Them scary bisexuals tried to corner me in the locker room at the gym. This one gal with the devil glimmering in her eyes has been cutting me a dimpled smirk for going on three years now. She says “Where’s your girlfriend? She is your girlfriend, right? Where is she? Did ya’ll break up?” So in the exercise pool I am quietly doing some sort of synchronized swimming thang with some old ladies in shower caps, and every time I look up, the nosy woman turns red and looks away. Guess my secret is out. Someone from the housewifey crowd who isn’t bothered by my obvious perversion asks “Hey Rhon, are you coming with us to the hot tub?” (!!!) I ain’t into that nekkid thang — no way in HELL — plus I know it makes some of the ladies really uncomfortable when I even walk by the hot tub with my eyes straight ahead. So I says, “Nahhhh, I’m just gonna swirl around over here like I am doing some sort of exercizin.” And then another suburbanite splashes over and starts talking me up ’bout how she rides bitch on her husband’s Harley and whatnot. She says, “That’s my girlfriend over there.” (points to dimpled devil-eye). I say, “Ah, is she your best friend?” She nods, “She’s my girl.” “Hmmm, do you mean like GIRLFRIEND? I thought you said you had a husband?” Cat. Canary. Leer. She says, “Heheh. Oh, I have **both**.”

Oh heyullll no. Now wait a minute, ya’ll. I ain’t into swinging.

Hee hee. Kidding with my tone there. Outside of the Butch-Femme bubble I mostly live in, sometimes I do get tickled over people and at my own naiveté. Quiet as I am, I am the target boo-dagga in any situation. “Queer” as in “peculiar” situations often ensue. I never see it coming.

The other day in my writing class people were chatting about Scooby Doo and Velma. I am trying to make friends n’ all so I am happy to fill the straight people in: “Velma was a dyke!” Silence. Oh my god. Oh my GOD. That big fat dyke is talking out loud about dyke stuff… Hee hee hee. Clear your throats now. Someone’s father tapping and twirling his pen. I wasn’t trying to mess them rich lil school girls up. Really. (Southern Methodist is a very conservative, hootie university) I especially like it when str8 people make a big deal out of making sure they aren’t making a big deal.

I was out (way way out) and proud at 15 in a small nitty-gritty town of oil refineries and rednecks with blue collars. There was no where to hide had I wanted to. When I go back home, people I barely knew decades ago come up to me to tell me they too are big homos now. My mom has called me more than once from a honky tonk and handed her cell phone over to some old school acquaintance of mine… just so they can come out to me on the phone. WTF? Well, good for you for finally joining the army! I’d buy you a drink, except I am not really in a bar. My queer eye is focused on trying to microwave some damned popcorn here in my kitchen at the moment. Mmm hmm. Buh bye.

Posted by Daddy Rhon on Friday, April 21st, 2006 at 5:18 pm.