I've been missing gay life a surprising amount lately, even when I'm the most torn about how much to return to it. Had just enough energy and time left after work today that I went to the first SF bar I happened upon, and it was near-completely ATROCIOUS! Far too waspy-white, for one thing. Beyond that it was like I'd come across some sort of clone factory. I swear to G-d near every guy there was white, had his hair cut the same way, had the same mustache, wore the same brand and style of jeans, the same sorts of flannels or leather jackets, and they all stared at me like I had two heads the second I walked in. --And there wasn't too strict an official dress code that I could tell, and I wasn't dressed too femininely at all! No makeup, no extra jewelry, most of my hair was tied up, I was wearing a non-cropped tee, boring jeans n' sneaks. Ultra casual! I'd seen some of this before and knew it was a lot more popular these days to be more macho, but this was really something! Maybe it was just the wrong night? At the time I didn’t think about it though.
Swished my way over n' sat at the bar as queenish as I could out of spite and got an equally girly drink, struck up a conversation with the fella next to me, who turned out to be a gay-masculine evangelist of sorts. Apparently it's not just passe to be feminine but outright counter-revolutionary. That you could be a "real man" and fuck other men, and that was more of a celebration of self and of male homosexuality in general than being a sissy or a queen, that being a sissy or a queen was just a self-hating caricature, giving into the belief straight people have about gays being inherently feminine, blah blah blah. One of those idiots who thinks he’s real smart ‘cause he talks like a college professor. I said: well that's cute, hun, have fun being boring. I downed the rest of my drink and walked my ass right out of there! There were a couple of wonderful butch dykes smoking in front and I told them that I appreciated them far more than I did the boys in there, that the mustaches must've gone right into their brains. They were unsurprisingly darlings as most dykes are, so I asked them if there were any more interesting clubs n' bars around and got a few pointers. Hopefully I'll have time at some point to check 'em all out-- I was too annoyed today to try, and some were a bit spread out over town.
Being indirectly called "self-hating" was something else, though... that gentleman obviously didn't know me before I more or less accepted my queen side, because if he had, he'd know what "self-hating" really looks like.
Had to do a video for one of the singles and the clothes they picked for us were SO tacky and not in a fun way, either-- a few years out of date. They had me in this awful red jumpsuit that was probably designed for men with a lot more chest hair than I have. Afterwards I told Walt I'd never wear something like that on an actual stage and that I hoped I wasn't expected to. Bluster at that, "well, we're not, but what's the problem with it", blahblahblah. "I mean, he has a point-- it IS ugly."-- said Rory. Thank you Rory! Anyway I hope that's not the first visual impression most people will have of me.
Oh, this all also happened to land on Nowruz (it's funny celebrating/observing this sometimes, Rosh Hashanah w/family sometimes, and regular New Year's... which one's the REAL start of the year, who can say? ha)-- thankfully was able to swing by Anna's later and bring some cake home for me and Greg. He was kinda hesitant when he saw the rose petals all over it and I forgot wasps probably never had rose/rosewater flavored anything (there was also powdered and crushed pistachio all over it and who doesn't like those???). I said: just try a bite and if you don't like it, I'll eat both of 'em! But he liked it, thank G-d. I didn't actually want to eat two slices of cake at once. Even the one... well, it was a holiday. And Anna made it!
Ebrahim[11] also used the opportunity to give me a sort of Persian rock record he picked up on his and his sisters' last visit to Tehran-- from a cat named Kourosh Yaghmaei. He had it blasting the whole time I was over (really, no one in my family, on either side, knows how to play music at anything lower than the maximum volume). He also hooked me up with a couple pomegranates (!!!) and some hash, so guess what me and Greg're gonna do at the nearest opportunity....! (listen to this, blast ourselves to outer space, and eat pomegranate seeds, that's what! ahhhh I'm so excited I get to brag about having ~Persian hash~ how rockstar of me-- and how in the hell did he sneak that past customs?? Clever Ebi!)
The music video experience (and that awful bar experience a couple weeks back) recently sent a sudden stab of sadness thru my heart for La Rosa. More than La Rosa, really-- performing at La Rosa. So much of what I've been doing with the band has been more about obscuring myself than ANYTHING I did as Marjan at La Rosa, despite the latter being more physically obscuring. It was HONEST. Hell, it was the first time I ever felt I could be truly attractive, beautiful even, and not just an easy lay. It was so much of what I wanted, yet still not enough. Ricky understood it, but look where that got him.
The problem with La Rosa was if I stayed there, I'd never have made it anywhere else. Everything in my life had fallen apart, I'd been kicked out of Mom's house, I was still hooked on speed, sometimes using so heavy I’d forget to eat for days, Cryssie was worried about me as much as she was excited for my "potential", but for five or six hours every night I could shed all that and every weekend I could belt whatever Ricky, Kurt, Tommy, and Joey had lined up for the night. Now Cryssie seems almost disgusted with me-- I mostly hadn't been back to LR since Ricky died, not til recently, and THAT'S the reception I get-- and sometimes I think about it and can't help but be angry with her, that she'd rather have a tragic widow diva wasting away by her side than someone who chose to fucking LIVE. Do I wish I could survive and have La Rosa in my life as much as I used to at the same time? OF COURSE. Hell, I almost think she's jealous of me. I could make it out despite everything that happened to me and she's still stuck where she's been for G-d-knows-how-long. She seemed so with-it, so together, when I first met her-- but when I first met her, I was a WRECK. She said that one day I'll see that none of what I'm doing will be worth it. That I'm in the process of selling my soul and by the time I realize what's what, it'll be too late. I want, more than anything, to be able to prove her wrong.
...At the same time, like I said, I do miss the part of myself I sacrificed. Maybe there are ways I can resurrect that side of me for some brief moments. Enough to feel that spark again, that instant surge of confidence. If Walt had his way, of course, he'd exorcise that part of me for good. It gives us and especially him nothing but trouble. Maybe he's right that it's for the best, but I don't fully trust it. I'm frustrated at Cryssie, truthfully I'm mad at her right now-- telling me all this after the contract's signed just rings hollow-- but she taught me how to hold my head up high, to have dignity in my true self even when I'm forced into the most undignified situations, even when I have to hide it to survive. Even so, after Rick I still crumple far too easily, find myself drowning in insecurity and mistrust of everyone and everything. I mean, I AM in hostile territory. And the worst thing is, even some gay joints are hostile territory these days! What a world!
--Greg just got home, which is the perfect remedy to stewing in my own thoughts (well, the less pleasant ones, that is). Just in time! He has no idea about any of this and G-d willing he'll never have to.
[11]Always know he’s around ‘cause I’ll hear “AYYY, RAJ!!” before I see him– nice but loud n’ frustratingly oblivious, like the rest of him– come to think, Nate’s a bit like him… not at all in appearance, tho, ha.