39% of LGBT workers reported experiencing some sort of workplace discrimination 25% of teenagers who come out as LGBT to their parents are thrown out of their houses 97% of students in public high schools report regularly hearing homophobic remarks from their peers 84.6% of LGBT students reported being verbally harassed 40.1% of LGBT students reported being physically harassed 18.8% of LGBT students reported being physically assaulted at school in the past year because of their sexual orientation
And this is why I get pissed when I people hear say, “That’s so gay!”
People don’t seem to see the bigger picture when they say such stupid things. They only see the moment because they’ve been conditioned to think that homosexuality is wrong, if not directly, then indirectly by their peers repeating these stupid remarks. This morning, when I got on the train, I saw a man whose shirt read “I HATE FAGGETS.” Never have I been more appalled in my life to see that a) wearing that shirt isn’t considered a hate crime, and b) it was spelled wrong (I think the latter bothered me a bit more than the former, but you know me). It’s ridiculous that we’ve been trained to hear and say these things without thinking, how we call our friends faggots when they do something wrong or call our teachers gay because they assign homework. I have yet to see any correlation between homosexuality and homework, but I sure as fuck don’t want to get lumped together with your ridiculous homework. Moral of the story: think before you speak or I’ll shoot you down.
"OW!" Natalie screamed as she burned herself trying to twist off the cap to open the steaming radiator. We were stuck and we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Let me go back a few hours to where this all started. A few days ago, I made plans with a few friends of mine to go to the beach. We were all glow-in-the-dark white and we agreed that we could all use a bit of tan, so why not go to the most famous part of Miami; the beach? I was in charge of bringing drinks, so I packed a cooler with a full 24-pack of water bottles, not expecting the group to only be six people. Nonetheless, we crammed the cooler into Natalie’s trunk, much to my dismay as I suggested we take my bigger, more comfortable, more reliable car. Natalie drives, if memory serves, a very old stickshift Honda Accord, so the car wasn’t too spacious, or at least not spacious enough for six. Danielle had to sit on top of me for the majority of the ride to the beach. As we pulled out from the school, where we all agreed to leave our cars, Natalie immediately exclaimed “Damn, you guys are heavy! It took forever to take off!” After about 15 minutes of Natalie’s reckless driving and Danielle sitting on me, I finally was able to calm down and enjoy the wind hitting my face from the open window and the loud Lonely Island music that Phillipe insisted on playing. Somehow, I don’t see “I Just Had Sex” as the most amazing song in the world for speeding down State Road 836 in a cramped car, maybe because I couldn’t laugh because I was squished. But I digress. When we finally got to Miami Beach, the part that we all dreaded began; finding parking. The beach we wanted to go to was packed, so we ended up driving an additional 7 miles north, right through the boat show that was conveniently going on that day. We left the school at one in the afternoon and we arrived at three o’clock on the dot. After we were able to get up and stretch our legs for a bit, we made a beeline for the jellyfish-covered beach. After a couple hours of antics, we all got hungry and ate dinner at a Pizza Hut that was far as fuck from the beach. We only kept going because Phillipe INSISTED that we go. We were all ready to make him carry us back. Fourteen blocks may not seem like much when driving, but walking it in thong-toed flip-flops sucks major ass. It was about seven o’clock, and after the long journey back to the car, Naomi had to relinquish her “shotgun” priveleges to Phillipe, so she Suzy, Danielle, and I in the back. At the very least, she was small, so it wasn’t difficult to situate her without too much discomfort. We started toward the Julia Tuttle, one of the bigger bridges that stands between Miami Beach and the mainland. We were halfway across the bridge and it happened. The car turned off mid-acceleration. Natalie quickly took her car to the emergency lane to discover smoke coming out of her hood. She then noticed that the ratiator’s temperature guage was off the charts. Phillipe was trying to tell her what to do, but Natalie ignored his advice because she knew exactly what to do. She made her way to the trunk. "You thirsty or something?" I saw her with a cold bottle of water from my cooler. She then proceeded to pop the hood, open the radiator, and pour the water into it. I don’t know anything about cars, so at first, I was puzzled. Phillipe then explained that that’s the best way to cool it off. After pouring about six bottles in, Natalie called her parents. They told her a variety of things that I didn’t understand. She only asked me to stand by her with the torch on my iPhone so she could see what she was doing. She added some more water and then we waited. We were all thanking God that I bought a 24-pack of water. In the meantime, everybody’s phones were blowing up because Danielle’s girlfriend, Vanessa, was trying to find out where we are. Naomi and Phillipe spent the time trying to run across the Julia Tuttle without getting killed. It was thoroughly entertaining. We finally pulled out of the emergency lane after about 30 minutes of waiting for the car to cool down. We drove for about 3 miles until the car got too hot again and we had to stop. After about 15 minutes, Vanessa’s mother showed up. Now, normally, we would have seen this as a blessing, but Vanessa’s mom didn’t even step out of the car. She looked out the window and didn’t move. Her car sat there in front of ours. She didn’t even say “Hello.” She didn’t check on us. She didn’t offer help. The way I saw it, it was a bitch move. As soon as we all got back in the car and started it up, without a word, Vanessa’s mom drove off with Danielle, leaving us to fuck ourselves over if we did something wrong. We bid Danielle farewell and drove for about half a mile, where we had to stop, add water, and wait. At one point, we had had (inevitably) completely tapped out our supply of about 20 bottloes of water and we desperately needed more, so we took the car to a gas station to refill and buy some. This trend continued until we got to the Turnpike by the exit on Bird Road. We all left our cars at school, so we were still pretty far off. Then we got a rescue call from Nataie’s mom, telling us to go to a gas station right off the exit. There we waited. Finally, a literal beacon of hope was shining through the back window. After some confusing dialog involving mechanics and radiators and leaks and such, we piled into the truck and we were finally on our way to our cars. And after taking Suzy home, my exciting, nerve-wracking, zany, stressful, fun adventure came to a close as I drove down a dark, quiet Killian Parkway at 11 o’clock at night. The only thing on my mind was how much I wanted to lie down in my bed.
And I wouldn’t have loved it any other way, it was a genuine adventure. I’m almost glad we didn’t take my car.
When was it that we stopped going out at night just to look at the stars? What happened to us? When were our skies polluted with airplanes that twinkle in the night sky and steal the stars’ thunder?
Where did they go? What happened to the days where we made wishes on shooting stars? When did airplanes become “the next best thing”?
I’m not hating on B.o.B. or Hayley Williams, but what have we come to? Love the world for what it is, not what we’ve made it.
Something about taking the Metrorail is kind of nostalgic. Maybe it’s the feeling of a train taking me from place to place. Maybe it’s watching the town zoom by as good neighborhoods become not-so-good neighborhoods, or the trees flying past my window. Maybe it’s the idea of sitting next to a perfect stranger, never saying a word to each other because we live scripted lives, but acknowledging each others’ presence. The unfamiliar faces all watching the same town zoom by, the loud crashing noises the turbulent train makes which is otherwise complete silence, the coming and going of strangers who all have a place to be and something to do; it’s all just very nostalgic. Why? I don’t know. But it’s kind of magical.