You know how everyone says I was in denial when I was dating Mark? That I was using him for myself?
Well, as it were, that is ... bull shit! I'm perfectly bisexual, thankyaverymuch. I loved him. Just like I love Joanne, now. But still, whenever I see that little dork of a cameraman, I swoon. He doesn't know. Roger doesn't know. And especially Joanne doesn't know. But there's still a spark of something ... -something- in me for him. And why shouldn't there be? He's cute. Maybe he needs to gain a little weight, as he's practically skin and bones ... but he's also, unlike most of the men I've dated, got a personality. He cared about me. And, for once, I cared abot someone I was going with. I cared about Mark. I loved Mark. Doesn't that surprise you? Big, bad, drama queen Maureen has ... emotions?
Stop the presses!
Whatever. Not there's anything I can do, of course. Once these people get an image in their minds, they'll never get it out. To them, I'm the loud, obnoxious, selfish little bitch. Not that that's not exactly true - but it isn't who I am. So I'm confidant about myself? So I love theatre? Does that automatically make me this wench who couldn't care less about anyone else? Damnit! It's not true! I love them. I love them all; but they'll never understand who I am. I think, really, the only person who had an inkling of what I am ... was Mark.
And there we are on -that- topic again! You know why he broke up with me? Because he thought I didn't tell him anything. He didn't realize that I couldn't tell him - or anyone - anything, because then I wouldn't be the Maureen that I am. And we can't have that, can we. If I weren't for me, Mimi would be dead. Just like Angel.
Angel ...
She understood. Completely. Because she was like me, too. Angel loved Collins. But she didn't tell him everything. Girls, and drag queens, apparently, have to keep things to themselves. It wasn't like all the guys I've dated tell me all about themselves. Of -course- I don't want to tell them about who I was before I came to New York City! If -they- were dumb blonde, stereotypical country bumpkins - they wouldn't want the closest friends in the world to know, either. I was a hick. Can they really, truthfully blame me for being ashamed of who I am? Yes! Apparently, they can. At least Mark was predictablly sweet and naive. Oh well. I suppose that's past. Nothing I can do about that now. You know, I bet my parents don't even realize that ...
My parents. I haven't talked to them in so long. Maybe they've forgotten about their long lost daughter who went away to the big city to get away from them. They're probably still sitting on their ricketly rocking chairs, watching the tumbleweeds and barn cats flounce across their front yard. Weed-ridden, disgusting thing that it is. At least the cats were cute. but they -could- have done something about the dust that oh-so thickly layered every single damn thing there! Maybe they think I've died. Maybe they've died. Maybe they moved, so they could be rid of me if I should ever choose to try and get back home.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I wonder, though. Maybe ... there's that word again ... I should talk, like, to them. I don't know! They might not even recognize me. 'Cause I certainly don't -look- the same. At the moment, I'm wearing a tight little white halter top and leather pants. This would've been scanalous, one of the things 'Big City Floozies' wear. Well, I bet according to them I'd be the queen of BCF's. Sigh. You know ... Wait. Who is 'you' anyway? God? Surprisingly, I believe in God. There's too much unexplained NOT to believe in a force that HELPS control everything. But I don't believe that he ... she, whoever God is, controls our own fates. He loves us. But he can't make all our decisions. He's like ... a parent. Someone who really, really wants to help - but they don't want to live our lives for us. That would be stepping out of the boundries of parenthood and being downright scary. My parents, I don't think cared enough - or were smart enough to figure out that I wanted - needed - something more than a worn out farm.
For, even if they didn't want to admit it - a farm life isn't all that great and healthy. Not that living in New York City is, either. But it takes a different kind of person to live in a small little village thing than it does here. I love the hustle and bustle of people, and the changing lights and styles and fashions and shows and people! They didn't that's what seperates them from me - me from anyone. New York City's people from the rest of the world. Life. It's so different from what it was when they were young kids.
I'm not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions. It's just that sometimes ... sometimes I don't know what they should be. I've made wrong decisions. Not all are right.
But I'm not always wrong, either.
Well, as it were, that is ... bull shit! I'm perfectly bisexual, thankyaverymuch. I loved him. Just like I love Joanne, now. But still, whenever I see that little dork of a cameraman, I swoon. He doesn't know. Roger doesn't know. And especially Joanne doesn't know. But there's still a spark of something ... -something- in me for him. And why shouldn't there be? He's cute. Maybe he needs to gain a little weight, as he's practically skin and bones ... but he's also, unlike most of the men I've dated, got a personality. He cared about me. And, for once, I cared abot someone I was going with. I cared about Mark. I loved Mark. Doesn't that surprise you? Big, bad, drama queen Maureen has ... emotions?
Stop the presses!
Whatever. Not there's anything I can do, of course. Once these people get an image in their minds, they'll never get it out. To them, I'm the loud, obnoxious, selfish little bitch. Not that that's not exactly true - but it isn't who I am. So I'm confidant about myself? So I love theatre? Does that automatically make me this wench who couldn't care less about anyone else? Damnit! It's not true! I love them. I love them all; but they'll never understand who I am. I think, really, the only person who had an inkling of what I am ... was Mark.
And there we are on -that- topic again! You know why he broke up with me? Because he thought I didn't tell him anything. He didn't realize that I couldn't tell him - or anyone - anything, because then I wouldn't be the Maureen that I am. And we can't have that, can we. If I weren't for me, Mimi would be dead. Just like Angel.
Angel ...
She understood. Completely. Because she was like me, too. Angel loved Collins. But she didn't tell him everything. Girls, and drag queens, apparently, have to keep things to themselves. It wasn't like all the guys I've dated tell me all about themselves. Of -course- I don't want to tell them about who I was before I came to New York City! If -they- were dumb blonde, stereotypical country bumpkins - they wouldn't want the closest friends in the world to know, either. I was a hick. Can they really, truthfully blame me for being ashamed of who I am? Yes! Apparently, they can. At least Mark was predictablly sweet and naive. Oh well. I suppose that's past. Nothing I can do about that now. You know, I bet my parents don't even realize that ...
My parents. I haven't talked to them in so long. Maybe they've forgotten about their long lost daughter who went away to the big city to get away from them. They're probably still sitting on their ricketly rocking chairs, watching the tumbleweeds and barn cats flounce across their front yard. Weed-ridden, disgusting thing that it is. At least the cats were cute. but they -could- have done something about the dust that oh-so thickly layered every single damn thing there! Maybe they think I've died. Maybe they've died. Maybe they moved, so they could be rid of me if I should ever choose to try and get back home.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
I wonder, though. Maybe ... there's that word again ... I should talk, like, to them. I don't know! They might not even recognize me. 'Cause I certainly don't -look- the same. At the moment, I'm wearing a tight little white halter top and leather pants. This would've been scanalous, one of the things 'Big City Floozies' wear. Well, I bet according to them I'd be the queen of BCF's. Sigh. You know ... Wait. Who is 'you' anyway? God? Surprisingly, I believe in God. There's too much unexplained NOT to believe in a force that HELPS control everything. But I don't believe that he ... she, whoever God is, controls our own fates. He loves us. But he can't make all our decisions. He's like ... a parent. Someone who really, really wants to help - but they don't want to live our lives for us. That would be stepping out of the boundries of parenthood and being downright scary. My parents, I don't think cared enough - or were smart enough to figure out that I wanted - needed - something more than a worn out farm.
For, even if they didn't want to admit it - a farm life isn't all that great and healthy. Not that living in New York City is, either. But it takes a different kind of person to live in a small little village thing than it does here. I love the hustle and bustle of people, and the changing lights and styles and fashions and shows and people! They didn't that's what seperates them from me - me from anyone. New York City's people from the rest of the world. Life. It's so different from what it was when they were young kids.
I'm not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions. It's just that sometimes ... sometimes I don't know what they should be. I've made wrong decisions. Not all are right.
But I'm not always wrong, either.