"Why doesn’t someone just ask her if she’s a lesbian already. Especially YOU MJ, she is your "best friend’ after all." I said bluntly scarfing down my favorite Safeway select hangover soup somewhere in Havasu, Arizona during my junior year spring break.
Like usual, my statement was met with gasps.
“K-Hoe..!!!” Hellen Keller began to accuse of my classic college nickname persona… Classic, that is,if you’re on the schools soccer team that boast their drunken sluts reputation harder than their wins (mostly because we didn’t have any). Captain of the V Club myself, I thought it was just silly stupid.. To the point of funny.
"You can’t just ask people if they’re lesbians." Hellen Keller righteously ordered. Quite a proclamation coming from the most inappropriately inquisitive person I’ve met. I’ll never forget when she asked me why our black roommate always "axed" a question, and never "asked" one. I mean that was cute, but that first day back from Summer at preseason Soccer when she asked the team, ‘How everyone’s Summer was…??? What’d everyone do…? Anyone do anything fun?’
Ugh! Fiddy had written a song about people like Hellen Keller- who was so obviously blind and deaf to all things remotely unacceptable- and spitfires 21 questions at you without letting you answer NOT one of them. Because really, Hellen Keller didn’t give two shits what you did over summer, she just wanted an interlude to tell everyone what SHE did over summer. And what Hellen Keller would soon announce to the team was that over summer- she had gotten shit faced with a bunch of white boys who’s favorite joke was one that pinned the black guy as a monkey! At the “punch line” all the minority eyes and single eyebrows on the team raised from their soccer cleat laces and met in an anger infused focal point that had each of us staring at each other like, “no she din’t”.
So of course I was surprised by her sudden social consciousness.
But I’m a problem solver, always have been. When I was just a kid, My gracious Tutu Lady always told me “Keo, if You not gone do notin’ bout ‘um, NO grumble.” So when complaints of a lingering problem rehash, I feel obligated to fix it, if only to get the complaining to stop.
It had been years now that all my best college friends (and teammates) had suspected Taz of being a lesbian because she was so obviously in love with her “best friend” and roommate MJ. Even MJ was well aware of the big white elephant (or lesbian, in this case) in the room- and it was time Taz just came out with it already. There was no fooling us- and it’s not like she was gonna be greeted with judgement or even the least of surprise. We lived in San Francisco for Atheist sakes, and the problem wasn’t that Taz was so deep in the closet she was finding Christmas presents. More over, it was that Taz was a destructive and ruthless bitch who was just fucking miserable to be around. She was like a time bomb, you just never knew when or what would set her off. And when she went OFF- she’d go bat shit crazy and destroy everything in her path, just like the Tazmanian devil. Come to think of it- I couldn’t understand why we were friends with her in the first place, because I most certainly had been fed up with her shit after I had juked out that dude at a party, slid through his friends legs freeze-tag style and swung my inebriated left hook at the red head who was actually 6 feet further away than my blurred vision could properly locate… Of course for Tazs dumb ass, who was so obviously in the wrong.
All athletes with a will to make a break through- we didn’t give up on her entirely . We had all suspected that maybe if she would just come out and admit to her love for MJ and other vaginas alike, she would finally feel free enough to let go of the burden to be a bitch.
This shit has gone on FAR too long, and honestly I was more worried that if this idiot didn’t shape up fast- i’d end up mounting her and hammer punching the pessimism right outa her. And THAT kind of behavior was heavily frowned upon by the peace making- coexist hippies of Frisco, plus it’d just promote the stereotype that Hawaiians were nothing but brutes- and I just couldn’t do that to my people. But Something had to be done or my Lake Havasu Spring Break experience would be forever tainted. Someone needed to get the bitch to crack. And I had an idea.
I had moved to Maui for the year and had flown back for a month to “take care of business”. So it would be perfect if I just play it cool and pretend like it was old news that she was a lesbian, and just sorta play off her reaction. You know- play stupid. So I ran the idea by my friends.
"Tonight, when were drinking, I’m just gonna come out and say- ‘So Taz, I heard you’re a lesbian now.Good for you." I rehearsed with my friends.
"Bahahaha" my friends couldn’t help but deny the humor in how ridiculously genius it was to be so blatant about the topic we’d for years now beat around the bush (literally… Hah).
” Hahahaha- yeah, she’ll prolly just give you that death stare and wreck everything in the room yelling’ DID YOU JUST CALL ME A LESBIAN? Ina demonic voice”
Hah… They were right. That is exactly how that would play out with Taz. What is it about people that when they’re so intent on hiding something when they finally they get called out, they end up outing themselves with their reaction?
"Yah- and when she’s done wrecking house I’ll just say- ‘NOOOOO…. Not Lesbian silly, THESPIAN. You know- like a lover of the performing arts.’
… And by then we’d already have got her.”
Turns out I never got the chance to carry out my plot. My friends thought it was far too good of an inside joke for it to be “outed”. Guess that applied to Tazs sexual preference too.
It’s a shame too… I was SO looking forward to that. Hope that closets comfy.
“To be yourself in a society that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
I will be the first to bitch that society is twisted and small town communities, backward. Individuality is frowned on and things not easily understood- feared. Nothing is making sense and I’m starting to believe that what they’re saying is true, maybe I AM CRAZY.
I’m trying to make sense of why we marvel at the fame-seeking, money hungry talentless, and ignore the REAL gems farting brilliance in the middle of nowhere out of pure bliss. We mold ourselves around the shallow characters we see “make it big”, rather than trying to emulate the true individuals that live by a moral code of integrity. We seek praise, accolades, and acknowledgement at large and renounce fulfillment in the simplicity of nature or the sincerity of a caring touch. We overlook the genuine connection staring us in our unguarded souls to compliment our egos with a pretty partner who’ll be seen “loving” us. Because that will prove our worth, that will let everyone know that we’re worth love… and the prettiest kind. Yeah- we’re pretty fucked up. And I’m right there with you.
If my dear O is right and society is merely a reflection of our collective unconscious then it would make complete and utter sense that if I wanted to change the way people thought- I should probably not even try but rather direct that change on myself. Because every bulb in the tanning bed should know by now that no one can control another’s way of thought, nor should they. But I’m thinking… well, if a rumor can spread like wildfire, why not an idea? If my Friday night exploits can make it to grocery aisle talk, why not a thought?
Because you’d have to admit that it would be a cool shift if we all stopped giving our souls to the touch of an interest with good looks but to the interest that looks to touch our soul. Stop surrounding ourselves with the “in-denial” fake posing and trade it in for those with individuality overflowing, Others are bound to notice and catch on. And maybe someone will realize that THAT is real, and that THAT is genuine fulfillment. And maybe that someone will be ME. I dunno…
So I’m just gonna keep on with my keeping on. Keep on thinking out of the box, coloring outside the lines, questioning the norm, and challenging common beliefs. Not because it’s fun to be a rebel (because it most certainly is not, its frustrating and exhausting really), but just because I’m THAT kind of person. But who knows… maybe they’re all right, maybe I am just CRAZAY.
Where are you popping out of anyway? Hell?? It was strange enough that you arrived on my doorstep with that creepy salesman grin and white-meets-country-meets-ghetto-swag (your last name neck tat and gold chain gave you away homefry) trying to sell a box of steaks to who you thought was “My Uncle” that one time. And worse yet, that My Uncle/Dad actually relented and bought the cow-crap you called steaks … because now you won’t leave me the eff alone.
Now if what they say is true- and what you resist persist, then it’s no wonder YOU are fucking everywhere dude.
And just when I thought I could rid myself of you. Just when I thought my blank uninterested glares and expressionless stares would teach you to skip this here house, you just keep coming back… like a stray dog. If my expressionless glare and rude tone told you once, we’ve told you ENOUGH… Get!
We don’t want any of your kind in these parts. Not that I’m averse to salesman grins and white-meets-country-meets-ghetto-swag either (don’t all come running to my doorstep at once ladies.) But it’s just that … well, you really rub me the wrong way pal. And I won’t lie- MAYBE it IS the creepy salesman grin… or even the white-meets-country-meets-ghetto-swag. Or I don’t know, MAYBE … just MAYBE…
It’s because that ONE time you showed up at my doorstep unannounced at 8 in the damn morning with Horny Mchornerson and my fertile-mertile of a sister in the living room breast feeding beside her you creeped HARD!
And yeah, I get it. That was prolly my bad. I prolly shouldn’t have walked out of my room directly facing the front door in just my floral body suit- but then again homeslice- you really shouldn’t have been at my doorstep at 8am on a Wednesday morning anyway. It’s just… Oh, I don’t know… FUCKING ANNOYING!
Because let me tell you this- EVERY human being should be allotted and hour a day to pretend like no one is watching. To pretend like amidst the neighboring houses and overwhelming lawnmower rumbles, no one can see you. My life is transparent enough as it is living on an island, not to mention having a facebook account, and I just NEED to pretend that you can’t see me walking around my house in a onesy okay? Just an hour a day to be Beyonce in the mirror, belt out a Journey ballad in the shower, or just pretend like life doesn’t require shorts. Just ONE hour dude… just ONE. And that hour for me is 8am.
But from you- I get nothing. Just nothing. Nothing but straight creeps. No apologies, no sympathy, no running away traumatized, no LOOKING AWAY even.
And regardless of the oversaturation of sarcasm in my “UHHH….. GOOD MORNING!” shout from behind my living room couch, you continued to stay at my door staring in and speaking only to me as if my sister standing 3 feet from the front door tities to the floor (well not quite, but you get the point) and Horny McHornerson right next to her didn’t exist.
“Hah… HI.” You chuckled.
Oh so you think this is funny huh? It’s 8 am, this is exhibition hour not comedy hour fool- and the last thing I want to do at 8 am is talk let alone laugh. Nothing is funny before 10am unless you’re still drunk from the night before, everybody knows that. I figured you’d walk away, nay, run away since it was so blatantly obvious that it was a “Bad time”, but NOOOOO… you thought it a great time to make convo, knowing full well my ass cheeks couldn’t escape my couch fortress until you walked away. So I decided to commit to my sarcasm , making sure to emphasize all the right details.
“UGH SORRY I’m NOT walking around MY OWN HOUSE at 8 AM FULLY DRESSED for visitors.” I try.
“Why… Was there something to see?” Cue creepy salesman smirk and somehow I think that HE thinks im flirting with him. Gross.
That was the tip of the iceberg for me.
And now, bombarding the workplace. Oh boy, you’re really ticking me off. Because now I have to sit here looking like a stiffnecked fool, with my right shoulder practically glued to my right ear. Pretending I have so much business to attend to that my fingers and eyes couldn’t conjure the time to vacate this computer, hoping that my theory of “if I can’t see you, then you can’t see me” would take effect, or at least that you wouldn’t be able to make out my profile with me contorted and fully clothed and all.
But then it comes…
“Heeeeeey…..” Uh oh. Here it comes, bring on total office humiliation per douche. “your dad need steaks?”
Ruthless and pronounced typing ensues from my midget-like fingers.
“HEY!!!! Your DAD need steaks?”
More obnoxious typing and suddenly I’m an annoying airline ticket agent. But I’m deciding to drag this one out as long as possible in hopes that maybe he’ll feel humiliated and just give up.
“DOES YOUR DAD…”
Alright, alright already. No need to yell playboy. Now you’re embarrassing me and worse embarrassing yourself and that steak business of yours. I know the ONLY reason you want to get my attention is to hint at how you seen my goodies in a one-piece in front of just about anyone. So I’m waiting for it. Waiting for you to spill it and plotting on how I can twist it to make you sound like a peeping pervert, though I doubt I’ll really need the twisting.
So I ever so slightly turn my chair as silently and delicately as my vivacious body would permit- to face and counter your LOUD attention-needingness enough for you to notice how ridiculous you are for being so fucking loud right now.
“What was that?” I say in my most fake soft pitched meek tone that has my underlying rasp about to crack, “I couldn’t hear you” I finish very Marilyn-esque and start off with my signature blank staring.
“Mer mer mer mer Steaks… mer mer mer mer Dad and steaks… mer mer.” He says… or at least is what I hear.
“Cool.” I respond.
Got me thinking though- you know what’s NOT cool? Creepin! You know what’s also NOT cool? Putting out a crappy reggae hip-hop album and trinna swindle innocent ears wit yo creepin. Buddy, you are fast making your way up the NOT COOL ladder and I’m bummed it had to be this way.
So you know what???? Fuck it- Gimme a box of steaks!