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Kjoy's Life in the Sr Lane: What's the etiquette on that?
Kimberly “Kjoy” Ferren
Of all groups on this planet, I did not expect that the lgbt community, especially the gay boys, would need an etiquette book, but apparently we do – at least according to Steven Petrow, aka Mr. Gay & Lesbian Manners. He’s even written a book about it. Who knew we didn’t know how to come out or ask for a date , or… wait a second, come to think of it, all of this was a near disaster when I came out. Okay. A “self help” book/site for young lgbt’s seems appropriate. But do the seasoned among us need this? It got me thinking about all the faux pas I’ve committed over the years. God/esses, there have been some doozies! And who better to correct our mis-directions then a gay man. Sorry ladies, but overall unless you grew up in high society, we lesbians, especially when we first come out, are a bit lost on etiquette of lgbt-isms and the like. We tend to go right for the more radical side of our history: stop shaving, cut our hair militantly, no bras (don’t we regret that now that they’ve taken a downward slope!); live on brown rice, and eat from plates made on a potter’s wheel. Those were the days! For me things were a bit different growing-up. I was lucky. I had a mom who appreciated manners and we traveled the world so we saw all sorts of social settings. The reason manners mattered was that my mom was literally raised a “holler” in the backwoods coal-mining area of southwest West Virginia. It was a true (unfortunately) ‘Coal Miner’s Daughter’ story (and worse). But my grandmother believed that just because they were poor country folk didn’t mean they had to be uncivilized. That attitude was forwarded on and she would take me, my brother, and some neighbor kids, out to dinner once a month to learn proper etiquette. That also meant I had to wear a dress! How she loved turning her tomboy into a girlie-girl whenever possible, so maybe these lessons had an ulterior motive. Anyway, there we’d go to the Camelot Smorgasbord all dressed up, and from the time we got to the car to the time we got home we were to do be gentle ladies and men. I wanted to wear my brother’s tie, but that was not going to happen (I sure did in college though!). At least I had cool shiny black patent-leather shoes. Flash forward. When I came out at 19 I was blessed to find my lesbian mothers, Diane and Cece. What this meant was this couple took me under their wing and brought me into lgbt society. Actually they threw me into the fire, for Diane was an uber-lesbian in Los Angeles, a feminist wonder-woman fighting for women’s rights, lgbt rights, renter’s rights, hell everyone’s rights! Next thing I knew I was sitting at a table with then Mayor Tom Bradley, petrified someone would ask me ANY question. All I could think of was, ‘at least know which fork to use’ (thanks mom!). These two lovelies took me everywhere, brought me into the lgbt world amongst older (sexy!) womyn, and eventually I found my voice and my own radicalism through to proper adulthood. They were so proud, and still are. So I guess it’s not so crazy there is a website & book to help coming-outter’s (young & seasoned), or for straights to get it right about lgbt society (“straight talk”). We all need an etiquette connection in life, and though as a lesbian it pains me to say, outside of our moms, it’s usually a gay man.]]> -
Kjoy's Life in the Sr Lane: When babies had four legs
Kimberley “Kjoy” Ferren
It used to mean when you said in the lgbt community “I just love my baby,” you meant your cute, beautiful dog or cat. Children were of the four-legged kind, sometimes two-legged (birds and monkeys), and some even went to the exotic like reptiles and snakes. Whatever the non-human species was we loved them as if they were our children. Family for us has always come in all shapes, sizes and species.
Our loved ones, our pride-n-joys, have been special, BUT they pooped outside and drank and ate from bowls on the floor, though sometimes they had fancy houses or beds of their own. And even though we knew we’d have a wonderful time together as a family, outside of obedience school and vet bills there was never the need to set aside funds for a college education, bar mitzvah, quinceaneras, or wedding.
I have never been picky about who came to be part of my families. And although I’ve always been a sucker for the mutts, I did have one pure bred babe, Westie the West highland terrier. I got him in a pet store. I didn’t know what a puppy mills back then. For years now I’ve made up for this by fundraising for the SPCA and Human Society, so chill! All-in-all, I’ve love(d) each of them, but didn’t believe (nor could I afford), to over-the-top pamper them. No, they all lived good, solid suburban lives.
FACT: Life in our community up until the mid-1980’s was centered on our pets (and the occasional children from straight encounters). But that has changed now. Instead of pets from shelters, or kittens found under the house, or bought from reputable breeders, now suddenly actual “children” are constantly bursting forth from the loins of lesbians, turkey-bastered by gay-boys, or incubated in surrogates, or others adopted. The trend has turned from our “four-footed-friends” as our kids, to walking on a leash beside babies in four-wheeled strollers! This has not only changed what “family” means to lgbt’ers, but more animals now left in shelters (kidding!), AND also how we as a community spend our leisure time. It has changed our social paradigm.
A few years ago, Corinne and I went to the West Hollywood Pride Festival. In years past, we’d met up with our friends at a bar or on the grassy median. Once we’d all set-up our chairs for the parade, we’d rotate into the bar and drink, laughing loudly. Those who were single flirted with the lovelies, danced, then we’d pop out from time-to-time to see the parade-and womyn. THAT YEAR, 2009, was different. Instead of finding a group of wild womyn, we found those who we used to party with cooing at babies and toddlers, pushing four-wheeled strollers, and sitting on blankets without sports team logos on them, but Pooh Bear. The area was strewn with baby bags, formula bottles, and changing care supplies, and everyone was drinking (un-spiked) juice packets! And even more importantly, there WAS NOT ONE FOUR-LEGGED ANIMAL IN SITE! No. They no longer were the alpha love magnets, the “baby”, they were at home, relegated to the yard for disturbing the real baby. As we stood there trying to look interested, what knocked me in the gut was that, I sincerely felt the “breeders” we had all teased and protested against due to their hate of our lifestyles were now living amongst my lgbt’ers. Having children had successfully infiltrated the lgbt world and turned Santa Monica Boulevard into Sesame Street! At that moment amidst baby wipes all I could see was images of their mothers screaming in a birthing video. This wasn’t a child’s sandbox, but an adult’s playground day. I couldn’t see what our friends saw, so needless to say, after we kissed our friends and patted the babies on the head, we high-tailed it to the bar, then later the festival and had a great time. All our friends left early for nappy time. Today, although I still believe that we’ve assimilated a little too much sometimes, the truth is that this whole procreating thing has become another progression of the lgbt lifestyle. Like it or not, lesbians and surrogates having babies are here to stay. So for today Corinne and I absolutely IN-LOVE with our four-legged BABIES and are fully satisfied with filling their water bowls and buying them squeaky toys and treats, all the while signing petitions to allow ALL lgbt’ers the right to have the family of their choice. And being that we are SR’s, truthfully, taking the pups for walks is all we can handle most days!]]> -
Kjoy's Life in the Sr Lane: Saved by 'Star Wars' – surviving work and coming out with Princess Leia
A group of coworkers coordinated a showing of the ORIGINAL no enhancements version of “Star Wars” tonight. It was a geekfest of the best kind. Booing at Darth Vader, cheering for Hans Solo, being torn over my lust for Princess Leia Organa, and of course the cuteness of the whining, youthful Luke Skywalker, not to mention the awesome Chewbacca! We ate homemade kettlecorn and popcorn, and for a few hours, the workplace was transformed into a cinmaaplex and didn’t feel like a life-trap, but a fun place to be. SHOCKING!
People talked of where they were when the saw the original release in mid-May 1977, and who they were with. For some reason I don’t remember who I saw it with, but that was my graduation year, and the year my feelings for girls, not just Princess Leia, were about to burst out of my open heart like the creature in “Alien,” but that film hadn’t come out yet.
In 1977 I was about to graduate high school and was struggling over my love of Patti P., and my faith… Anyway, the psychiatrist my mother sent me to when I told her I was having a crisis, said my feelings for girls was “Senioritis”- I’m not kidding – and that I was just suffering separation anxiety. After a pep-talk, he gave me body-and-mind relaxation tapes and sent us away. Of course I knew it was more than that, but I didn’t have the guts yet to tell my mom or Patti P., or challenge God on the issue, so the tapes held me together through graduation.
So tonight sitting there watching Princess Leia’s breasts bounce in her flowing outfit and her kicking ass everywhere, I was taken back. Back to time when I fanaticized of owning the Millennium Falcon ship and thrusting it into warp speed with Princess Leia (who was Patti P. in my script) and how the two of us burst into the cosmos. Out there I hoped we’d escape the inevitable coming out fiasco by landing on Planet Lesbos, and once there we’d be far from God’s striking distance when we uttered out-loud, “We’re gay” then lived happily ever after. Yeah, that was a great night’s sleep.
Now a 52 SR and having survived the coming-out saga, several lovers past Patti P. to the arms of my Corinne, and the realization that God/esses love us no matter what, seeing “Star Wars” took on a playful zest. I had survived many attacks of the “Dark Force” over the years and had come out smiling, secure, happy, and semi-successful. Not bad.
“May the force be with you,” is still one of the most powerful lines in film.
As we all walked out through the office we seemed a bit stronger and taller as we left the rows of computers and headsets that defined us during the day. I thought: “Tonight we have defeated you. Come 9:30 am you will have your powers back again, but not tonight, now we are Jedi Knights,” and walked out the doors.]]> -
Kjoy's Life in the Sr Lane: That's what friends are for
Tonight I spent the evening between a gay country music club and a straight, out-of-the-70’s retro bar talking to a friend about relationships, and what came to the forefront was, “What happens when a friendship becomes an abusive relationship?”
I told this person that that my therapist (thank god/ess that I have one!) stated that if you feel you’re being used for someone else’s agenda, step away from it. It is not about you and them, it is about their own traps or issues. Now mind you, this came up for discussion after a couple Tanqueray and tonics, but the reality is that friendship should be based on mutual love and respect. Yes, we will take occasional abuse, but when it is inflicted for effect, it’s time to step away and reevaluate the situation.
My friend is straight, but we found it best to work things out at Oil Can Harry’s in Studio City. There it’s not about who was there, who was seeing and being seen, but about our friendship. THEN we went to an out-of-the-70s straight bar and had an awesome time, as friends! Anyway, we talked it through. That’s what friendship is about. Not sexual orientation. Not competition with friends’ friends or the friends of the people you love, it is ALL ABOUT loving our friends and being there for them no matter what!]]> -
Kjoy'sLife in the Sr Lane
PART II: Priding as an SR does not mean keeping our dignity! Hi all sweet lovelies! My great Pride 2011 story continues from the first post . . .
So my first blog was all about dealing with getting past our SR phobias – weight, wrinkles, and wondering where our youth went. Okay, it’s fine to cling to the past to a point, but it’s better to cling to your Depends or pads and dance the night away! No really! We do not owe the young hotties anything! If anything they owe us and our amazing predecessors, a dance! THESE womyn and men are my heroines/heroes. And some are SOOOO sexy to this day! The boys and girls today have no idea what it took to give them such freedoms. Okay. I’m off the soapbox.
Dancing is better than anti-depressants: Okay, I lied and I promised I wouldn’t. I lied. Get over it. Truth is even I take these even-out-your-life drugs (thank you Dr. Jacobson out of Northridge Hospital. You are da man!), but it’s because I don’t get out and let go and sweat the sh*t of life out! Dancing is one of the best drugs – ever!
I don’t care if you dance in the living room with no one around, ballroom, tango, or do your country’s traditional moves, just do it. I LOVE to just turn on the jams at home and groove (sometimes dressed, sometimes not! TMI?). I’m lucky that my wife Corinne, and the dogs, often join me to shake-it to trance to rock n’ roll (Concrete Blonde is her constant pick). We just imagine we’re on a dance floor and go.
Try it, you’ll like it: Don’t think of what ANYONE thinks on your dancing style (lgbtSr blogger, Rick Rose, is the KING of letting it go!). Once you get used to letting it jiggle and dangle, roll, etc. you’re ready to finalize your Pride experience. As I said, for us, it was Mickey’s hands-down (have no idea if that mean anything to the boys).
Mickey’s is always hot: As Weho Pride winded down, and the parade ended, the hot bods were everywhere. They chose to unwind at Mickey’s.
When we got to Mickey’s it was already packed, but since it was Pride, instead being a reason to go home early and watch “Golden Girls” and “Will & Grace,” we sashayed through the throngs of passersby to Mickey’s where the thong’d go-go boys were grinding it and the dance floor called my name. Dancing Nazi let it go: Corinne and I danced until sweating, which was great for the pores, and being that I’m still in mynopause and having hot flashes on a dance floor, it goes unnoticed. Loved it!
SRs hot ‘n workin’ it: As I looked around me on the dance floor I smiled at all the SRs groovin’ it to Mickey’s great DJs. No matter our ‘vintage moves’ we were workin’ the floor, getting looks of interest, and more you naughty-ones! For a short time we were young again, and lovin’ it!
Recovery: the morning after: The next a.m. Corinne started her workday way early, and though she thought to not going in, somehow she pulled it together and drove-off into early light of dawn. I curled-up with the dogs and went back to sleep. When I did get up, I immediately downed Advil, drank water, and ate a light breakfast. It was only then, as my body fell back into its slightly overweight shape, that I felt the tightness of my back, the ache of swelling feet, and then screamed when I looked in the mirror at my face with mashed make-up (I looked like Alice Cooper) staring back at me.
After the initial shock, I observed my “goth-esque” mascara on top of ever-increasing lines, and smiled. “Damn that was fun!” Later on in the day, Corinne texted me the same sentiment. We agreed that, though we’ve aged and slowed down, we took on Pride as if prizefighters and knocked-it-out. And now looking at the pictures I can truly say we were not alone. All those SRs I’d seen and met? I guarantee they rocked-it into the morning light as we did with a smile. Maybe next year I’ll go to the tanning booth. But then, maybe not. Til’ next time: Forget your age and go for it! I’ve learned this later than I anticipated, and lovin’ every adventure!]]>
KJoy joins lgbtSr as regular contributor
I’m delighted to introduce a new blogger to lgbtSr.com. Her name’s Kimberley Joy Ferren, “KJOY”, and as you’ll discover, she’s not shy or lost for words! Look for an upcoming interview with Kimberley about her photography, passions and pastimes as she checks in from California. Meanwhile, enjoy her first post and count on many more. – Mark/lgbtSr (click on the slideshow above to see individual pix)
Hi all my young-at-heart “SR” compadres. Hope you’re enjoying “Pride” season! Not? Here’s some truths on how to “Be Gay with BenGAY at Pride.”
First be truthful: Even though we still feel 25 inside, our bodies are fighting us – and the Spanx (both sexes, don’t lie!). It also doesn’t help that the button on the still-makes-our-ass-look-hot jeans now digs into our guts, and instead of wearing just the tank and short-shorts, we opt-out for a trendy shirt or zip-up and the longer Cargo shorts – well, to be completely honest, we actually settle on a shirt OVER the tank, ‘cause come mid-day after a few drinks? Who gives a sh*t! At that point we SRs forget our age, what is graying, sagging or untanned, and just take it off, tie that cover around our now more than pliable waists, and dance away like its 19__!
That’s what I and my life-partner of 16 years, Corinne, did . . . well until her hip gave out. After that she just moved to the sidelines and rocked-out. I, on the other-hand, continued jumpin’ and swayin’ it with one of my dance pals, the now over 40 and lovely, Alisa. Nothing was keeping us from dancing.
A get to know: To my closest friends I’m cheekily called “The Dance Nazi” (given to me by fellow lgbtSr blogger Rick Rose). This is due to the fact that once I’m on a dance floor I seldom leave. AND I plan to do this forever. Just give me a cane, a walker, or wheelchair, oxygen, and I’ll go til’ the end!
Why still Pride? Weho Pride has a special meaning for Corinne & I since, four years ago, we went through a “ceremony” there and now see it as a wedding anniversary, even though we’ve been together all these years. Yes we thought of getting officially married when possible in CA, but my accountant told me no, “don’t put your bad credit on this woman.” Anyway, we had not been to Pride in a couple years, so we decided to go play.
Getting started is all about slow: Sunday morning we gently rolled out of bed to assure no sudden movements would create a kink, or worse, a sciatica attack for my bride. I also let her have the “reading room” first, since she takes FOREVER doing her hair (those greys are lovely, but a bitch) and I needed time to “deal” with my life-long battle with Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) – which did delay our departure. After several Imodium, coffee for my girl, and a bland nosh, we hit the road.
West Hollywood, or ‘Weho,’ also known as Boys Town: Here everyone is gay, even if it’s for a few hours, day, or a lifetime. Thank God/esses that there are these special spots across the globe, and proud that one of the most famous is just a drive away. Many of us came-out here, and as it is across the world, though the clubs may change design and music styles, we go back from time-to-time to let our inner-boytoy and wildgirl, out.
Our fave Weho hangouts: The lesbian scene in Weho peaked in the ‘90s, so outside of The Palms and wherever GirlBar is, to hangout we go where the boys play. For drinks (they have amazing “stiff” drinks and two-for-one hours) and fabuloso Mex food: Fiesta Cantina. For Dancing: Mickey’s.
Back to Pride 2011 – Kickoff: Okay. So even with my IBS attack (I know, TMI) we got to Weho early, and jetted over to Cantina. I heard the roar of the “Dykes on Bikes” who always rev-it-up and start the parade, so I ran streetside and caught pics of cool womyn on the roll! Pride was on!
Early = padded seating: Being that I’m anal (I get the pun!), we arrived at Cantina before the crowds, and got a table off the patio. Once settled-in (that means we horded cushy stools) we ordered up TALL Bloody Mary’s and Mimosa. What was funny was, when I looked around, most of the people were SRs! Corinne and I laughed so hard. Guess we’ve learned to get there early and “mark your spot” to assure a table and seat for our sure-to-ache-later bodies. It also assures a great lookout point to enjoy the hot young, and not so young, that would arrive. Cantina doesn’t have a dance floor, but a great upstairs patio/bar, so hot SRs and young eye-candy are guaranteed. Straights love it here too. We just dig the playful vibe, the great service, and it feels comfortable. That means a lot to an SR. Standing and holding in one’s stomach for hours is damned exhausting!
Moving on girlfriends: After a few drinks, shrimp and chicken soft tacos, and me running in-and-out to shoot photos of the parade and passersby while Corinne partied with the locals, we paid our tab (DON’T do a tab anywhere unless you have ample funds, too easy to drain the account for fun), and were ready to go next-door to Mickey’s.
Follow along in a second KJOY blog post soon . . . ]]>
