The Return of the Failing Boy!

So, I started class at the community college for the second half of summer, and I started extra shifts at work. Combine this with shitty computer service, and Failing Boy fell to the wayside.

Fortunately, I'm getting better at this whole time management thing, so maybe I can actually post now and again. Plus, since I'm now a local college student, I have unlimited access to fast internet on campus, rather than relying on the *coughshamefulcough* dial up I have at home.

So, I decided to restart my posting by talking about a girl I know- personally and biblically.

See, you take one emotionally burned budding lesbian virgin, drive her an hour south to another college town, and introduce her to a grad student girl who thinks the budding virgin is an experienced old dyke. And cue sex.

And, because it's two women, cue emotional hang ups. See, recently deflowered dyke doesn't want committment, and graduating grad student does. And now friends, she has it.

With a wonderful guy named Michael. And the aforementioned deflowered (erm, me), doesn't know how to feel about it.

I mean, I'm elated that she's found someone who can be what she needs; I've spent way too long trying to hint around that I don't have a U-haul to bring into the mess.

But I can't decide if her settling down with a man is better or worse than if she had met Ms. Right.

Prior to my burgeoning whore phase, I was head over heels for a now-reformed-straight-girl. And she was (emotionally, at least) head over heels for me, in a way filled with teen angst and closet case freakouts. Once, while she was dating some scenester boy who pissed me off, she asked me never to date a girl; she couldn't handle seeing me with another woman, but a guy was okay. Well, unfortunately I don't like penises, but fortunately at the time I was the ultimate in awkward nerdy closet case, so I didn't really date at all. And I couldn't understand how seeing me with a woman was worse; the way I saw it, it hurt like hell either way.

And now, hearing my one night stand turned semi-relationship talk about this guy, I see her point- to a point. Yeah, if she was with another woman, I'd feel like it was my appearance or personality that wasn't good enough, not my parts.

But her being with a guy has it's own faults, because it makes me feel like I fall short biologically, even though logically I know it's because I run from commitment like I run towards an ice cream truck.

In our conversation, which was mostly friendly, she also idly suggested that I was player, which I'm okay with for now. I see her point, and I mostly feel bad that I wasn't more up front with her.

And I feel bad that, though I knew she was bi, I'm still acting a little betrayed. I tell everyone that I'm not attracted to women who are attracted to men, and yet I just keep sleeping with them. Conclusion:

I need to get out of Arkansas.

Profile: Athens Boys Choir

Reasons to love Athens Boys Choir:

1. He's a hot, out transguy
2. He doesn't take himself so seriously that he can't write songs such as "EZ Heeb."
3. He toured with Ani Difranco
   
4. He's a southern boy.

While visiting some friends a couple weeks ago, I got the chance to listen to some more songs by Athens Boys Choir than "Fagette," which I first heard earlier this spring.

God help me, the man makes me like rap.
I don't have a lot to say on this subject because, frankly, I'm still getting familiar with this artist. Six months from now, I may hate him.

But right now, I kinda love him. He's an awesome, notable transguy who talks about being trans in his music. And he's not half as depressing as Lucas Silveira can be in his lyrics at times.

I mean, just look:
I rest my case.

"I Never Met a Man"

"I never met a man I liked as much as my horse," the old cowgirl told my mom our first year at the rodeo. Years later, my mom is still convinced she's a lesbian, and in my mind I've rewritten her whole life into some kind of lesbo Brokeback Mountain.

The rodeo is an odd experience, filled with dirt, earthy smells, and acne and muscle-covered cowboys who wink at you or- literally, now- tip their hats to you.

It's a flustering, if entertaining experience. I'm not used to getting a lot of male attention these days, but then, I'm not used to dressing quite like this: long sleeve western shirts, push up bras, tight blue jeans and boots. Hair down and curly. No think glasses.

God help me, I looked like a girl. And I had a little fun getting the stares, not gonna lie. Not too mention the fact that, for all my ranting against animal cruelty, I still really love the rodeo. It's what I was supposed to grow up in.

I should've been a cowboy- or girl, rather. And that's the big problem with the rodeo for me. I talked earlier this week about being dropped into banjo-land and having to pass.

I just went to the equivalent of a banjo-land convention. Everyone is heteronormative, right wing (one more Obama joke...), and incapable of pronouncing the country's name any way but "Amurica." I fit in that night, and I admit that the rodeo gets me a little hot (and gets that damn Garth Brooks song stuck in my head), but I know better than to look too long at the pretty cowgirls.

Which brings me to the IGRA- the International Gay Rodeo Association. Apparently, gay rodeos have been around awhile, offering a place for the country queers like me, since the traditional country lifestyle isn't too accepting. I mean, look at the shit that Chely Wright went through.

Well, I missed most of the IGRA events around here, but it looks like there'll be a couple in Dallas and Kansas City in September. Here's to hoping that my college schedule doesn't interfere with my travel plans, because butch girls + rodeo = I may never come back to Arkansas.

It's just a reassuring feeling, knowing I can return to my redneck roots and still be who I am. Plus, I feel like, for other rural kids, a gay rodeo offers a chance to see gay rolemodels who belong to a world they can relate to.

In short, IGRA = awesome.