Okay, I Can Eat Crow

Yesterday I wrote a post making fun of my parents because they were disappointed with the way I treated a stranger who I’d written about in an earlier post. While it felt justified and quite okay doing what I did at the time, I can admit when I’ve been less than nice. If there wasn’t a kernel of truth to it, I wouldn’t have written a post lampooning my dear old parents in the first place.

Now let me be clear, I’m not apologizing for my behavior.

While I can’t undo it, or necessarily want to undo it, I’m not apologizing for it.

I had had a few drinks when I said what I said to the guy in the bar.

Could I have left him alone?

Sure, if I’d wanted to.

But I didn’t want to.

What I’ve since realized, is what the motivation was behind it. And as any good actor knows, that’s the important part.

I was coming from a place of contempt towards closeted gay men.

Am I proud of it?

No, not really. But I’m not losing sleep over it, either. I do believe, in part, that the anger was justified. Take all the women who are in sexless marriages with gay men who are being lied to on a daily basis. I had a friend who was married to a gay man and the repercussions were beyond devastatingly painful and sad. Is that right or fair? I don’t think so. I also don’t agree with protecting closeted gay men just for the sake of protecting them.

But, is it fair to take it out on some poor sap I don’t know?

Probably not. But if you know me well, you’ll know my bullying tactics go back years. Oh, all the way back to when I was about 5. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, nor bothered by. It’s just part of who I am and I’m okay with it. Am I trying to be a better person, day by day, and doing my best to evolve? Absolutely.

I’ll admit, the rant against me that was made on Facebook yesterday, by someone I’ve only met once, pissed me off. I felt that her long lashing of me was a bit much and obnoxious (maybe not that different from the way she perceived me to be?), so I de-friended her. It is, after all, a free country. And I am a Scorpio.

But I will also admit that I did have an epiphany yesterday. I realized, that for the work I’m doing (a book project), that it’s important to approach the subject of closeted gays with compassion, not contempt. Yes, unfairness abounds, but they can’t be happy where they are. They just can’t be.

So, while I’m not perfect, I can do my best to be kind. Grumble.

Why Can't Parents Behave?

You would think that as a grown adult that my parents wouldn’t get to me.

You would think.

But, no.

When I started this blog and named myself “Sassy in Seattle,” I thought it was clear the sassy part meant I have somewhat of an edge. Kind of badass. You know what I’m sayin’?

Isn’t it obvious that I’m not for the weary of heart?

Leave it to one’s parents (mine in this instance) to reprimand you for something you write about in your blog.

When we exiled my parents to Whidbey Island last summer, you would think there would be enough shenanigans going on on that island to keep them busy for the rest of their lives. But, no. They have to worm their way into my blog.

Hey, while I think it’s great that my elderly parents (you hear that Mom and Dad, I’m threatening you by calling you elderly?) read my blog, what I write about isn’t up for discussion, unless it’s a compliment. My ego just can’t take it. I should have made that clear from the beginning.

Yesterday I was in a fine mood. Great, in fact. I’d just found out I’d won a trip to Whistler, British Columbia and decided to share the news with good old Mom & Dad.

Dad answers the phone and semi-grumpily says hello and then wastes no time getting right to the point – that he didn’t like one of my blog posts.

“What?” I said. “Yeah,” he said, “I thought you were kind of mean.” What the heck was he talking about? He said that he thought I was mean to the guy in the bar that I accused of being gay. Why didn’t I just leave him alone, he said. “Why did you have to pick on him?” Excuse me, but when did my father become the defendant of seemingly closeted gay men? “You don’t understand” I said. “Oh, I know all about the gays” he said. “I’ve been around them for years,” he said, like that was supposed to make me feel better.

Then my mother gets on the phone. “Hello dearie,” she says in her super-duper British accent. “Hi, ” I said. “Dad’s been telling me how he didn’t like my blog post.” She didn’t even try and fluff it off. She agreed with him! So, she thinks I’m a meanie, too.

The nerve!

Remember how I mentioned they’re on an island? We should have put them on separate islands, with the two of them agreeing with each other! You do something nice for your elderly parents and they turn against you.

I suppose my parents have a right to their opinion, but they’re living in island paradise. First off, they’ve been married to each other forever. They have no idea what it’s like in the brutal, dating world.

What’s a girl to do?

Only what a sassy girl can do. I’m sticking to my guns. While I’ll still have a tough exterior, I just may have to give little gay guy a peck on the cheek (thanks for the guilt M & D) should he ever again cross my path.

Why I Won't Write a Screenplay & Interact With Strange, Random Men Who Troll the Internet

Recently a random guy read my blog and sent me a message on Facebook complimenting me on a recent post.

I had no idea how this guy had stumbled upon my blog. Because he contacted me on Facebook I thought perhaps we had a mutual Facebook friend so I checked it out. No mutual friends. I even went so far as to look through all his friends. I didn't know any of his friends and besides, he lives in Northern California. Nowhere near me. So, then I asked him how he'd come upon my blog and he said that he saw in on SheWrites.com where I re-post.

He also said that he had tried contacting someone on the SheWrites site because he was looking for a female collaborator for a book. I admit, it piqued my interest. So, I googled this random guy and he writes for a police website and is a former cop. He seemed legit.

For about a minute I thought I might be interested in writing with him. No one had ever approached me to co-write before and I thought it might be a cool idea. He suggested we write either a novel or a screenplay.

That's when I knew I was in trouble.

For one, I'm not a big fan of the novel. Unless it's really good and has been recommended by someone I know and who's taste I trust, when it comes to novel reading - I don't do it. I much prefer non-fiction. And when it comes to writing a novel, I wouldn't have the foggiest idea on what to do or where to begin. Oh, I know from English class you can add foreshadowing and you're supposed to have an arc and a beginning, middle and an end, but I wouldn't even know how to get started. But trust me when I tell you I'm not egotistical enough to think I have a best-selling novel in me.

Or screenplay, for that matter.

I remember years ago, when I thought I might want to someday write a screenplay. My mother introduced me to the sister of someone she knew who was a professional writer in Hollywood. I was living in L.A. and the woman was kind enough to meet me for lunch and allow me to pick her brain on screenwriting. She had managed to get to a place where she was successful and it had taken years. It took her writing seven scripts before she sold one. Did you hear me? I said seven.

To me, it also seems arrogant - and why don't we add stupid into the mix - to think I could collaborate with this random dude who has never sold a script and write a screenplay that would sell. I knew it was a bad idea when I mentioned to him that I was having misgivings about writing a screenplay and he didn't understand why. It's amazing how many people think they can write a script and sell it. I have friends who are writers and I know it isn't easy. And, I happen to know diddly about writing a script of any kind.

But a funny thing did happen, something that I did not see coming. From blogging and writing these posts, an idea for a non-fiction book has emerged, quite to my surprise. For now, I'm not sharing the idea. I'm just going to write the thing and see where it goes. The other day I was feeling inspired and wrote the preface and the first four chapters all in one fell swoop. The inspiration has seemed to have temporarily dried up. I'm hoping the rest of the book will come to me. I'm trying to be patient and trust the creative process that the rest of the book comes. But really, it's out of my control.

Today I was reading "The Funny Times" and came upon something particularly amusing by the humorist Dave Barry. I then looked for the article online to repost and it led me to his website, where I read something by a screenwriter. It made me realize that I did the right thing, turning down the offer to write a screenplay that is "sure to sell" with someone without a track record. It was written by a screenwriter named Josh Olson and it's called "I Will Not Read Your Fucking Script." If you want to read it, click here.

Incidentally, I mentioned this random guy approaching me to several friends and a few came back saying they had a bad feeling about him. Even my Dad said he thought something was fishy. Another friend went so far as to say she thought he could be harmful. Note to friends and family for future reference: please speak up and do so in a timely manner. If you think something bad could happen, don't wait a week to check in to see if I'm still alive. I'm just sayin.'

Way more than 10% of the population is gay

Thank you to my friend Zee for turning me onto this. This underscores my belief that way more than 10% of the population is gay. It just hasn't been properly documented and with all of those closet doors shut, how can it be?

The Gays Need To Get With It

I am still on the search for a fabulous, gay friend in Seattle. Male, of course.

This closeted gay thing is getting old and since I can't find any good metrosexuals to hob-nob with, the idea of outing people is starting to become more and more attractive.

I even tried it out for size last Saturday night. Just because.

I was out with my new friend Tara, who is also from Connecticut, and I left her mortified when I called it like it is. At this point it is unclear whether Tara will ever hang out with me again, but that's okay. We're in a crisis situation here.

We went barhopping in the part of my 'hood, lower Queen Anne, which is where the young, trendy people hang. The yuppies are just up aways, on the "hill." Believe me when I tell you it's two different worlds. I prefer my yuppies up on the hill.

When we arrived at Peso's, our last watering hole of the evening, we found two seats at the end of the bar. Next to us were three, pretty gay-looking, straight-acting guys. While Tara would later shriek at me that I have no filter and cannot just tell someone they are gay, that's actually not quite how it went down.

One of the three guys, a cute, short little guy in a green sport's jersey was about to pass me on his way out. I touched his arm and said, "You should live in LA." Little guy stopped dead in his tracks. "Why do you say that?" he asked. "Because," I said, "you have an LA vibe." That's all I said. "You have an LA vibe." I was being nice.

I didn't say, because you are obviously gay and West Hollywood would be the best neighborhood for you to live in. I just said he had an LA vibe and left it at that. Then he asked me "are you saying I'm gay"? How he made the correlation between LA and gay came from his own mind, not mine. Mind you, I wasn't trying to be the Gay Whisperer and wasn't trying out any of my extrasensory powers on short little guy.

Of course I answered "yes." I'm an honest Injun. That's when he told me, "I'm not gay."

Okay, if you say so was what I was thinking. He repeated it, about four or five times before he left. But, before he departed, he made sure he told me he thought he came across as rugged and manly. Rugged and manly?

You should be proud of me, because I did not laugh. Even though I wanted to. Desperately. It took everything I had to keep a straight face, because short little guy was about as rugged and manly as...well, me.

He looked like he was about to cry before he ran out of Peso's. That's when Tara laid into me. What did I do that's so terrible? Maybe ten years from now, when short little guy is still in denial, married to a woman and unable to get out of the opium den he's chained himself to in Thailand, he'll remember my words and they will set him free. Or maybe not. The bottom line? It's not my problem. I just tell it like it is.

Where's a Metrosexual When I Need One?

First off, I need to define metrosexuals for my readers (namely, older relatives who may not be familiar with the term). Let's see if Merriam-Webster has a listing. Hmmm. Whaddya know? They do!

Here's what it says: a usually urban heterosexual male given to enhancing his personal by fastidious grooming, beauty treatments, and fashionable clothes. The term is said to have been coined in 1994.

You may not know this about me, but I'm pretty metrosexual-friendly. In other words, I hate sloppy men, AKA slobs. This also sets me up to be one, first-rate fag hag. Put a straight-seeming, good looking, fragrance wearing, well-dressed gay man in front of me - and I'm in love.

I know, it's pathetic. Yes, I'm sure I've dated a bi guy or two, and probably at least one gay man in my life. If you're thinking, "Maybe that's why she's still single," hush.

I have lately wondered: do true metrosexuals really exist? Men who are neat, tidy, clean, and...straight, without one gay bone in their body?

If I think about most of my friends' husbands, some are slobs and yes, some are metrosexuals. A friends' late brother definitely fit the bill. He was handsome and dressed well and had his eyebrows waxed. While I don't know if he was in danger of a unibrow if left unwaxed, he was definitely a metrosexual and very heterosexual if you know what I mean.

I have another friend whose husband is also a metrosexual. He is well-groomed, well-dressed and has better taste when it comes to decorating (she's the first one to admit it) than she does. Again, nothing gay about this guy.

The reason for my existential angst?

Because I'm in Seattle & the rules are different here. I'm pretty sure that almost every metrosexual is indeed gay. The metrosexual phenomenon isn't as nuanced here as it is in other places I've lived. For starters, Seattlites aren't exactly known for their fashion sense. In fact, most should be hauled off by the fashion police (if only they existed!)

Yes, it's dreadfully stereotypical here. The prototypical male wears a plaid shirt and has a scruffy beard and longish scraggly hair. Yuck! As a fag hag, I find this horribly offensive. I can't tell you what the rest of the outfit consists of because I stop looking at this point and divert my eyes to anything else. Even my 80-year old father makes fun of them. It's depressing.

Then there are the hipsters. Puke again. Luckily they are usually out of my age-range and tattooed and pierced. Really - could you get enough tats & studs? It's not like there's just one and it's tasteful. Usually they're covered in both ink and jewelry. So not attractive in my book.

Then that leaves the rest of the male population here in Seattle. Let me just rant for a moment - I've never come across so many closeted gay men in my life! Let me just tell you, Seattle is not as progressive as Seattle thinks it is! Yes they recycle - great! Yes they ride their bikes - get the fuck out of my way! Yes they compost - good for you! But on a regular basis, I'll see an obviously gay man with a wedding ring on and wonder (after living in LA for 18 years), "Where's his husband?" and then gasp in shock when a woman appears. I want to shriek, "Does your wife know you're gay?"

It seems like after living in LA, where I know gay men who have adopted children (God bless them!), that I'm ruined for the Pacific Northwest. When I lived in Vegas, I dated three delightful metros. Just delightful. I'm feeling out of sorts here. I need a metrosexual fix.

Somebody, help!