Reconsidering Lesbianism or Sex Change Operative
November 12, 2008
I have been straight for 56 years and I will always be straight because there isn’t anything I can do about it, but I have recently considered expanding my libido choices. Now that the recession is in full swing, it wouldn’t hurt if I became bi-sexual in order to network in a more lucrative way. As a middle aged woman, sleeping my way to the top of the straight world is now impossible, but in the Lesbian community, my twat is still considered desirable.
I don’t want you to think that I am only interested in forwarding my career and social status. I admire the gay community and have always been envious of their parades, great bars and dance clubs, cute dogs and apartments, recipes and solidarity. Gay people tend to be creative outsiders who do not march to the drum of dumb-dumbs. As a straight person, I am surrounded with thick necked, football obsessed meatheads, PTA soccer moms, and pseudo intellectuals and artists who sit around their framed poster apartments over-intellectualizing about their world philosophy. They write a lot of bad poetry and spend most of their energy jerking off or feigning orgasm with their drab conclave partners.
There are no straight pride parades because straight people aren’t proud of being straight. I’m tired of being on the losing team, the sexual mandate of yester-year, which now, due to overpopulation, is dangerous for the planet. I feel no connection to my straight constituents because until recently I hadn’t had sex in four years, and even now I am only having sex about once every three months. Being that it’s straight sex, it doesn’t seem to count, especially since the man I am sleeping with can’t support me.
I have been hanging out in gay bars lately, trying to jumpstart a latent homosexual tendency that might catapult my life into overdrive. There I sit, straight, bored and boring, dulled down by my lack of horniness for innovative booty fare. Yes. The gay men love me and support me, because we share an obsession with penises and cabaret, but I feel like Lesbians are my lost sisters. They could lead me towards independence and true prosperity, away from torch singing self destruction ala Judy Garland.
There is a glitch. Like most straight women, I have been programmed to consider my body repulsive and drippy unless I am airbrushed. The dark cavern under my skirt is still suspect, even in the 21st Century, of being the Black Hole of Calcutta or worse, a sacred love canal leading to large child support payments. I’m stuck with it. Even if I had the money for a sex change operation, it wouldn’t work because I would want to sleep with straight men not gay men, and they wouldn’t have me. Then again, I might want to sleep with Lesbians and they wouldn’t have me either. What kind of career plan is that??
Note: Lesbian. The term is horrifying, isn’t it? “Gay” sounds less foreboding. Why do Lesbians have to be called Lesbians and Dikes, and gay men aren’t called “Buttbians” or “Dicks”? Is it a sexist thing? I suppose it doesn’t matter because if I became a Lesbian as a straight woman I would then be considered “bi”. If I could convince a gay man to sleep with me, I would be a “Tri.” From there, the numbers get too big to crunch. Mate swapping, orgies, gang rape. Let’s keep it simple:
If I became a “Lesbian” I would lose a lot of my gay male friends and they support my cabaret performances but the Lesbians are not going to help me get anywhere if they do not see potential for a flesh fest. I can’t go “both ways” because there is a great divide between Lesbians and Gay Men- an undercurrent of hostility, in Providence. A Lesbian friend: “Those assholes think they own the city. All that dress up Diva shit.” A gay friend: “Those dikes have no sense of humor. They’re not in drag, they are a drag.” At the risk of losing the thrust of this piece, no pun intended, what gives? Maybe they are each offended by the other’s choice, as much as some straight people are offended by both Lesbians and Gays, or straight people, like me, who are offended by straight people.
Can’t we all just get along, for my sake? I am considering Lesbianism and Gayness and Bi-ness and Tri-ness and group masturbation. I want to be a member of every group, every parade, every fund-raiser, every gallery opening, every bar and restaurant and night-club in the universe .I want each and every sexual orientation to believe that I am a member of their tribe, a proponent of their lifestyle. I am the one to call when an opportunity presents itself.
Why hedge my bets? Times are hard and getting harder. To stay “on top”, I intend to fuck anything that moves.
Photo: Laurel and Miss Kitty (First Lady of Providence?)
Laurel Casey
Don’t Feel Too Crazy
October 21, 2008
There are women who kill animals for sport, and bring their children along with them. They run for political appointments. They get knocked up at middle age, when there is a good chance of giving birth to a special needs child. God does not allow birth control. They are pro-life, except where animals are concerned, then they are pro-shoot, stuff and mount. No matter who wins the election, these women are still out there, thousands of them, and they take their faith and beliefs so seriously, they would kill for them. This Halloween, I wouldn’t go out dressed as The Lion King.
Mithras=Christianity: Why do I Give a Rat’s Ass?
August 19, 2008
Never sit on your front stoop after a couple of drinks. A neighbor came by and introduced himself. He seemed like a very nice man and he had a nice dog. After some small talk I heard the word “Jesus”, and then more words about loving Jesus, and working for Jesus and what Jesus did for the world. “I know you love Jesus” he said. “Well, yes, I do, why not? I love all the prophets. They were intuitive.” There was a continuation of commentary about the meaning of suffering and the promise of Heaven. Instead of nodding like an ignorant Christian, I took offense at the man’s insistent faith in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Evidence? Who needs it? “Oh, are you Nietchian or merely Agnostic?” he asked. Both sounded suspect. “I am not a member of any cult. In fact I am trying to separate myself from the Collective Unconscious.”
There were strong words spoken. ”You can really believe in all that hogwash.” I said. He took no offense. After all, he was speaking with a heathen, a woman destined for hell, or worse, another biblical chat on the stoop next week. I was out of my element. He was winning every argument being that he did not have to present any facts or proof, just blind faith. How do you compete with the brainwashed? Thankfully, while he expounded in The Virgin Birth and The Three Wise Men, I remembered a Theological Abstract I’d read in the waiting room of Midas Muffler concerning Mithras and the cultural dynamics that led to the rise of the Christianity Cult. (google-Mithras=Christianity) “Yes, I think I’ve heard something about that.” he said.
“Well, of course you have. A seeker of the truth, such as yourself….would certainly want to know why many people think Christianity is based on ancient pagan rituals and does not contain a single original thought.”
I felt like the Devil himself, attacking God on his throne, pulling off his white beard, cursing the Crusaders, the horny Priests, the Evangelical Barbarians, and good old Jesus, who was no doubt a great guy. Why was I sitting on my stoop hyperventilating? Why do I give a shit, or more specifically, a Rat’s Ass? Religious freedom is the foundation of our democracy. Our stoop chat was a true slice of American Life. The neighbor shook my hand with sympathy and went on his way, leaving me with a sharp pain in my lower back and a severe headache. I went to bed and cried, fearing that common sense was a detriment to mental health, Individualism a curse. Because of who I was I could not take advantage of free rehearsal space in church basements or exploit the professional connections readily available at every altar. There are no Straight Pride marches, no ”I don’t Really Know” religious retreats, no “Almost Feminist” woman’s groups, no “Collective for the Sports Unenthused.” Let me reread Nabokov and Schopenhauer, Nietche and Thoreau. Let me avoid the front stoop.
Pondering Malaria
July 2, 2008
are there more bad things that can happen to you at any moment than good things that can happen to you at any moment? Trick question. It seems like lots of bad things happen and not good things because good things are things that could be bad if they happened, so the fact that bad things are not happening is the GOOD thing that is happening. Self-help books abound with articles about positive thinking and how Chaos Theory has proven that you can change your life with your mind, just as you can change the way an egg exists by staring at it. If the universe is an arena of infinite possibilities, anything can happen at any moment. And, infinite things don’t happen, which is a happening, too. Not catching malaria, for example, goes in the good column. We don’t think about not catching malaria. If we did, we would be grateful every moment we are malaria free. It still doesn’t seem fair that Murphy’s Law has become our mantra. We take it for granted that things will go very wrong alot of the time, we brace ourselves for the worst. The pollyannas who say they think positively are fighting natures gift of adrenaline release, allowing for flight or fight. Now, Pollyannas always have excuses for when things go wrong. “Well”, they say, “it was meant to be. The reason that I was driving my car over the bridge the moment it collapsed was a sign that I should stop driving, begin fast walking, and save gas monies for my dream trip to Paris. I know that Paris is in the picture, and this so-called tragedy, in which I lost my arms, will turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.” Anything but admit that their positive attitude did not protect them. It’s all how you look at life, I’ll admit, but somehow I am comforted by The law of averages. I don’t read anything more into whatever happens than whatever happens. At least something is happening. And the comforting thing is, bad or good, happenings do not last forever. Someday nothing will be happening to you.
The Game
June 19, 2008
Don’t they disgust you? The fakes? Those people who mess with your head and then, when you call them on it, plead innocent? “Gee, what are you talking about? You’re projecting. You’re over-sensitive. You’re neurotic. You’re paranoid. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Par example: local editor of rag newspaper takes me to lunch to discuss a possible column. Asks that I prepare a few columns for review. I write the columns. He says they aren’t right for the newspaper. I write more columns, later, and e-mail the columns to him. He doesn’t respond. I e-mail him again and ask why he didn’t respond. A curt reply:
I receive over 100 e mails a day and can’t respond to all of them, anyway, I am not the one who makes the decisions about articles. That is so and so.” This is the kind of bullshit that we all deal with every day of our lives. I could email the guy back and say, “well, maybe you get 100 emails a day, but you don’t get 100 emails a day from a broad that you took to lunch and discussed a possible column with. — As though the lunch never took place. As though the slob never insinuated that I was “special” and my writing was “good” — You might say this is an insignifigant example, but it isn’t. It is the kind of mind warping passive-aggressive crap that causes stress because there will never be an honest, valid response to our good instincts- - just denial cloaked in a saccharine smile. It’s not that I take it personally. I know better. Who cares, anyway? Well, I don’t actually care that much. I just wanted to call attention to that which is subversively annoying - The Fakes. The funny thing is, they think we don’t get it. They think they’re home free- and they’re home free in that they ARE getting away with it — because they don’t really care if we know the truth or not. They’ve got clout. They feel safe and secure in their bullshit arena. The artist’s responsibility is to hold a mirror to these uglies although they really ARE safe because there is no valid proof of guilt beyond our own intuition. The fakes rule the world, they think, but they do not understand that to the rest of us they are laughable and pathetic. But we will continue to e-mail, because we strive for the goodies they can provide. They know it and that is The Game.
Where is my LIFE???
June 16, 2008
It seemed natural. Paris. Chocolate. Cabaret. Red lipstick. good bread. cheap wine. flea markets. suade jackets. berets. smelly cheese. Easy as pie. Simple as 1-2-3. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED??????????????????????????????????????????//
Are You Thinking About Your Wallet?
June 4, 2008
It’s a nasty habit.
thank you global warming (lyrics)
May 14, 2008
Last month my wife done left me
She took the car and the dog
But it don’t mean a thing next to
Global warming
I read about it on some blog
We’ll be surfing in Nevada
We’ll dive down to Beverly Hills
We can water ski in the arctic, you see -
Around all the oil drills!
Thank you GW thank you, thank you
Thanks for a nice hot day
Thank you GW, thanks to you
My troubles seem far away!!
Just last week I lost my job
So depressed I couldn’t see.
But in a few years in hot water to our ears
Why should that matter to me?
Featured Article:
Thanks to some wise nightclubs owners, live entertainers continue to eat well during this economic downturn. It was during the Great Depression that Cabaret and Vaudeville got their start as people swarmed into the pubs to forget their troubles for a few hours. The cost/value ratio of live entertainment suits the recession pocket book and mind-set. If you stay home and wallow about your wallet, you’ll soon find yourself in the emergency room for a failed suicide attempt, chronic depression or Epstein-Barr Virus. Without health insurance, your stress-related illness will cost you upwards to $1,000 dollars. A night out in a cabaret will run you about $50. Take your pick. See you at The Sidebar….