Superdyke (aka: A Very Homo Entry) : 05.24.03 @ 5:09 pm

I've discussed these wonderful dyke moods before, I think in this diary. I will now embark on another entry involving how completely gay I am.

On the particular days where I am not plain old Amy, the overly-curvy dork in baggy guys pants and a hastily ironed tee-shirt saying something politically witty or revolutionary (ie: "Start a Revolution: stop hating your body"), No! I am Super Dyke (insert evil laughter here), with my sexy andro-butch haircut (that really looks like I just rolled out of bed and ran gel through my hair, but that's how it's supposed to look, really), my wonderful curves looking better then ever, and my personality oozing out of wonderful, full (alas, braces clad still) smile.

Superdyke sings along to Ani Difranco while driving to work, flirts with the hot lesbian that comes in for a coffee every now and then, and generally is confident, outrageous, and rarely, if ever, doubts herself or any talents she may or may not have.

Superdyke really isn't a Super dyke just a super me.
It's essentially just me saying that I am me, completely and fully, and I am me in the pure, undiluted form when I am the so-called "Superdyke" of my personality.
Kind of like my version of the "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar" but due to my occasionally hazy gender identity issues (I'd like to take a moment to say: Fuck All Gender Issues. It's too confusing and gives me a headache) and my own personality, it's more like: "I Am Me, Watch Me Dance Like a Dork in Public Places."

While I'm on my homosexuality topic, I'd like to say that I have pretty accurate gaydar. It's not the flip of the wrist, it's not the butch haircut or the rainbows (though those sometimes help), it's all in how they carry themselves. I don't quite know how to explain it. Sometimes you can even tell if they're out or closeted by how they carry themselves.
But then again, my mother always used to say that I read people well, when I choose to. Sometimes even I realize that it's better not to know.

Seeing I work at Starbucks, my gaydar goes off a lot. At least half a dozen times a day, not including the regulars, and there is no short supply of regular customers that are Ms. & Ms. (or Mr. & Mr.) Smith settled down in the suburbs with a kid and a mortgage.
I really don't understand � as a person, not as a homosexual � why the government and the people of this country feel the need to prevent these couples from being recognized in the eyes of the law. They have the same relationship dynamics as a heterosexual couple, and are often even more loving to their children because they know how important a parent's support is, they know how harsh the world can be and how even more harsh it is to one whose parents aren't there for them, always and no matter what.

Once again, I reiterate: "This is complete bull shit and a waste of my time, but what else would Public Education be?"

/A

P.S. I promise to work on June's layout soon (seeing this is probably going to be the only weekend I get a chance to do so), and check out this fucking hilarious diary.

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