Tag: Gay

Chris Kluwe: Will you be our baby daddy?

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Dear Chris Kluwe,

I’m so sorry to bother you.  As the unofficial spokesperson for tolerance in professional sports in the wake of the DOMA decision, and with your first book – Beautifully Unique Sparkleponies – hitting shelves last month, your dance card is undoubtably full.

But now that lesbian couples across the nation have been given the official thumbs up from the Supreme Court to act on their instinctual desire to rapidly nest, I know there’s not a moment to lose!  I’m certain that I’m not the first gay female to have this idea; I can only hope that I’m the first to ask:

Chris Kluwe, will you be our baby daddy?

Baby dressed as football

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Comment dit-on…dumb American?

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I was enjoying Injun Joe’s hilarious disruption of Porky Pig’s frontier adventure on an episode of Looney Tunes when my father first introduced me to the concept of stereotypes.   I was five.  From that point on, under the tyranny of my hippie parents, my life became a constant examination of the prejudice already present in my tiny world, from my favorite games (“Smear the Queer”), to my favorite terms of derision (“Retard”), to my favorite tattle-tailing verbs (“My brother just gyped me out of $20!).  I have been hypersensitive to labels and the harmful perceptions that accompany them ever since. 

Oh yes, this happened.

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I Might Lose You

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A rainbow sweater AND a bowl cut?! I never had a chance, Mom.

When I complain about my issues with orientation, I am usually talking about one of two things.  The first, which I have already used this blog to discuss at length, I only partially attribute to my mother, who adorned me in liberal amounts of plaid as a child.  The second is one hundred percent her fault, as my complete lack of directional aptitude is a genetic gift that like my prematurely graying hair, clearly came from her.   

My mother, bless her heart, still gets confused picking me up from the airport located twenty minutes from my childhood home.  She used to create mnemonic devices to remember how to get from downtown Hayward to places our family drove several times a year:          

“We turn on B street, Marea, because we want to BE at the cabin!  C street because we’re going to the Little Theater to SEE a play!”          

My mom once flew into Arizona and rented a car to watch me play rugby, and finding her hotel and the pitch without incident remains one of her proudest life accomplishments.  She still talks nostalgically about Phoenix’s large, well-lit signage.       

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A Debbie Downer Blog about Prop 8

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I was going to try to stay away from the topic of sexual orientation for a while so as not to alienate my hordes of straight readers, but I am sitting in a coffee shop in the San Diego gayborhood watching a happy crowd of triumphant homos, and as is the case with my gayness itself, I simply can’t help myself.  This impromptu pride parade is in celebration of today’s court decision to overturn Prop 8, a measure that reaffirmed the proper definition of marriage for these pesky California queers back in 2008.  From what I can remember, the definition goes something like, “Marriage, queers, is between a man and a woman, even if they are considerably less compatible and attractive than you and your same-sex partner. ”

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Gay and at the…Part II

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Gays are fascinating, mysterious creatures.  As a result, it can be difficult to view a gay and all of his (Or her?  Sometimes it’s so hard to tell!) extremely intriguing behaviors outside the context of his (her) sexual orientation.  For example, if you were to meet a well-dressed gay man named Neil, you probably wouldn’t think, “My, that individual Neil sure has an eye for fashion.”  Most likely you would think, “My, flaming homos such as Neil are so very stylish.”  You can’t help it.  It’s how our brains are wired.  

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Gay and at the…

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I lead a pretty charmed life for a homosexual. You’d think it would be all separate water fountains, bar raids, and Eminem-led assaults on my character, but as a resident of a liberal state who has surrounded herself with a buffer of likeminded individuals her whole life, I have been largely untouched by discrimination. Even my stint in Middle America happened to coincide with Iowa’s legalization of same-sex marriage and my affiliation with a program called AmeriCorps that was shockingly gayer than a women’s rugby team.

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Can I get an Amen?

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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the controversy over Obama inviting the evangelical pastor Rick Warren to deliver the invocation prayer at his inauguration in January. At first I sort of scoffed at all the political gays who were up in arms about Obama’s decision to include someone so openly hostile toward the homos on this important day. I mean, give the poor man a break – there are too many deeply divisive issues in today’s political landscape to find a speaker who wouldn’t be considered offensive to SOMEONE. He can’t have Wayne Brady lead the prayer for Christ’s sake. And sure, Warren has made statements lumping gays in with child molesters and sibling fuckers, but who hasn’t? As the passage of Proposition 8 reminded us all back in November, there are plenty of people in even the most liberal of states who find us undeserving when it comes to basic human rights because of our deviant lifestyle. Obama gave us a subtle show of support during his first speech as president-elect, let him court the other side in the name of political compromise this time around. Let’s swallow our pride and stand behind him with the hope that bowing our heads for a prayer from a homophobe will buy us some legislation from Washington that will significantly advance our cause – obviously we’re not doing so hot on our own.

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God Bless America

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Last night I went to the classy Blue Chip Inn of Monticello, Iowa to watch the presidential election.  If the half-assed effort I put into my Political Science major yielded anything other than a degree that makes me virtually unemployable, it’s a healthy cynicism toward the political process, particularly the ability of one candidate to make any significant change.  Still, as I watched Obama deliver his acceptance speech, I was drawn in by his charisma and passion (and the fact that he gave a shout out to the homos in the first few minutes), and I actually began to feel a sensation that resembled genuine hope.  It could have been the beers talking – I was expressing my patriotism by downing Sam Adams Winter Ale for $1.75 a pint (hella value) – but I really did find myself getting the chills despite Barack’s occasional platitude.  As I watched my country take an enormous step toward equality, I started to experience something that for the past few years has been unfamiliar to me: a pride in my president and my citizenship.  

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An Old One (Circa Summer 2006): Wardrobe Malfunction

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Today, against my better judgment, I decided to go dress shopping all by myself.  Some background: my aunt is getting married on Sunday, and after a few unsuccessful attempts at shopping with my girlfriend who, frustrated with my indecisiveness, disdain for all things polka dotted (polka dots, as it turns out, are very in), and refusal to “suck it in” while trying on clingy fabrics, finally just stuck me in the tried and true dressy dyke outfit – khaki pants and a white collared shirt. 

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procrastinating…

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As many of you know, I’m graduating this quarter, and all week I’ve been getting sentimental about my college career coming to an end.  Case in point: I actually teared up at the gym this morning when I realized that I was probably doing my last on campus workout ever.  So, as a tribute to all the good times I’ve had – getting over my chubby phase, rehabbing the chicken leg, Operation 10lbs. – I just wanted to give some quick goodbye shout outs to my favorite Rimac regulars who were there through it all.  (Ok if we’re being honest, I didn’t get that emotional, I’m just avoiding writing a paper, so please indulge me.  I know all you kids are procrastinating on “The Book” right now too, so this one’s for you, slackers.)         

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