Vintage Diary Entry 3: Sunday, January 3, 1993

10:27 PM- I’ve been thinking a lot about a remark my mother made the other day. I’ve tried to get it out of my mind, but I can’t. It was my mom, my sister Kelly and I. We were sitting at breakfast at Baker’s Square. We were talking about me moving out and being on my own. “You won’t get much help with furniture,” my mom said, “and no one is going to give you any wedding presents if some guy moves in with you.” That one little statement has confirmed something I have suspected all along. My mother has never and will never accept the fact that I’m gay. Those words embarrassed me and made me feel like a total ass! Kelly accepts it (or at least she’s putting on a great act that she does) but mom never will. Maybe I should just try to deal with that. I’ve tried my hardest to accept the fact that I can never lead a normal life. I can never have the house, the car and the kids. NEVER! If I’m ever happy or loved by another human being it will be from behind closed doors. It’s scary as hell, too! The stuff I read about gay bars and “sidewalk sales”. Who would ever “buy” me? I’m overweight, shy, ugly, I think too much of myself, and most of all, I’m weak. On the plus side, there’s my writing and my sense of humor. I don’t think some attractive gay guy would ever come up to me and say: “You are a great writer with a wonderful sense of humor. Do you want to go out sometime?” But, who knows. Maybe someone is crazy enough to love me. I know I’m dying to love and to be loved.

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Where the hell did I read about "Sidewalk Sales"? For those not in the know, Sidewalk Sales supposedly happen after the gay bar closes and everyone lines up outside, hoping someone who is interested comes up and picks them out to go home for a night of wild, anonymous sex. Like some twisted version of a pet store or an orphanage. Pick me pick me pick me!!! HAW HAW HAW!! Figures that I would think the same philosophy that applies to picking sides for a kickball team in 5th grade would apply to gay bars. Boy was I deluded. I should have cussed my mom's ass out for saying what she did. She was learning. I cringe when I describe myself that bluntly. The part that doesn't fit is "I think too much of myself". I think the better way to phrase that would be "I'm selfish." But I didn't truly figure that out until I tried living with roommates a few more years down the line. My good friend Sarabellem who has posted some Vintage entries of her own said that she is smiling and getting a bit weepy about the earnest girl she used to be. I want to smack the hell out of myself.