The Stranger

Some folks are cat people....

This morning, in my daily search for paying work, I stumbled upon the fact that there is a National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association. I suppose that's a good thing, although it might be all the way to a bad thing. Seems like every time you turn around there's another reason to feel estranged from the person standing right next to you. For example, I am a high-performing, Brooklyn-born,  heterosexual, aging hippie Ashkenazi Jew pacifist, writer and artist. I am also a once-divorced and now remarried mother who dabbled in drugs in my youth and still eats the occasional pot brownie, does not smoke cigarettes or touch alcohol except for fine red wine, eschews organized religion and votes for the nuttiest candidate running. I live in rural Maine, hate TV, avoid all movies, eat anything but veal and hope Obama gets run out of office on a rail. I have three cats and am slowly starting to dislike all dogs except for pugs, boxers and bulldogs. I have high blood pressure, am very myopic and color my hair. Could we be friends?

I should tell you I'm Caucasian, through no fault of my own. I adore gay men but steer clear of gay women, although that's probably because Rosie O'Donnell makes them all look bad. I believe in God but not in Jesus and have never read the Bible, not even a little. I hate Oprah Winfrey, love both George Bushes and would vote for Hillary Clinton for president in a heartbeat. Are you still with me? I grew up in New York, lived in Berkeley, California for a time, then in Salt Lake City, and mostly Washington, D.C.-- until now. My favorite genre is comedy, my favorite food is black coffee and my favorite color is yellow for houses and black for clothing. I drive a Saab and I use the handicapped stall in public restrooms whenever possible, since it's so much bigger and nicer.

So I will not be attending the annual NLGJA convention because I doubt anyone there would even talk to me. You can see why.