The Valeries and Valkyrie of my life
I realized something:
I only hang out with homos. And it’s true. I don’t wax about having a lot of friends. The people I seem to see the most all possess the same universal quality: they are homosexual. Valerie, Valerie, and B-whoremo. It’s not that I have an issue hanging out with heterosexual people, being one and all, I just am not that impressed with too much having to do with the drama that heterosexual relationships entail. Especially with women. I am one of those girls who says she doesn’t hang out with too many women, a fact completely uncontested by my general circle of friends, and the people I choose to communicate with. A few years ago when Francis and I were discussing it, she made light of the fact that women are not so highly expected in most lights with her “women hate women, men hate women, you hate women, what’s wrong with you?” statement. And I felt bad about being very verbal about it, given that it would give people the wrong impression of what I was saying. It’s not that I hate women, per se, I just hate a lot of what they try to project, the lame games that they pull. Manipulative, catty, jealous, all of these are general qualities in all women that seem to be super amplified when you add another heterosexual into the mix. In the past I have not only had women talk badly about me (most while not even knowing any point of fact about me other than some half-trumped idea of a judgment call, usually based on some fashion that I might be wearing), but also have slept with my boyfriends, have tried to steal my friends, and have copied my style (yes, the SWF brand of praise). I mean, I do hold hope that there exist intelligent women out there, but most of them totally escape my line of vision because they are vindictive little jerks who like to talk shit for no apparent reason other than to pat their flailing egos on the back. The stealing boyfriend types are the best, my favorites, but over the past year with my two friskies, I have riled up even the homo camps to talk badly about me.
What is their problem, I ask myself, perplexed by the sheer volume of bullshit that these camps incite? I really don’t give a fuck about what people say about me, it’s true, but when you have my homos all in a rage because you waste no time neglecting the physical and continued hate of me, it just seems a little redundant. Yeah, I’m tall, yeah I wear lip gloss, yeah I fucking write how I want and what I want, yeah I know how to stand my ground, and yes I am the most loyal, level-headed friend you could have. I don’t let people fuck with my friends, but somehow in that process, people have decided to fuck with me. It started the other day when, and it’s shocking I know, people who were lurking in my fucking journal for what probably was months, saw someone start some shit and they all fucking pounced on it, inspired by the mob mentality in what was no more than a witch-burning. It must feel good to sit and spend that time reading my shit and FINALLY have an opportunity to “put me in my place”. It must have felt really good to finally think that you had put me down in flames. But not. Because I don’t give a fuck about hate slinging mongrels in it just to try and make people feel as shitty as they might feel about themselves
Which brings me to the point. The common denominators for the best girls in the world seem to be Valeries, and my friend Valkyrie (truly known as Kelley Chamblee). The Valeries I know also have a common denominator, everyone thinks we are sleeping together, and they are both homos. Francis Valerie is Valerie original, also coined my “Francis” years ago. She is the most brilliant kick-ass genius writer, teacher and person all around. I met her in college, when I bummed a cigarette off of her, and we spent the rest of the day, following weeks, and years immersed in each other’s lives. I took her in, kept her safe, taught her all that I knew and now she is a college professor well on her way to PHD doctorate land. I would never take responsibility for this, of course, but I am proud to know her and call her a friend. Francis has never back-stabbed me, never talked shit behind my back, never called me names in anger, and is probably one of only a handful of true “friends” that exist in the world today. Whoremo Cali-Valerie (sorry dude) is the second big Valerie in my life, a spastic mess of music trivia and film ideas that I have been able to know and love over the past year and some. We met via a mutual friend, a heterosexual woman who went nuts, no less, and have remained pretty steadfast even throughout all of our dramas, and partings. She is kickass and funny much as my Francis is funny, and I expect that she, too, will be around for a long time. Cali-Valerie is the most fun person to hang out with, and is also lacking in that petty back-stabbing bullshit as well. And I do know that we have shit-talked each other before, but our relationship is based on a much more passionate way of communicating. She depends on me for advice, and we can talk about anything, without regard to subject or social limitation.
Kelley, known to me as both Kelley and Valkyrie, was a woman that both of my Valeries should have known, and may have spent a minute talking to. Kelley was built like Xena, towering over 6 feet, and in all respects, a big girl with tits and ass, looking a lot like Bettie Paige. She and I connected in a way and on levels that would not be easily replicated…and she will forever be missed for that. Kelley wasn’t a homo, and may have been the last of a dying breed, cool badass ass-kicking heterosexual women. She had a daughter Arielle, and was the coolest mom I have ever come to know personally. She was class, a badass writer as well, and one of the fucking funniest girls ever. Kelley came to visit me when I was working at the gym, the last time I saw her. We complained about how we were so busy we forgot to take pictures, but we figured we would have more time later on. I mean, we were 26, who doesn’t think they have more time? A week after my birthday she died of heart failure which resulted from taking Geodone (sp?). Her friends, too, weren’t too keen on me, thinking I was an asshole and a bad influence. The bad influence part came from my (and my trainer’s) advice on how to exercise and eat right if she wanted to lose the extra thirty pounds on her frame, which she asked me and talked with me about extensively. She lost it, and her friends blamed her weight loss on me, and told her mother that she starved to death, something that was not only untrue, but one of the most bullshit fucking utterances ever. I wrote a eulogy for her that her mother read, because my job would not let me go to the funeral. Miss Valkyrie, one of my hugest supporters ever, I hope you have found peace wherever your soul rests. You have a beautiful child and mother, and I am going to fly out and see them both very soon.
So the Valerie’s and Valkyrie of my life actually may be the only true, legit, non-hating women that exist. Where are the rest of you kids? Do you exist? I am so tired trying to cater to other people’s way of seeing things, and I realize, straight or not, if you are a hater, you have no place in my circle of friends, no matter how small it is.
