Five Foot Two And Still Sane

Nov 08
2010

Right in the middle of the Rally To Restore Sanity, I wanted to tell someone off.

We had gotten to the mall two hours early to ensure a decent spot and settled near the beginning of the middle (insert political joke here) where the Jumbotrons were in view for anyone over 5’6”.  D.C. (my boyfriend, not the city) could see the screens clearly, but I spent much of the 3 hours either on my toes or wavering from right to left (insert flip-flopping joke here) to catch the ever-shifting sweet spot between people that gave me a hand’s width view of either screen.

To The Girl I Didn’t Really Know

Oct 24
2010

I’m seventeen and about to do something I’ve never done before.

I’m not a mean kid. I don’t do things just to hurt other kids. I’m the student that always goes to class; when I do miss class, it’s because a friend is in a crisis. I have friends, but I’m not one of the popular crowd. I’m surprised when a boy shows any interest in me. I began to find my voice in acting class, but still know that in the social hierarchy of high school students from 1 to 10 (10 being the most popular), I’m probably a five. Maybe a six.

Dirty Money

Oct 07
2010

High School. Course title: Mass Media. It sounded cold, like a rusty steel gate. It made me think of chewing tinfoil. It just plain turned me off.

But then we were given assignments to create cool logos in colored pencil, write dialogue for clothing commercials or come up with silly journalistic headlines (Walrus Invades School; Becomes Principal!) and my little creative light was fired up. (Anyone born in the 80’s take note: there was no Internet. Yes, I swear. No Internet. Now move on.)

Be tolerant. Be cool.

Sep 30
2010

Twenty-eight years ago, I sat on the school bus, second seat behind the driver, sweating as a girl-bully mildly taunted me. I didn’t like confrontation; I always felt like I’d lose. Even when the the taunter was a year younger than me. Double humiliation.

Among the things she made fun of – my unruly hair, my not-trendy clothes – she eventually called me “gay” and emphasized her disgust with a perfectly curled upper lip. I rarely felt an opening in a taunt, but this, I thought, just might be one.

Butt Holes, Ice Cream and Why I’ll Never Say I Do

Sep 23
2010

I’m a freak.  According to society, that is.  And society won’t let me forget how different I am. As one side of a happily committed two-gender couple that isn’t married, I don’t fall neatly into one of the labeled mental boxes that most people carry around with them.  Instead, my man and I are subjected to a persistent prejudice against people who can get married but choose not to.

Heavy word, “prejudice”.  But consider that it comes from “pre-judgement” and that’s all I mean.

No More Ms. Nice Blog

Sep 16
2010

When I started this blog I was told:

“Make sure you have a specific topic, or no one will read it.”

So I formulated my blog topic.  What am I passionate about?  Psychology and humor. Yeah, I thought, I’ll address one particular psychological theory or idea or study or piece of human behavior and couch it in a funny story.  Then everyone will think I’m brilliant and hysterical and a great writer they’ll all love me. Easy enough.

So I started my blog. Like a parent, I had ideas about what I didn’t want my baby blog to be:

Self-Induced Identity Crisis: My Two Names

Jul 25
2010

Something I’ve always known I’d never do if I got married was change my name.  Meyers is my last name and Meyers it will always be. Taking someone else’s name always seemed surreal and rather archaic to me – becoming someone else’s property and all that. (Though the reason my long-time committed partner and I will never get married has nothing to do with that.)

But ironically, I have changed my name. Sort of. And I have no one to blame but myself.  I exist now as both Robin Dale Meyers, my given name, and Robin Daléa, my stage name.

My Outgoing Message Is Gay

Jul 04
2010

About 20 years ago, I found myself in a gay bar.

I know how that sounds. “You had a personal revelation about your true self while making out with a girl?” No.

“Oh, what, did someone get you drunk, drag you into a gay bar and you woke up making out with a girl?”

No, no. I was with my boyfriend and a female friend and another guy friend. We went there because my boyfriend, the local guy, had been there a million times…under the old management.

Battling The Blobby Beast

Jun 09
2010

All throughout my primary and secondary education, I never raised my hand in class. That’s a good 12 years of never asking to be called on. To do so was to invite the wrath of something more terrifying than any bully, more embarrassing than the rejection of any cute boy. If I slid my hand in the direction of the air, The Beast would descend upon me, paralyzing me with fear…