National Coming Out Day, Confessions of a Small Town, Teenage Queer, All Grown Up

This photo was taken Oct. 8th, 2001, the day I came out of the closet, shouting into a microphone on the University of Texas at Austin campus. Because I've never done a damn thing half way.

Hey Kiddies! It's National Coming Out Day! Time for me to reflect that I have been out of the closet almost four times as long as I was in it, and I am very very old. It baffles me to think back on that 15, 16, 17, year old kid, so terrified of what she was, when now I don't know how to be anything but exactly what I am. I'm old, and lying and avoiding the truth takes far too much energy. I remember, night after night, day after day, i spent in prayer over the feelings I couldn't deal with, which became more and more unwieldy each day. I remember that never once, in two and a half years, did I pray for G-d to make me straight, but every time asked to be shown which path He intended for me. He eventually did, and I followed it, and it sucked, for a while.

I lost a lot, a damn lot, for being true to myself. Contact with my little brother and sister, being the biggest and most painful. Their father, my step-dad, didn’t want them exposed to any one who was gay, and that meant their big sister.I haven’t been able to speak more than a few words to them in 11 years, not even on their birthdays and Christmas. I also had to quit my favorite subjects in school and hide in the art classes because of the bullying. Yes, small town Texas is so bass akwards, the drama department is/was the least safe environment for gay kids. But there were a lot of victories, to. I found a community, thanks to the Austin non-profit Out Youth, and I found a voice. My skin became armor and  I developed my biting wit, because nothing is more fun than making a bully look like an idiot with one good quip. I started writing the poetry that later made me locally famous. I learned that my well being deserved to be my first priority, and unlike far too many queer teens, I survived.

I also became obnoxious. The more and more those around me pushed that I was wrong for being a lesbian, the more lesbian I became. From the pretty blonde happily waving in the photo above, in a few months, I became a spiky haired, men’s clothed, facially pierced, in your face, junior bull-dyke, given to wearing t-shirts with slogans like “I can do everything your last boyfriend couldn’t,” and “hold my hammer while I nail your girlfriend.” My older sister jokes that when I met people for the first time, during those days, the introduction went like this, “Hi, I’m a lesbian, I like girls, I’m 100% queer! queer! queer! and I will probably bang your sister at some point. Oh, and my name is Mouse”  As you can imagine, for the loved ones around me, this got old ...quick. It didn’t take long for my sister to give me the advice of my life, one day over lunch. “You’re a lesbian,” she said “and that’s great. That’s wonderful. But it’s not the only thing you are. You are smart, and creative and a pain in my ass and I want you to be all of those things because the whole package is far more interesting than the angry one-dimensional loudmouth you are acting like right now.”

It all seems so far away now. I honestly don't think of the anniversary of my coming out, until someone mentions National Coming Out Day, which heralded my own escape from the closet, 11 years ago. That, and somehow all that came with it, is but a dream on the mist. The pain. The fear. The triumph. The first kiss with a girl. Over the last decade I have been transformed. Shifted and settled into a woman who never tells people she’s queer, because it doesn't matter, but will tell everyone, if it comes up in conversation, about her precious wife, because nothing matters more than she. A woman who fights for equality because equality is the only right way, not so much because it directly affects her, because her marriage is perfect, legal or no. A woman who every once in a while, is shocked, momentarily, by the fact that she is gay, married to a woman, and that there are people in the world who think that these things aren't as natural and comfortable as tomato soup on a cold, rainy day. Being gay isn't a big deal to me. It was once, but is no longer my principle trait, just a weave in the fabric of who I am. Not to be hidden, not to be highlighted. Just a small part of the big, wonderful, picture.

This post is dedicated to all the men and women and people in between, young or not so young, who still must be themselves only in secret.It is my hope and prayer that all of you find the safety to live as you truly are. Wonderful, whole, individuals deserving of all the love in the world, from whomever you choose.

Legitimate

CAUTION: This post deals frankly with the topics of sexual assault, self-injury, and suicide. If you are likely to be triggered by these topics, please, take care of yourself and read with caution or come back next week for another post.

Rite of Passage

After my third sexual assault, I just quit caring. I thought of my body like the pin cushion on my grandma's sewing table, attacked again and again without ever changing much. Rape was all around me. At a young age I knew the terrifying details of my mother's molestation and of the attack which lead to my conception. Sexual abuse was a rite of passage. All the young girls went through it. Like menarche and pimples came the eating disorders and self cutting, symptoms of our common disease.        Our trauma was common, but hardly communal. Each girl suffered in her silent world of shame and fear and self loathing. Each thinking she'd asked for it, had it coming, deserved it. After all, it happened to all of us. And though quiet confessions, me toos, were made, no one admitted feeling anything besides the pain when a hymen is ruptured.      Few, if any of us knew the difference between being raped and having sex. We twelve year-olds entered adulthood with a vicious thrust. We knew our place as young women. We were walking warm respites. We were dens for serpents. We were holes to be fucked.          This story doesn't turn to a happy ending. Therapy and group hugs, Vagina Monologues and Take Back The Night rallies do nothing for our shame, our hatred, our distrust. It is no big surprise when a woman is raped. And no matter what the feminists say, she was asking for it, by having the brash audacity to have a sheath between her legs, instead of a sword.

The words above were written in collaboration with women who have survived the unthinkable. Each broken and shattered by her attack. Each struggling to collect the pieces and rebuild. Each has recoiled at her lover’s gentle touch. Each wept, shook, and flailed in her sleep as she relived the attack in her nightmares. Each felt her pulse quicken with every knock on the door, every shadow on the sidewalk, every wandering thought that lead her back to where happened. Together they have paid in full for a new car for their therapists, as they learned to trust again and fight back menacing shadows.  None were wrestled to the ground, or knocked on the head. All were acquainted with their attackers. Some were drugged. Some were coerced or threatened. A couple were unconscious when the attack started. All were, inarguably and absolutely raped.

There are some groups and individuals who believe that these women made it all up. That it wasn’t real. It wasn’t so bad, could have been worse. That their pain was not “legitimate.” But I have seen the cigaret burns on their ankles. I have cleaned the blood from their forearms. I have ridden in the ambulance when they have OD’d. I have held them while they wailed at two pink lines. The people who minimize and dismiss this torture, I would like to call monsters. I would like to rail and rage at them all. Shout at them “go get raped and report back!”  Instead, I gather my sisters, my sorority of shadows, to love each other, and support each other as this debate in the headlines brings our pasts to surface again. Then, in silence, and to my own surprise, I am glad for Akin’s comments, ignorant, misogynist and cruel as they are. I am happy for his ignorance, because in a country where the danger of sexual assault is as present as the danger of a sunburn, it means no one he loves has been through what we have. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

**This post is dedicated to the brave women who shared their strength with me to make this piece possible. Our words and experiences are blended into one voice, because when one woman is attacked, every woman bleeds.

An Important Lesson from Chickengate.

Yesterday, my partner and I did not go kiss in front of a Chick Fil A. We did not choose to abstain from the protest because my wife remains marginally closeted for professional reasons. We did not stay home because we couldn’t find information regarding which Chick Fil A to go to at what time. It was an experience we shared the night before that made us realize we don’t give a damn what Chick Fil A thinks.

Late Thursday night, like married couples do, my Sweetie and I quarreled. To vent my frustrations, I took our dog for a walk. Though I wasn’t gone long, when I returned my girl was already in bed reading a book. As I started to prepare for my shower, she took hold of my wrist and gave it a gentle tug, a cue to get in bed beside her. I was still in my street clothes and reeked of cigarette smoke, but I lay down on top of the covers and Sweetie pulled me into her arms. She stroked my hair and whispered “Baby, I’m sorry.” My, “I forgive you” was understood, but remained unsaid. Even after seven years, my wife’s embrace can leave me breathless. It was in that moment, as I intertwined my fingers with hers, and our cat wriggled his way into the middle of our cuddle, that I realized no amount of hate can touch this love.

There is no word can be said. There is no bill can be passed. There is no rock can be thrown, that will break-up this marriage. It is not a piece of paper stamped by a bureaucrat that makes us married. It is the way she bags up the trash for me to take it out. It is the kiss I place on her shoulder blade whenever I find myself behind her. It is the way we refer to each other as mom, or momma when talking to our pets, and shake our heads when we see the new “girls fashion” at Target. It is the box of her favorite candy hidden in the back of the pantry, and the bottle of my favorite tea picked up on the way home. It is learning to forgive the socks on the floor, but nagging about the leak under the sink. It is the frustration of one that other stayed late at work without calling. It is proofreading each other’s papers, presentations, and blog posts. It is giving in that she will talk on the phone while driving, but insisting that she use a bluetooth because I  worry. It’s laughing at the same in-jokes for half a decade and learning to love the produce stickers on the freezer door. It is the day I realized my aversion to juice or tea made with corn syrup was entirely her influence. It is reserving every “I told you so.” It's being the human dictionary to her human calculator, and always being in awe of her uncanny googling skills. It is the way she really listens when I blather about evolutionarily maladaptive traits in arachnids, or socio-political theory as represented in The Hunger Games or other such pedantry.  It's understanding each other's need for alone time and her coming to terms with my close friendship with my ex. It is forgiveness and learning to let go of grudges. It is that one thing each of us does that makes the other insane. It's the library fines incurred when I insist she read the book I just finished, and forget to renew it online. It is the midday text messages that say I am thinking of you. It is ending every phone call with “I love you” before “goodbye.” It is accepting that we will fight, and learning to fight fair. It is never going to bed angry, even if it means staying up til 2am, that make our relationship as impossible to put asunder as any legal marriage. No amount of waffle fries can ever take that away.

Chickengate 2012

The very concept of this image is bullshit.

Let me tell you why.




Ok Friends. Listen Up. I am clearing up this Chick-Fil-A confusion right about now. It goes like this. IF THE COMPANY TAKES YOUR MONEY AND USES IT, OR GIVES IT TO PEOPLE WHO USE IT TO DO THINGS YOU DON'T LIKE, DON'T GIVE THEM YOUR MONEY. See, nice and simple. The Chick Fil A boycott has nothing to do with First Amendment rights (at least as far as I know, no one has been pepper sprayed, God Help Us if they have) The CEO of Chick-Fil-A, has every right in the world to say anything he want about Jesus Hatin' Turd Punchers ‘til his tiny little black heart’s content, and we can call him A Bible Thumping Nazi Dingleberry all we want. It's not about words. It's about MONEY. Words are what we are slinging around to to convince each other to either stop spending money on tasty tasty waffle fries on principal, or to buy more of them because, you know, fuck the gays.

Now let me be clear. CEO, Dan Cathy’s comments SUCK, and are what lit this fire, but it is the laundry list of anti-gay organizations and hate groups that receive a cut from your purchase of nuggets and hand squeezed lemonade that are the real issue. I believe I speak for all gays everywhere when I say we really want to get married and we get our feathers ruffled when people do shit on purpose to make sure that never ever ever happens By GOD! Because, you know, all gay people kick puppies and drown kittens in sewers. What we REALLY can't stand is our family and friends (the ones that still speak to us, precious few that they are) giving money, even indirectly, to these groups that think we were all minted straight (ha ha) from Satan's asshole.


Armed with the truth about how the company donates our hard earned cash,  we took to the interwebs and made damn sure everybody knew exactly where their money was going, so that they could make the informed decision to stop giving it to Chick-Fil-A. After all, they love their gay friends and family more than lightly breaded chicken breasts. We took over Facebook and burned out everyone we know with photoshopped images of cows holding signs ala Westboro Baptist. Yes, we got a little uppity. We posted a ton of statuses, and we wore our rainbow tube socks to work two days in a row. Our Bad. But can you really blame us? We're not twelve months removed from all the Occupy Wall Street shenanigans and all the action we are calling for is to eat at KFC and make out in a parking lot for a couple of hours. Even if our boycott dollars are made up tenfold by right-wing dollars, everybody now knows what they are getting along with their peach milkshakes, and if nothing notable comes from the Chick-Fil-A Same Sex Kiss Day, it will provide the country with some free Lesbian Soft Core, and that means everybody wins!







This semi-gratuitous, hot lesbian make-out, featuring one of our country's finest defenders of freedom, is brought to you by the demise of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, the discriminatory policy those damn illiterate cows fought to keep in place. 

A Brand New Day

 IanEgan

The world is moving quickly these days. It seems every time I sit down to blog, a news ticker announces that eight things have happened that fundamentally change what I was going to write about. It is very hard to keep up. Frustrating as it is to my blogging muscles, I cannot but take it as a good thing. Everything you’ve ever known is now the dice in a world wide game of Farkle and all you can do is hang on till the dice are thrown.

Never in my memory have I seen so much support for my people, the queers. I know that 10 years ago, the little baby dyke I was would never have thought everyone from the President of the United States to Kermit J Frog would support her right to marry. Hell, when I was pulling my books out of a vandalized locker or outwitting my taunters only one state offered civil unions. The possibility of gay marriage existed only in the tenacious optimism of a seventeen year old. It’s been a decade that I have campaigned fruitlessly against Chik Fil A, and in twenty four hours my Facebook newsfeed was wallpapered in photoshoped images supporting equal marriage, notes and statuses condemning the company, and invitations to at least a dozen protests. It was pretty overwhelming to the rural Texas high school student who was told observing a day of silence in protest of bullying was a safety concern.

As November 6 inches closer and closer, people talk a lot of crap about President Barack Obama, and I am sure a lot of it is deserved. Gun control, bailouts, birth certificates mean a lot to a lot of people. But this little lesbian doesn't give a damn. What President Obama has done in the last four to fix, or screw ,the economy, (depending on your point of view) stands only dimly next to the dominos that he has tipped in the direction of my freedom. Brick by brick the wall that stands between my family and full rights of citizenship is being dismantled. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is dead, just a few years too late for this aspiring Air Force Officer. DOMA is on it’s way out, another laundry list of policy changes  and the right to call my wife my wife is officially on the table for his next term. Seeing these wonders on the horizon, when, even as young as I am, I never thought they could happen, doesn't leave any room in my heart for immigration, or health care, or Fast and Furious. It is far too filled with hope of Live and Let Love, and happiness that a new day is dawning in this country. A day that my loved ones and I can finally be proud to call the USA home. Finally feel that we belong here.

Talk Nerdy To Me

We've all done it, though most of us won't admit it. We have all seen a beautiful person of our preferred gender across a crowded room and thought, "there stands an angel" or at least "there stands someone I want to bumb bodies with." When this occures the more daring will approach said heavenly creature and do our level best to make an impression that leads to a lifetime, or maybe a night of bliss. Some are better at this than others. I am not one of those people. But, I have had my share of success with the ladies and what follows is a greatest hits of my fortunes and follies of picking up chicks.

10 nerdy things I have done to get laid

1) Temporarily dyed my hair to match the dress of my prom date.
 
Did it work? Not at all
 
2) Turned paper "Conversation Heart" decorations into a little book asking girl out on a date.
 
Did it work? First Base
 
3) Won a party game consisting of anonymously writing a description of your dream date and asked a cute girl at the party if she wanted me to make that dream come true.
 
Did it work? Didn't even have to wait for the dream date to happen.
 
4) Sang love songs at Karaoke, dedicated to the woman I was hoping to bed.
 
Did it work? Everytime
 
             4a) Acted like a wannabe badass and rapped Eminem at karaoke
 
Did it work? NEVER
 
5) Spoke Spanish to a girl from South America; said her name was beautiful.
 
Did it work? She was from Brazil
 
6) Took out an ad in a local weekly confessing my love
 
Did it work? Not even when combined with the breakfast I bought her to ensure she read the ad
 
7) Texted lyrics to love songs from her favorite band during the middle of the work day.
 
Did it work? Absolutely
 
8) Broke out dance moves inspired by high school musical choreography and Dance Dance Revolution.
 
Did it work?  Not even a little bit
 
                     8a) Challenged the girl she was dating to a DDR off, 1980's teen movie style
 
Did it work?  I did get out of my pants, but only because of all the jumping and stomping while not wearing a belt.
 
 
9) Talked about what I had learned in school about the principal exports and political environment of a foreign girl's home country.
 
Did it work? Could have, but this could also be attributed to introducing said girl to my friend, Jack Daniels.
 
10) One word. Shakespeare
 
Did it work? "Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie"


This post is dedicated to my wonderful partner of (damn near) seven years for falling for my goofy butt and saving me from the dating scene. I love you Spiderman!

Poem of the Week! "Wishes"

When the dance floor is in my living room,

The hottest shorty in the club is the 

Fat bitch

Pop-lockin, booty shakin, and signing the lyrics to the goddamn song,

All at the same time. 

When the open mic is in my living room,

Two dissonant chords on an out of tune guitar

Sound like Heaven

And Fire

And not at all like a sick cat

Dying, cumming and giving birth 

All at the same time.

And when Prom Night is in my living room

I'm not corseted into a slinky black dress

Giving hand gun hand jobs to the quarterback

Fuck That!

I wear a red tuxedo

White carnation

And have the captain of the color guard on my arm. 

But screw the prom!

Screw the dance floor!

And screw the open mic!

They are not big enough, 

For my living room

Because my living room

Is a wondrous place

With a couch that has only seen kisses.

Symphonies play on kazoos.

Stars shine in the daylight,

and Spacemen plant flowers on the moon

The bookshelves overflow with words

Reverberating off the walls in

Singing syncopation,

Or maybe just singing

Andy Warhol on the walls

Having tea with Dali 

On an oriental carpet 

Made of Unicorns

And when the WORLD is in my living room, 

The only oil in our oceans

Will sleep safely in the

Earth at the bottom.

We won't need it;

We'll have jet packs.

People in rainbow shirts will get married more often

Than people in red shirts die on

Star Trek!

When the world is in my living room

We won't judge each other by the

Colors on our skin because

Our skin will be colored

In poster paint and glitter pens

Proclaiming messages

Of peace

and Peace will be preached

By all the world's religions

The only wars fought will be

Between fourth graders

on the playground

With packs of playing cards

And everyone will have

Their own theme music

YES!

When the world is in my living room

There will be no more Republicans

And no more Libritarians

And no more Democrats

Because each individual will govern

Him or herself with kindness

Compassion, generosity.

Not caring for the sick and the needy

Because there will be no sick

And no needy

When the world is in my living room.

But Screw my living room.

It's time to bring my living room

To the world.