Ok. So we've already established that I am the champion of the "best person to come out to" contest, world division.
But what about those who swore they were straight? Maybe even contributed to the future generations of fruit fly queens, and queen queens? Let's look at case number 1, shall we?
In the late 80s, I became friends with one of my mom's coworkers. He was smart, funny, attractive, dressed well, and could keep up with my back and forth banter. Who could have guessed he was gay? (please note the intense sarcasm).
I hinted, he rebuffed. I hinted more strongly, he produced ex-girlfriends. Yeah. Accent on the EX. I don't remember if I flat out asked, but anyone who knows me will probably swear that I had to have done so.
Anyway, Mom and I finally decided that maybe he was just one of those rare straight guys that were just..you know. The term metrosexual had yet to be invented. (And how perfect is it that Metro is the name of our favorite drinking establishment?) He was either one of those, or he had changed his permanent address to the closet, no changes needed, thank you very much.
Fast forward a few years to me, in my favorite gay bar, with the manager who came out to me in my previous story. The bar was tiny. There was only one entrance, which the whole bar could (and did) see. After catching up with the door person, I headed straight to the bar for my vodka collins. As I stepped up to grab my drink, I glanced in the mirrored wall in front of me. An extremely pale, deer in the headlights look met my eyes. Mom's coworker. Smack dab in the middle of the gay central with nowhere to run. He slunk over, tail firmly between legs. After a short conversation, consisting mostly of ums and yeahs, hugs were had by all. The world was right once again.
Case number 2 began at Hardees. Yes, again!
While manager #1 was doing the coming out two step, manager #2, let's call him "Bob", was busy asking me if manager #1 was gay. In the course of working together, Bob and I also became close. I loved him dearly. He and I had the fun back and forth banter. We talked about music and singing. He played the piano, and his girlfriend sang. Together, they were responsible for the music at their church. A match made in heaven! But I thought he was gay. REALLY gay. Manager #1 thought so too.
Eventually, Bob and his girlfriend married and had children.
Fast forward to today, with me playing around online. I was looking at the facebook members who belong to one of the local churches. Oh, did I mention that the church is um..gay? Ok..a church can't be gay. But oh my Becky, the members sure are. So..as I scanned the member list, who did I spy but Bob! I sent him a generic message, basically just saying hello and how the heck are you. (Notice how I left out the whole gay part? That's me. Miss Full of Tact.)
He responded back, and we proceeded to trade messages, basically filling each other in on the past few years. He informed me that he has finally come out. Then he asked that I at least pretend to be a little shocked at that information.
So now, I've progressed to having THE TALK online. I guess that it could be considered closet exiting, millenium style.
My only remaining question is this. How can I possibly top the online unburdening of the soul?
Stay tuned to see, my fine feather boa'd friends!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
revolving closet doors
As Queen of the Fruit Flies, I have, on many occasions, had friends "come out" to me. I have also had friends burrow even deeper into the closet. Let's start with one of the earliest coming out episodes I can remember, shall we?
The year..1988. The place..Ben Davis High School's parking lot. I was rushing to catch my bus, and my friend Doug ran to catch up with me. He said that he had something important to tell me. I told him to hurry, tick tock tick tock and all that. He said, "Michelle. I have to tell you this! I'm bisexual."
OK. And?
"No! You don't understand! I'm BI SEXual."
So I asked if he was the same person he was before he told me that. (Yes).
I asked if he knew that I loved him before he told me that. (Of course!)
So why would I love him any less afterwards if he was the same exact person. He couldn't think of a reason. And that was that. We hugged, I made my bus, and all was right in the world.
That may have been the fastest and easiest coming out until the octomom's most recent births.
Fast forward a few years. I was working an oh so lovely fast food job, and being my normal "queen of all I survey" self. I had become pretty close to one of my managers, and I was pretty darn sure he was gay. He always danced around the issue, never quite answering yay or nay.
About a week before he was scheduled to move on to bigger and better places, he told me we needed to talk. Uh oh. I've seen this movie a few times before. Can we just fast forward to the tears and hugs?
We decided to talk during our next shared shift. Said shift came and went. So did the next. And the next. It was now down to the night before he left the company. He called and asked that I come in to the store so that we could finally have THE DISCUSSION. (After all of this back and forth, the words had taken on almost mythical proportions. Anything less than all caps would be a travesty!)
I walked in to the manager's office, a room roughly the size of a bathtub. He said, "Ok. talk!" WAIT JUST ONE MINUTE! He wanted the conversation, but yet he wanted ME to do all the talking? I don't think so, sweetie! But yet he refused to talk. GRR! Fine. So I took the bull by the horns, so to speak. I said, "Is he the one?"
"What? Who?"
"Is he THE ONE? The guy I just met. You changed when you were around him. Your body language said that you were more than friends, dear. And the looks that passed between you...So I ask again, IS HE THE ONE?"
It was as if all the air left his body. He sank down to sit on top of the desk. Finally, a smile.
"Yeah. I think he is".
And that was that. Hugs and tears. One more closet door broken down.
I loved them both, and hope that they in turn loved me. Unfortunately, I can't ask. Both friends have since drifted away. I think of both, and wish that I could tell them how much they meant to me. I guess I was meant to go on to more closet doors, and more tears. And more hugs.
The year..1988. The place..Ben Davis High School's parking lot. I was rushing to catch my bus, and my friend Doug ran to catch up with me. He said that he had something important to tell me. I told him to hurry, tick tock tick tock and all that. He said, "Michelle. I have to tell you this! I'm bisexual."
OK. And?
"No! You don't understand! I'm BI SEXual."
So I asked if he was the same person he was before he told me that. (Yes).
I asked if he knew that I loved him before he told me that. (Of course!)
So why would I love him any less afterwards if he was the same exact person. He couldn't think of a reason. And that was that. We hugged, I made my bus, and all was right in the world.
That may have been the fastest and easiest coming out until the octomom's most recent births.
Fast forward a few years. I was working an oh so lovely fast food job, and being my normal "queen of all I survey" self. I had become pretty close to one of my managers, and I was pretty darn sure he was gay. He always danced around the issue, never quite answering yay or nay.
About a week before he was scheduled to move on to bigger and better places, he told me we needed to talk. Uh oh. I've seen this movie a few times before. Can we just fast forward to the tears and hugs?
We decided to talk during our next shared shift. Said shift came and went. So did the next. And the next. It was now down to the night before he left the company. He called and asked that I come in to the store so that we could finally have THE DISCUSSION. (After all of this back and forth, the words had taken on almost mythical proportions. Anything less than all caps would be a travesty!)
I walked in to the manager's office, a room roughly the size of a bathtub. He said, "Ok. talk!" WAIT JUST ONE MINUTE! He wanted the conversation, but yet he wanted ME to do all the talking? I don't think so, sweetie! But yet he refused to talk. GRR! Fine. So I took the bull by the horns, so to speak. I said, "Is he the one?"
"What? Who?"
"Is he THE ONE? The guy I just met. You changed when you were around him. Your body language said that you were more than friends, dear. And the looks that passed between you...So I ask again, IS HE THE ONE?"
It was as if all the air left his body. He sank down to sit on top of the desk. Finally, a smile.
"Yeah. I think he is".
And that was that. Hugs and tears. One more closet door broken down.
I loved them both, and hope that they in turn loved me. Unfortunately, I can't ask. Both friends have since drifted away. I think of both, and wish that I could tell them how much they meant to me. I guess I was meant to go on to more closet doors, and more tears. And more hugs.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
The lady from Britain's Got Talent
Ok. I'm only going to say this once, so listen up, and listen up well!
Yes, the woman has an amazing voice. And, no, she is NOT the stereotypical look of the regular pop music success. But that does NOT make her unusual. It makes her just like every other normal person who loves to sing, and wishes he/she could do more with their voice. But, because looks are everything in the entertainment business, they are unable to do anything more than sing in church, at family and friends' weddings, and gather a following at their local karaoke venue.
Case in point: the 90s music group called "Black Box". Their hit "Strike It Up" featured the vocal powerhouse Martha Wash. She may be best known as half of "Two Tons of Fun", which later became "The Weather Girls". And we all (ahem) know what they are famous for singing. (Cue "It's Raining Men dance montage).
The song was a HUGE hit. The video played a seemingly endless loop on MTV. And here is where we come to the teeny tiny little difference between the vocal tracks and the ensuing videos and concert performances. The videos showed Ms. Wash's parts being lip synched by a skinny, "picture friendly" model/singer. No big deal, people do that all the time on videos. Didn't Cindy Crawford "sing" on a Chris Isaak video?
But in the case of "Strike It Up", the model was listed as the singer. She was given credit for singing with Martha Wash's voice! Why did this happen? Well..let's look at Ms. Wash. Think back to her previous group. Two Tons of Fun. Hmmm. A plus sized woman. In her early 40s. Versus a model, in her 20s at the oldest. Nope, can't see why they would think Ms. Wash wouldn't be a hit, can you?
By the way, Ms. Wash subsequently sued Black Box for full credit on several songs, and won. The videos still show the skinny chick. Fair, isn't it?
And before any of my dear friends think that this whole thing was written just because I am a plus sized, frustrated singer who wishes she could have done more...well..you're right. But so am I. Think how many more Susan Boyles there are in this world, with voices like angels, who can't do more than entertain drunks in cheesy karaoke bars, but wish for just one chance..just one..to show the world that they too can bring people to tears, with just the sound of a voice. But instead, the world gets the oh so underwhelming voices of the Britney Spears and manufactured boy bands brought together simply by the way they look together. So no, Susan Boyles is NOT unusual. She is NOT different. But she IS amazing. And for that, I applaud her.
Edited to add: I KNOW! I KNOW! Bitter, party of one! But that's the way I feel, and this is MY blog. So there! giggle
Yes, the woman has an amazing voice. And, no, she is NOT the stereotypical look of the regular pop music success. But that does NOT make her unusual. It makes her just like every other normal person who loves to sing, and wishes he/she could do more with their voice. But, because looks are everything in the entertainment business, they are unable to do anything more than sing in church, at family and friends' weddings, and gather a following at their local karaoke venue.
Case in point: the 90s music group called "Black Box". Their hit "Strike It Up" featured the vocal powerhouse Martha Wash. She may be best known as half of "Two Tons of Fun", which later became "The Weather Girls". And we all (ahem) know what they are famous for singing. (Cue "It's Raining Men dance montage).
The song was a HUGE hit. The video played a seemingly endless loop on MTV. And here is where we come to the teeny tiny little difference between the vocal tracks and the ensuing videos and concert performances. The videos showed Ms. Wash's parts being lip synched by a skinny, "picture friendly" model/singer. No big deal, people do that all the time on videos. Didn't Cindy Crawford "sing" on a Chris Isaak video?
But in the case of "Strike It Up", the model was listed as the singer. She was given credit for singing with Martha Wash's voice! Why did this happen? Well..let's look at Ms. Wash. Think back to her previous group. Two Tons of Fun. Hmmm. A plus sized woman. In her early 40s. Versus a model, in her 20s at the oldest. Nope, can't see why they would think Ms. Wash wouldn't be a hit, can you?
By the way, Ms. Wash subsequently sued Black Box for full credit on several songs, and won. The videos still show the skinny chick. Fair, isn't it?
And before any of my dear friends think that this whole thing was written just because I am a plus sized, frustrated singer who wishes she could have done more...well..you're right. But so am I. Think how many more Susan Boyles there are in this world, with voices like angels, who can't do more than entertain drunks in cheesy karaoke bars, but wish for just one chance..just one..to show the world that they too can bring people to tears, with just the sound of a voice. But instead, the world gets the oh so underwhelming voices of the Britney Spears and manufactured boy bands brought together simply by the way they look together. So no, Susan Boyles is NOT unusual. She is NOT different. But she IS amazing. And for that, I applaud her.
Edited to add: I KNOW! I KNOW! Bitter, party of one! But that's the way I feel, and this is MY blog. So there! giggle
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Old friends
Now, before anyone says anything, the title of this post refers to former friends, NOT friends who might be ahem..of an "advanced age, shall we say. So just stop that train before it even leaves the station, k?
I started thinking of all of this for the same reason a lot of people are these days..facebook, myspace, and all of their cyberspace ilk. Since I've been using these electronic class reunions, I've both been contacted by and have contacted "lost" friends. It has been pretty interesting, to say the least.
The first thing I noticed is how OLD these people are! I realize that skipping a grade in elementary school makes me a year younger than most of my classmates, but WOW! There is no way I look like that. It was enough to make me want to check my class photos to see if I could "spot the fetus that was me" next to all of the older looking children. Those kids should have had mustaches, I say! I'm young, I'm vibrant. I'm lying through my teeth. Every morning, I wake up with enough chin hairs to rival any member of ZZ Top. (We won't even speak of the hairs on my head. Gray IS a color, just as round is a shape!)
I also noticed that, for the most part, these people have children. I know! Sweet, innocent youth are being reared by the same idiots who thought it was a good idea to drink Purple Passion and Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill at the same time! My teeth ache at that amount of sugar, combined with that amount of alcohol, combined with that amount of youthful stupidity. My brain boggles at the idea of the guy who body surfed his way through our French trip helping his toddler well..toddle. Does he have enough feeling left in his rock battered body to realize that coffee tables have sharp corners? (Sorry, Jeff!)
And not only are these same old old old friends responsible for the leaders of tomorrow, they are taking care of the leaders of today! They are teachers, nurses, even doctors! Eek! I am not, I repeat NOT taking my clothes off and showing my rice in an old sweatsock boobs to some guy that I can still, to this day, picture smiling his way through the 50s rock 'n roll medley while standing on those stupid, squeaky risers that somehow managed to be off-kilter but yet strong enough to hold 30 squirming, slightly off-key, ridiculously costumed youngters.
Wow. Now that I've used up all of that energy on that extremely run-on sentence, I think I'll save the rest of my thoughts for another day. In parting, however, I leave you with this thought.
In the very near future, our retirement homes will be filled with the tattooed, pierced, sour patch kids eating, jolt cola swilling, rap music listening people we now call our "old friends".
I started thinking of all of this for the same reason a lot of people are these days..facebook, myspace, and all of their cyberspace ilk. Since I've been using these electronic class reunions, I've both been contacted by and have contacted "lost" friends. It has been pretty interesting, to say the least.
The first thing I noticed is how OLD these people are! I realize that skipping a grade in elementary school makes me a year younger than most of my classmates, but WOW! There is no way I look like that. It was enough to make me want to check my class photos to see if I could "spot the fetus that was me" next to all of the older looking children. Those kids should have had mustaches, I say! I'm young, I'm vibrant. I'm lying through my teeth. Every morning, I wake up with enough chin hairs to rival any member of ZZ Top. (We won't even speak of the hairs on my head. Gray IS a color, just as round is a shape!)
I also noticed that, for the most part, these people have children. I know! Sweet, innocent youth are being reared by the same idiots who thought it was a good idea to drink Purple Passion and Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill at the same time! My teeth ache at that amount of sugar, combined with that amount of alcohol, combined with that amount of youthful stupidity. My brain boggles at the idea of the guy who body surfed his way through our French trip helping his toddler well..toddle. Does he have enough feeling left in his rock battered body to realize that coffee tables have sharp corners? (Sorry, Jeff!)
And not only are these same old old old friends responsible for the leaders of tomorrow, they are taking care of the leaders of today! They are teachers, nurses, even doctors! Eek! I am not, I repeat NOT taking my clothes off and showing my rice in an old sweatsock boobs to some guy that I can still, to this day, picture smiling his way through the 50s rock 'n roll medley while standing on those stupid, squeaky risers that somehow managed to be off-kilter but yet strong enough to hold 30 squirming, slightly off-key, ridiculously costumed youngters.
Wow. Now that I've used up all of that energy on that extremely run-on sentence, I think I'll save the rest of my thoughts for another day. In parting, however, I leave you with this thought.
In the very near future, our retirement homes will be filled with the tattooed, pierced, sour patch kids eating, jolt cola swilling, rap music listening people we now call our "old friends".
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Music
Music played a pretty big part in creating all that is Queen Chelle.
Mom played music in the house..in the car..pretty much everywhere. And she listened to pretty much everything. No genre was out of bounds. The only requirement? It had to be good. And I mean goooood. Catchy tunes, memorable lyrics, but most of all, good vocals. Nothing drove her (or me now, for that matter!) crazier than a good song being sung by someone sounding like two cats engaging in behaviour that ultimately leads to baby kitties.
So what, you ask, were some of the biggies? (musically speaking, that is!)
Hmm..let's start at the very beginning..a very good place to start...
And the first album I remember playing over and over until mom couldn't tell if it was live or Memorex? Sigh. Gulp. Ok. I can do this. (loud exhale)
Debbie Boone. You Light Up My Life.
I didn't just play it. I BECAME it. To this day, I can still sing every song, in order, from the first song on side A all the way through the last song on side B.
A little technology lesson for all of you imps who were born A/C (after CDs). People in the 70s had things called cassette tapes. Music albums were cut into two semi equal parts. Half on one side, half on the other. It was impossible to go straight to one song at the touch of a button. (Think fast forwarding or rewinding on an old (shudder) VHS.) If you loved the whole album, you played the whole album. But if you only loved a single song, or just one or two, you usually played only the side with those songs. But at least this was a step UP from eight track tapes. (See dinosaur music playing machines)
And that brings us to our next group of songs. For those who aren't aware, the grade school I attended was also my church. (How conveeeeenient!)
Since church + school = catchy kids Bible verse songs, a company called "Agapeland Music" or something to that effect made it big in the 70s with a series of records which started with the megahit (at least in my mind) "The Music Machine". The record spawned a stage play, with a handy dandy built in soundtrack. Many children's church directors were then photographed wearing captains jackets that only Sargent Pepper could love. Most people only remember the song about patience, sung by a snail. Me? I loved every minute of that album, and drove mom crazy with that one as well. She, however, got back at me by singing the patience song each and every time I got antsy.
http://www.geocities.com/agapelandsite/mp10.html
Wow! I think that's enough soul baring for today. Tune in again for more "Memories of Music by Michelle". (cue my phone voice and old timey cheesy radio music theme song)
Mom played music in the house..in the car..pretty much everywhere. And she listened to pretty much everything. No genre was out of bounds. The only requirement? It had to be good. And I mean goooood. Catchy tunes, memorable lyrics, but most of all, good vocals. Nothing drove her (or me now, for that matter!) crazier than a good song being sung by someone sounding like two cats engaging in behaviour that ultimately leads to baby kitties.
So what, you ask, were some of the biggies? (musically speaking, that is!)
Hmm..let's start at the very beginning..a very good place to start...
Good morning, starshine, the earth says "Hello"
You twinkle above us, we twinkle below
Good morning, starshine, you lead us along
My love and me as we sing our early morning singing song
Gliddy, glup, gloopy
Nibby nabby noopy
La, la, la, lo, lo
Sabba sibby sabba
Nooby abba nabba
Le, le, lo, lo
Tooby ooby walla
Nooby abba nabba
Early morning singing song
Yup. Pretty much answers all those nagging questions everyone has about me, doesn't it?And the first album I remember playing over and over until mom couldn't tell if it was live or Memorex? Sigh. Gulp. Ok. I can do this. (loud exhale)
Debbie Boone. You Light Up My Life.
I didn't just play it. I BECAME it. To this day, I can still sing every song, in order, from the first song on side A all the way through the last song on side B.
A little technology lesson for all of you imps who were born A/C (after CDs). People in the 70s had things called cassette tapes. Music albums were cut into two semi equal parts. Half on one side, half on the other. It was impossible to go straight to one song at the touch of a button. (Think fast forwarding or rewinding on an old (shudder) VHS.) If you loved the whole album, you played the whole album. But if you only loved a single song, or just one or two, you usually played only the side with those songs. But at least this was a step UP from eight track tapes. (See dinosaur music playing machines)
And that brings us to our next group of songs. For those who aren't aware, the grade school I attended was also my church. (How conveeeeenient!)
Since church + school = catchy kids Bible verse songs, a company called "Agapeland Music" or something to that effect made it big in the 70s with a series of records which started with the megahit (at least in my mind) "The Music Machine". The record spawned a stage play, with a handy dandy built in soundtrack. Many children's church directors were then photographed wearing captains jackets that only Sargent Pepper could love. Most people only remember the song about patience, sung by a snail. Me? I loved every minute of that album, and drove mom crazy with that one as well. She, however, got back at me by singing the patience song each and every time I got antsy.
http://www.geocities.com/agapelandsite/mp10.html
Wow! I think that's enough soul baring for today. Tune in again for more "Memories of Music by Michelle". (cue my phone voice and old timey cheesy radio music theme song)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
