Day 16: Something New I don’t understand gay or lesbian people who make blanket statements like, “I reject all gay (or lesbian) things,” or “I’m not like other gays (or lesbians), I’m actually normal.” Here’s a protip: if you’re a dude who likes to sleep with other dudes or a gal who likes to sleep with other gals, then that fact alone automatically makes you the gayest gay (or lesbianest lesbian) in the village. This lazy rule also holds true for folks who say, “I’m not like the other [fill in the blank].” What they’re really saying is, “I know that you don’t like-slash-feel comfortable-with [fill in the blank] people, but because I’m not like them, it’s OK for you to like-slash-feel-comfortable-with me.” Internalized homophobia aside, these people likely lead very sheltered lives or have a limited network of friends and acquaintances, otherwise they’d know that there’s really no such thing as a single gay or lesbian identity.  I realize I say this as a person who can “pass” on a number of different fronts, and that in itself is a position of privilege. But just because most people wouldn’t be scared of me—thanks to my well-camoflauged freak flags—I will always side with my brothers and sisters who proudly wear their freak flags on their sleeves (or on their silk organza ball gowns). Because the fight for equality isn’t about helping a gay yuppie dad who lives in the suburbs get a better paying job or community recognition. I have lawyers to sort that kind of stuff out for me. The true fight for equality is about ensuring that the flamboyant queen who is living on public assistance can get fair housing and isn’t discriminated against while she’s on the job or on the streets. Even though I have a (well-documented) defective fabulous gene, there’s one thing that will always make me say, Hey, guurrl, hey! And that’s John Derian decoupage plates (which are not only super-gay but also super-grandma’s-house in the 1970s). I got a new John Derian piece recently to complete my triptych of bunny plates that hang over the doorway into our kitchen. They are fabulous and super-gay. Something that even designing daddy would approve of. Today’s new mantra: I embrace my inner-gay-1970s-grandma self.

Day 16: Something New

I don’t understand gay or lesbian people who make blanket statements like, “I reject all gay (or lesbian) things,” or “I’m not like other gays (or lesbians), I’m actually normal.” Here’s a protip: if you’re a dude who likes to sleep with other dudes or a gal who likes to sleep with other gals, then that fact alone automatically makes you the gayest gay (or lesbianest lesbian) in the village.

This lazy rule also holds true for folks who say, “I’m not like the other [fill in the blank].” What they’re really saying is, “I know that you don’t like-slash-feel comfortable-with [fill in the blank] people, but because I’m not like them, it’s OK for you to like-slash-feel-comfortable-with me.”

Internalized homophobia aside, these people likely lead very sheltered lives or have a limited network of friends and acquaintances, otherwise they’d know that there’s really no such thing as a single gay or lesbian identity. 

I realize I say this as a person who can “pass” on a number of different fronts, and that in itself is a position of privilege. But just because most people wouldn’t be scared of me—thanks to my well-camoflauged freak flags—I will always side with my brothers and sisters who proudly wear their freak flags on their sleeves (or on their silk organza ball gowns).

Because the fight for equality isn’t about helping a gay yuppie dad who lives in the suburbs get a better paying job or community recognition. I have lawyers to sort that kind of stuff out for me. The true fight for equality is about ensuring that the flamboyant queen who is living on public assistance can get fair housing and isn’t discriminated against while she’s on the job or on the streets.

Even though I have a (well-documented) defective fabulous gene, there’s one thing that will always make me say, Hey, guurrl, hey! And that’s John Derian decoupage plates (which are not only super-gay but also super-grandma’s-house in the 1970s). I got a new John Derian piece recently to complete my triptych of bunny plates that hang over the doorway into our kitchen. They are fabulous and super-gay. Something that even designing daddy would approve of.

Today’s new mantra: I embrace my inner-gay-1970s-grandma self.

  1. theothergoldenmean reblogged this from needle
  2. electradaddy said: Excellent post. I like it when you go all Suzanne Sugarbaker. And like her, you are fabulous, flawless, & 100% accurate!
  3. theramblingark said: I think we all have a little inner-gay-1970s-grandma in us. I cannot get enough swizzle sticks. Glass, plastic, melamine…whatevs. I need them. That and orange fiesta ware.
  4. discoballdad said: Pure gay brilliance!
  5. shortcake7502 said: I have seen my straight husband elbow others out of the way at an estate sale to get a good doily. Nothing wrong with being fabulous no matter who you sleep with. Nice work. YOu are so spot on. No reason to hide what you like …
  6. mayak46 reblogged this from lazydad
  7. fullydomesticated said: Have I told you lately that I love you?
  8. mihijoezra said: left me speechless! well said!
  9. justafamilyman said: the Kinsey test say everybody is at some percentage “gay”. I am the least percent. I am quite stylish though and enjoy theatre. My home decor sense is also quite nice. It ends there though lol
  10. nivdesign said: Oh Mee-maw, I certainly do approve!