#3, extra pickle, homophobia on the side.

It has always been my intention not to get political here. And hopefully, this post doesn't come off that way. The only agenda I'm interested in pushing is how awesome I am, and while that sounds horrible, it's at least honest. So please, don't take this as political, read it as personal. Because that's all it ever is with me.

Whenever something really gay happens, my friends look to me for my opinion because I am half gay on my mom's side. My mom is "married" to a woman who also has kids and we call ourselves the Gay-dy Bunch because we are hilarious. I'll insert a few FAQs here because I always get questions:

     1. How long as your mom been gay? Forever. She just took a while to figure it out. She's late for everything, this was no exception. Yes, she married a man (hi, dad) and had some kids and then got a divorce and started dating ladies. I was about 8 when I figured this out.

     2. Do you like your mom's wife? Yes. I love my mother's wife. She came into the picture when I was 18 and out of the house so it's not like she helped raise me. Regardless, she is a swell lady. And for what it's worth, I love her kids too. Remember when I wrote about taking my step-brother to the zoo? That's her youngest son. Any of the problems I've had with her would have happened as a result of her being with my mother and not because of her sexual preference.

     3. Did your mom try to push her gay agenda on you? Yes. As I child I was only allowed to watch Ellen and NEVER Oprah and I wasn't allowed to play with straight kids in the neighborhood. My Barbies had to date other girl Barbies and when I asked to go to church she told me I had to stay home and practice witchcraft with her. I was home schooled to avoid learning about straight conspiracies like the moon landing and global warming. Stupid questions get stupid answers.

If you have questions about what it's like to have a gay mom, you can email me and I will answer you honestly. But back to my original point...

YOU CAN NEVER EAT AT CHICK-FIL-A AGAIN BECAUSE THEIR NUGGETS ARE FILLED WITH HOMOPHOBIC HATRED AND THE SWEET TEA IS BREWED WITH INTOLERANCE.

Haha, just kidding. GUYS, it's a chicken fucking sandwich, and it's delicious. In the midst of the most recent controversy surrounding Christ-Fil-A's President speaking out against gay marriage, I've seen all kinds of "well I'm gonna boycott the shit out of that place" type things on Facebook. And as hilarious as the memes are, I am going to tell you a secret:

Liking a post does not make you an activist. The fact that you watched the Kony video or reblogged a clever quote or pinned some picture of chicks making out doesn't make you a champion for gay rights.

I have a problem with the Chick-Fil-Gay outrage for two reasons. First, the mentality that not contributing (i.e. spending money) with the enemy is helping is false. Dick-Fil-A will make millions regardless, and they will continue to donate to Focus on the Family whether or not they swindle you out of 4 dollars (American) for a chicken sandwich. Second, there is an alarming rate of inconsistency amongst reactionary boycotters. Are you boycotting Salvation Army, Target, Best Buy or Heinz? Do you know why you 'should' be? Are you doing anything else? Protesting unfair laws or campaigning for equality in any other way? Are you writing letters to congressmen or helping to lobby for equal rights? Are you fighting discrimination against the LGBTQWERTY community? No? You just gave up the chicken caesar wrap? Well, don't be surprised when the gays don't rush to give you a rainbow sticker at the next PFLAG meeting. Did you have to google PFLAG? I rest my case.

Go volunteer at an AIDS clinic. March at Pride. Donate to charities that help gay youth. Vote on legislation that matters. Do something that will actually make a difference. The fact that you swore off waffle fries isn't going to help my moms get legally married in the state of Florida.

Related: my brother, step-brother and step-sister all work at a Chick-Fil-A. As teenagers, they are smart enough to realize that they don't need to prescribe to their company's beliefs. Making milkshakes and stocking straws doesn't mean they are standing in their mothers' way to equality. And our moms are just happy they have jobs.

Unrelated: my step-brother and step-sister are Jewish, but they thank Chick-Fil-A for the Sundays off.

Missed Connection

I got hit on in my favorite way yesterday: at a red light. Timing is so crucial since you have 90 seconds to get your best "hey 'sup?" look and grin across traffic and through the distractions of stop light texting and frantic radio station surfing. I wish we had more time together... I hope you see this.

There you were, leering at me through your open passenger window, waiting for me to look up from my iPod. You were in a red truck not quite big enough to hang those classy truck nuts off the hitch, but you did anyway. Instantly I was interested.

I was in the right turn lane, white Honda all squeaky clean thanks to the rain, window down to allow the humidity to make my face oily and my hair frizzy. My eyeliner was all smudged; I know because I saw it when I left work, but I was all like "whatever I'm just going home." Little did I know I'd run into you.

I saw you as I put my iPod back in the cup holder. You were not wearing a shirt. Your tan lines indicate you spend a lot of time outside in a t-shirt. I like the outdoorsy type. Your $5.99 Circle K sunglasses hid your cool stare, but I felt the gleam in your eye. This was confirmed when you took them off to wink at me. Your smile showed that you had most of your teeth, but no concept of dental hygiene.

I smiled, as is polite. I felt your stare boring into me when I focused on the car ahead of me. It was almost too much. I fought the urge to climb across cars and into your lap. I turned my attention to your truck. Red and rusty, worn but still useful. That's good. I don't like guys who are too flashy. You had a "Student of the Month" bumper sticker. I swooned at the thought of your virility. Or maybe, since the truck was definitely older than you are, you were once that prestigious student of the month. I love a thinkin' man.

Our time was coming to a close, I could tell. The left lane was turning. Your lane would be given the green light of go time soon. I choked on my own lust. Or maybe it was the fumes from the gas tanker fueling the Hess on the corner of 301 and MLK.

You broke the ice first. "I like that song!" you shouted. I like it too. That's why I put it on my iPod and subsequently played it in my car. I smiled and looked away, my shyness getting the best of me. "Hey meet me at the gas station. We can talk." Your words came out thick like exhaust from your bent tailpipe. I smiled once more, brushing my bangs out of my eyes, pointing that I was turning right, away from our torrid rendezvous.

And like that, it was over, as quickly as it began. I got swept up with the traffic and continued my battle through Brandon to get home. In my rear-view mirror I saw that you had "Redneck Boyz" in vinyl lettering on your windshield.

God, I should have gone to that gas station. If for no other reason than to throw up.

"This isn't high school" - Brand New

Breakups are hard. Ending a friendship is a whole different world of awkward clusterfuck. It's one thing to say, "hey, I don't want to bang anymore" and it's a different kind of devastating to tell someone you don't even want to hang out. Not even via social media.

Friendships ebb and flow in tidal ease; they take the shape of the vessel into which they are poured, evaporating over time due to work, school, schedules, distance, kids, relationships, whatever. Left untended, friendships will fizzle, so why is there the need to actively kick someone out of your life?

Because sometimes, people are assholes. And they deserve it. And it's not even really about that. It's about you deserving better.

Many moons ago, I was friends, good friends, with a nice young lad. We clicked instantly. It was that crazy "OMG I know exactly what you mean!" kind of friendship. It was fun and safe and warm and just super nifty. He was one of those genius types, and our conversations would meander for days.

When it all fell apart and I walked away, I was pretty bummed. Then, over time, I wasn't. Because that's how it works.

Years later (which is the same as a few months ago) I received the following message on Facebook and in a moment of weakness I found myself giving a shit again:

If I were to ask you to be my friend again, would you accept? You were one of the most important people in my life in high school. It was so long ago now but I still feel so ashamed over this. I'm so, so, so sorry I treated you this way. I read this exchange every now and then to just to remind myself of it, of you, and of the great wrong I did you. I know how fucking weird, or juvenile, trivial or downright unpleasantly surprising and erratic this might seem to you-I'm aware of the large probability of all those things- and I recall that we met at Steak and Shake and I apologized before, but a thousand apologies aren't enough for this bullshit, and were you to accept them all, this feeling still wouldn't go away. And I wouldn't want it to. I don't want to ever forget what I'm capable of. I don't know what sort of response to expect from this, I really imagine the whole gambit of possibilities, or perhaps there will be absolutely nothing. At this point, it'll be another lesson for me, regardless of what you choose. But I'm intensely interested to find out. I'll take whatever it is with a smile... I'll be thinking of way distant and fonder days, whether that smile be happy or sad. There's so many things I'd like to be able to talk to you about, and I'd really like to rediscover who you are, learn who you've become. Believe me, I know these are a lot of selfish requests I'm making, but all I can do is ask, and see. All my life I've moved around, made new sets of friends, over and over. But you really were one of the best I ever had. Guess I should have thought of that before I performed the greatest act of douchebaggery in my life. I have no defense for that act, but you were, and are, too important to me to not at least try and reach out one more time.

p.s. I'm not drunk or drugged as I write this. Truth is, I haven't felt this clear of mind for a long while. However this plays out, I'll always hope for your happiness.

Well...

First off, bravo. I have always had a flair for the dramatic and I am an absolute sucker for heartfelt mea culpas such as yours. I haven't heard your voice in years, but reading this brings your inflection up, clear as a bell.

Second, I only have a vague idea of your "greatest act of douchebaggery" filed away in my memory. I remember there was a falling out. I remember having a half-assed reconciliation. I think it was a over one of those "my-girlfriend-hates-you-so-I-can't-be-your-friend" things. But then it wasn't that either because you lied about something I think. I had to reread our thread of messages from 2006, the "exchange" you mentioned, and I'm still fuzzy on the details. Unrelated: Facebook saves messages from six years ago even if you have deleted that person. Weird but slightly helpful in this situation.

That might be your answer. I was indeed surprised to hear from you, but I had no idea you'd dug yourself a hole, filled it with anguish and decided to dive in occasionally for the last six years. Why? Because I didn't. I almost feel bad that you feel so bad and I don't feel bad at all. I find it interesting that I haven't thought about this at all and you seem pretty hung up on it.

I am not going to forgive you because I don't think you need it. Once upon a time when you were 18, you decided to end our friendship in favor of getting your dick wet. If that's truly the worst thing you ever do to someone, you are in fact a better person than most people, myself included.

But I hope you forgive yourself. Admittedly, I don't remember all of what happened (which still makes me think it wasn't that bad) but whatever you said or whatever you did couldn't have been that devastating. And if it was, I'm okay now. So you can totally climb down from the cross on which you've hung yourself. You can stop with the Hail Keris. I think the statute of limitations is up on kicking yourself over high school drama.

I hope for your happiness as well. I'm just not sure I'm an ingredient in that recipe anymore. And as far as rediscovering who I am, I am still the queen of second chances. I'm just more of an asshole about it.

Everyone needs (and sometimes deserves) closure. I hope this was yours.