Bi the Bi
As Jerry Seinfeld might say, “What is the deal with Bisexuals? That’s the ultimate fear of commitment. Hey, pick some plumbing and move on!”
There’s a wonderful scene in “Jeffrey” where the ‘mo dudes are gathered around the television. The scenery could not be gayer. It screams Children not Welcome. The apartment is completely Art Deco’d out; everything is slick and angular and clean and white. One of the ‘mos, the Queen ‘mo, played by Patrick Stewart, has a pristinely groomed Chiuwawa on his lap, and he’s petting it gently, methodically. His legs are crossed in that ever so attentive ballerina kind of way. From the TV comes a man’s voice declares, “Actually, I’m bi,” Stewart freezes, snears, ceases petting, throws on his best bitch ‘tude and facetiously quips, “Oh, me too.” Nothing could be farther from the truth, of course, and Stewart milks the line for all it’s worth. It’s gay delicious.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I feel exactly the same way. “Oh, me too,” my internal dialogue smacks of distaste. A shift occurred with nary a warning. Whereas I used to think Stewart’s line was just funny and brilliantly delivered, now I find that, more so than not, it rings true for me. A sizeable faction in queer society contends that bisexuality is more of a drive-by between AC and DC. Bisexuals are believed to dabble in AC but eventually pick one current.
Pardon me while I go all extended metaphor here: The P.T.D. (part-time dyke) visits the isle of Lesbos whenever she wants. She’s got a time share, a summer house. She suns on the beach, surfs a little and parties hard at the local hot spots. I, on the other hand, am a permanent resident of Lesbos. I live here year ‘round. I pay taxes. When a storm hits Lesbos, I’m here boarding up my windows, sandbagging. Lesbos isn’t always warm and glamorous. And I cannot move. Don’t get me wrong, I benefit from the revenue PTDs bring to Lesbos. They’re good for the economy and spice things up. The PTDs are wonderful, lovely, beautiful and extraordinary women. I celebrate that as do most Lesbosians. But I never forget that ultimately, when the season begins to change, year after year, they leave. Maybe they’ll be back next summer, maybe not.
This wasn’t always so. In my younger days I felt no different from any of my brothers and sisters of the Kinsey scale. Heck, the 3s & 4s were the same as the 1s and 6s, except that they paid the same admission price but got twince the rides. What a bargain! Yeah for the bi’s! Let it all hang out. Embrace the freedom within. Double major! Why not? Who says you have to choose? Talk about radical sexual identification: I WANT IT ALL. Wow. Good for you.
My issue is more personal than political. I welcome everyone into The Rainbow. I just can’t get involved with the B of the GLBT. My insecurity will not allow it. There’s twice the competition for B attention than there is L. A good woman is hard to find. Imagine trying to find a good woman who won’t leave you for another chick or a straight dude who’s got evolution on his side. Shit, B is capable of cutting into my as yet undiscovered pool of PTD, too! Populationally (not a real word, I know), speaking, I can’t bet against those odds. I’m not man enough. The PTD has the power to double-crush my ego. Tolerate that level of vulnerability? Pas mois, bitches. Oh, not me.
NOTE: At my therapists suggestion, I excluded the “It was a mistake and won’t happen again” girls. Something about self-loathing, yadda, yadda, yadda.
posted by Shannon E. Ennis at
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
There’s a wonderful scene in “Jeffrey” where the ‘mo dudes are gathered around the television. The scenery could not be gayer. It screams Children not Welcome. The apartment is completely Art Deco’d out; everything is slick and angular and clean and white. One of the ‘mos, the Queen ‘mo, played by Patrick Stewart, has a pristinely groomed Chiuwawa on his lap, and he’s petting it gently, methodically. His legs are crossed in that ever so attentive ballerina kind of way. From the TV comes a man’s voice declares, “Actually, I’m bi,” Stewart freezes, snears, ceases petting, throws on his best bitch ‘tude and facetiously quips, “Oh, me too.” Nothing could be farther from the truth, of course, and Stewart milks the line for all it’s worth. It’s gay delicious.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I feel exactly the same way. “Oh, me too,” my internal dialogue smacks of distaste. A shift occurred with nary a warning. Whereas I used to think Stewart’s line was just funny and brilliantly delivered, now I find that, more so than not, it rings true for me. A sizeable faction in queer society contends that bisexuality is more of a drive-by between AC and DC. Bisexuals are believed to dabble in AC but eventually pick one current.
Pardon me while I go all extended metaphor here: The P.T.D. (part-time dyke) visits the isle of Lesbos whenever she wants. She’s got a time share, a summer house. She suns on the beach, surfs a little and parties hard at the local hot spots. I, on the other hand, am a permanent resident of Lesbos. I live here year ‘round. I pay taxes. When a storm hits Lesbos, I’m here boarding up my windows, sandbagging. Lesbos isn’t always warm and glamorous. And I cannot move. Don’t get me wrong, I benefit from the revenue PTDs bring to Lesbos. They’re good for the economy and spice things up. The PTDs are wonderful, lovely, beautiful and extraordinary women. I celebrate that as do most Lesbosians. But I never forget that ultimately, when the season begins to change, year after year, they leave. Maybe they’ll be back next summer, maybe not.
This wasn’t always so. In my younger days I felt no different from any of my brothers and sisters of the Kinsey scale. Heck, the 3s & 4s were the same as the 1s and 6s, except that they paid the same admission price but got twince the rides. What a bargain! Yeah for the bi’s! Let it all hang out. Embrace the freedom within. Double major! Why not? Who says you have to choose? Talk about radical sexual identification: I WANT IT ALL. Wow. Good for you.
My issue is more personal than political. I welcome everyone into The Rainbow. I just can’t get involved with the B of the GLBT. My insecurity will not allow it. There’s twice the competition for B attention than there is L. A good woman is hard to find. Imagine trying to find a good woman who won’t leave you for another chick or a straight dude who’s got evolution on his side. Shit, B is capable of cutting into my as yet undiscovered pool of PTD, too! Populationally (not a real word, I know), speaking, I can’t bet against those odds. I’m not man enough. The PTD has the power to double-crush my ego. Tolerate that level of vulnerability? Pas mois, bitches. Oh, not me.
NOTE: At my therapists suggestion, I excluded the “It was a mistake and won’t happen again” girls. Something about self-loathing, yadda, yadda, yadda.
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