Rules of Attraction

"Oh, come on. If we only had sex with people we actually respected, most of us would even have to give up masturbating."--The Covert Comic, Ruminations

In addition to the other unpleasantness in our lives, my mom's company is restructuring. I am holding my breath along with her. I can't say more than that about her situation. Plus, it's Hell Week. Fun, fun. My fingernails are down to the quick now.

I'm going to talk about things that are more pleasant. My thoughts were provoked by the Sinead O'Connor nude painting logo (which I have taken down, as per my promise to L'Ailee that it was only temporary) and a discussion at Queers United about "bear"-type gay and bi men. Also, a lot of people I've encountered online lately, even allies, seem not to understand how bisexual attraction works. Apparently it is always supposed to be a 50/50 split between women and men, and you go for the exact same kind of things in both women and men except for a few square inches between the legs, or else you're not "really" bisexual. You're "really" something else. And of course, if your sexual scales tip one way or another, you *have* to go in that direction.

I don't know any bisexuals like that. I'm sure a few exist, but I haven't met any like that. I am almost the only person I know who can be considered 50/50, and even for me, that is more of an average over the course of the month. When I'm ovulating, I'm more tempted by men. In PMS, I am crazy for women and can't be pried off *my* woman with a crowbar. Right now, all I want in a person is the ability to bring me chocolate soy milk or Tofutti Cuties then stay the hell out of my way. A few bi women I know admit to similar patterns, but most whom I've talked to either haven't noticed anything like that or won't discuss it, so I can't extrapolate.

L'Ailee can really observe things. She said that from what she sees, I go for men who are a lot like myself except for those few square inches. She based this on Ex-Boy and on my fondness for Tony Stewart. Since I've only really loved two men, one of whom was actually a teenage boy when I dated him, she doesn't have much else to go on. Ex-Boy is stocky, with a body built by hard work, hard play, and an enjoyment of beer and good food, and dark hair. I tend to look at guys like that now, too. I look at guys who are more cute than handsome, and certainly not pretty. Ex-Boy is bi, and I don't know if his wife is as tolerant of this as I was, but he used to hang out in bear clubs a *lot.* He has lots of tattoos and piercings, but that's not essential for me. (I don't think you can be in your twenties or thirties, in 2008, and not be tolerant of tattoos and piercings--you really dry up your own well if you aren't.)

I'm femme, can't pass for masculine, but judging from what I've been told, more cute than beautiful. I have amber-colored hair, not dark, but most of the men in my family, aside from my very blond brother, are dark-haired. My size 16 body demonstrates a fondness for DIY and swimming (but nothing like Dara Torres'!) and dancing and good food and cocktails. But it's not just looks. I'm chatty, I can be goofy, I love to make people laugh. With Ex-Boy, we'd speak on top of each other, just torrents of words, and fall over each other laughing. L'Ailee notes that Tony Stewart is certainly talkative enough and can be really funny. Ex-Boy, like me, was a redneck born and raised in Florida. There were differences, but he understood about throwing grapefruit at kids instead of snowballs and "blue box" macaroni and cheese as a luxury. The cutest UPS guy who delivers to my work is from Alabama.

Now, I don't go for women who are like me at *all*. I do like dark hair--or, ahem, stubble--on women. And I'm okay with tattoos and piercings, or not, on women. (I have two small tattoos, and used to have a nose ring, but got tired of taking it out every winter due to sinus problems.) Apart from that, what I like in my own gender is worlds apart from what I like in men. I like redneck girls, but I love foreign accents. (Which is a good thing for me, being that L'Ailee is Russian and all.) I like small, slim, lightly muscled bodies. I like angular features. I love women who look like they can kick my ass, though of course I don't want them to actually do it. I am crazy for seriousness, toughness, practicality, and self-discipline in a woman--those are things I have very little of myself. I love a woman who doesn't know she desperately needs someone to find her ticklish spot or do the Pearls Before Swine crocodiles' "Hullo, zeeba neighba!" bit when she puts on a zebra-print skirt. I do not know if Sinead O'Connor or Gretchen Wilson, the most famous women I find hot, actually need that, but both kind of strike me as such.

I'm not sure why I'm like that. I think it's just because I need a balance of similarity and difference no matter what gender my partner is. Some people don't understand how Ellen deGeneres and Portia de Rossi can have a partnership across a 15-year age difference, but my theory is that the age difference keeps them from being too similar. I remember early in our relationship, L'Ailee and I talked about not wanting to become "ten-year clones," those women who end up dressing and talking alike after a while. Gods help us, after 16 years, we're not clones yet. I laugh when 'phobes talk about same-sex couples having similar bodies and temperaments. Obviously those people have no clue what the real thing looks like. But we knew that already, didn't we?

Links, links:

Speaking of Tony Stewart, wow, how about those fines and penalties passed down to Joe Gibbs Racing for the magnets in their Nationwide cars?!?! You'd have thought they'd crippled a crew member or something! The magnets didn't affect the race. I am not sure how this works, but the idea was to make the Toyotas register as having less horsepower than they did in post-race inspection. (Other drivers had been bitching and complaining about Toyota's advantages all season, never mind that nobody said anything before Gibbs drivers came along.) Looks like the gettin' out's good for Tony!

It is because of NASCAR's stupid new rules for cars--the ones that make the cars so alike that the "SC", or "Stock Car," bit has become a sad joke--that I have gotten everyone who watches at my house to revisit Kurt Vonnegut's classic short story Harrison Bergeron. I am tempted to send Brian France (CEO) and Robin Pemberton (competition director) hard copies with a note reminding them that Vonnegut did *not* think this was a good idea.

Target is opening cute little Bullseye Bodegas in Manhattan this September, mostly to showcase their designer lines. I'll take it.

OhmyGods, how about this for a hippie redneck product?!?! The Organic Batter Blaster. Organic pancake/waffle batter...in a spray can. This is such a beautiful thing. You can top it with organic flavored syrup and organic "cool whip". I'm expecting my organic Cheez Whiz any day now.

Mandatory calorie counts and the line between informing and nagging.

Other people love how Michael Phelps looks in his swim pants. I love how he's pissing off Nutrition Nannies. First the 12,000-calorie a day diet upset them no end, now they're mad because instead of Wheaties, he's endorsing Frosted Flakes! Apparently what matters is that you burn off more calories than you put in--who'd have thought that? Well, maybe my wife, who works out as an occupation 40-plus hours a week and whose weight hovers around 95 pounds even when she feels like eating a pastrami sub and half an icebox cake...

Finally, I totally need Vincent Price's cookbook for my next Thriller-diller night.