Photo: Katie Panzer
It’s here! That wonderful time of year, when couples are forced to show their undying love for each other through overpriced bouquets of flowers, vomit-inducing quips by Hallmark and obligatory boxes of chocolates.
I’ve kept it no secret that I’d rather lose a limb than be coupled, but what I hate more is feeling bad about it every February 14th. As I’ve written before, my opposition to relationships comes from my poor choice in partners. To recap, my last boyfriend was a porn actor and the one before him was a male prostitute—a glowing report to my bad taste.
It hasn’t always been this way. I had a couple good relationships when I was younger, but that was due to naïveté and blind luck. I think I’ve come to the realization that my love deity has a spilt personality, similar to Jekyll and Hyde.
My cupids are more of a conscious thing. On one shoulder, I have the sweet cherubic homosexual angel that idolizes the good in people, one who makes me think I long for walks on the beach, breakfast in bed and sweet love down by the fire.
The other is a horrible goth tranny obsessed with anonymous sex, money and power. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line the bad has taken her arrow of love and jammed it into the Richard Simmons-esque afro of the good—making me repulsed by the unwarranted attention from would-be suitors.
Her arrow has left me quite the cynic. Don’t get me wrong … I’m 100% for gay marriage. If that’s what the fools want, then I believe they should have that right. However, I also feel that they should serve a minimum sentence of five to 10 years for their lack of judgment.
Isn’t that horrible?! I’m not sure exactly where my cynicism comes from. The classic example of The Relationship comes from your parents and mine started dating from the age of 13, putting them together for over 65 years. Although it’s incredibly romantic, the sheer thought of having to spend that much time with someone puts me in an anxiety-ridden state of panic.
Okay, I know you’re sitting there thinking, “Whoa this tranny is fucked up!” But alas, it seems that without really realizing it, I, Princess Kennedy, have fallen for someone. The medical chariot of the gods arrived just in time to administer CPR to the cupid with the Golden Girls afro. Shortly after moving back to SLC, I was featured in a local paper about returning to SLC and what I had done while I was away. The cover sported me in all my blonde glory and this boy—we’ll call him “Dude” for the sake of anonymity. Dude actually sought me out and asked me out on a real date. For the past few years, we’ve had a very casual “thing” that doesn’t have much expectation or commitment, which works well for my ADD.
His job in the real estate game came crashing down with the economy, and last year, my on-again-off-again romance was stopped short by his decision to join the military. My first instinct was to be all, “DUDE, what are you thinking?” But as he is a 25-year-old male, I understood that his decision was a good step forward for his future and his education. Since he lives in the closet, the now-defunct “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” was moot. Therefore, I supported him and tried to understand. When he left, I got that heartache-y feeling you get, which is the number one reason to run away from these things. At the same time, it was nice to know, despite the cynical nature that I’ve developed, there might be something human in there.
I was forced to face this when he came home on leave and told me that he had made a huge mistake—if he had a chance to do it all over again, he would stayed here and gotten more serious with me. He even brought up the M word, which almost won him a “see ya Dude.” For now, I find that the long distance makes for good practice and low commitment, a sort of recovery period for good cupid while I attempt to keep bitter goth tranny cupid on a short leash.
I’m not sure if I’ll really ever develop a want to share my life with another, but at the end of the day I am not a deity and I have to carry the hope that the age-old adage is true, that there is someone for everyone and my tranny chaser is around the bend. Quite frankly, I don’t cherish the thought of growing old alone.
In the meantime, let me use this as my own personal ad and invite any and all potential suitors to meet me at Bar X around the corner from my pad to get wasted and have mad, anonymous hate sex on Valentine’s Day.