National Coming Out Day

Oh dear oh dear, two posts in one day. Normally I wouldn't be compelled to do this, but since it is National Coming Out Day I thought why not.

To any closet cases out there: you're only hurting yourself. That may well be what you're into, but if you come out you can find someone else to do it for you. And that, I am told, is really the bee's knees. Or the wasp's elbows, or whatever.

I came out in 1987, so long ago in fact that I just assume everyone knows. It's always a slight kick when someone new finds out -- the longer I''ve known them the bigger the kick I get. Plus, I really love the idea that I can pass for straight; it means people tell me what they really feel, which is often not what I'd be hearing if they knew. As bad as the homophobia is, the secret homophobia is worse, believe me.

Therefore, coming out is somewhat redundant in my case. As gay, that is.

I am, however, using this opportunity to come out as... A spinster.

No, not a DJ. And not a bachelor either, with its connotations of swinginess. An honest to goodness spinster. Since for me being single is identical to being sexless (come to think of it, so is being married), and since I've been single now for 4 (count 'em FOUR) years, I feel it is an empowering thing to say that I will likely never have sex again. The possibility that I will ever have another boyfriend is an even more far-fetched one. I'm lucky to meet a dozen gay men a year, and of those, maybe 11 will snarl at me. The 12th one is usually married.

That said, there's no reason for me to be bitter about it. At least not any more. To think that an important part of my life was over at the ripe old age of 32 has not been an easy one to accept. It took me less time to learn to like Renee Zellweger. Nevertheless, I have done just that.

It's a difficult enough thing to be a writer, what with all the insecurities, without having to also navigate some other guy's damage as well. Since I am given to grandiose expressions of either/or I figure I can either be a good writer or a good boyfriend, just not both. Until, that is, the introduction of a) the 30-hour day, or b) the un-damaged gay man. In neither case will I be holding my breath in wait.

Recently I've been consoling a friend on his break-up. Having to cheer up a great guy who's in ruins has been a real eye-opener for me. In the interest of helping the world be a better place and creating for myself a bastion of progressivism I will gladly forego all of this torment for myself. No sacrifice is too great for a cause I believe in. But fear not. As long as there is porno I shall not go to bed unsated. Perhaps sex is best left to the professionals after all.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find a bunch more cats and crochet me some doillies.