The repeal of the military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy regarding sexuality has recently been repealed by President Obama in a move long-awaited by many of our servicemen and women.  Long awaited, in fact, by many people not even in the military, like myself.

I have long held fast to the belief that enlisting in the armed forces while DADT was in effect was giving tacit approval to said policy.  It would have been more beneficial, I used to argue, to the “cause,” if the members of the LGBT community who were out and wanted to serve forewent enlistment, in favor of writing to the elected official of their choice and explaining that they would enlist, but refuse to lie about themselves to do it.  I always thought that the gaping holes left in the various branches of our military would speak louder than their silence.  That’s no longer an issue now, of course, because it’s in the past.  Or is it?

At a debate on Thursday night, an openly gay soldier currently serving in Iraq posed a question to the assembled hopefuls for the Republican ticket for the Presidency.  Stephen Hill is the soldier’s name, and he wanted to know if, in the event that one of the candidates ascended to the Presidency, would he or she attempt to “circumvent the progress that’s been made for gay and lesbian soldiers in the military.”

The most disturbing part of the question was that it was met with boos from what one can assume was the largely Republican audience.  I think that the booing of anyone in Iraq, actively serving in our Army, is reprehensible, no matter with whom they choose to sleep when they are on leave.  Anyone who sat safely and smugly in their seat in a climate controlled auditorium in the US and booed a soldier in the middle of the desert who is fighting in a war, ostensibly to make the world safe for democracy, ought to be ashamed of themselves.

The lucky candidate who was selected to answer the question was Rick Santorum, the latest in a seemingly endless cavalcade of Republicans to offend my sense of ethics and also good taste.  His response was “I would say any type of sexual activity has absolutely no place in the military. The fact they are making a point to include it as a provision within the military that we are going to recognize a group of people and give them a special privilege to, and removing don’t ask don’t tell, I think, tries to inject social policy into the military. And the military’s job is to do one thing: to defend our country…”

Santorum fails to realize the point of Hill’s question, indeed seems not to have heard it at all.  To assume that most soldiers, gay or straight, are not sexually active while enlisted is ridiculous at any rate, but to believe that getting rid of a blatantly prejudiced and antediluvian policy can be termed a “special privilege,” “social experimentation,” and is in some way a free pass for gay and lesbian soldiers to run around having sex whenever they like is worse; it’s out-of-touch with reality.  The LGBT community isn’t fighting for the right to have sex; we are fighting for the right to be open about our identities without fear of losing our jobs, our homes, our friends… our lives.

Santorum goes on to relate his intention, if elected, to reinstate DADT, to “move forward in conformity with what has happened in the past.”  Is this viewpoint restricted to DADT?  Why stop there, Santorum?  Why not take the vote away from women?  Segregate our schools?  Give those pesky thirteen colonies back to Britain?  There may be something to be said about a return to traditional American values, but it is important to identify just what they are.  Discrimination is not among them.

I’m not seriously heterophobic. If such a thing even exists. Let me start with that.

There are a lot of men in the gay community that espouse disdain for straight people and the lifestyles they live. I think this is farcical for the most part. Obviously there are some things about what is commonly referred to in societal vernacular as the “straight lifestyle” (remember, before “politically correct” became an issue, when we could just talk?) that are a little silly… football, for instance. The men I am referring to, though, are the ones who use words like “breeder” and refuse to go to weddings. That’s just stupid. Everyone knows we need straight people; if there were no straight people, I’d run out of eighteen year old boys in eighteen years.

Interesting side note: that comment will be extremely off-putting to people who would find it amusing if I were straight and referring to eighteen year old girls. That’s HOMOphobia — which is not the topic of this entry.

I was on FaceBook today, and good ol’ FB invited me to see Darren Criss, Blaine on Glee, which, as we all know, is my favorite show at the moment, perform at The Roxy, I think it was. I didn’t have to think about it for thirty seconds before deciding not to go.

Why? He’s good-looking, talented, on my FAVORITE show, and performing at a venue close to me! Oh, right. Because he’s straight.

I mean it. I don’t want to go because he’s straight. If he was gay, I’d totally want to. Not because I think I’d have a shot (I’m not THAT vain… well, maybe I am, but I’m not that stupid) and not because I think the crowd won’t be full of queers and girls(I mean, who ELSE would go?). I’m just not interested in going to see this straight performer, and the only reason I can think of is because he’s straight.

I just can’t imagine that his show will be remarkable enough on its own to interest me… but if he were a young gay performer, I would want to go. This is very confusing to me, because it points out a prejudice that I wasn’t aware I possessed.

I expect more from heterosexual men than I do of gay men — except, of course, for the ones I date and befriend personally. I think I’m more willing to give something new a shot if I know it’s gay, or gay produced, or gay owned, or gay sponsored. I’m not so sure that’s right.

 But then, I think, that’s hardly unique to the gay community. How many Christians intentionally shop at Christian-owned establishments? African Americans? Jews? Russians? Latinos? I guess it happens everywhere.

It seems to me that we, as people, are a lot more willing to give someone a chance if they have something really important in common with us. — Hang on a minute. Race, religion, sexual orientation, country of origin… these aren’t IMPORTANT! Of course they’re not! How did I, a self-professed liberal, get into the mindset that any of those factors contribute to what sort of person… a person… really is?

Because we all do it. Liberals, Conservatives, Satanists… whatever our political affiliation is, whatever our dogma, we all, deep down, are willing to cut a guy a break if we see just a little bit of us in them.

I suppose the key is to look closer at everyone until we can finally see it. 

…get me on Glee. 

This show is amazing.  It’s so relevant it’s insane.  Sure, it’s packaged in a gorgeous candy-colored confection crust, packed with song and dance and pretty boys and girls… but it’s real in a way.  The feelings and the relationships are all so beautifully portrayed that even if I *wasn’t* obsessed with broadway in particular and showtunes in general, this show would still make me tear up.

You must watch.

And if you’re capable… you MUST get me an audition.  I am not above trading sexual favors.

I suppose the worst part of not having my mother anymore is that whatever I know about her now is what I will know about her for the rest of my life.  People may be able to tell me things about her that I don’t already know, I guess, but it won’t be the things she never told anyone.  The things she would have told to me.

If we had the time.

I went to Target today in an attempt to buy a Snuggie.

First off, I want it to be known that I didn’t buy it for me.  I would never, EVER wear a Snuggie.  I’d sooner put on my big floppy Cacharel sweater I got at the Goodwill for eight dollars.  I bought it for my Grandfather, who is ill and gets hot and cold and hot and cold so my dad thought this would be a good idea for him.  I agree.  Young, trendy people should always wear second-hand floppy sweaters in favor of Snuggies.

But I digress.

So I walked into the Target, and headed straight to an associate to ask where the Snuggies were.  Well, after checking out that sexy guy in the v-neck and scarf who was in the CD section.  Hey, there. :)  She gave me some directions (bedding department) which I followed.  No Snuggies.  So I went to the customer service desk, where I was given another set of directions (“C” section.  The sections at Target are lettered.) which I followed.  No Snuggies.  So I asked an associate in another part of the store, and was given a THIRD set of directions (different part of the “C” section), which I followed.  I know, you know, everyone knows: NO FUCKING SNUGGIES.  I went back to the “customer service” desk (ha! Customer service, my Aunt Fanny!) and got a fourth set of directions (specifically, C-11) which failed parlously.  The worst part of all of it is no one knew what I meant immediately when I said “Snuggie,” so I had to stick my arms out in front of me and say, “you know, the blanket with holes in it, for your arms?” every time.

At this point I had had about enough so I went to speak to the manager.

“Hello,” I said.  I glanced at my cell phone to check the time. “I have been in your store for a little over thirty minutes.  I have been trying to locate a Snuggie.  I’ve been given four sets of directions from four different people, none of which have led me to the Snuggies.  It should not take a customer thirty minutes to find a single item, especially if they have asked for help.”

So the manager looks in her scanning gun, which I assume tells the future in addition to where not to find things at Target, and tells me they are in the C section.

Yeah.

So I looked at her, put both hands on the desk, leaned forward and said “Listen, lady.  I’ve been to the “C” section.  I’ve been ALL OVER the “C” section.  I have been stuck in your store so long, I could have HAD a c-section.  Now is there or is there not a definite place where these products are kept?!”

So of course the entire line busted up laughing, totally ruining my dramatic “I’m an angry customer” mojo… so I had to turn nice while she walked me over to a fifth and heretofore undisclosed location where, indeed, the Snuggies were.

So I bought the fucking thing.

The end.