Twice Out of the Blue Now

As some of you may know, I have two blue fingernails, left middle and ring. I've had them since last August. As for why, it's a bit of a long story, the short version of which is: I stopped biting my nails, saw how long they were getting, and thought, "Why the Hell not?" 

It's a fun little dexterity/patience exercise, it doesn't get in the way of anything, I frankly like the way it looks, and they've gotten me a fair number of compliments. 

Of course, it also leaves a few people puzzled. Some are so puzzled, in fact, yet so strangely afraid to ask, that they'd rather go digging for an explanation elsewhere, finally sharing their findings with my roommate. I was eating pizza with her a few weeks ago and she told me her cousin found out it's code for being gay. I asked, "What isn't code for being gay?" Apparently, it's local, which likely means they heard it from one person who more than likely made it up for himself and considers it to apply to everyone else because of reasons. 

Similarly, I have a blue porch light. My roommate's sister and brother saw fit to tell me that a blue light means a gay resident. When I told them I'd never heard such a thing, they explained it was "a West Coast thing" that no one here really knew (I live in the St. Louis area). Naturally, I looked it up. It turns out, a blue light means, among other things: Pot smokers, non-smokers, fallen police officers, raccoon repellents, transvestites (Amsterdam), lunch special, and my personal favorite, "Husband's out of town." Ever hear of trademark dilution? 

Anyway, back to the pizza... my roommate told her cousin that I wasn't gay. Admittedly, I've never been the manliest man, but I'm at best the "Q" in the LGBTQIAWXYZ123+=/# stream of social consciousness. The cousin in question, insisting they weren't homophobic (they're not, they're just kinda gullible, like borderline anti-vax gullible), wanted all the same to tell my roommate to try and explain to me that, even if it's not an actual indicator, there may be some people who think it is and, well... take violent action. In other words, it may not be a code gays use, but it can be a code homophobes use. 

Now, today, my roommate told me that her other cousin had talked to her and, "felt the need to tell me you were gay." I asked her to expand, give a little context, and she went on to quote, "I looked it up. It doesn't matter, I'm just letting you know." 

For starters, where exactly did she look this up? I have never seen anything written anywhere about nail polish as code for sexual orientation (let's face facts, it's not a very good one, anyway). Hell, there's more articles out there on baseball players using it for signaling than anything else. Second, don't you simply love when people insist on something not being important, yet nonetheless telling you about it with the utmost urgency? If it doesn't matter, why do you need to let someone know? 

My roommate's response to her aunt: "Matt's not gay. He has a girlfriend." (We've only been texting, and very infrequently, but I loved that retort so much it hardly matters). The part I find hilarious about these two encounters is how these people who only see me briefly at family gatherings like Thanksgiving and Christmas insist they know something about me that my roommate is completely blind to. 

SHE FRIGGING LIVES WITH ME!

WE USED TO BLOODY DATE! 

SHE'S SODDING MET SOME OF MY OTHER GIRLFRIENDS! 

SHE'S SEEN SOME OF MY DAMN PORN! 

"Well, the point is, other people might misinterp--" I don't care what people misinterpret about me. I don't care what gets said behind my back. I don't care what some little quirk or mannerism means to somebody else according to their esoteric interpretation of the world. The phrase, "People are talking" means about as much to me as "grass grows" or "there's someone in Africa whose name you don't know." I know there's people out there who are gay or bi or trans or what-have-you who have to put up with a lot of first-rate crap, some of which may even be life-threatening, so I'm not pretending that, "I understand now." because I don't and that was never the point. I think it's completely stupid and ridiculous how certain people are so eager to "figure you out" yet not do the obvious thing and talk to you, instead doing the most absurd mental gymnastics to reconcile their own lack of perspective. 

I'm honestly waiting for the day one of these people actually grows a fricking spine and asks me if I'm gay, then insists my denial is a lie because of said nails so that I may ask them to explain, in complete and full detail (visual aids allowed), how two blue fingernails on my left hand is meant to indicate to anybody that I wish to stick my dick in another man's ass. 

Maybe they'll be willing to say it on camera. 

"I'll Smack You Like A Little Girl!"

Gender politics have been in the news lately, from a little boy dressing as Scooby-Doo's Daphne to a Swedish preschool that refers to their students as hens to little Sasha Laxton to a kid standing up to his own father in a GameStop on his little brother's behalf, there's no shortage of challenges to heteronormative biases that most of us would otherwise have thought went the way of witch burnings and segregation.

As someone who grew up with the knowledge that Samus Aran was a woman (before Other M turned her into Bella Swan in power armor), Lady Jaye could crack wise about being a human sacrifice (and kick a few heads in while strung up), Zelda didn't need Link half as bad as she might have insisted, Marion Ravenwood could drink any man under the table, and Karana could manage island life all on her own despite her people's traditions, I like to think I've a fairly liberal view of gender roles, and frankly find the idea of a little boy dressing up as Daphne as funny as it is cute.

I bring all this up because today I overheard something while eating at my local Steak 'n' Shake with my roommate, before going to see Phantom Menace in 3D. Across from our booth, a little boy of maybe five or six was... well, doing what little kids do in public places, running around yelling like he was on fire and grinning ear to ear as only little kids can do when they're testing their parents' limits. When said limit was finally tested to the point of breaking, the boy's mother (emphasis: MOTHER) looked him dead in the eye and said that if he didn't knock it off:

"I'll smack you like a little girl!"

In light of those aforementioned stories and female archetypes from my childhood, I'd like to say to that mother:

"YOU'RE... NOT... HELPING!"

Special Acknowledgement: Thanks to Desi, a very talented artist, for posting about the Sasha Laxton story, and Vanessa Hahn, one of the strongest women I know, for mentioning the Gamestop story.