Monday, June 30, 2003

Pride, Prejudice and Plastic

Jack and I went to the Gay Pride Parade, and it was just a banner year for beads. Usually, I end up with one or two strands of beads flung from the marchers and float-riders (I tend to avoid the large groups of lesbians who dive at and wrestle for throws, elbowing and punching until they claim the beads as their own, preferring to loiter in the background and surrepititiously pick through the leftovers, much like the wily hyena or seagull), and I take them home and put them with the beads from Gay Pride Parades past. At one point, I had them arranged in a little bowl on my coffee table, until Jack declared it as "tacky" and replaced them with potpourri. I wasn't sure where all my beads went, but felt secure in the knowledge that Jack would never get rid of my belongings without asking.

Anyhow, like I said, I got the bumper crops of beads: I was catching loads of them, and several parade-goers handed me their extras. I commented to Jack that I couldn't wait to add this year's beads to my collection, and he gave me this sickly smile and told me he loved me.

Translation: he threw out all my beads. Why, you might ask? Because he never keeps them, so he figured I wouldn't want, them either.

Under normal circumstances, I am not a very sentimental person. During break-ups, I routinely throw out pictures, presents, jewelry, etc. connected to the now-and-future ex, because why would I want all that crap around reminding me of someone who turned out to be psycho? I've heard the argument "to remember the good times," but again, why would I want to reminisce on good times I shared with someone, when it turns out that that "someone" was just a facade hiding a big, faggoty Mr. Hyde?

Here's the thing, though: Gay Pride is the one day out of the year that I don't feel like a martian. The majority of my friends are straight, and the few gay friends I have a spread out over the greater US Southwest, so I rarely get to see them or spend time with them. While most of my straight friends are cool with my orientation, I'm still the butt of a lot of jokes, stereotypical humor and ignorant comments. In that respect, it's nice to have even just one day to walk around downtown wearing rainbow accessories and holding my boyfriend's hand, and not worrying about whether all my friends are going to say, "Ewww," or "that's so gay," or "I noticed you're wearing boots; why are all gay guys into leather?" etc. Those cheap plastic beads on my coffee table represented that one day of freedom and relief. And now they're gone.

I'm sure I'll get over it in time. I mean, hell, that's what I do: I get over things. But the loss of something I was sentimentally attached to, coupled with the fact that something belonging to me was thrown out based on an assumption, without even asking me... rrrr. Insert huffy, frustrated noises here.

Assorted blehs all around.

No comments: