(Okay, I know "Fruity" isn't the mOSt p.c. term, but there aren't any other "F" words denoting homosexuality...other than "Faggoty" which somehow seems worse. I needed alliteration, so I went for it. You can flog me later)
|Lisa is excited for Fun Fact time. Lisa LOVES Fun Facts. Fact.|
When meeting a homo, it is unnecessary to prove how cool with their sexuality you are by talking about all your other AMAZINGLY WICKEDLY COOL gay acquaintances.
The devil in me is mildly amused at the scrambling that occurs when I reveal that my fiancee is female. But my kinder parts feel discomfort at causing embarrassment and confusion... and even for someone as well adjusted and supported as myself... there is the tiniest bit of shame that comes along with causing discomfort to other people. And that's the part I dislike.
Again, no enthusiasm necessary. I don't get overly psyched when talking about my best friend's straight mechanic.
It is totally okay to say the words "gay" and "lesbian" in the presence of someone who is, in fact, gay or lesbian. Truth= Not Derogatory. The number of times someone has gone out of their way to butcher the English language/ sentence structure in order to avoid saying the word "lesbian" in front of/ about me since I came out is astounding. Calm Down, Sparky...Isss allll good. I won't be offended if you call me a lesbian... I am in a same sex relationship. It's a fair assumption to make. A refusal to employ correct terminology makes it seem like being gay, or being a lesbian, or being LGBTQ is somehow negative/ impolite to talk about.
If, that moment, day, or week, or month I am identifying more with a "queer" or "bisexual" label, I DO NOT expect other people to know that unless I am in self disclosure mode. And if I'm being a socially awkward verbally volcanic oversharer, I will probably need to be the one apologizing...
All members of the LGBTQ community don't hang together on the daily. So, no. I don't know your lesbian friend Candace, or your transgender friend Steve (despite the fact that they both went on a weekend vacation once to the island where my parents live). I'm sure they're great, though, since you told me five times how AWESOME they are.
Straight men: Scissoring. Not a thing. Just for the record. Seriously, no one does it. Because it doesn't work. And it's too much effort. So you can stop wondering/ imagining.
To a select group of middle-aged straight women with teenage daughters (often the ones wearing khakis, hideous strappy sandals and pearls): Here is my promise. We're not checking out your daughter. She's fourteen, and Im not into that. Y'all can loosen up your death grip on her bony little shoulder... Statistically speaking, you should be far more concerned about the dude in the business suit standing next to you.
I smiled at her because I smile at many humans (and all pets). I am about as interested in your daughter as I am in that panhandler across the street's mangy dog (Actually, I'm probably more interested in Mangy Dog... Mangy Dog is sweet. In a scrawny, smelly, flea infested kind of way). You can stop glaring. It's ridiculous.
If I was heterosexual and your daughter was a son you wouldn't assume a grown woman would be lusting after your pimply adolescent while waiting for the light to change. I wasn't thinking it, and you were. Who's the pervy one now? (Hint: It's not me...)
|I am making Cloe uncomfortable. One of my favourite activities. Family is Fun! Fact.|
|Lisa eating Dykes on Bikes. There was no way to make that not sound dirty.|