Okay, the Queen will provide the scones and clotted cream THIS time. Next time, y’all are on your own.
The Queen and the White Boys
When the Queen was a Puerile Poofer, one of his best friends was a kid named Gregory Agostinelli. He had this mass of strawberry blonde hair and long bangs that fell across his eyes like a golden blanket. When the bangs got in his way, he would adeptly remove them with a flick of his head and neck. The Queen was in awe.
So began my first white boy crush. Of course, as a seven-year-old I didn’t know just what it was. I just knew I was happy whenever he was around.
Such was the case with Davy Jones.
Like Marcia Brady, I was smitten. The Monkees was required viewing and Davy Jones in particular captured my imagination. Maybe it was his diminutive stature, or his cherubic face with which I identified. Who knows? All I know is that Davy and The Monkees are tucked away with all my other positive and joyous memories. It sucks that he had to leave this plane of existence so friggin’ early. But I bet it’s cool for him to sit up in Heaven and know that so many people think about him and smile. And at least one FBQ thanks him for introducing him to the deliciousness of white boys.
The Culturalist Queen
Okay, the Queen needs some advice.
Before I go into my diatribe, I need to say that I hate Facebook.
While I fully appreciate the benefits and power of Social Media (I mean who can argue with the unprecedented and awe-inspiring success of the Arab Spring and the Occupy Movement?), it also provided a way for all those people from High School that you never wanted to see again to get in touch with you.
As well as Old Lovers.
So I get this friend request from an old boyfriend. We haven’t seen each other or spoken in almost ten years. I paused before I accepted the request. He’s a really, really sweet guy, and there was a strong mutual attraction between us. But after about a year I ended the relationship.
Mostly because he is Deaf.
It wasn’t the deafness in and of itself. I loved learning a new language, and the beauty and efficiency of ASL had me enraptured. I also appreciated being able to work through my ignorance and prejudices about what it meant to be Deaf, and understand more of the culture.
And therein lies the problem: working to fit into that culture was a female dog.
My lover was wonderful. He did his best to involve me in every aspect of his life that he could. And I could see why. The community that I experienced was supportive, loving, extremely protective and giving…as long as you were a part of their insular environment. I understand this. We live in a hearing based world which can be blissfully unaware of the needs of people who don’t. It makes sense that smart folk would form a society which is able to provide a healthy haven from ignorance–no matter how unassuming it may be.
The community I was introduced to was very proud of their Deafness. It is not a disability, but a trait to be honored. There are segments of the community that take issue with devices for hearing enhancement–such as hearing aids–and consider being profoundly deaf an asset. There was a wariness of the hearing that was incredibly hard to break through. Not everyone, mind you–I made some good friends, but felt alone and frustrated when around a good deal of my partner’s colleagues. I worked hard to explain this–to compare it to the way deaf people might feel in a primarily hearing environment. However not being fluent in ASL, or understanding it’s nuances, made it almost impossible to articulate my ennui. So, like a shallow bitch, I ended it.
So we start to talk on Facebook, and he begins flirting. He lets me know pretty quickly that he’s been thinking a lot about me and misses me. As I’ve stated, he’s a great guy and seems to have only gotten better and better in the decade following our relationship. Miss Things, I know that I’m getting
old older, and that hard good men are good hard to find. But the thought of working through my anxieties and frustrations at this stage in life seems extremely daunting.