We’re So Butch

I realize just how much of an outsider I am sometimes. I’m not saying that as if I’m ashamed of it — of all the things I’m ashamed of myself, my status within a community is not one of those things. But sometimes it does put a dent into fully enjoying something.

The Bubba Bang party at Faultline on Saturday was quite interesting. The music was fun, and it did get me to shake my booty a little. Or it could have been the Hendricks and tonics that I was pouring down my gullet. And of course, being there with Yobo and being bitchy Heathers was a blast!

But one of annoying things of going to these bear parties is seeing some of these fagolas desperate trying to project masculinity. There was a flock of these butchies close by, and they had to have butch drinks, move in a butch way, have butch body hair, butch facial hair. It’s such a bore.

Sure, being butch is fine, but once in a while you have to throw in a little bit of nelly, right? Whatever image of masculinity these little fagolas have in their mind, it’s too fucking bad. We are faggots. We don’t have to fit into these nice little hetero-normative boxes.

As the night wore on, Yobo was getting more and more belligerent against these fagolas. He was about ready to throw his glass into the crowd, and I stopped him because he does frequent the Faultline and didn’t want to see him banned. But the breaking point is when I saw a tattoo of one of the butch fagola’s arms:

Two words: bitch, puh-lease. I told Yobo he could do whatever he saw fit. We realized it was our cue to depart.

For some reason I remembered parties of ages ago (pre-9/11) where I never noticed these things. Then again, I was probably way too drunk and young and stupid to notice. But now, sometimes, I don’t know where I fall since I’m not entirely butch and not entirely nelly. Okay, cue the Britney Spears…