In case it hasn't been clear thus far, the CampusQueer is not on the campus for the time being. Finals ended last Friday with euphonium, delusional ecstasy, and stellar grades for moi. Thanks. I'll be taking my scratch-and-sniff sticker now please. For us fabulous and regal dormitory residing faggots -- That's funny. There's a spell check message for "faggots" -- that means evacuating the dance floor and heading home for the holidays. So here I am, back at my roots submerged in a town glorifying Aeropostale, hood rat mewzics, and a general acceptance that life ends here for them. Left with burned birdges and no friends, I sit here in Mother's new loft "downtown" with nothing to do but take up my mantle at the fanshy restramatant down the road. So I marched down there, asked for some hours, and was asked to arrive early tihs morning at 9am. I immediately assembled my black skinny pants, fine white oxford, and black, square-cut skinny tie. Ummm... I looked good?

So this morning I arrive and fall back into the swing of things. The swing of things entails running up and down stairs, looking busy, and avoiding actual work as long as possible. It's quite exhausting work and would probably just be easier to just dooo something. (I hope you read that like Julia Childs because I typed it like that.) Well, the point of this post, and it does have one, comes from my interactions with my male co-workers. Some of them I knew from back in the day and some were noobs. All were straight as I am gay. They made games of throwing rolls in trash cans, spoke in dull, monotone lulls, and then ATE the rolls from aforementioned trash cans for jest....Please send very expensive, extravagant flowers to my funeral.

The curious thing is my response to being around these people. Now I think it can be agreed by all from miles around....CampusQueer is pretty damn queer. A limp in my wrist. A spring in my step. A fruity cocktail in my hand. Always. However, being submerged in this hetero normative situation, I played into their game. I may have been dressed to the tee and had hair quaffed to asymmetric perfection, but I was not myself. And that is a sad thing. Why do we sometimes feel need to shove ourselves back in the closet to make others more comfortable? We give up our own comfort with ourselves and who we are that we have been building up for a lifetime in order to keep society's status quo for a few hours at a time. I say "we." Maybe I am wrong, but I feel certain this can speak for many of us queers. Except for Mr. Mackey. Mr. Mackey is ALWAYS Mr. Mackey. I return for another shift tomorrow, and chances are I will fall right back in step with this feigned facade. Don't judge. It's a defense mechanism and I am full of those. I just hope by me recognizing this in myself, I can conciously combat it in my interactions with others. And maybe you will too. We don't always have to be rainbow flag waving, quiche baking, pelvic thrusting queermos, but never be afraid to be who you are wherever you are. Unless wherever you are is in the middle of a Southern Baptist vacation to the Neo Nazi hunting lodge. Then you need to figure out how the hell you got there and how to hide that listhp Mary.


We will see what tomorrow holds. I will see if  I can stand a little taller for myself and who I am. You will ask your Mee-Maw for a few V-necks for Christmas or Hanuka,  but not for Kwanzaa. Can't go wrong there.

Over and Out,
Campus Queer