Category: Life

Zombie Power

~ riggledo ~ 3 Comments

K:  According to the Internet Bertha is Dead.

Me:  Awesome!  Let’s have a party!

K:  Because there is no one else in the world with her name… Apparently.

[I glance at Bertha’s computer screen and see she is on Ancestry.com]

Me:  And what does that have to do with her job exactly?

[The irony of that statement is not lost on me.]

K:  I’m not sure, but if she is dead then it would be hard for her to do her job.

Me:  She makes an awful lot of noise for a dead person.

K:  Zombies don’t have a really good attention span.  Hmmmm, maybe she is dead.

Me:  What are you talking about?  Zombies are hightly focused… On brains.

K:  Yes, but they are easily distracted.

Me:  Do you read The Bloggess‘s Blog?

K:  Sometimes.

Me:  I didn’t watch the video, but apparently she gave an entire presentation/drill about the Zombie Apocalypse…  to a bunch of mormons.

WITH THEIR BLESSING!

K:  Oh I saw that when Wil Wheaton tweeted about it.  It was awesome.

Me:  So apparently two things that are worth their endorsement:

  1. Crazy woman who thinks Zombie Apocalypse is something that will happen.
  2. And prevent gay people from getting married.

K:  Well, they are related you know.

Me:  Well, that would certainly explain…  nothing.

K:  If gay marriage is allowed there will be a Zombie Apocalypse.

Me:  I see.  🙂

K:  Yes, everything is gay marriage fault.

Me:  It’s good to be powerful.

El Diablo

~ riggledo ~ 4 Comments

I’ve been trying to think about how to write this.  I actually started a post earlier and got to about 1000 words before realizing it really wasn’t working the way I wanted it to.

I had an experience this week-end I feel the need to write about, and yet I’m not sure of the best way to do it….

I was faced with an opportunity, of sorts, this weekend.  An opportunity to confront ignorance and, I would even argue, homophobia, head on and I didn’t back down.

I went to a barbecue at Michelle’s sister, Monique’s house.  Based on my decision-making avoidance strategy, or D-MAS, of wearing whatever’s next in line (as long as it coordinates), I ended up wearing this t-shirt:

This picture is not me. I'm much more booby-licious than this.

Among other people, one person in attendance was someone who has been a friend of Monique’s for years, but whom I have only met a handful of times.  His name is Damien, which for anyone who cares, is in some circles thought to be a name for the Devil.  Just thought I’d share that.

Anyway, through the course of the afternoon and evening Damien made a number of comments that were very insensitive and ignorant and instead of sitting by silently and letting it pass, I spoke up.

Michelle told a story about the guy she had been “training” for the last two weeks while in Tulsa.  The purpose of the story was to illustrate how “lame” this guy’s personality is.  She was asked to go there for two weeks to act as a Subject Matter Expert, or in Project Management parlance, a SME (pronounced smee).  On one particular occasion, the gentlemen she was working with (who is really kind of a dud as far as the job goes, but that’s none of my concern) had need of input from Michelle and another “SME” and upon completing the conversation, said, “We just had a smeeting!”

Now understand, I think that’s hysterical!  Michelle on the other hand thinks it’s a terrible joke.  Michelle’s friend Suzanne who was also at the barbecue and sitting next to me during this conversation and I both burst out laughing.  Damien on the other hand, rolled his eyes and said, “That’s gay!”.  I turned and looked directly at him, and while never removing the smile from my face and without taking on an angry tone, I told him, “Excuse me, but, that is not OK.”  It took Damien a second to register what I meant.  I continued, “What makes it ‘gay’?”

He acknowledged what I had said, and apologized.  While I’m not convinced of the depth of his sincerity, I accepted his apology.

At another point the subject of Gay Pride came up.  Suzanne asked Damien if he’d ever been to pride.  His vehement response was “Fuck no!”  I pointed out that his reaction was disproportionate to the question.  If Suzanne had asked me that question, I would have said, “No.  I never have been” and that really that would have been a sufficient answer from Damien.   He went on to say that his ex-wife had wanted him to come to Pride (her company was a sponsor and she had to work) and he said the only way he would ever go was if she bought a pair of handcuffs and he could handcuff himself to her for the duration of the event so that all the gay guys would know he was straight and taken.

Later, he brought up the subject of same-sex marriage and prejudice against homosexuals.   Damien is half black and half Puerto Rican.  I only know this because he told us so.  I had no idea before he said so.  He doesn’t look black in the least and I’m not the least bit surprised that he hasn’t experienced much discrimination in his lifetime (something he also told us.)  He told those of us involved in the conversation, “I don’t think there’s any difference between being discriminated against because you’re gay or because you’re black.”

I spoke up.  “Woah!  Hold on just a minute now.  I don’t, for one second dispute the fact that prejudice still exists in this country and I’m sure that just about every black person alive has experienced some extent of discrimination.  But you can’t tell me that it’s the same thing.  First of all, in this nation today, we have institutionalized discrimination against homosexuals who want to get married, or visit their partners in the hospital and more than 1000 other ways.  And while it’s true that there are still bigots in this world who will treat black people badly just because they’re black, I don’t think too many of those people are going to be any nicer to a homosexual.  Meanwhile there are laws on the books outlawing discrimination against black people. There are specific laws on the books that make it legal for a mixed race couples to marry while there are also laws that prevent two people of the same gender who love each other from marrying.

“Plus!  You’re born black, and from the day you’re born there’s no question to anyone who sees you that you are black.  On the other hand, most gay people don’t realize they’re gay until well into their teen years if not longer.  You can’t always tell a person is gay just by looking at them.  So while it sucks that black people still get discriminated against, you’re not exactly unprepared for it.

“Now imagine for just a minute, that you’re the most average man in the world. White skin, blond hair, blue eyes, couldn’t be more average.  For the first 30 years of your life you experience absolutely no prejudice or discrimination whatsoever and then you wake up one day and you finally realize you’re gay and for the first time in your life you have to face the reality that people will hate you.  Your own mother will hate you.  That you can be fired from your job in many places because you prefer men over women.  That the nation as a whole says you are not worthy, that you don’t deserve to live and have the same happiness that they have.

“Imagine that for one minute.  There is no way you can tell me there’s no difference in the kind of prejudice that gay people and black people experience.”

Damien started to argue the point, but can I just tell you…  Everyone else in the conversation actually, literally cheered.

~~~~~

Let it be said that as a whole, the barbecue was a lot of fun.  I enjoyed myself quite a bit and I didn’t allow Damien’s ignorance or commentary to negatively impact me or ruin my experience.

Let it also be said that it seemed incredibly clear to me that Damien is struggling with some issues.  I think it likely that he himself is in fact gay and he’s struggling with accepting it.  And after he left and I expressed as much to Monique and Michelle, Monique said, “Oh yeah!  I’ve thought that for years.”  So on that front, I hope he figures things out for himself.  I hope he does it soon and I hope he doesn’t ever have to encounter the kind of ignorance that he was spouting on Sunday.

~~~~~

So, uh…  How was your holiday week-end?

Fuddy. Duddy.

~ riggledo ~ Leave a comment

I love a good fireworks display.  I really do.  Always have.  The kinds of displays put on by professional pyrotechnicians have never ceased to thrill me.  I love the power of the concussive force as the cartridges explode in a myriad of colors and patterns in the sky.  When I was a kid I loved the Fourth of July and could not wait for one or the other of my parents to take me to a fireworks display.

These days, my love of professional pyrotechnics is confined to New Year’s Eve, when I’d sooner suck on a salt lick than sit at home alone, missing the celebrations!  Why a salt lick?   I don’t know.  It’s just the first thing that came to mind.  So many of the professional Fourth of July fireworks shows that I once loved have been called off due to expense and the ones that are still in effect are a lot of trouble to get to for a 20 minute display followed by a 90 minute trip home because of the amount of traffic (on a school night, no less.)

As I write this, I’m sitting naked in my non-air conditioned apartment with the doors and windows open, because it’s been too hot to have the place closed up, and I imagine what it might have been like to live in any number of places in “The Gulf” during our many attacks on the “bad guys”, which is to say that on this night, every year, I feel as though I’m living in a war zone.  It starts in the early afternoon and will continue until well after I go to bed; a constant bombardment of explosions and sizzles and bangs.  Noises that, only because of what day it is, are brushed off (mostly) as the sounds of some unwise, amateur pyrofile getting his (or her) jolly’s, but on any other day would prompt me to pause the television and wait for the sounds of the sirens that one would expect to follow gunfire in the neighborhood.

I hate this, immensely.

Maybe it’s because I remember watching my father holding roman candles IN HIS HANDS while they shot off their seven or eight colored orbs into the night sky.  Maybe it’s because I never got over the fear of being burned while holding a thin wire with sparks shooting off of it in my own hands (what sense does that make, I ask you?)

Maybe it’s because I live in what some might consider the Murder Capital of the United States (certainly of California) and the sound of gunshots is neither uncommon, or comforting, and it can be difficult to differentiate between a hand gun and rampart.

Maybe it’s because I live in a place where most of the time, everything is so dry that it will catch fire if you look at it sideways.  Maybe it’s because I watch the news and hear the stories that are inescapable of the various types of injuries and even deaths that take place every year as unqualified and unintelligent people operate fireworks IN MY FRONT YARD (figuratively.  I don’t have a yard, just a driveway and a crowded street.)

Maybe it’s because I’ve learned enough in my EMT training to not be cavalier about the possibilities on a night like this (and fully expect that if ever I get a job as an EMT I’ll never have the Fourth of July off work again).

Maybe it’s because I’m an egalitarian and amateur fireworks within city limits are simply illegal.

Whatever the reason, I’ve grown to hate this night, in which I will get no sleep (this raucous will continue until the wee hours of the morning) and I will have to fight hard against my nature to become angry because hundreds of people, who I do not know, have decided to take it upon themselves to take away my choice, my freedom (on Independence Day no less) to have a good nights sleep, free of noise polluted disruption, free of fear at whom might be dying from gunshot wounds (the sound of which might be mistaken for fireworks), free of fear that my house might randomly catch fire from a stray, or misdirected rocket, well into the early morning hours.

This  is not what Francis Scott Key had in mind when he wrote “The rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night…”

 

Hand Knives and Other Nonsense

~ riggledo ~ 2 Comments

Based on the existence and fairly stringent enforcement of child labor laws in this country, I feel fairly confident that I can take it for granted that I work with adult, full-grown people in my company. 

Adult, full-grown people generally possess common sense; granted they use it far less frequently than we might like, but they possess it nonetheless.

Sometime with-in the last few weeks one such adult, full-grown person, upon arriving at a meeting wherein breakfast was provided, (despite the ongoing directive to conserve funds wherever possible, I might add) and noticing the lack of proper cutting implements to divide the unsliced bagels, took it upon herself to bring a large serrated knife from her cubicle into the conference room to cut the bagels.  She then proceeded to place one of said bagels into her lesser hand and begin slicing the bagel in two.  What happened next is very unclear as there were, in reality, very few witnesses to the event, but from what I understand the adult, full-grown person somehow managed to cut through the bagel and fairly deeply into one of her fingers.

Having used her own knife, brought from  her own cubicle and under her own steam sliced into her own finger, she took it upon herself to clean up her mess, wrap up her hand, and driver herself to the emergency room where she received, I’m told, approximately eight stitches.  No one called 911.  Crime Scene Cleaners were not called to clean and dispose of the bio-hazardous fluids that escaped.  No one even bothered to call security and submit an incident report.  Hell, it wasn’t eve filed under Workers Compensation.  The woman is fine.  No lasting effects from her injury.  She has even returned to work.

What with us being a bunch of adult, full-grown people, you might think that was the end of the story.

You would be wrong.

Earlier this week, I was shown a document, created by an unknown entity, and approved and finalized by someone who makes a lot more money than I do, to be posted in all break rooms and conference rooms.  The document was printed in full color and laminated thickly so that it would hold up for a good long time to come.  As is so often the case (particularly with things that originate where this document did) not nearly enough, or the right eyes fell upon this document in advance of calling it complete and only after it had been finalized, printed and posted did I see it (not that I’m calling myself the right eyes.)

I have received a number of comments from people I am friendly with in the building.  People who are not complaining to me in an official capacity or with any expectation that I will, or could, effect a change, but simply because they know me and my level of intellect and know I will understand where they are coming from.  Nonetheless, these people are complaining as they state, rightly, that this document is downright offensive.

The document is titled “Careful Cutting:  Knife Safety Tips”, and just as it sounds it is a list of suggestions how to handle a knife safely…  Because clearly one distracted person who took responsibility for herself is irrefutable proof that the entirety of modern society is too ignorant to manage a knife without some guidance.   The document is laid out as a list of bullet points; brief sentences with suggestions that are entirely valid, though clearly written for kindergarteners.  It is written with some of each point bolded as one would do for a document that has highlights within each point that are most important.  In other words, I make a list of things and I’d like you to read the entire list, but if you won’t, please at least read this part and you’ll get the primary focus of the line item.  The purpose of strategic bolding in a document such as this, is that even if you don’t read anything more than what I have strategically bolded, you will still get the point of the document.

That said, here is what this document says to most people who will read it:

Following these basic guidelines for using knives can help to ensure safety in the work environment.

  1. Be alert and pay attention
  2. Always use a solid surface
  3. Do not hold food
  4. Point away.  [That actually is a sentence on the document.  Just “Point Away.”]
  5. Use your free hand to firmly hold the food
  6. Never use a knife
  7. Hand knives
  8. Do not startle or distract someone
  9. Wash and store knives immediately

Honestly?  Some of those are really good advice; words to live by, even!  However, with the exception of number six, I’m not sure how clearly they actually convey whatever point it is we were trying to convey, which I can only assume is not “We think you’re too stupid to take care of yourself.”  Now don’t get me wrong.  I understand we live in a ridiculously litigious society where we sue fast food restaurants for selling hot coffee that we then burn our vajayjays with when we put the scalding hot cup between our legs and then drive, resulting in the necessity to print “caution, contents may be hot” on every hot-beverage paper cup ever made for the last 17 years.  But I think the actions of the woman in this situation proved that she was not interested in suing her employer for something she so clearly held total responsibility for. 

  1. Be alert and pay attention  Well, yes.  Whether you’re driving, or walking, or cutting a bagel or balancing your checkbook (does anyone do that anymore?) being alert and paying attention seems like excellent advice.  It prevents mistakes from being made and erroneous information being disseminated.  Admittedly, it also prevents fingers being severed… usually.
  2. Always use a solid surface   Always?  Isn’t it conceivable that there will be times when a solid surface will not be ideal?  I like my bed to be soft and fluffy.  For sure my pillow needs to have some give. My chair at work could actually stand to have a bit less solid surface that I sit on.  On the other hand, I prefer a solid surface to drive on and a solid surface to write on and a solid surface on which to put my laptop.  Solid surfaces do, indeed, serve many purposes; but “always”?
  3. Do not hold food   Holding food can certainly become messy from time to time.  Crumbs drop everywhere.  Sauces tend to drip off of the food item and run down your hand and arm.  It can make for a real mess.  Hell, even today I ate a couple donuts with a knife and a fork, (In clear violation of rule number 6).  But sometimes you have to hold food.  It’s pretty tough to prepare food without holding it from time to time and some things, like pizza, hamburgers, hot dogs and sandwiches, were just made to be held (actually I eat pizza with a knife and fork too, but clearly I’m a rebel.)
  4. Point away.   Seriously.  That’s an entire sentence.  I have no idea what purpose this advice serves.  I mean, my mother told me pointing was rude.  And after a while your arms get tired.  Clearly more research is needed on this one.  I need better guidelines before I can go around pointing, away.
  5. Use your free hand to firmly hold the food   But?!?  Didn’t you just tell me not to hold the food?
  6. Never use a knife   It would be pretty tough for me to imagine going the rest of my life without ever using a knife again.  Nonetheless, I think we could actually have accomplished exactly what this document is trying to accomplish with these four simple words.  NEVER. USE. A. KNIFE.  I can guarantee you will not cut your own finger off if you never use a knife.  You will also never cut a steak, or toast and shmear a bagel or make a peanut butter and honey (or jelly if you prefer) sandwich, effectively, again, either.
  7. Hand knives   The only thing I can figure is this must be the working title of an Edward Scissorhands Prequel/Sequel (commingsoontoatheaternearyou!)
  8. Do not startle or distract someone   Again, it only seems polite.  I mean, some people really don’t like surprises and some people are easily distracted and need to be able to focus.  Wouldn’t you feel guilty if you startled someone into a heart attack or something?  I know I would!
  9. Wash and store knives immediately   Well, I mean,…  I’m kinda in the middle of something right now.  Can’t it wait till I’m finished?  Also, what knives?  I don’t see any knives.  Does that mean I have to guy buy some knives first?  You’re kind of asking a lot.

I admit it.  I think the whole document is stupid.  I think it’s utterly absurd that something like this has to be made because of one isolated incident with one person who hasn’t even suggested that it’s anyone else’s fault, but if we are going to do something along these lines, at least we could come up with something that is a little better written and laid out!

(By the way, if you’re anything like me, you really want to know what the rest of the document actually really says.  If you’ re not interested, you can stop here and skip to the bottom to leave your comments. Ahem.  Otherwise, here is the rest of the document in its entirety.)

  1. Be alert and pay attention when you have a knife in your hand.  Do not get distracted or engage in conversation when using knives.  Keep your eyes on the blade at all times.
  2. Always use a solid surface  to cut on.
  3. Do not hold food  in the palm of your hand while cutting (i.e. bagels, fruit.)
  4. Point away.  When you are using a knife, always cut downward and with the blade of the knife angled away from you.  Never angle the knife toward you or your fingers.
  5. Use your free hand to firmly hold the food item against the solid surface, making sure fingers are out of the way of any slips that might occur.
  6. Never use a knife  for any purpose other than cutting.  A knife blade is not to be used as bottle/can openers, staple removers, box cutters, etc.
  7. Hand knives  to another person handle first, with the cutting edge pointed away from your palm.
  8. Do not startle or distract someone  who is using a knife.
  9. Wash and store knives immediately  after use.  Hand wash knives with the edge of the blade away from your hands and dry thoroughly.  Never leave knives in a sink.

Actually, I don’t think knowing the full text of the document makes it any less offensive…

Anybody know if they sell “safety knives” next to the “safety scissors” for kindergarteners?

Sometimes Things Happen.

~ riggledo ~ 4 Comments

Sometimes things are going to happen.

Sometimes things might happen.

Sometimes?  Sometimes things don’t happen at all, or, at least, not the way they are planned.

Actually, it’s usually that last one, but that’s not what I’m thinking about.

Sometimes, I plan to write about something, but I want to wait until the thing happens, or until the thing is over and the whole story exists to be told.  And then because I want to wait to talk about the thing, THE THING is all I can think about.  Any and all other THINGs are absent from my mind when I’m trying to think of something to write about and then I go days and days without writing anything…

And then THE THING happens, and I’m too busy to write about it and it never gets written about anyway.

Sometimes, the thing that I’m thinking about – and by “thinking”, I think it safe to say, I mean “obsessing” – is something that, maybe, I shouldn’t write about at all.

~~~~~

I am, apparently, an inherently negative person.  I know, that’s shocking!  Apparently, it comes with, or is the cause of, or is in some way or other partnered with clinical depression to be, well, not negative, exactly, but fatalistic? negativistic? doomsday thinking?  I’m not sure really…

Three weeks ago, I went for my regular therapy appointment.  I sat down on the couch and I said something like this:  “So!  I’m sure this is completely inappropriate, but who cares.  And I’m sure you’re going to say, ‘no’, but I figure it can’t hurt…  But you can say no.  It’s OK.  But anyway…  I’m having a birthday party next Saturday and I would be glad for you to come.  You know.  If you wanted.”  (There’s nothing like being clear and concise and confident… And that was nothing like it.)

She said no, of course.  And I wasn’t the least bit surprised.  She said something along the lines of it being something she can’t do in her role in our relationship and then she wanted to talk about what it would be like for me if she were there among my friends.  I admitted that it would be a little strange and while I trusted that she had the good sense not to say the wrong thing I did wonder how she would handle the “So, how do you know Kevin?” question.  I told her that while our relationship is different from any of my other relationships, she knows me better than pretty much anyone else that would be there (including Michelle really).  And while our relationship is, by design, kind of one-sided, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to extend the invitation.

She told me, as I knew she would, that she could not attend the party, but that she definitely wanted to hear about it when we met again, which would be after the party.  Our conversation revealed that this was my first ever birthday party, that I’ve never had one before because my family didn’t do birthday parties, and as an adult I didn’t believe I had anyone to invite and/or that anyone would show up if I did.  She thought the fact that I was having the party was a good thing, some sort of progress for me, but also an opportunity for a lot of anxiety, and these “feelings” she keeps talking about, to come up and so she would want to know about the party afterward.

Last week I went in, sat down, took a deep breath and she asked me, “So tell me about the party.”  We talked in great detail about the party.  What went on.  Who was there.  The good turn out of people (about 15.)  The interactions.  The conversations.  The music (I made an iTunes playlist.)  The cake.  I also told her about the myriad disappointments that occurred.  All the people who never acknowledged the Evite.  The number of people who declined the invitation.  The handful of people who I really wanted to be there who weren’t.  The deviled eggs that I looked forward to for two weeks which got knocked over on the way to the party and were inedible.

Deb had a number of favorable comments that, proof-in-the-puddin’, I don’t remember, about my handling of the situation and the “progress I have made” and I, of course, discounted most of what she had to say.  She told me that she had all this confidence and faith in me and my ability to do… whatever, and I keep telling her “I can’t”.

I asked, “I said ‘I can’t?'”  (I didn’t say I can’t.)

“Well, OK.  Not, ‘I can’t’.  ‘Yeah, but'”, she told me.  (Yeah, that I said… a lot.)

I don’t know why I’m predisposed to seeing the negative side of everything.  I mean, I know we all do that to some extent, but it seems like most people at least see things equally positive and negative.  My birthday party post was so short, with just the pictures, largely because, as fun as it was and as much as I enjoyed the people that were there, I couldn’t think of anything to say besides “I wish that…”

What I wish, is that I was less like that and more able to take things as they come.  I wish I was more confident and able to feel good about myself, who and what I am, without constantly having to worry about what other people are going to think.

~~~~~

This week-end, I found out something.  Something that I already suspected.  Something that doesn’t surprise me, and yet blew me away.  And something about which, despite all the reasons I should feel differently…

Michelle’s nephew Curtis graduated from High School on Friday.  His Graduation was Friday, Saturday I went to Michelle’s for my bi-weekly laundry extravaganza.  Saturday night, Michelle’s family had a barbecue to celebrate Curtis Graduation.  And on Sunday, at the butt-crack– actually, before the butt-crack of dawn, Michelle flew to Tulsa (with strict instructions NOT to call my mother) for two weeks, for work.  When I arrived at Michelle’s house on Saturday she told me that she would be leaving me to go to the Barbecue and asked if I was going to come over when I finished my laundry.  I asked her who was going to be there.  If they were having a party for Curtis and his just-graduated-from-high-school friends, I wasn’t interested, but if it was a family thing than I would try to stop by.

Michelle told me, “I think it’s just going to be family.  Maybe one or two of his friends will stop by.  I think Jonathan will be there.”

I enjoy every opportunity I get to torment Michelle because deep down inside I am an evil bastard.  I asked, “Who’s Jonathan?  Is that his boyfriend?”

While continuing to stir the shrimp scampi she was making, part of our traditional, Kevin’s-birthday-meal, she chuckled and said, “yeah.  Sort of.  Until he upgrades.”

Did anyone else just hear the record screech to a halt?  No?  That was just me?  OK.  Moving on.

I let it go for a few minutes so we could finish the conversation we were having.  and then I asked her to clarify.  “So…  Were you just…  going along with what I said?  Or is Jonathan actually Curtis’s boyfriend?  Is he really gay?”

I used to jab at Michelle every so often with the idea that Curtis was gay.  I’ve suspected it since I met him – when he was four years old.  Michelle always got defensive and said he wasn’t, which is what made it so fun, naturally.  Once gain, evil bastard!  Now she’s talking about it like it’s not big deal, which so help me, it shouldn’t be, but daaaamn!

Apparently Curtis and Jonathan have known each other for years.  Curtis was in a special program at his high school that’s geared toward performing arts and not to invoke the stereotype, but there’s a reason why stereotypes exist.  Curtis, purports himself to be “bisexual”, but like so many people (especially gay men), I’m not sure I believe such a thing exists.

So here’s the part I should be ashamed of…

Curtis is 17.  He’ll be 18 in August.  Already at 17, he’s figured out (or thinks he has) that he’s “bisexual”.  Already at 17, he’s got a boy friend.  At 36, I’ve never had a boyfriend.  Already at 17, he’s come out to his family, and apparently had no qualms about doing so.  At 36, I’m pretty sure I’ll never come out to my family.

So I’ll admit it…  Yes, I’m jealous, or maybe envious, is the right word.  Is there really a difference?

If I weren’t an inherently negative person, then surely I would see how wonderful all of that is.  I would be proud of him for not denying himself.  I would be happy for him that he had the strength and the courage to come out to his family.  I would be proud of his family for creating an environment where he could come out and for being so accepting of and loving to him.

I would be.

Oh, wait…