Coming Out, or Yes, I am totes gayballs.

Last week, after writing the post about my breakup with John, I got an IM from Kristel. A mutual friend from high school, who reads my blog, asked her if I was gay.

"What should I say?" Kristel asked.

I knew this would eventually happen, so I tried to figure it out. I said, "Well, I guess you can tell her the truth."

Immediately though, I felt weird about it, and Kristel was smart enough to second-guess my response. "Are you sure?! I can play dumb! It won't be hard!" (Touché!) Anyway, Kristel did, but still copied-and-pasted the rest of the conversation, which involved our friend saying, "Oh, I wasn't sure. He never uses "he" or "she" when he talks about breaking up." (Touché!)

I decided that before I came out to anyone other than friends - meaning, speaking openly about on the blog and allowing friends from high school know about it - I had to come out to my parents first. So, because I am best at passive aggression, I emailed them! And when I told people this and they said, "You EMAILED them?" they immediately realized WHO THEY WERE TALKING TO and understood that made perfect sense.

The gist was that I'm just over keeping it a secret, because I don't even think it's a big deal. My parents will of course be kind of weird about it, as my dad is fairly homophobic and my mother said once, "I saw Brokeback Mountain. I liked it alright, but it still made me feel kind of ooky." And that's fine, because I feel kind of ooky talking about my personal life. Sure, I let them know alllll about how my friends hook up with each other and go through terrible breakups and made bad life decisions, but I NEVER share my own personal histories. I didn't tell them I was shaving for a year because I felt uncomfortable letting them know I had facial hair.

I told them that I'm finally at a point, though, where I'm not really scared of telling them the truth. I wrote, "Both Kristin and Megan assured me that I shouldn't be worried about your reaction because eventually you'd know that I'm exactly the same person either way. And I agree. I don't think that you'd be angry or hate me because people who would feel that way toward me are, frankly, idiot assholes. I want you to know that no matter what I may have said or implied before, I do not think either of you are idiot assholes."

I spent the entire day writing the email in my head, and the same deal with this post. And originally, the draft in my head was much funnier and light-hearted because I spent all day coming up with some goddamn hilarious material about how the best part of being openly gay was being able to call people "faggots." But now, as I drink my red wine and read over my mom's brief, but positive response, I can't help but feel emotional about things.

When Kristel reminded me how our friend still talks to a lot of people from high school, who, coincidentally, are a few of the people (read: guys) who teased me and called me a fag, not because I was gay, but because I was different and didn't fit in, I got really nervous about coming out completely. But then I realized that I've come really far since I was seventeen. I don't mean to brag, but I look much better, I dress better, and, goddammit, I'm go to a bar and make out like a bandit (LITERALLY). When I think about where I am and where those guys are, I can't help but think that I'm the one who made it. Sure, having them know that I'm gay might make them get some sort of satisfaction from calling it eight years ago, but I'm the one who's winning here. And I will never forget that.

So, uh, I'm here, I'm queer, etc. But don't leave me any comments about being all proud for me and whatever, because that is some faggoty-assed shit, you guys. LOLZ.

I'll also share with you the post-script to the email, which I prefaced with, "For old time's sake:"