Tag: Westboro Baptist Church

I Won’t Last a Day Without You

Good morning! For me, at least, today is the midpoint of the work week. I am delighted to have a four day weekend, and it will be glorious once it arrives. Yesterday was another odd one, to be honest; I felt fine when I got up, but gradually grew more tired until by the time I came home I was pretty exhausted. We did watch House of the Dragon–which felt like more filler than anything else, yet again (this series we’ll show the aftermath of the battles instead of the actual battle!) and I did some reading, but other than that the evening was pretty much wasted for the most part. I slept really well last night, and this morning I am awake and feeling good. That hasn’t happened in the morning for a while, so here’s hoping the energy and the good mood and the feeling good lasts all day, shall we? I am going to run errands after work tonight and go to the gym on the way home.

I also got a bit unhinged yesterday because someone on my Facebook feed posted one of those namby-pamby, we-can-disagree-politically-but-still-be-friends bullshit, and I will not apologize for seeing red. I unfriended and blocked so fast my keyboard was literally smoking. That level of privilege nauseates me, because it reduces me–and others who don’t fit the white nationalist/American Nazi definition of a real American–and my existence, my rights…to nothing more than a “political opinion.” This is what I mean when I talk about casual cruelty–and what posting bullshit like that means to people like me. Do any of you have any idea what it feels like to be dismissed so completely in this manner by someone who has never, ever had to wonder “I wonder if I didn’t get the job because I was too gay-presenting” or “was that person a homophobe or just an asshole in general” or “what is this carload of young men acting like idiots up to?”

And really, isn’t that the primary problem we have in this country? People who just want to put up their hands and surrender because it’s difficult and bigotry against you doesn’t really harm me so why should I lose friends because they think you’re not human? Ha ha ha, can’t we all just get along? and the answer, for the record, to that is always no. You see, I have no problem with homophobes being homophobic. I don’t care if you’re homophobic. You want to leave those braces on your brain, be my guest. But you don’t get to pass laws that make me not a whole American citizen.

It was also ironic that after a lovely Pride Month on-line for the most part, this shit-bird decided to turn into a good little German on July 1. “Okay, Pride’s over, time to shit on the gays some more! You should be nicer to the people who tell you you’re going to Hell and you’re a pervert and an abomination and a groomer and a pedophile because it’s just a political opinion.”

Sorry you had to feel a little discomfort there, Mr. Straight Ciswhiteman! Good thing you don’t have to deal with it every fucking day, or have to worry every election season that you’re rights are going to be voted away (or stolen by a corrupt, illegitimate Supreme Court), right, since you have so much trouble dealing with discomfort…and then ask yourself this: how would I feel if someone told my queer daughter that her entire existence is reduced to being considered simply an opposing political opinion?

That should make you feel extremely uncomfortable. But most Americans tend to avoid things that make them uncomfortable. Imagine being told to “straighten up” because I am making some straight person squirm.

Well, it’s not my fault that you immediately think about gay sex whenever I am around or I am talking to you. I don’t think about straight sex whenever I am around or talking to a straight person, so maybe you should take a long hard look at your own obsession with sex, and maybe start working through that on your own, or with a therapist if you can afford it or your insurance will cover it. Who’s the sex-crazed pervert in this instance, freak?

And I don’t want to be friends with anyone who thinks that way, or can rationalize things like “Well, I’ve known Jimmy since we were kids and he’s a good guy. It bugs me when he says he thinks all homosexuals should be killed, but I’ve had good times with him before and I know he just says that for a reaction, so we just don’t talk about politics.” I am “white” but I refuse to be friends with racists, or with misogynists just because I also have a penis. But then I know what it feels like to watch your friends die while ‘christians’ cheer about the fatal disease “because it’s killing all the right people.”

Evangelical Christians were perfectly okay with letting us die in the 1980s and laughing about those deaths, like their cohorts in the Westboro Baptist Church. Why would I ever believe they’ve changed their minds when they still are out there advocating for stripping us of our full citizenship and would actually like us all to start dying again?

Ugh. It’s sooooo tiring. And it’s always, always the same old “what about the children” bullshit. Groomer, pedophile, “they need to recruit” on and on and on, lather, rinse, repeat. What’s even worse is that the current crop are really in it for the grift and attention. I honestly believe that Anita Bryant, horror that she was, actually believed what she was saying and she wasn’t doing it for money, power or attention. She did evil while thinking she was doing right….but the present day professional homophobes are all about money and power and grifting less worldly religious freaks out of what little money they have left.

And on that bitter note, it’s off to the spice mines with me. Have a lovely Tuesday, and I may be back later. I do need to write another Pride post, and I need to write my entry about Horror Movie. Sigh. Onward and upward.

19th Nervous Breakdown

Saturday morning and another lovely day in New Orleans–if a bit chilly–has dawned in the Lost Apartment. What a marvelous night’s sleep I had last night. The bed and blankets were so comfortable–not to mention the snoring kitty curled up between Paul and I–that I really didn’t want to get up, but I have far too much to do today to continue to laze in the bed simply because it felt good. So, it was out of the bed for one Gregalicious, and here I sit, swilling my morning coffee and clearing the cobwebs from my brain by trying to write a coherent blog post. (Good luck to me on that, am I right?) Yesterday was a work-at-home day, of data entry and doing quality assurance on testing logs, and yes, it is as tedious as it sounds. But after work I did some great thinking and work on the in-progress story, and am looking forward to getting some quality work done on it this morning/afternoon/however long it takes me to reach the day’s goal, and no matter if it kills me–which it just might do. I also have some errands to do today, but they shouldn’t take long.

Huzzah? Huzzah.

Last night we watched the final episode of Welcome to Chippendale’s, which really dragged on for far too long. There really wasn’t eight episodes of story here, and so it often seemed to drag and drag and drag. It’s a shame, the acting was top-notch and it was a great story, but unless you’re interested in viewing a couple of Emmy-worthy performances, watch the true crime documentary instead. It’s funny to remember how ubiquitous Chippendale’s seemed to be in the 1980’s–I certainly owned a few of their calendars, since they were the first real beefcake calendars produced–and I wished sometimes that I had a stronger memory, at least of the 1980’s, but it was such a dark and brutal decade for me I think I was happy to forget most of it. Paul is going to be gone most of the day today, so I have no excuse not to get a lot of writing and other things completed today. I do want to watch the adaptation of Louis Bayard’s The Pale Blue Eye on Netflix at some point this weekend, and of course we do need to finish watching Sherwood, too. I leave for New York on Wednesday, which is kind of fun–I am really looking forward to having some good Chinese food–and hopefully I’ll be able to get writing done on the road (which never happens, no matter how much I hope that it does).

But this time, it must.

I’m really enjoying all this writing I am doing lately, even though I am lazy and would rather not do anything at all. But it feels good to be pushing my brain and my creativity and trying to come up with fresh and new ways of saying things as well as fresh and new characters and interactions and stories. This first half of the year is going to be hectic and busy for me, but I am developing a plan that should help me get through till the spring. If I can stay motivated and stop being lazy, I should be able to get a lot accomplished before the dog days of summer are upon me. My writing goals for the year are very ambitious, of which I am well aware, but I think it’s better to try to do more and not quite get there than to plan less ambitiously and get even less done. I know I can’t get everything done that I want to get done in 2023 (I don’t think anyone could, to be honest), but I’d rather be overconfident than not, you know?

I am having my first piece of king cake for 2023 with my coffee this morning and it is sublime. It’s kind of hard to believe that Carnival season has rolled around again, and now of course the first part of the year will fly by: New York next week, Alabama the first weekend of February, then Carnival, the one-two punch of Tennessee Williams Festival/Saints and Sinners at the end of March, and then of course it’s practically summer again already, and then the next thing you know it’s football season again. This, for the record, is how your life ends up slipping through your fingers like mercury. Heavy sigh. But I am trying not to look forward to things, if that makes sense? I kind of want to just keep my head down, avoid drama for the most part, and focus on my writing for the year. It seems like writing always takes a back seat to everything else for me, which is ironic since it’s the thing I draw the most pleasure from and being a writer is such an integral part of my self-identity. I don’t see myself as a sexual health counselor, even though that’s my day job and has been for eighteen years. I don’t see myself as Mrs. Saints & Sinners/Tennessee Williams Festival, either–even though that’s been Paul’s job for the last twenty-two years. I see myself, despite all the other identities I take on in my everyday life, first and foremost as a writer; that is the core of my identity and who I am. And yet…it always seems as though my writing in always being shunted to the side or pushed back on the list of things to do because I have so many other things always going on in my life. Writing will be my priority now going forward, and while I still intend to work on volunteer stuff whenever I have time, that isn’t going to be a priority for me and it never should have been, either. I don’t know why the most important aspect of my life is always back-burnered for one reason or another, but it’s not going to be the case anymore. I am going to be even more zealous and jealous of my time and donating it only sparingly, and only when I have time.

I also need to start being realistic about everything I can and cannot do and stop thinking oh I can do everything in the world by all means ask me to do more things. I think it all comes from the fear of being disliked, that goes back to childhood–I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over those scars, truth be told–and I am very aware of the idiocy this implies: oh if I say no to this they won’t like me and won’t ask me again; I have always called this Homecoming Queen Syndrome–the desperate need for approval from other people, the need to be liked and well thought of, the fear of being made fun of, mocked, and disliked. I need to work harder on not giving a fuck, but it’s also part and parcel of being queer and trying to fit into a mainstream culture group, the crime writing community. It’s very strange and off-putting to know that people who’ve never met you, know nothing about you, and never will know you hate you in the abstract; that some people will never like you because they’re homophobic (honestly, when it comes to homophobia I prefer the Westboro Baptist Church version, where they will scream their hatred in your face; at least it’s more honest than people who will smile to your face while voting to strip you of your rights); and those same people will never, no matter what, ever read anything you write. It’s weird knowing that people will find your books on Amazon and one-star you without reading the actual book because you’re a queer and you had the audacity to write a book about queers where they are actually whole, happy people who aren’t suffering at all because of their same-sex attractions. The great irony of this is my own inconsistency; when I actually think about it, I do not give two shits what other people think of me, and haven’t for a long time. Unfortunately, I’ve been conditioned my entire life to care what other people think so I always fall back on that subconsciously; I’m always so flattered to be asked to do anything–which is the sneaky way that insecurity/need to be liked gaslights me into agreeing to do things I may not want to actually do or have the time to get done without something else, something that actually matters more to me, being pushed aside or not getting the full attention it needs and deserves.

A Gregalicious is still a work in progress, apparently–even at sixty-one.

And on that note, this work isn’t going to do itself now, is it? Off to the spice mines with me–and will talk to you later, Constant Reader. Have a fabulous Saturday.