Hear Me Out


JUNE 23, 1997


I was accused the other day of only complaining about people. That is simply not true. I get a real kick out of the human race, I'm just still not sure if I really belong to it. It's the incongruence and the confusion of the human race that I love so much.

I love the fact that there are hard-core lesbians (I mean women who don't actually recognize men as a part of our species) who are so femme, no one believes they are lesbians, even their girlfriends.

I knew one of these women in college. Her name was Paige. Once I got to know all there was to know about Paige, I spent a lot of time avoiding avoiding her. I hated having any sort of conversation with her because it usually involved a deep discussion about Laura Ashley prints and how lucky I was not to have to watch my weight.

These conversations always lead me to wonder A) Where the hell is Arron Spelling when we need him, B) How much bodily injury would I sustain if I did in fact leap into traffic, and C) maybe it's not true, what they say about getting bad treatment at the hospital if you have raggedy underwear on.

After about twenty minutes and a dozen excuses on my part to leave, I start contemplating ripping off my own arm and beating Paige to death with it. About the only way to get away from these women is to distract them with a Gucci sale or the promise of coffee next week.

Now, you are wondering why I love these women. I don't. I love that they exist as part of the world we inhabit. I want nothing to do with them. The women I want everything to do with are a whole other class.

Leslie, my lover, is a walking contradiction. She looks like a nice, innocent, Christian woman that bakes pies and volunteers for something noble. She has, in fact, one of the most unrelenting logical minds I've ever come across. Be very careful when you speak to her.

Leslie's CRAP-O-METER goes off the instant I start using the English language.

The other thing about her that I love is that she can have a hugely heated discussion but be emotionally disengaged. It makes her extremely dangerous in a fight.

We were talking about evolution the other day and I brought up the fact that I hate that creation is taught in the schools as a viable theory. Leslie, just to see my face turn purple, said she saw no reason that a theory shouldn't be taught.

"What??!!" I was aghast. "What happened to the separation of church and state? Huh???"

"I'm just saying that it's a theory. You are the first to admit that evolution is still a theory, not a scientific law." She sat back, took a sip of her margarita and waited for the sparks to start jumping from the ends of my hair.

"I know it's not a natural law but it's a hell of a lot better than that ridiculous .. `And on the sixth day God created man...' Bull." I was doing that really loud and breathy kind of angry whispering.

"So, if one has no more merit than the other, why not teach both?" Calm, so calm.

"What's the matter with you? Are you some sort of Commie-Fascist-church-going-Moonie?" When in doubt, insult. That's been a Jimenez tradition for generations.

She laughs because by her rules, if I'm reduced to screaming, insulting or muttering to myself, it's a moral victory for her.

I think the Italians have it right. In order to truly love, you must have someone to truly hate. It's the yin-yang that makes life worth the living.


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Copyright 1997 by Laura Jiménez.

Updated 06/28/97
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