Christmas story

No fiction this Friday, just some holiday reflections.

I hate to fly. Flying terrifies me. I sit in a tense ball, furtively glancing between the book that’s supposed to distract me and the world whizzing by at 35 thousand feet. But, for once, I was sitting calmly in my seat watching the sunrise. I may have even been humming a Christmas tune.

For the six years previous to this trip, Christmas had been only a lukewarm happiness for me. I’d trapped myself and my ex-husband in a debacle of a marriage doomed to failure. The year before my divorce, my unspoken hostilities combined with the stress of the holidays and an impending move made Christmas 2005 a disaster.

So much rubble lay behind me. In a period of six months, I’d managed to get a divorce and come out of the closet. For the first time in six years, I was filled with a sense of hope and rebirth.

Christmas had been this time that was about trying to fill spiritual holes with material goods, feigned joy over electronics, baked goods and clothing. We merely went through the motions every year because we thought that kept the piece and held us together. But the wedges were silently working, slowly but surely.

During the disastrous Christmas of 05, I remember crying silently in a locked bathroom begging to be normal. Begging for all those thought crimes to go away. Begging to not be who I really am. Insanity assuredly.

The truth of the matter was all I wanted for Christmas was happiness. And, sadly, happiness could never come in the form of an iPod, a Coach purse or a Kitchen Aid mixer. Happiness comes from the heart and mine was so broken all it could produce was bitter acrimony.

I was reflecting over all of this at 35 thousand feet when it occurred to me how freaked out I’d normally be in this situation.

“Curious,” I said in almost a whisper, nearly waking the passenger next to me. But it didn’t take me too long to come to the conclusion that when you live each day feeling trapped in the prison of your own mine, every little thing is a terrifying experience. Merely waking up can feel like being the protagonist in a Stephen King novel.

But I wasn’t trapped any more. My divorce was final. I had come out to all the people that were important. I felt free.

I landed at Reagan National Airport early that afternoon. It was the first time I’d seen my parents since I’d tearfully come out to them on the phone. It happened in a rush and not at all the way I wanted but I had at least told them. I was more than a little nervous about finally seeing them.
But within minutes my mother’s infectious Christmas spirit had washed away any concerns I had and we were slogging through DC traffic planning all the holiday traditions we were going to cram into my brief visit.

I don’t know if it was exhaustion or relief or a combination thereof, but I slept better that night than I had in years. It was the first time I allowed myself to feel that everything really was all right. That whole trip laughter seemed harder, smiles felt like they wound all the way through my body and for the first time in six long years I relaxed. Really relaxed.

I didn’t get a lot of material things that year, but it was truly the richest Christmas I’ve had in memory. I’d started to make new friends here at home, including one who has become my blonde twin. I had the warmth and love of my family. And best of all, I had myself back. What wondrous gifts.

Over the last two years, some of those friends have grown into my chosen family. In fact, they’ve even begun to spend time with my blood family. And as I look forward to this Christmas, I’m giddy with the anticipation of spending my first one with the girlfriend. I’m also looking forward to spending time with some of the gang at GLO. All of that so far eclipses anything that could be purchased in a store.

May you and yours have a most joyous holiday season whatever you may celebrate. I hope to see some of you out at GLO on Christmas Day. The blog will take a little holiday break until the 25th. Best wishes for a joyous holiday!

It's not a choice

There’s a song, I’m not sure of the name, but the hook of the song is “I think I’ll be a homosexual, I think I’ll make a frivolous lifestyle choice…”. One of our local drag queens, Marnie Rae Holiday, uses this little ditty to open her show. The song is a pointed piece of sarcasm and while it makes me laugh the song also accomplishes its goal of making me angry.

Nothing works my last gay nerve so much as being told that who I am is a “lifestyle” or a “choice.”

One of the more ridiculous questions I’ve been asked in the relatively short time I’ve been out is, “How do you know you’re gay?” To which I want to respond, “How do you know you’re straight?”

Being gay is not the sum total of my being. I like to write. I like to cook. I have an unnatural fear of pineapple upside down cake. I’m reduced to a puddle of goo in the presence of a kitten or puppy. I’m an avid hockey fan and the Washington Redskins are dead to me, but I still watch their games with one piece of me hopeful. I’m a Christian.

But just as I inherently know all those things about myself, I inherently know that I’m attracted to women.

I was married to a man for six years. I still love him dearly to this day, but I wasn’t in love with him, not the way I love my partner.

I always knew I was some how different. When the other little girls my age were mooning over Luke Skywalker and Han Solo after Star Wars came out, I was secretly kissing a picture of Princess Leia in People Magazine. In high school, I struggled to figure out why I was always mildly jealous of my friends’ boyfriends. I had a boyfriend off and on, but never really knew what I wanted with him. I probably figured out I was gay when I was in my twenties. I had an intense attraction to a female guitar player in a band I went to see regularly. I dismissed it as mere appreciation for her talent, but I was fooling myself.

What’s worse, it wasn’t even as though I was concerned about my parents’ or friends’ reaction to my being gay. I had a number of gay friends. Both of my parents, while somewhat conservative, are very liberal socially. They know gay folks are just folks.

It’s also not as though I lived in a place where I’d be shunned. At the time I was figuring all this out, I lived in the greater Washington, DC area. I wouldn’t have had the first problem being out. But I’m from the Midwest. And while the sorts of “values” that keep gays and lesbians in the closet here weren’t preached in my immediate family, I am well aware of them.

It only made sense then, that I moved back to Springfield and then got a divorce and came out of the closet. That “choice” cost me dearly. I’m unable to be close to one side of my extended family because of their views. I hurt my ex-husband terribly. I lost a home I’d worked hard to achieve. I couldn’t talk about whom I was dating at work. I had to constantly look over my shoulder when I was in public on a date. The only place I could show affection to a lover was at a gay bar or in the confines of home.

People hate and ridicule me without even knowing me. I have to go to great lengths to see that my partner, who is my spouse, can have a fraction of the things she would get if she were my husband should I die. I can lose my job for who I “choose” to love.

Now I ask you, why on Earth would I “choose” that “lifestyle?”

The answer, simply, is I didn’t. Biology or God made me who I am, whichever you choose to believe. There is a lot of public debate regarding whether or not homosexuality is hereditary. Regardless of the scientific evidence those who do not wish to believe will find ways to discount said evidence the way they do evidence of evolution.

To me, it doesn’t truly matter. If there is a God, He or She must see a need for us to be here or we wouldn’t be ten percent of the population. And while I am a Christian, I know evolution is how we got to be where we are and I’m reasonably certain biology did play a major role in who I am.

Before I get the ridiculous question: If we are biologically homosexual why don’t we go extinct since we don’t reproduce? This research explains why.

Further, before I get the flood of email about how I can be a Christian when the Bible says homosexuality is wrong I’ll just go ahead and give you my response and save us both the headache. There are as many interpretations of the Bible as there are Christian denominations. Many of them say very different things. Many contradictions can be found in the Bible itself. Put simply, my beliefs differ from yours. My life is different from yours and I respect that. All I ask is that you do the same for me.

Eulogizing the Whistle Pig

The rodent had to die so I might live. Some of you will get that joke, others are left scratching your heads. Just think of that statement as you would the enigmatic “33” on the back of a Rolling Rock bottle. It’s either an inside joke or clever marketing disguised as one.

Welcome to Gay Life in the Queen City! This site will be part blog and part review and sometimes part pulp fiction. We’ll discuss bars, dining, drag, Pride, how to survive being gay in the Bible Belt. On occasion some poetry and fiction may make its way in. In other words, the out and out lies will be labeled as such.

GLQC will also be a forum. We want to hear from you, either by email or in the comments. Know of a new hot spot? Have happy things to say about one of your favorite haunts? Have cranky things to say about a place? Let us know. We’re also open to contributors.

We also suspect that there may be visitors to this site who take issue with those of us who are gay. You are entitled to your opinions and beliefs. I will, however, caution you that if you lurk on this site to gay bash I strongly suspect the Peanut Gallery here will bash right back. Really, the best place for gay bashers is on the Freepers’ site. The only flamers we want here are too fabulous for such nonsense.