Taboo: Chapter Two

I have an announcement. This is quite difficult for me, so please be patient. Ok, here we go….

I’m straight.

Whew! I feel better now. Nothing better than cleansing the soul by announcing a secret. I’ve never really come right out and said it before. I mean, I know I’m straight. I’ve always felt straight. I’ve never actually told my family that I am straight. I hope they will understand and love me anyway. Maybe I’ll just write them a letter of confession and then leave town for a while. Or maybe I should just confront the issue and invite them over for dinner to reveal the true me. My true self. My true colors. My straightness. Stand there emotionally naked and hope that they will accept me and my straight lifestyle.

Why does it sound silly when someone announces that they’re straight, but it has to be shocking and news worthy when someone says they’re gay?

The world gasped when they saw the front cover of People Magazine.

Lance Bass from ‘N Sync has come out. He’s out of the closet. He’s wide open. He’s now publicly announcing that he's batting for the other team. You know what?

I don’t care.

I don’t care that he’s gay. I don’t care that Mr. Bass would rather date Brad Pitt instead of Angelina Jolie. I really don’t. But what I do care about is that it’s such a big deal. It shouldn’t be.

I don’t want this blog entry to turn into some politically driven advocate for… well… anyone. It is not my agenda to attempt to convince someone that their beliefs are wrong and mine are right. You have every right to believe whatever you want. It’s called freedom. However, this is my blog you’re reading… so have a seat.

I look forward to the day when people are just people. Gay, straight, white, black, whatever. I’m tired of it being an issue. I’m tired of people having to hide their “gayness” due to the fear of judgment. I’m tired of them feeling like they have to maintain a lie to their family, their friends, the public and themselves.

Lance Bass being gay has no impact on my life. It’s a non-issue. I’m ready for the world to move forward onto some new social issues. This one is old and worn out. We really should get past it. I’m tired of it being the headline in big bold lettering on every magazine cover. I think we should make up a new social issue just so we would have something new to be shocked about.

Lance Bass says, “I’m gay.” Great. Can we move on now?

You won’t find a rainbow bumper sticker on my car. I have no plans to march in any parade. Being gay is not my issue. It shouldn’t even BE an issue. Part of me feels that stickers, parades, and headlines are what’s keeping it an issue. Feeding it. I don’t have any problems with someone who is gay. My problem is how society reacts to it with shock and surprise.

The only time I would care if a guy is gay is if I am interested in him. I mean, I don’t care that he’s gay. It’s just that I would consider this a vital piece of information if I want to date him.

Me: Hey, baby. You’re kinda cute. Wanna go to my place?
Him: I’m gay.
Me: That’s awesome. Appreciate the heads up. Wanna go shoe shopping?
Him: Yes!

See how easy that was? No social pressure. No People Magazine. No coming out party. No news ticker crawling across the bottom of your tv screen.

I find it sad that people can’t just be who they are. You and I may not agree with the same style of music, but you know what? I don’t care. It’s not even issue-worthy. I might tease or humiliate you about your distaste for that twangy-country-crap, but I’m not going to hold it against you.

What if you’re black? You know what? I don’t care. Hispanic? Don’t care. Schizophrenic? I don’t care (yet intrigued).

I’m not really sure where this whole blog has headed. But you know what? I don’t care.

Apparently it wasn't as funny as I thought.

Yesterday at 3:11pm…

Starbucks guy: What can I get for ya.

Me: Ohhh… I think I’ll take a Venti Miller Light.

Starbucks guy: [no reaction]

Me: [waits for reaction]

Starbucks guy: [looks at me and says nothing]

Me: Ok, well change that to a sugar free vanilla fat free latte. Thanks.

Some people just have no humor.

I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what constitutes being an adult. Being a woman versus being a girl. It’s not someone’s age, I can tell you that. It’s something way more profound, complex and indefinable. There’s no universal check list. There’s no official “Society of Women” where all females need to register for membership before they can consider themselves a true woman. It’s not noted on my driver’s license. In fact, it just says “F” for female which leaves the question of my maturity up for debate.

And what confuses the issue even more… it can change from moment to moment. I’m a woman when I pay the bills, when I make right choices, or when I spray sexy perfume on my neck. I’m a girl when I micro-zap a frozen pizza, stay up later than I should, or when I have my mom take care of me when I’m sick.

I’m a girl when I have a crush… the butterflies, the nervousness, the wonder, the daydreaming, the what if’s. The feeling I’ve taken a stupid pill with every uttered word. I’m a woman when I’m in love… when I kiss, when I touch, when I sacrifice. The feeling of contentment and being accepted by him.

A woman answers hard questions and a girl says “I dunno.” I’ve been both. A woman handles responsibility with dignity and a girl avoids it while wishing it away. I’ve done both.

A woman knows her faults due to experiences and self analyzing. A girl thinks she’s just cute and that she can get by with anything. I’ve been both. Today.

A woman saves her money. A girl throws money into wishing wells and dreams.

A woman knows how to stand on her feet. She has no fear and takes on challenges. A girl wants nothing more than to just be loved and protected… to be held tight until all the scary monsters slither away. A woman doesn’t need to be saved. A girl depends on it.

I'm all these things. And more.

Maybe all of this is just what the word “female” means. Maybe my driver’s license had it right from the beginning. Maybe it’s an equal balance of woman and girl that makes a woman truly a woman.

I just love discovering the answer to my own question.