But I'm a Cheerleader!

We watched a hilarious movie recently, But I'm a Cheerleader!, which is a satirical comedy about the ex-gay movement. Megan is a closeted-to-herself lesbian who comes home from cheerleading practice one day to find her family has set up an intervention on her behalf. She, they inform her, is a lesbian, and she is being sent to a rehabilitation retreat center to "convert" her to heteronormality.

At the retreat center, she is retrained in gender roles (like that shown in the vacuuming picture above), and practices being submissive, weak, and soft. She is taught to embrace her role in washing dishes and diapering babies. . . all while being forced to wear and sleep in ridiculous fuscia fru-fru attire. Oh, and the kicker? Being paired off with other girls to learn appropriate same-gender interactions.

Sex means being kicked off the island, girls, so don't even think about it.

(Extra points if you can guess which of the four girls shown above I think is cute)

What was so fascinating to me was seeing conversion therapy from the female perspective. At least in the LDS Church, I am accustomed to only hearing about conversion retreats for men - teaching them to be more assertive, more domineering, etc. What made the movie horrifying for me was seeing those gender roles be enforced on women. The satirical nature of the film also made the whole concept of reparative therapy appear ridiculous in its very nature. Women don't become lesbians because they don't like vacuuming or baking bread. Hell, NO WOMAN enjoys picking up after toddlers or messy spouses.

While at the retreat, each of the girls has to identify her "root" - the root cause of her homosexuality. Megan's root? Her mom went back into the workforce for 9 months when she was a child. This "role reversal" between mom and dad triggered gender role confusion within herself.

Personally, I fail to see what gender roles have to do with sexual orientation. But then again, I am a lesbian who enjoys her career.

On Losing Faith

Reina wrote a post recently on her experience with losing faith in God, in which she described her faith as being ripped from her. Mr. Curie described it as something that suddenly disappeared, as if in a cloud of smoke.

My loss of belief was much more a process than it was a sudden event of ripping or evaporation. It wasn't as though one day my faith was there, and the next day it was gone. Obedience to the cultural and doctrinal rules and expectations of Mormonism actually caused me a great deal of pain. Trying to fit myself, round peg that I am, into the square hole of Mormonism got increasingly more difficult the further along in the Plan (TM) that I progressed.

Some of the things were small and seemingly insignificant. For instance, a fair amount of my money was spent on new clothes. When I was baptized, I was informed that my "Sunday best" of slacks and a blouse was inappropriate for church. I didn't own any dresses, and bought 2 over Christmas break. Likewise, when I spent a summer at BYU, I had to replace my entire wardrobe before I could step foot on their hallowed ground.

Other insignificant things, too, were changed. My language underwent an overhaul. Saying "Oh my god" had to be replaced with "Oh my heck." Hell and damnation were only acceptable when reading the scriptures aloud.

Some things. . . were not so insignificant. My idea of marriage morphed with my baptism - it wasn't a nice ornament to life, it was a necessity, and it had to be with a man. Furthermore, I learned that not one of my personal accomplishments mattered, so long as I didn't have a husband or children. I started hiding my professional accomplishments for fear of, yet again, being asked if I understood the Proclamation on the Family. Attending ward parties for the men who graduated from dental/law/business/graduate school, while no one noticed my own graduation with my PhD. Those things stung. Alot.

But it was hardest after my marriage, when the pressure was on to have kids! Have more kids! When are you quitting your job! Why are you still working, if you can afford to stay home?

Perhaps this would not have stung for someone made of stronger stuff than me. But my spirit was weak and my self-esteem too raw to continue where I clearly was second-class.

For me, my loss of faith was an extraction process, such as when a dentist removes a caried tooth. The pain of the tooth is unbearable, but you put up with is as long as possible. The pain of having it removed is even worse. But once it is gone, and you are free from the pain, how wonderful! The tooth was doing more harm than good, yet I still find myself searching for it, surprised when I find a gaping hole. I hang on to the roots, to a belief in God in absense of Mormonism, even when the x-rays insist that it is all gone.

Mom and Mama: A "Target"-ed lesson

A few weeks ago while clothing shopping in Target, I overheard a teenage girl in the dressing room next to mine call for "Mom". A woman outside the door answered, and then a few minutes later a second voice addressed as "Mama" (inside the room) offered her opinion on the outfit. As I listened for a few minutes (its hard not to overhear dressing room conversations), it became clear to me that Mom and Mama were the girl's parents.

Intriguingly, this situation repeated itself a week later, also at this same Target, this time with a new "Mommy" and "Mama" and two young boys. I had to wonder whether Target had become the progressive spot to clothing shop in the greater Philadelphia area.

More interesting, though, was my reaction to the lesbian couples. When I saw the second couple together, my heart swelled and I felt something within me say, "This is what a family looks like." I was happy for those children, growing up in homes with two mothers. I know that probably sounds weird, but growing up in a home with a relatively absent mom, I can't help thinking it.

The situation also made me recognize that, in my mind, it seems more natural and obvious for two women to be married than it does for a man and a woman to be married to each other. Is that strange? Mr. Curie says that it probably just indicates where my natural inclinations lie, and that I just wasn't willing to admit it to myself earlier.

I reluctantly admit that seeing those lesbian couples together at Target, and again at the NYC Pride, made me feel a small twinge of jealousy. To have the love of another woman...

What a precious thing indeed.

Pride

The Curie family (myself, Mister Curie, and le petite Curie) traveled to NYC this past Sunday to attend the Pride parade. While there, we met up with Horizons (c/o Moving Horizon) - another MoHo family member. My former understanding of Pride Day was heavily influenced by conservative society. I expected to see sex on floats, and anticipated everyone in the audience to be wearing Speedos. For those reasons, I was extremely hesitant about attending Pride myself a few weeks ago when it was in Philadelphia.

Before attending NYC Pride, MoHo Hawaii told us that the parade would be "...a little racier than you might be used to but wholesome in an odd way if you can wrap your mind around it." His description was poetic, and accurate. Yes, there were men in Speedos on parade (ewwwww), but the costumes were tasteful (for Speedos). Yes, the theme was one of sexuality, yet it wasn't erotic. It was more of a celebration of sexuality, than an enticement to sex. It was, in every sense of the word, a professional performance, and I was an audience member watching the play on stage.

The atmosphere was one of incredible tolerance. We were there as a heterosexual couple with child, but didn't feel at all out of place. I felt comfortable enough to strike up conversations with a lesbian couple to the right of me and with a male-to-female transexual behind me.

I was marginally worried that I would be freaked out by watching drag, but it was seriously just like watching the Philadelphia Mummers (see photo on the right). When you have been watching men parade in fancy dresses with parasols for New Years from time memorial, its hard to be too disturbed by gorgeous drag costumes. And it was mildly entertaining to see how big the implants could get. One guy was particularly, um, well-endowed. In fact, I would be willing to bet that his false breasts weighed more than he did.

I got checked out by an adorable girl, and checked out more than a few girls myself. I danced with a drag queen, and Petite Curie got candy and bubbles. Aside from the 100-degree heat, sunburn, crowds, and dehydration, it was a very fun day. I will go again. Happy Pride, my friends!