**DISCLAIMER: Some portions of this blog may be falsified or exaggerated for comic purposes; names and/or genders may be changed to protect the Ignant. No defamation of any people, places, or institutions is intended**
Ok so I have had a lot to say/write/blog but I've been keeping a lot of it to myself. I've been keeping myself to myself as well. Between working at the Colledge & the Med Skool I've been just about making ends meet financially but I haven't had the $$ to do a lot of socializing. Plus the unseasonably warm weather has kept me & my little scarves away from the craft fair scene, so even less holiday cheer than usual. Meh. But enough of this money belly-aching, why don't I tell you some funny stories from El Profe?
So Colledge students were a really mixed bag this semester. In one of my classes there was a group of 3 girls who were always standing in front of the building, smoking and talking crazy when I arrived, usually about 10 minutes prior to class. My routine was to go past the classroom, get a sip of water down the hall, and then come back to the room. Well, their routine was to wait until I got back into the classroom before they came in, usually at least 2 minutes after class started. It didn't matter if there was a quiz or a test, these Hoes couldn't be bothered to, IDK, look over the material or study or anything. Sometimes they would have some questions for me before class, but they were always things they ALREADY had the answer to, they just didn't bother to look. Like things that were in the book, often on the SAME PAGE. These were also the same Hoes that often forgot to bring their books. Or backpacks. Or even a pencil.
Some students had abysmal attendance, and if they showed up on days when there were quizzes, they answered less than half of the questions, and then got all of those wrong. One student just made words up. I speak 3 languages & I have no idea what "queremotos" means in any of them. Sigh.
One student went MIA for several days & I received an email from some member of the college admin, asking me to excuse his absences due to the loss of his sister. He came back on the day we had a test but just looked a mess. I could tell he was about to start crying, or had been crying recently. I said, look, I will just double your next test grade if you want to take today off. He said thanks & left, and I didn't see him again for several days, when he & his mom stood in the doorway of my classroom while I was lecturing to another class until I stopped and stepped out into the hallway & closed the door and I saw that his face was all busted up. His mother did the talking & let me know that his boyfriend had beat him up & they were about to go to court to testify about this domestic violence incident. He reappeared periodically, but rarely in a state I would call sober. I'm not begrudging the child a lil comfort--lord knows if anyone has a reason to do drugs, it's him. But child, if you are gettin so high on whatever it is that you are not able to keep both eyes open at the same time, maybe it is not the time for you to be in skool. He had several days of attendance accumulated, and came to the review for our 2nd test, but not the test itself. On the day after the test, I was sitting outside of the building, smoking before class when Mr Man shows up & immediately starts questioning me about grammatical stuff. I said, "Hold up. You are talking like the test is today. It was last time."
Blank stare. "What do you mean? I thought the review was for today's test?"
Me: "OK well that does not make any sense. Why on Earth would I give a test review a week in advance?"
More Blank Stare. "Well, what happened was I was kinda missing my ex, I know it is wrong since he hurt me so bad, but I came across this stash box of his in my house and I was looking through it, and it made me really depressed and sad so I went to my bedroom and took a nap."
Me: "So what was in the box? Drugs?"
Lick-lipping & 1 eye at half-mast: "Well, mostly just paraphernalia. Empty baggies and mirrors and straws & stuff."
At this point I'm thinking, Bitch PLEASE. You came across some kind of leftover drugs & did them & then laid down to go feel good up in your body.
But he goes on: "So when I woke up from my nap, my parents had let themselves into my house & my lawyer was there & so were the police. They didn't arrest me, but they did follow me down the street after I argued with my parents & started walking towards campus, but then I went back home & talked to them & I thought the test was today & now you tell me it was last time & what do I do???." Commence waterworks.
WOOOOH. STOP. Seriously, I am not your therapist. Certainly not when the paycheck amounts to $100 per class per week. I said something comforting but I really seriously did tell him to re-consider dropping the class. I mean, the child is having a bad one. It really was time for him to take a break. But no, he stayed enrolled & never showed up to the Final, so there you have it.
More than twice I had to remind students that there was a sign that clearly stated "No Eating or Drinking in this Room." YES, I am serious. I am not just talking about a soda on a desk. This one student had Lunchables, a big can of Arizona Iced Tea and a Lil Debbie Snack Cake! I just stared and stared & shook my head & then walked over to the sign I mentioned & pointed at it.
Of course, it wasn't all as grim as it probably sounds here. I did have some delights, and I am grateful for them. I am even more grateful that the semester is over & I am bout to embark on my Winter Pilgrimage to the Ville, for plenty knitting, crazy talk with Geese, fellowship with Sandi & co, Doctor Who X-mas Special & the latest season of Misfits! Since Michael Jayston (The Valeyard) will be at Gallifrey One in February, maybe I will bring the Trial of a Time Lord DVDs.....
Speaking of Gallifrey One, if anyone is interested in a trunk show, please let me know, I still have plenty glamour hats/scarves for the current Cold Snap & am trying to raise a lil extra $$ for February! Of course, if you just want to contribute to the cause, you can feel free to PayPal me at sammikat@hellokitty.com ;-)
Anywho, thanks for reading.
Next Time: I go into the Vault & tell you one of those "Crazy Hoes I Used to Know" kinda stories....
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Compliance (2012)-- A Review
"When a prank caller convinces a fast food restaurant manager to interrogate an innocent young employee, no-one is left unharmed. Based on true events."--http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1971352/
We all know about this story, either from the news reports of the time, or maybe just that Law & Order:SVU Shocking Season Finale that ripped it from the headlines. The initial reaction, I think, is for us to say: "Well those people must be stupid! I would never do anything like that!" When the actual fact is that this was not some one-off event. It happened at least 70 times (probably more if you think how many people didn't go "all the way" or didn't report it out of shame). If you don't believe me:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strip_search_prank_call_scam
What I can't believe is that writer-director Craig Zobel (the comic genius behind http://homestarrunner.com/) has crafted one of those rare horror films where no blood is spilt, no one is disemboweled or made to eat anyone else's bowels, yet afterwards I was left feeling deeply unsettled and horrified. Ann Dowd is Sandra, a ChickWich manager having a terrible day (OMG the freezer was left open & the bacon is spoiled! We are out of pickles!!) and her fellow ex-L&O guest star, Dreama Walker, is Becky, the 19-year-old accused of theft over the phone by "Officer Daniels" (Jeff Healy). What follows is a film that is by turns kitchen-sink real and hyper-surreal as the voice over the phone manipulates Sandra & her not-quite-fiancé, Van (Bill Camp, another L&O ex-guest), into victimizing Becky over most of the course of a busy Friday evening shift.
The camera-work is outstanding, often subtly underscoring change in mood within the confines of the back office of ChickWich, contrasted with deep-fryer imagery overlaid with the voice on the phone or another unexpected sounds. The performances are absolutely top-notch as well, with Dowd's subtle, nuanced character setting a high bar that the rest of the cast manages to attain. Several reviewers on imdb dismiss this as being 90 minutes of dumb people doing dumb things, but I think that's entirely too simplistic. The characters don't come off as stupid to me but just as people under stress trying to do what is presented to them as being the right thing, even when they know it is Wrong, All Wrong.
I definitely have to put this in the Let You Have It Film Category & I give it an unabashed 5/5 stars!!
We all know about this story, either from the news reports of the time, or maybe just that Law & Order:SVU Shocking Season Finale that ripped it from the headlines. The initial reaction, I think, is for us to say: "Well those people must be stupid! I would never do anything like that!" When the actual fact is that this was not some one-off event. It happened at least 70 times (probably more if you think how many people didn't go "all the way" or didn't report it out of shame). If you don't believe me:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strip_search_prank_call_scam
What I can't believe is that writer-director Craig Zobel (the comic genius behind http://homestarrunner.com/) has crafted one of those rare horror films where no blood is spilt, no one is disemboweled or made to eat anyone else's bowels, yet afterwards I was left feeling deeply unsettled and horrified. Ann Dowd is Sandra, a ChickWich manager having a terrible day (OMG the freezer was left open & the bacon is spoiled! We are out of pickles!!) and her fellow ex-L&O guest star, Dreama Walker, is Becky, the 19-year-old accused of theft over the phone by "Officer Daniels" (Jeff Healy). What follows is a film that is by turns kitchen-sink real and hyper-surreal as the voice over the phone manipulates Sandra & her not-quite-fiancé, Van (Bill Camp, another L&O ex-guest), into victimizing Becky over most of the course of a busy Friday evening shift.
The camera-work is outstanding, often subtly underscoring change in mood within the confines of the back office of ChickWich, contrasted with deep-fryer imagery overlaid with the voice on the phone or another unexpected sounds. The performances are absolutely top-notch as well, with Dowd's subtle, nuanced character setting a high bar that the rest of the cast manages to attain. Several reviewers on imdb dismiss this as being 90 minutes of dumb people doing dumb things, but I think that's entirely too simplistic. The characters don't come off as stupid to me but just as people under stress trying to do what is presented to them as being the right thing, even when they know it is Wrong, All Wrong.
I definitely have to put this in the Let You Have It Film Category & I give it an unabashed 5/5 stars!!
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Triflin' Once Again
Or maybe it's more like Trifled With Once More.
Anywho, as most of you will already know, I have been teaching 2 sections of Spanish 101 & 1 section of Spanish 102 since August 20th, for the princely sum of $1800 per class, paid out according to the "latest approved part-time contract pay schedule" (quoted from the contract I signed.) My understanding is that these trillions are to be meted out every 2 weeks. A glance at a calendar will tell you that my 1st payday was ideally this past Friday, September 7th. I checked my online bank acct, and Surprise! No paycheck. Did I mention that I was already pretty strapped PRIOR to Hurricane Isaac & at this point, September's rent is not paid, and nor are any of my regular bills & I have about $58 to last until (drumroll please) September 21st? Yes, Gentle Readers, apparently the "approved part-time contract pay schedule" of which I received no copy, stipulates (according to a friend who teaches there, absolutely no administrator--not even my immediate boss--has bothered to return any of my calls or emails) that the 1st paycheck for an adjunct is 1) a paper check and 2) not disbursed until the 2nd payday in the pay cycle. I went thru this over the summer, but I expected it as it was my 1st time teaching there & not all of my info was in the system. But Bitch, REALLY?
This is 2012. Who uses paper checks any more? Releasing funds (especially for an institution of this size) is simply a matter of pointing & clicking.
Have I mentioned that admin or IT or whoever still has yet to re-authorize the email address that I used over the summer? That's right, sweeties, my previous email was shut down the instant I turned in my final grades and according to the guy who answered the phone in my department, they are waiting on "access letters" from IT that will permit me to have not just email access, but also access to the Colledge's other online functions, such as viewing my class rosters (yes I seriously still have no idea who should & should not be in ANY of my classes), not to mention the online portion of our textbook, which requires an email address ending in ".edu."
So here I am, feeling like the heroine from a Tennesee Williams play, writing my status updates in the 3rd person, just praying that I can somehow beg borrow or steal the $$$ to keep my screens (phone, PC, TV) active & refridgerator running & the roof over my head until one of the quasi-literate full-time employees at the Community Colledge (seriously, the word "impeccable" is beyond the secretary's capacity) decides to point & click & let me have what I have earned.
Ugh. Sorry this isn't all light & funny & uplifting.
Anywho, as most of you will already know, I have been teaching 2 sections of Spanish 101 & 1 section of Spanish 102 since August 20th, for the princely sum of $1800 per class, paid out according to the "latest approved part-time contract pay schedule" (quoted from the contract I signed.) My understanding is that these trillions are to be meted out every 2 weeks. A glance at a calendar will tell you that my 1st payday was ideally this past Friday, September 7th. I checked my online bank acct, and Surprise! No paycheck. Did I mention that I was already pretty strapped PRIOR to Hurricane Isaac & at this point, September's rent is not paid, and nor are any of my regular bills & I have about $58 to last until (drumroll please) September 21st? Yes, Gentle Readers, apparently the "approved part-time contract pay schedule" of which I received no copy, stipulates (according to a friend who teaches there, absolutely no administrator--not even my immediate boss--has bothered to return any of my calls or emails) that the 1st paycheck for an adjunct is 1) a paper check and 2) not disbursed until the 2nd payday in the pay cycle. I went thru this over the summer, but I expected it as it was my 1st time teaching there & not all of my info was in the system. But Bitch, REALLY?
This is 2012. Who uses paper checks any more? Releasing funds (especially for an institution of this size) is simply a matter of pointing & clicking.
Have I mentioned that admin or IT or whoever still has yet to re-authorize the email address that I used over the summer? That's right, sweeties, my previous email was shut down the instant I turned in my final grades and according to the guy who answered the phone in my department, they are waiting on "access letters" from IT that will permit me to have not just email access, but also access to the Colledge's other online functions, such as viewing my class rosters (yes I seriously still have no idea who should & should not be in ANY of my classes), not to mention the online portion of our textbook, which requires an email address ending in ".edu."
So here I am, feeling like the heroine from a Tennesee Williams play, writing my status updates in the 3rd person, just praying that I can somehow beg borrow or steal the $$$ to keep my screens (phone, PC, TV) active & refridgerator running & the roof over my head until one of the quasi-literate full-time employees at the Community Colledge (seriously, the word "impeccable" is beyond the secretary's capacity) decides to point & click & let me have what I have earned.
Ugh. Sorry this isn't all light & funny & uplifting.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Another One Down...
...and by that I mean a hurricane. No, not those nasty drinks that underage locals & grown-up tourists consume until they puke, but another Storm, this one called Isaac. Unless you live under a rock, you already know that this one just happened (?) to hit on the 7 year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, that watery bitch who flooded New Orleans and turned my (and so many others') life completely upside-down.
Many of you will remember that August 29 is a big personal anniversary for me: it was the tape date of my appearance on the Weakest Link 10 years ago, and at this time last year, I began working with 3rd graders at the International School of Louisiana, a language immersion elementary school here in NOLA. I'm sure other things of note have happened to me on or around this date, but these are the ones that immediately spring to mind.
I evacuated for Hurricane Katrina with 2 co-workers/friends, both of whom have since dematerialized from my life with little to no explanation. This time, though, I stayed. My so-called wife offered me a ride out to the Smoky Mountains, but I stayed. I remembered being an anxious, nervous, bitchy wreck the last time I evacuated, so I stayed. A Category 1 Storm, I said to myself, is no big deal, I'll be fine. Even if the power goes out, it will be on soon enough, and I'm not all that dependent on electricity anyway. I still ended up being an anxious, nervous, bitchy wreck, but I'm sure most people who deal with me regularly will tell you that is my demeanor in general, so there you have it.
Here is my Hurricane Isaac timeline:
Tuesday, August 28: Grey skies and rain and heavy wind all day. Power goes out for a moment around 6:30PM & then comes back on. Power goes out for good around 7:30PM. My living room is on the leeward side of the weather, so I just stay on the couch next to the open window, drinking wine & listening to the scary-ass winds blowing hard & feeling the house shake like it is the very last Bounce party ever.
Wednesday, August 29: around 2:30AM, after sending some morose drunken text messages, I power down my phone to conserve the battery. This is right around the time that the wind shifts and I'm woken from my twilight sleep by freezing rain on my face & bare chest. EEK! So I grab my flashlight & my battery-powered Hello Kitty clock radio & my Wonder Woman church fan (I took this with me when I evacuated 7 years ago) and install myself in my bedroom, on the opposite side of the house. This whole day is still rainy & windy & grey & at night the whole neighborhood is pitch black. The wind is so heavy that the rain pushes its way thru the cracks in my drafty old windows. It's really freaky to watch rain to come thru spaces that you can't even see. To conserve the radio battery, I listen to WWL for an hour or so at a time & learn about flooding in Laplace, and Braithwaite, and Plaquemine, and Venetian Isles, & oh so many places. To my shame I am glad it's them and not me.
Thursday, August 30: the rain has pretty much stopped by about 8ish AM & the heat is starting to work on my nerves (I live in a converted attic apt, & all the insulation in the world doesn't stop heat from rising) but around 8? 9? AM, my 2nd-oldest friend Eddie knocks on my door, lets himself in & I hear from downstairs "Hellooo! I've come to rescue you!" Hot Damn & Hallelujah! I quickly pack a bag & gratefully ride with Eddie to his place, which is on the same grid as Touro hospital & never lost power, although the Cox Cable & WiFi are out of order.
Friday, August 31-Sunday, September 2: Sleep on Eddie's couch, watch scary movies on his flat-screen TV, make friends with this awesome gal named Dana & her hot boyfriend, Dan, compulsively check Facebook & the Entergy Outage Map via 3G on my phone, send reassuring text messages to the people I prolly freaked out on Tuesday night, bitch about Entergy's slow response, stay grateful that it isn't worse than it is, watch the Season 7 opener of Doctor Who: Asylum of the Daleks (which Eddie downloaded via another Ho's WiFi). Go to Dat Dog on Freret Street & eat too much with Eddie. My beautiful Femme Friend, Kris Ford, comes by on Sunday to watch the new episode of Doctor Who. We walk over to Popeyes & have fun observing all the post-Isaac wrongness (Have I mentioned that this name is Hebrew for "He Who Laughs"? Hysterical) and go back to Eddie's place. He steps out to watch a movie with his husband & Kris & I watch more Doctor Who & at 6:14PM, get The Call from my landlady. When I answer the phone, "Hello?" all she says is "YES!! The power's back on! Come home whenever you're ready!" Frantically call everyone I can think of to bring me home. Erry body busy with they family or something & Kris gets her mom to bring me home. Get home, open the windows to let the air circulate, turn on the AC units & stand naked in front of them in turns, revelling in the glory of Electricity.
To paraphrase Kris, what I learned from Hurricane Isaac is that I'm only about 7 days without power from a complete nervous breakdown.
The End.
Or is it...The Beginning?
Many of you will remember that August 29 is a big personal anniversary for me: it was the tape date of my appearance on the Weakest Link 10 years ago, and at this time last year, I began working with 3rd graders at the International School of Louisiana, a language immersion elementary school here in NOLA. I'm sure other things of note have happened to me on or around this date, but these are the ones that immediately spring to mind.
I evacuated for Hurricane Katrina with 2 co-workers/friends, both of whom have since dematerialized from my life with little to no explanation. This time, though, I stayed. My so-called wife offered me a ride out to the Smoky Mountains, but I stayed. I remembered being an anxious, nervous, bitchy wreck the last time I evacuated, so I stayed. A Category 1 Storm, I said to myself, is no big deal, I'll be fine. Even if the power goes out, it will be on soon enough, and I'm not all that dependent on electricity anyway. I still ended up being an anxious, nervous, bitchy wreck, but I'm sure most people who deal with me regularly will tell you that is my demeanor in general, so there you have it.
Here is my Hurricane Isaac timeline:
Tuesday, August 28: Grey skies and rain and heavy wind all day. Power goes out for a moment around 6:30PM & then comes back on. Power goes out for good around 7:30PM. My living room is on the leeward side of the weather, so I just stay on the couch next to the open window, drinking wine & listening to the scary-ass winds blowing hard & feeling the house shake like it is the very last Bounce party ever.
Wednesday, August 29: around 2:30AM, after sending some morose drunken text messages, I power down my phone to conserve the battery. This is right around the time that the wind shifts and I'm woken from my twilight sleep by freezing rain on my face & bare chest. EEK! So I grab my flashlight & my battery-powered Hello Kitty clock radio & my Wonder Woman church fan (I took this with me when I evacuated 7 years ago) and install myself in my bedroom, on the opposite side of the house. This whole day is still rainy & windy & grey & at night the whole neighborhood is pitch black. The wind is so heavy that the rain pushes its way thru the cracks in my drafty old windows. It's really freaky to watch rain to come thru spaces that you can't even see. To conserve the radio battery, I listen to WWL for an hour or so at a time & learn about flooding in Laplace, and Braithwaite, and Plaquemine, and Venetian Isles, & oh so many places. To my shame I am glad it's them and not me.
Thursday, August 30: the rain has pretty much stopped by about 8ish AM & the heat is starting to work on my nerves (I live in a converted attic apt, & all the insulation in the world doesn't stop heat from rising) but around 8? 9? AM, my 2nd-oldest friend Eddie knocks on my door, lets himself in & I hear from downstairs "Hellooo! I've come to rescue you!" Hot Damn & Hallelujah! I quickly pack a bag & gratefully ride with Eddie to his place, which is on the same grid as Touro hospital & never lost power, although the Cox Cable & WiFi are out of order.
Friday, August 31-Sunday, September 2: Sleep on Eddie's couch, watch scary movies on his flat-screen TV, make friends with this awesome gal named Dana & her hot boyfriend, Dan, compulsively check Facebook & the Entergy Outage Map via 3G on my phone, send reassuring text messages to the people I prolly freaked out on Tuesday night, bitch about Entergy's slow response, stay grateful that it isn't worse than it is, watch the Season 7 opener of Doctor Who: Asylum of the Daleks (which Eddie downloaded via another Ho's WiFi). Go to Dat Dog on Freret Street & eat too much with Eddie. My beautiful Femme Friend, Kris Ford, comes by on Sunday to watch the new episode of Doctor Who. We walk over to Popeyes & have fun observing all the post-Isaac wrongness (Have I mentioned that this name is Hebrew for "He Who Laughs"? Hysterical) and go back to Eddie's place. He steps out to watch a movie with his husband & Kris & I watch more Doctor Who & at 6:14PM, get The Call from my landlady. When I answer the phone, "Hello?" all she says is "YES!! The power's back on! Come home whenever you're ready!" Frantically call everyone I can think of to bring me home. Erry body busy with they family or something & Kris gets her mom to bring me home. Get home, open the windows to let the air circulate, turn on the AC units & stand naked in front of them in turns, revelling in the glory of Electricity.
To paraphrase Kris, what I learned from Hurricane Isaac is that I'm only about 7 days without power from a complete nervous breakdown.
The End.
Or is it...The Beginning?
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
First "Love"
All that 20 year reunion angst plus a meet & greet with a classmate yesterday who didn't make it to the reunion has me thinking about something else, I guess I should say, someone else from that time. I use the L-word in quotation marks because I'm not sure that's what it was & if I used a more accurate word (starts w F), I think I'd get banned from this site.
3 days before I graduated HS, during that week off after Senior Final Exams & Graduation Day, one of my bullies came to my parents' house while everyone else was at work or school & deflowered me. Well, I guess technically I deflowered him, but you get the idea. He had been giving me obscene phone calls for about a year at that point, which alternately thrilled & terrified me. Once I realized who it was on the other end of the line (and that took several months) I didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Suffice it to say he was a bossy bottom on the phone (ooh lawd, & even more so in person) & I thought it was some kind of trap. He kept telling me he wanted me to come over to his house & do stuff to him & I kept thinking that if I showed up there would be a bunch of ppl from skool there to traumatize me so it never happened until that fateful day, when neither of us had to face high school again.That 1st time was awkward & over with pretty quick (I think it took less time than it did for him to walk, yes WALK, the 5 miles to my parents' house) but after that, I had no more doubt in my mind that I was 100% gay.
As you can prolly imagine, this guy presented (& I guess, still does present) as typically masculine & straight, with all the "right" manly interests, like sports & hunting & fishing. Meanwhile, I was/am fem & flamboyant, with "sissy" interests, like knitting & reading & writing. The opposites continue: he was thin & blond & his body mostly smooth while my curvy form was covered in dark, thick hair. We "saw" each other intermittently after this for years. I cannot even begin to tell you the things we got up to, the adventurous places we went for our torrid little unions, the way you do when you both live with your parents & need a place to go. There were empty lots, late at night, a motel by the hour located behind a XXX video store (we were 18, we hardly needed the whole hour), a sugar cane field behind which we later found out a serial killer had dumped a bunch of prostitutes' bodies, the cooler in one of the convenience stores where I worked, & of course, like just about everyone else in St Charles Parish--behind the levee.
There were no dates. I didn't get the flowers or the Valentine's Day gifts or the kisses on the mouth or whatever else it was he gave his girlfriends (of course, I always knew these girls but couldn't tell them for fear that he'd stop calling me), but I got---besides the obvious---validation? Confusion? It was like I was looking for something I'd lost combined with his morbid curiosity. It was all I had & I loved it.
Every single second.
Sure, I was angry that I always had to be mocked & ostracized for being a fairy while he flew under the radar, but all the humiliation just melted away once we were behind closed doors (or out in the cane fields, or wherever) & it became something else. Like gratitude & resentment all mixed up together and that energy directed thru the magnifying glass that is teen-age libido.
These days, I'd just say the boy was trade & be done with it. We never said the word love. Not until the last time. We were in my parents' garage (I think they were prolly asleep inside or some such scandalous thing), in some heretofore unattempted position (face to face for once) & he spontaneously said It: "I love you."
I said it back to him & our bodies exploded together & it felt like sunshine.
I didn't know then it would be the last time. Maybe I'd have done things differently if I had. Maybe I'd have said It first. Or not at all. Maybe I'd have told him not to talk (he was always telling me that) but I didn't.
I won't name his name, although I could, but I don't see any real reason to out him. I'm sure that his wife of umpteen years is more than aware of what a big bottom he is & it's not like he's some anti-gay Congressman or something. I wasn't always this enlightened, though. I did tell a few people when we were younger & most of them didn't believe me. I'm so serious. I remember telling a mutual friend of his & mine about it & she just kinda blew me off until I described the inside of his mom's house in detail & a few of his tattoos & then it was like I'd blown her mind.
But I didn't write this to wreck his reputation or augment my own. I'm not even sure why I wrote this, I just knew I had to. My writer friends will know what it is like: sometimes you have a story that needs to be told so badly that your fingers won't do anything else until you do, until the words get brave enough & channel themselves thru the keyboard, you can't eat/sleep/watch TV/do much else.
I wish I had some deep analysis of this, some "nugget of truth for you to wrap up & put on the mantelpiece," to (mis)-quote Virginia Woolf, but I'm not sure I'm capable of such a thing at this juncture.
Maybe in 20 more years.....
3 days before I graduated HS, during that week off after Senior Final Exams & Graduation Day, one of my bullies came to my parents' house while everyone else was at work or school & deflowered me. Well, I guess technically I deflowered him, but you get the idea. He had been giving me obscene phone calls for about a year at that point, which alternately thrilled & terrified me. Once I realized who it was on the other end of the line (and that took several months) I didn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Suffice it to say he was a bossy bottom on the phone (ooh lawd, & even more so in person) & I thought it was some kind of trap. He kept telling me he wanted me to come over to his house & do stuff to him & I kept thinking that if I showed up there would be a bunch of ppl from skool there to traumatize me so it never happened until that fateful day, when neither of us had to face high school again.That 1st time was awkward & over with pretty quick (I think it took less time than it did for him to walk, yes WALK, the 5 miles to my parents' house) but after that, I had no more doubt in my mind that I was 100% gay.
As you can prolly imagine, this guy presented (& I guess, still does present) as typically masculine & straight, with all the "right" manly interests, like sports & hunting & fishing. Meanwhile, I was/am fem & flamboyant, with "sissy" interests, like knitting & reading & writing. The opposites continue: he was thin & blond & his body mostly smooth while my curvy form was covered in dark, thick hair. We "saw" each other intermittently after this for years. I cannot even begin to tell you the things we got up to, the adventurous places we went for our torrid little unions, the way you do when you both live with your parents & need a place to go. There were empty lots, late at night, a motel by the hour located behind a XXX video store (we were 18, we hardly needed the whole hour), a sugar cane field behind which we later found out a serial killer had dumped a bunch of prostitutes' bodies, the cooler in one of the convenience stores where I worked, & of course, like just about everyone else in St Charles Parish--behind the levee.
There were no dates. I didn't get the flowers or the Valentine's Day gifts or the kisses on the mouth or whatever else it was he gave his girlfriends (of course, I always knew these girls but couldn't tell them for fear that he'd stop calling me), but I got---besides the obvious---validation? Confusion? It was like I was looking for something I'd lost combined with his morbid curiosity. It was all I had & I loved it.
Every single second.
Sure, I was angry that I always had to be mocked & ostracized for being a fairy while he flew under the radar, but all the humiliation just melted away once we were behind closed doors (or out in the cane fields, or wherever) & it became something else. Like gratitude & resentment all mixed up together and that energy directed thru the magnifying glass that is teen-age libido.
These days, I'd just say the boy was trade & be done with it. We never said the word love. Not until the last time. We were in my parents' garage (I think they were prolly asleep inside or some such scandalous thing), in some heretofore unattempted position (face to face for once) & he spontaneously said It: "I love you."
I said it back to him & our bodies exploded together & it felt like sunshine.
I didn't know then it would be the last time. Maybe I'd have done things differently if I had. Maybe I'd have said It first. Or not at all. Maybe I'd have told him not to talk (he was always telling me that) but I didn't.
I won't name his name, although I could, but I don't see any real reason to out him. I'm sure that his wife of umpteen years is more than aware of what a big bottom he is & it's not like he's some anti-gay Congressman or something. I wasn't always this enlightened, though. I did tell a few people when we were younger & most of them didn't believe me. I'm so serious. I remember telling a mutual friend of his & mine about it & she just kinda blew me off until I described the inside of his mom's house in detail & a few of his tattoos & then it was like I'd blown her mind.
But I didn't write this to wreck his reputation or augment my own. I'm not even sure why I wrote this, I just knew I had to. My writer friends will know what it is like: sometimes you have a story that needs to be told so badly that your fingers won't do anything else until you do, until the words get brave enough & channel themselves thru the keyboard, you can't eat/sleep/watch TV/do much else.
I wish I had some deep analysis of this, some "nugget of truth for you to wrap up & put on the mantelpiece," to (mis)-quote Virginia Woolf, but I'm not sure I'm capable of such a thing at this juncture.
Maybe in 20 more years.....
Sunday, August 5, 2012
20th Reunion Recap
I have to start this blog with a truly heartfelt thank you for the amazing outpouring of support I received after the last post, not only on the interwebs but in person last night. I was truly afraid to share, and I'm so glad that I did.
I got to the party right as it was starting at 8 at the Mystère Manor on 4800 Canal St. Oddly enough, the 1st person that I talked to for any length of time was actually not someone from high school, but this guy I met at Nicholls State University during my 1st aborted attempt at higher education, straight out of high skool. We caught up for a bit & then I headed over to the open bar & had the first of oh-so-many Vodka/Cranberries. I was overwhelmed by how many people came up to me & told me that they'd read my previous post & truly understood, that they had felt like outsiders too. It would take me entirely too long to list everyone who came to me & treated me with kindness. Of course, there were one or two people who were stand-offish & that is absolutely fine. It didn't feel fake, it didn't feel forced, everything was just so easy after 20 years. Some of us got fat, some got skinny, some look older, some look the same, some look better (We know who we are) but we all looked happy to be there. The open bar may have had something to do with it, of course.
When the clock struck 11, the Haunted Mausoleum threw us out & I rode out with the Sassy Sherry Green-Vinturella & her lovely husband to Masquerade at Harrah's Casino, where some of Party Crew '92 were dancing & drinking. After a bit, we headed to the Famous Door on Bourbon for a live band & more dancing & drinking. Then, it was off to the Goldmine Saloon for, you guessed it, more dancing & drinking!! Before I knew it, though, it was past 3AM (like way, way past) & Sherry & her hubby were kind enough to give me a ride home with the requisite stop for Gas Station Fried Chicken Strips & an empanada onna way. I ate the empanada, 1 chicken strip & a few of the fries & set my alarm for 8 so I could wake up today & head over to Tulane Med Skool & ooh lawd the hangover wasn't as bad as you might think, but I was surely feeling it as I tried to scrub that damn Goldmine stamp off my hand in the shower this morning.
Fortunately, today was a really easy day at work, with plenty of breaks where I was able to lay back on the exam table & nap a lil and really take in how glad I am that I went to the reunion. I remember talking to more than one person there who apologized to me for not standing up for me or not being a good friend & I'm not 100% sure I expressed it clearly enough over the music & the booze, but All is Forgiven. We were all just kids, trying to survive. Things had to be like that in order for us to learn and grow & move forward.
I saw that boy that I was looking for, that me that just wanted to lay down and die over it all. I saw him in your faces & going to the reunion gave me exactly what I needed. A chance to put that anger & resentment to rest for once & for all & I sincerely thank you for that.
I got to the party right as it was starting at 8 at the Mystère Manor on 4800 Canal St. Oddly enough, the 1st person that I talked to for any length of time was actually not someone from high school, but this guy I met at Nicholls State University during my 1st aborted attempt at higher education, straight out of high skool. We caught up for a bit & then I headed over to the open bar & had the first of oh-so-many Vodka/Cranberries. I was overwhelmed by how many people came up to me & told me that they'd read my previous post & truly understood, that they had felt like outsiders too. It would take me entirely too long to list everyone who came to me & treated me with kindness. Of course, there were one or two people who were stand-offish & that is absolutely fine. It didn't feel fake, it didn't feel forced, everything was just so easy after 20 years. Some of us got fat, some got skinny, some look older, some look the same, some look better (We know who we are) but we all looked happy to be there. The open bar may have had something to do with it, of course.
When the clock struck 11, the Haunted Mausoleum threw us out & I rode out with the Sassy Sherry Green-Vinturella & her lovely husband to Masquerade at Harrah's Casino, where some of Party Crew '92 were dancing & drinking. After a bit, we headed to the Famous Door on Bourbon for a live band & more dancing & drinking. Then, it was off to the Goldmine Saloon for, you guessed it, more dancing & drinking!! Before I knew it, though, it was past 3AM (like way, way past) & Sherry & her hubby were kind enough to give me a ride home with the requisite stop for Gas Station Fried Chicken Strips & an empanada onna way. I ate the empanada, 1 chicken strip & a few of the fries & set my alarm for 8 so I could wake up today & head over to Tulane Med Skool & ooh lawd the hangover wasn't as bad as you might think, but I was surely feeling it as I tried to scrub that damn Goldmine stamp off my hand in the shower this morning.
Fortunately, today was a really easy day at work, with plenty of breaks where I was able to lay back on the exam table & nap a lil and really take in how glad I am that I went to the reunion. I remember talking to more than one person there who apologized to me for not standing up for me or not being a good friend & I'm not 100% sure I expressed it clearly enough over the music & the booze, but All is Forgiven. We were all just kids, trying to survive. Things had to be like that in order for us to learn and grow & move forward.
I saw that boy that I was looking for, that me that just wanted to lay down and die over it all. I saw him in your faces & going to the reunion gave me exactly what I needed. A chance to put that anger & resentment to rest for once & for all & I sincerely thank you for that.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Terror of the 20 year reunion....
...in which I try to figure out the root of this anxiety & overcome it.
Tonight is the night. My 20 year HS reunion will take place in about 7 hours and I find myself increasingly anxious (if not outright terrorized.) Most of you did not know me in high school, but it wasn't exactly what you would call a pleasant experience for me. I do not have sequential memories of this period in my life, it is more like I remember particular scenes, like being called a faggot every day or this kid spitting on my face on the bus or finding notes in my locker telling me that I was gonna die from AIDS & not being able to tell anyone about any of it because I thought they all knew & approved & nobody thought I deserved any better or else somebody would have said something.
Intellectually, I know there were bright spots, I know that I had a few friends. I only got beaten up for being gay once, and that didn't happen at school, although the person who set it up was a classmate of mine. The police flat out told me that they wouldn't prosecute the guys who did it to me because they were part of a drug sting that would put the dudes in jail for longer than a simple battery charge. "Hate Crimes" weren't recognized then & honestly if they had been, I'm really not sure that anything would have happened anyway.
Oh but I was so angry and so scared & so unable to admit that I was angry even to myself & so I masked it, I hid it behind sassy comments & then once I was out of high school I was still so very angry & couldn't remember why & I did my damnedest to forget it all, to snort it or smoke it or mainline it all away & somehow, some way I lived thru it, & despite my own best efforts, I survived.
Just typing these few paragraphs is giving me butterflies in my stomach & got my hands shaking like the very last crackhead in America & I'll probably go thru a pack of cigs before I finish this but finish this I must. It's important.
My clearest memory from high school is actually from 3 days after I graduated. My parents took my sisters & me to...Biloxi? Mobile? IDK, someplace on the Gulf Coast for some biker event (my dad drove a Harley at the time) & when we got back, someone had spraypainted the words SUCK DICK FAG in big white letters on the blacktop street in front of my house & FAG on our mailbox. My parents & my grandfather told me it was my fault. If I hadn't acted like such a sissy, no one would say those things about me, I would have gotten a date to the prom, I would have had friends to go on Senior Trip with, and I certainly wouldn't have had to clean off the graffitti with a scrub brush in the scorching South Louisiana heat a few days from my 18th birthday. I am not sure if you have ever tried to remove paint without any solvents, but I'm here to tell you, it's difficult, especially when you have to move out of the way of oncoming cars when all you want to do is lay down in front of them & just not have to fucking be hurt any more over the fact that you're not who other people tell you that you should be.
Oof. That was hard. Hard to live thru & hard to think about & hard to write about, but I know that if I don't get it all out I'm probably going to end up chain-smoking all day long & talk myself out of going to this party tonight.
I didn't go to my 10 year reunion. I was still really angry & to be honest, I didn't feel like I had anything to show for those 10 years besides track marks & a profoundly diminished sense of smell. I was scared & ashamed & felt incredibly inadequate at the idea of having to face people who gave me recurrent nightmares. I didn't give them a chance to reject me again. Instead, I rejected the idea of being in their company & cut myself off from a chance to understand and forgive and heal.
In the second decade since my 1st graduation, I've been the winner on a game show, gotten 2 BA degrees & an MA, become highly fluent in two foreign languages, travelled to Europe, won more scholarships than I can name offhand & so much more besides, but somehow that sense of inadequacy is still there, in the back of my mind & deep inside my heart, in a place that defies intellect and reason. But this time, I will not let the anxieties and fear hold me back. This time, I will use that nervous energy, channel it into some positive force that will permit me to overcome that Terrible Awful Anger and see that the other kids at school were just that-Kids.
They felt angry, they felt lost & had to take it out on someone & saw me as a fitting target because that's what they were taught. They didn't know better.
I know no one is going to do anything bad to me tonight. I know that we have all grown up & changed and (hopefully) become better people. I'm trying not to go into this with any expectations (more than 1 person has given me this advice) other than an open bar & some snacks for 3 hours.
My friend Sandi asked me the other day who I was hoping to see at this reunion. I really didn't have an immediate answer. A while later, I came up with a few names, but now that I've had a few days to kind of live with the question, the real answer is---Me. I'm hoping to see that Me that I used to be and be able to forgive him for being different, for daring not to conform, and love him because without him, I'd never be the Me that I am today.
Tonight is the night. My 20 year HS reunion will take place in about 7 hours and I find myself increasingly anxious (if not outright terrorized.) Most of you did not know me in high school, but it wasn't exactly what you would call a pleasant experience for me. I do not have sequential memories of this period in my life, it is more like I remember particular scenes, like being called a faggot every day or this kid spitting on my face on the bus or finding notes in my locker telling me that I was gonna die from AIDS & not being able to tell anyone about any of it because I thought they all knew & approved & nobody thought I deserved any better or else somebody would have said something.
Intellectually, I know there were bright spots, I know that I had a few friends. I only got beaten up for being gay once, and that didn't happen at school, although the person who set it up was a classmate of mine. The police flat out told me that they wouldn't prosecute the guys who did it to me because they were part of a drug sting that would put the dudes in jail for longer than a simple battery charge. "Hate Crimes" weren't recognized then & honestly if they had been, I'm really not sure that anything would have happened anyway.
Oh but I was so angry and so scared & so unable to admit that I was angry even to myself & so I masked it, I hid it behind sassy comments & then once I was out of high school I was still so very angry & couldn't remember why & I did my damnedest to forget it all, to snort it or smoke it or mainline it all away & somehow, some way I lived thru it, & despite my own best efforts, I survived.
Just typing these few paragraphs is giving me butterflies in my stomach & got my hands shaking like the very last crackhead in America & I'll probably go thru a pack of cigs before I finish this but finish this I must. It's important.
My clearest memory from high school is actually from 3 days after I graduated. My parents took my sisters & me to...Biloxi? Mobile? IDK, someplace on the Gulf Coast for some biker event (my dad drove a Harley at the time) & when we got back, someone had spraypainted the words SUCK DICK FAG in big white letters on the blacktop street in front of my house & FAG on our mailbox. My parents & my grandfather told me it was my fault. If I hadn't acted like such a sissy, no one would say those things about me, I would have gotten a date to the prom, I would have had friends to go on Senior Trip with, and I certainly wouldn't have had to clean off the graffitti with a scrub brush in the scorching South Louisiana heat a few days from my 18th birthday. I am not sure if you have ever tried to remove paint without any solvents, but I'm here to tell you, it's difficult, especially when you have to move out of the way of oncoming cars when all you want to do is lay down in front of them & just not have to fucking be hurt any more over the fact that you're not who other people tell you that you should be.
Oof. That was hard. Hard to live thru & hard to think about & hard to write about, but I know that if I don't get it all out I'm probably going to end up chain-smoking all day long & talk myself out of going to this party tonight.
I didn't go to my 10 year reunion. I was still really angry & to be honest, I didn't feel like I had anything to show for those 10 years besides track marks & a profoundly diminished sense of smell. I was scared & ashamed & felt incredibly inadequate at the idea of having to face people who gave me recurrent nightmares. I didn't give them a chance to reject me again. Instead, I rejected the idea of being in their company & cut myself off from a chance to understand and forgive and heal.
In the second decade since my 1st graduation, I've been the winner on a game show, gotten 2 BA degrees & an MA, become highly fluent in two foreign languages, travelled to Europe, won more scholarships than I can name offhand & so much more besides, but somehow that sense of inadequacy is still there, in the back of my mind & deep inside my heart, in a place that defies intellect and reason. But this time, I will not let the anxieties and fear hold me back. This time, I will use that nervous energy, channel it into some positive force that will permit me to overcome that Terrible Awful Anger and see that the other kids at school were just that-Kids.
They felt angry, they felt lost & had to take it out on someone & saw me as a fitting target because that's what they were taught. They didn't know better.
I know no one is going to do anything bad to me tonight. I know that we have all grown up & changed and (hopefully) become better people. I'm trying not to go into this with any expectations (more than 1 person has given me this advice) other than an open bar & some snacks for 3 hours.
My friend Sandi asked me the other day who I was hoping to see at this reunion. I really didn't have an immediate answer. A while later, I came up with a few names, but now that I've had a few days to kind of live with the question, the real answer is---Me. I'm hoping to see that Me that I used to be and be able to forgive him for being different, for daring not to conform, and love him because without him, I'd never be the Me that I am today.
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