I’m trying to remember the last time someone called me a “queer” to my face, and… oh! IT WAS LAST WEEK. As you may know, I act in stuff from time to time (I’m pretty good, but NBD). Anyway, some aggro rando dude walked into the theater (a former Chinese school) where we were rehearsing a show, and he refused to leave. After additional confrontation, he screamed in my face, “YOU ARE A CHINESE-LOVING QUEER!” And I replied, “THANK YOU! Finally, someone who recognizes me!”
Full disclosure: While it’s absolutely true I love Chinese people, I have never “loved” a Chinese person, if you know what I mean. But not for lack of trying! I’ve accepted the fact that when it comes to sex, I’m just not everyone’s cup of tea. Anyway, here’s the point: I get called “queer” A LOT… roughly 17 times per year. In fact, I get called “queer” so often, I was very surprised by an email I received today from a Southern Oregon gentleman who referred to me as a “liberal, foul-mouthed looser [sic],” but neglected to call me a “queer.” (There were a lot of misspellings, so I just figured he was in a rush.)
While these people absolutely intend it as an insult, I actually enjoy being called queer, and even experience a weird feeling of relief. See, I’m bisexual, and though it may sound odd, sometimes I don’t feel like I’m queer enough.
