Back when I thought I was straight I would go on dates with boys. The boys would usually want to kiss me. I disliked kissing, but I thought that their preferences deserved to count as much as mine, and I reasoned that they probably liked kissing more than I disliked kissing. So kissing was a morally good thing to do. I also reasoned that if I told them I disliked the kissing then they’d feel guilty and enjoy it less. So I did not tell them.
I am certain I was making some kind of critical error but it has taken me a long time to figure out what it might be.
ii.
I like cuddling. I know some straight girls who like cuddling with their straight female friends but don’t want to cuddle with people who might be attracted to them because it makes them uncomfortable. But they don’t want to explicitly tell me this preference because they’re worried it’s homophobic. Ever since I learned that this dynamic was present in at least one friendship of mine I have not cuddled with any straight girls because there’s a plausible scenario in which I’d be making them uncomfortable and they wouldn’t tell me.
Are there any works in the post-apocalyptic genre with post-apocalyptic librarians? People who worked in the public library and after the Bad Thing decide to stay and keep the library clean, safe and available for anyone who needs it. People can’t remove books from the premises anymore, because they’re too precious, but you can stay as long as you want and read them or copy them out–the librarians encourage making copies, so that the information can circulate beyond the physical boundaries of the library.
After a while it becomes an unspoken reality of the post apocalyptic society that you Just Don’t fuck with the library. You don’t fight there, you don’t steal from it, you don’t allow harm to come to librarians when they have to leave the building for supplies.
People donate food and books and paper with no expectation of reciprocity, because the librarians don’t ask for anything when you need a place to hide or information or, fuck, to read a schlocky crime novel because you need to escape reality in some purple prose.
Also consider: a library has a duplicate book, and wants to hire mercenaries to transport it to a library that doesn’t have a copy of that book. The most well known mercs in the world show up to volunteer for the job because they haven’t read that one yet.
You have this… friend. Really nice bloke, buys you a beer when you’re feeling down, kills the people who’ve wronged you, etc. You don’t actually know his name though.
You watch him make his way through the crowded bar, clapping seemingly random people on the back and shaking his head at others. One woman leans forward and plants an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth. He responds by spinning her to the pub’s music and releasing her with a good-natured smile.
You wonder if she knows his name.
The pint in your hand is cold and exactly what you need right now. You can’t get the image of your husband’s body lying broken on the ground out of your head. You think you should be angry or scared or sad, at the least, about his death, but all you can drudge up is a mild sense of relief.
You drink half the pint in one go and the bartender looks a little more approving of you. You’ve proven that you’re not just a well-dressed woman in her mid-thirties who’s out of her depth in this dive bar. You’re a well-dress woman in her mid-thirties who’s out of her depth in this dive bar who can drink. That makes all the difference.
You actually don’t remember when you and he became friends. You didn’t know him in high school which is where you met your husband. Ex-husband. You didn’t meet him in college either, you would remember if anyone had died then. Surely you would have?
You are no longer sure. You don’t even know his name.
You see him on the other side of the bar, talking lowly to a rough looking group in the corner. They all seem friendly, nearly worshipful, of your friend. He’s clearly asking them for something, a favor maybe, and no one seems to be denying him. They look happy, glowing under his regard.
You know the feeling.
When he comes back, he’s smiling comfortingly. “My friends will take care of the body. I know that you can’t afford the police involvement right now, not with Senator Hudson’s reelection so close.”
Somehow my boss’ seat at the table is the last thing on my mind, you almost say. But you don’t because, as usual, he’s right. Police involvement right now would be disastrous and would make it so that you never worked on the Hill again.
“You’re always looking out for me,” you say, looking down into your almost empty pint. You are actually no longer sure that that’s true. In fact, the more you think about it, the more sure you are that it’s not true.
He pauses for a moment, head cocking. “I want to look out for you. I’m happy to do it. I think there’s something else on your mind, though. Wanna talk about it?”
There is a chill working its way up your spine. it tells you that your…friend must not know that you have doubts about his ‘looking out for you.’
when I try to hear this in my head my mental voice is incapable of pronouncing it fast enough to fit the timing of the line
“noooo oooone… adjksjfksfjslenry like Gaston!”
and when I try to fit it to one of the longer such lines, my mental voice becomes too confused about conflicting scansion to continue
no one’s droll like gaston no one’s swole like gaston no one fits his assigned gender role like gaston
I’m especially fond of the paaaatriaaarchy
My what a guy that gastooon
Bless you for making it scan
NOW I CAN’T READ IT WITHOUT SINGING IN MY HEAD
No one’s droll like Gaston, No one’s swole like Gaston, No one fits his assigned gender role like Gaston! For there’s no one online half as phony, His tinder’s got dick pics to spare, You can ask any neckbeard or brony They’ll show you (no homo) whose trilby they’d wear! No one drawls like Gaston Or catcalls like Gaston, Or manspreads on the train in a sprawl like Gaston! I’m especially fond of the paaaatriaaarchy! My what a guy that Gastooon!
This search for niche groups led Subaru to the 3rd rail of marketing: They discovered that lesbians loved their cars. Lesbians liked their dependability and size, and even the name “Subaru.” They were four times more likely than the average consumer to buy a Subaru. […] Subaru decided to launch an ad campaign focused on lesbian customers. It was such an unusual decision—and such a success—that it pushed gay and lesbian advertising from the fringes to the mainstream.
If you’ve ever wondered why people joke about lesbians driving Subarus, the reason is not just that lesbians like Subarus. It’s that Subaru cultivated its image as a car for lesbians—and did so at a time when few companies would embrace or even acknowledge their gay customers.
and even the “red&blue gays” thing with the car colors
joke’s on the straights, subarus are fucking indestructible. i have a hybrid now bc seebs wanted one, but generally i’ve had subarus since i was 16, when my dad bought a junked powder blue 1984 subaru 4wd wagon, had it towed to our yard, and told me, “if you can fix it, you can have it. otherwise i’m breaking it down for parts.”
i fixed it. i drove it until like 1992. it was easier to fix and more robust than any other car i’ve been under the hood of. it was better off road than some trucks i’ve driven. it handled the cold better, was about even with overheating when gridlocked on a summer highway, and never gave me problems with condensation in the fuel or brake lines the way some other cars have when it’s humid or they’re drenched from heavy rains or driving through shallow water.
hell, i once drove that wagon through a storm runoff puddle that turned out to be up to the top of the wheel wells, and it powered on through. i hit a patch of black ice and steered the skid into a window-high snowbank to avoid spinning into the opposite lane, and the only problem i had backing out and getting underway again was the fact that the car was full of screaming freshmen at the time.
er. so what i am saying is. i’m a car nerd. and super gay. and it’s cool of subaru to appreciate that.
just moving along like everyone else 