into the other enough in the first fucking place, if not then you are required by the law in my head to have to always consider both.)

so let us look at some facts here, shall we?

we aren’t allowed to join the military for the overall morale of the men and also, to keep gay solider safe.

didn’t i read something in history class about how black people were kept separate in school and in the military for their own protection?

we can’t have “marriage” because “marriage” is between an man and a woman.

but i seem to remember once upon a time, the definition of being black was being 3/5 of a man. and from what i read, people were very fucking resistant to change this holy definition of what a man and a black person was.

oh and then there is other things about how we don’t get lynched?

yea, sorry. looks like we do.

so you see, we are the new black. because you’ll be pretty hard pressed to find people to openly admit that black people aren’t as deserving as white people anymore. but you won’t have to look very hard at all for someone to say those faggots are an abomination. and the reason why people won’t say it’s different is because it is so fucked up that no one will dare.

it’s different because we can hide it. that is why it’s “different.”

now, you think about how fucked that shit is for about twenty or thirty minutes. go head, i’ll be over here having a drink.

no matter how you slice that shit, it is some undiluted hater magic.

well, i am done getting hated on and i fully intend on getting up in some faces about al this because i am getting so angry that my arms start shaking when i hear this bullshit. you see, we are the new black. sorry blacks i guess you get to be the new white woman.

either way, we’re all moving up the east side.. you know, eventually, in another couple of hundred years maybe.

So where did I leave off in this tale? The dress…oh yeah, the dress. Well, when I arrived at my mom’s house just 3 days before my reunion, the dress hadn’t arrived, despite my having ordered it 12 days earlier. I checked the order receipt and saw that it said I was to have received a shipping confirmation from FedEx when the dress was shipped…which I had never received. I was in a bit of a panic and called the 800 number for the store. I explained that my event was 3 days away and I didn’t even know if the dress was going to fit me. Katie the customer service rep calmed me down, explaining that she would check into it and not to worry—if it hadn’t been shipped yet she would overnight it to me.

Katie called me back 15 minutes later and said, “It’s on today’s FedEx truck.” Yay! The box arrived as promised, I pulled it out and nervously tried it on…and it fit like it was tailored for me. Yay!! All that working out had paid off, for a change.

The reunion was held on Saturday, September 6 at a country club in Zion, IL. The night before, I stayed with my friends Adam and Martina in Chicago. Martina was my secret weapon, since she is a makeup artist and I need all the help I could get in that department. We woke up the next morning and went to get our hair did. Afterward, she got out her trowels and sandblasters and went to work on my face. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to make my not-sleeping self look all glowy and (dare I say it?) pretty. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Martina is a multi-talented, beautiful, intelligent woman and I’m so relieved she loves me.

When I was all ready to go (but not in the dress yet, duh!), I hopped in the car and drove across town to pick up my friend Scott, whom I’d harassed for months about attending the reunion. We drove to my friend Amy’s parents’ house in Winthrop Harbor to get dressed and head to the reunion together along with my other friend, Jerry. The window controls in my mom’s car are in the center console, so during the hour-or-so-long drive, Scott kept unexpectedly rolling up my window, making my ears pop in the process. It was just like being in High School again and hanging out with the annoying prankster. I wish the “child lock” feature had occurred to me. The more things change….

Getting ready at Amy’s parents’ house was a strange, time-traveling experience that transported me back to taking pictures with my dates before the prom. I half-expected her parents to pop out and give us a lecture about not drinking peppermint schnapps from a flask while standing outside the gymnasium or letting the boys go too far with us.


Here I am flanked by two of my favorite people in the world, Scott and Jerry.


I made Scott laugh by jumping up and down, hugging myself, and saying, “I feel like a princess!” That’s one of the things I kind of wish I hadn’t done, but I was absolutely delirious with happiness to be with these three people. I mean, look at them. I have loved these people for most of my life. How many things in your life can you look at and say, I loved that when I was 13 and I STILL love it just as much? For me, besides Chuck Taylors, these old friends are just about it.


Even as far as the reception desk, Scott continued trying to convince us that there was still time for us to bail out and go to a bar instead.

The shortest version of this story is this: I had a great time. A phenomenal time. I was determined to enjoy myself and I certainly did. My only regret is that I didn’t talk enough with people, but that is because I was WAY too busy dancing. After the third time someone asked, “So how did you end up in Mexico,” I decided that was it (I’m so bored with myself and that story!) and that I was just going to be a dancing fool all night, and that is what I was. Nearly every photo of me is with sweaty hair and melty makeup (sorry, Martina!). There are some REALLY embarrassing photos of me floating around out there, waving my hands in the air like I just didn’t care. Which I didn’t. What a fun night and I can’t wait for the 30 year reunion. Uh, never mind, I can wait. I forgot about the almost being 50 then thing.


My friend Liane’s father and (I think) aunt dropped by to say hello to Liane, Christina, Bonnie, and me. The four of us were very close friends in HS. None of them has aged one little bit, they are even more beautiful now than they were then. I look like a giant getting ready to chomp on their bones in this photo.


Cheri, dancing with her date. Cheri was part of the tireless reunion committee, who took on the monumental task of organizing this event. Well done, reunion committee!!


Jerry, who hardly ever cooperates for a photo. In the background, Scott chatting with Michelle Michel. That’s her name, no kidding! In HS, she used to sign her name Michelle², how cool is that? Much cooler than the way I used to use hearts over my “i’s” or write little triangles instead of an “a.” God, the humiliation.


I truly love this photo. We were at the bar, of course.


Scott, with Liane’s husband Eric. Eric was NOT an ex-Zee Bee and he was really brave to take us all on at once. Everyone loved him.


Christina and me. At one point in our lives, you could find us in a car with our other friends, stealing lawn ornaments or mooning passing motorists. There wasn’t shit else to do in Zion, trust me.


At some point in the evening, Pat Burnett tore this off the wall and wore it like a cape to complement his already-interesting ensemble of kilt and flame tights. He has always been one-of-a-kind.


See, there I am, dancing with another woman’s husband. What a “ho.”


See what I mean about the “arm in the air” thing?


Here, my friends Darci, Samantha, and Scott pose with Madame Tussaud’s wax impression of me. Looks so real! How did they ever capture that drunken look?!


Hold me closer, Sweaty Dancer…!

The DJ was kind of shitty (sorry, committee, I don’t blame you) because he didn’t focus on the 80s music the way he should have. I felt cheated that Michele Moreno and I couldn’t reenact our golden moment of being 15 years old, standing on the metal railings outside of Pearce Campus, singing Bryan Adams’s “Heaven” while waiting for our moms to pick us up from cheerleading practice. In the end, we had to find our moments when we could, and I’m quite sure that LaVerne Elliot and I glossed over 20+ years by dancing sweatily to Prince songs while Scott Lucas and Samantha Bishop, our former Homecoming Queen, did shots of Jack Daniels at the bar.

Afterwards, my three dates and I drove to a local bar to meet our other friends, listening to the horrible mix tape my mom had in her car stereo all the way. Scott made me laugh so hard by doing the “revving motorcycle” sounds so enthusiastically during “Leader Of The Pack” that I am not sure I will ever recover. We wound up at Harbor Lights for a few more drinks, but looking back with cold eyes, I can see this was just a prolonging of the inevitable pain of probably not seeing these people again for another 10 more years.

In the end, without the “having to get older” factor, I would be onboard for biannual high school reunions. At least.

Yesterday, my friend Sara and I started preparing for our Halloween night by putting together a little pre-party for our group. Once again, Anna and James were gracious enough to allow me to use their home as “Halloween Central.” We had 7 of us all dressing up as characters from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Our timing was pretty good; I’ve just heard the horrific news that a remake is in the works, with (I’ve heard) Marilyn Manson as Dr. Frank ‘N’ Furter. Yuck.

Here are just a few photos to start.


Sara made Toxic Punch and I threw in some disembodied ice hands


Putrid Jack O’Lantern Puke, garnished with bones


Horrible Ham Head that I made (doesn’t it look like one of the Sand People from Star Wars?)


Another picture of the punch because I just think those hands are so freaking cool looking.


On the left you see the Acne and Pus filled skin rollups. Also known as spicy crab/cream cheese rolls.


We really get into our Halloween.


Photo by my friend, Susie Q.  I was so proud of Frank ‘N’ Furter’s makeup. I’m no Martina, but not bad for an amateur. Michael was a real trooper, clunking around in men’s size 11 glitter heels all night. What was funniest for me was still how “guy” his walk was. After last night, I’m pretty sure now that I can make him do anything.

More to come. I have to let my hangover subside a bit more. Oy.

This morning, I was 80% finished with the second 20 year reunion blog when I inexplicably received the Blank Screen of Death.  My home computer died.  This is being posted as quickly as possible because my laptop also has serious issues and needs to go to the doctor.  Yeah, it’s new.  But it’s sick.  And I love it anyway. 

I want to sincerely, deeply, from the bottom of my shriveled little black heart thank all of you who have checked in every day to be faced with nothing new, to you who have written me a note of encouragement or sent me an email or a text.  Under the bell jar, not much sound gets through, but from time to time the noise made is just raucous enough to break the seal.  I think I’m back.  I think I’m on my way back.  I’m sleeping, anyway.

While I was underwater, this blog quietly slipped over 100,000 hits.  Amazing, that.  So I thought it might be thoughtful for me to put together a page of what might be considered my “greatest hits to date.” So that anyone stumbling across my blog wouldn’t have to wade through as much crap as you have all had to.

I have a few particular blogs of mine that I think might be “winners” in that they generated the most comments.  I also have one or maybe two that I think are actually decent writing.  But ultimately I believe that you are the judges.  You tell me your favorites of the blogs I’ve subjected you to over this past year.  I’ll put them together on a little page, it will be like Heather in Paradise Cliff Notes for the lazy student.

As soon as my computer is saved, the new blog will be posted.  Thank you for bearing with me.  I will try not to leave you again, I promise.  Because when you’re gone, I miss you.

I interrupt your wait for my 2nd HS reunion post and more Halloween costume pics to bring you this “normal life” post.

I discovered that I had an infection in a tooth I’d had a root canal in over 20 years ago. There wasn’t any pain or blatant signs of infection, so I didn’t notice it until it had gotten so bad the tooth had to be pulled. I then put it off for a month, since I had my vacation to go on and my HS reunion to attend and I didn’t want to go looking all toothless and country. My sister called me “vain,” and I agree with her assessment completely, but want to add that in my opinion there are enough toothless people in Lake County, IL without my adding to their ranks.

Tuesday after work, I went to see my dentista, Dr. Jorge Armenta, whose office is on Avenida 30 and the corner of Calle 6. Dr. Armenta has been my dentist since I moved here and is absolutely wonderful, very gentle and soothing. His office is small, but he goes out of his way to accommodate your needed appointment times and is available by cell phone almost anytime.


Pointing to my left 2nd rear molar for the last time. It had a porcelain crown on it that closely matched the color of my other teeth, so imagine my shock when I saw what the “underneath” parts of a tooth look like. I couldn’t bring myself to take pictures of that ugly brownish-yellow thing.


During the 6 minutes or so I sat in Dr. Armenta’s waiting room, my nervous ass must have read every word on that restaurant billboard across the street about 324 times.

Dr. Armenta, doing his GQ pose as I demanded. He’s handsome and kind.


He did another x-ray just so I could show it to you on my blog. I don’t know if you can tell, but the infection ate away a lot of the roots of the capped tooth, as well as some of the surrounding bone in my jaw. When Dr. Armenta finally got the tooth out, it pulled all of the infection with it, and since he knows how fascinated I am with gross things, he showed me the pus sac and everything. It was cool, but then I felt a little faint and had to lie back down.


The executioner posing for a photo with me just before the beheading.


I’m not that happy at the dentist; even for cleanings I grip my hands together very tightly. Michael was amused to see that during an extraction, I also hold my feet at weird angles and move them around from side to side.

The procedure itself wasn’t too bad. I had so much Novocaine I couldn’t feel my mouth for the next 4 hours. Dr. Armenta is so deft with the shots that I never felt a thing. He told me that he’s so good at them because in dental school, he and his best friend practiced on each other over and over again.

The worst thing about the extraction was the sort of ripping sound it made when he pried the tooth out of my jaw. I wasn’t too keen on the “shaving of the jawbone” part, either, but in almost no time, it was done and I was home with my painkillers and antibiotics.

Dr. Armenta is easily the best dentist I’ve ever had and I’ve never had a bad experience in his dental chair. Maybe because Dr. Armenta is not just my dentist, he’s also my good friend, Jorge:


In addition to dental school, I’m pretty sure he also attended Master Barbecuing School. Thanks, Jorge, I’ll see you on Saturday!

(*this is what time the Chinese man went to the dentist)

At Mazatlan Nancy’s request (she’s right, I did promise), here are more photos of past Halloweens in Playa del Carmen.


2007 This Day of the Dead makeup was EXCELLENT


Inside La Ranita bar, part of the hotel La Rana Cansada on Calle 10 between Avenidas 5 and 10

The mummy really impressed me…totally wrapped up, so how to use the bathroom?

Bloody Mary Keersten, as one of the cocktail girls who one first prize. She made the whole room smell deliciously of celery. Margarita Girl Natalia is in the background.


Someone please explain to me how she manages to still look so pretty with that makeup on.


I was dressed as Princess Leia this night, so that Jedi demanded a photo with me after this one.


Drunk Britney almost drops Sean Preston and the paparazzi catches it all on film

This disgusting male tourist from hell is actually a stunningly beautiful, smart woman doctor!

More to come! 17 days left!

One of the reasons I went back to Chicagoland recently was to attend my 20 year High School Reunion. In 1988, I graduated from Zion-Benton Township High School, home of the Fighting Zee-Bees.

Looking back on my HS days with the benefit of hindsight, I see a confused young girl with little in the way of self-esteem who wanted desperately to fit in, to wear “that hat of belonging.” I was a cheerleader even though I felt like I had little in common with the other girls and even if I secretly gravitated toward the poetry and theater crews. I admired the “punk kids” who had the courage to wear whatever they wanted and have cool hairstyles (hey there, Jerry, you listening? Did you know I admired you?). I longed to be different, too, to show myself as a distinct personality…but not too different because that would have been what they call “social suicide” in the movie Mean Girls. I wish I knew then what I know now about individuality and sense of self, but unfortunately that lesson would take years for me to learn.

And so my memories of High School are not great, but not terrible, either. I didn’t love it and I didn’t hate it. The person I was then is just the person I WAS then. I don’t know that girl anymore, but I do have compassion for her (unlike some of my friends, who love to throw my cheerleading/jockiness in my face in a seeming attempt to humiliate me for something that I will NEVER be ashamed of).

I attended my 10 year HS reunion, too, but I made the mistake of drinking a little too much beforehand (in a misguided attempt to endure what I thought would be painful) and didn’t really enjoy it. I was determined to have a good time at this one, especially since I was coming from so far away to attend.

I harrassed my three best friends from HS for months in advance, threatening them under pain of death to be my dates. You’ve already “met” Amy and Scott in previous blogs. Jerry is an artist, check out his work.

Since it’s nearly impossible for me to find clothes here that fit me, I ordered this gorgeous dress online at www.unique-vintage.com


Front


Back

Closeup of bodice

I was nervous, since the dress was a size 10. I’d been working out and losing weight, but size 10? The measurements were right, but could I actually be a size 10 again? Holy crap. I was having it shipped to my mom’s house and wouldn’t get a chance to try it on until 3 days before the reunion. What if it didn’t fit? And what if the shoes I ordered online to go with it didn’t fit? Or didn’t look right with the dress?

Whatever would I do?

I’ve told you before about Local H, my friend Scott’s band.  Well, I’m here to talk to you about them again because they’ve got a long US tour coming up and I thought some of you might like to see a rock show.  I know I would, but I’m trapped down here in Jimmy Buffet and Bob Marley hell (no offense to reggae fans, ’cause I like some reggae, but damn!  I get sick of it.) (you Jimmy Buffet fans are on your own, though, ’cause I just cannot get behind the “Cheeseburger in Paradise” stuff.  Sorry).

Tour dates and locations are listed here.

I’m probably going to get in trouble for doing another “proud mom” post, but I don’t give a shit, Scott.  I AM proud and I’m not ashamed to admit it.

If any of you go to the show, make it a point to mention my name to Scott…he’ll LOVE that.  I’ll buy you a beer if you do it.  Really.  I’ve got PayPal and know how to use it.

Here are some more costumes, all from Playa del Carmen.


My beautiful friend Sarah as Carmen Miranda in 2006.  My talented friend Susie made the outfit and I made the hat.  We are gooooood, people.


2007

Tequila Sunrise Susan and Naughty Cop Sara, 2007

I love Halloween. I’m not kidding, I LOVE it. NO ONE loves Halloween as much as I do. Except maybe my friend Sara, I’ll at least acknowledge that her Halloween fervor might begin to approach mine. We wait all year for it to be October, no joke. By November 1st or 2nd, we already know what our costumes for the next year will be. I think you get the picture.

Halloween in Playa del Carmen has grown in popularity every year since I’ve been here–not just among expatriate locals as might be expected, but among Mexican locals as well. The Halloween thing creeps in, but is still kept totally separate from Day of the Dead observances (which here in PdC seem to be more private, family affairs, apart from the big altars you’ll see here and there around town).

This will be my 5th Halloween in PdC. One of my favorite things about living here is that Halloween is actually celebrated ON Halloween, October 31st. Even if that means going out on a Monday or Tuesday. My least favorite thing is how hard it is here to find costumes and accessories. Thrift stores were always my “go-to” spot for ideas, but we don’t have thrift stores here. The costume aisles in the stores grow each year, but the favored costumes among Mexicans are traditional “scary” Halloween costumes and the blood/guts stuff isn’t my favorite. Often my friends and I avail ourselves of kind “mules” who bring wigs or costumes down for us from the US or Canada. The bright side is that people have to get creative here so you never know what you’ll see on Calle 10 on Halloween night.

I’m going to post at least one picture of a Halloween costume every day this month. If you’re not a Halloween person, you will be by the time this month is over. Or you’ll want to kill me, whichever.

I’ll start by posting our costumes for the past 4 Halloweens in Playa del Carmen.


This was our first Halloween here, in 2004. I was unprepared and so just dressed Michael like an old guy and I was his gold-digging, trash trophy wife. It took me forever to find a wig; finally found one at a BRIDAL SHOP in Cancun and it cost almost 50 bucks! I loaned it to my friend later and her dog ate it. I was so pissed.


2005, White Trash. This was one of my favorites because of how easy it was for me to put my costume together. Michael’s costume was brought down, but mine came straight out of either Chedraui or my own closet. I got to wear house slippers, too…no killing my feet like I normally do on Halloween. This costume elicited more laughs than I’ve ever gotten for a costume, it was a fun night. My favorite part of the night had to be when we asked one of our Mexican friends if he knew what we were supposed to be (not knowing if the phenomenon of “white trash” was something that would translate). He looked hard at us, scratched his chin for a second, and said, “Yes! Jerry Springer’s guests!”


2006, one of my least-creative years. Hey, even a Halloween junkie gets tired sometimes.


2007, Princess Leia and Han Solo (we didn’t know the Darth Maul between us). This costume fulfilled a couple of my childhood fantasies. I’m an intermediate-level Star Wars geek.

More Halloween costumes to come!

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