Mars, Venus and Caitlyn

I have to begin with a heartfelt thank you (Yes, I can be heartfelt) to all my peeps out there who reached out and sent good wishes my way. I am reminded all the time as to what a great thing technology is, if only because it allows you to interact with people you otherwise would have never gotten to know. As for me? Still kicking, on my third specialist in a month. The BP isn’t budging so we’ve been looking into possible reasons for this. I keep telling the doctors that it’s because I’m developing super powers and my mortal body is rejecting my organic technology . . . to which they replied with another referral, this time to a psychiatrist. I’m game, as long as she’s hot.  

And now on with the show.

Today’s post is all about the girls. Or guys. Both? Of course, I’m talking about Caitlyn Jenner, the most hyped set of heels since Angelina Jolie made her big screen debut in that movie about the model whose title I can’t recall because I just kept watching the lesbian scene, over and over again. Oh wait, I think the name of the movie was Gia, and I highly recommend it even if I have no blessed idea how the rest of the flick goes.

Caitlyn Jenner is a fascinating case study. Think about it, we’re talking about a world class, gold medal winning Olympian during the Ford administration who lived with a secret for nearly forty years. He was a Wheaties cover boy, the ultimate man’s man . . . in our eyes. We had no idea as to the daily struggle Bruce Jenner was involved in every single day from the time he became a household name to that Vanity Fair cover. If you wrote up that script, you’d end up with more slammed doors than a Mormon Church salesman.

Admittedly, I made light of Bruce Jenner’s estrogen-centric personality many times over the years. I once wrote that Bruce Jenner was a closet NOW member, which only goes to show that Nostradamus and George Carlin must be in my family tree. Of course I was being irreverent in my observation; basing it entirely on Jenner’s submissive deference to the patriarchal Kris Jenner. I like cheap laughs and I cannot lie. Soooo, now that he has become she, I’m not going to construct a pretense that I like Caitlyn. Because really, if I believed Bruce to be a self absorbed weenie whose fame allowed him a pass, why would I change my opinion just because she started wearing heels?

That said, I do applaud her courage. It’s a hell of a thing to live a life you don’t really feel, and it’s a hell of an accomplishment to come at us with the truth two thirds of the way through a testosterone injected narrative, and to do it on a stage, in front of scores of athletes- most of whom share a rather narrow viewpoint when it comes to matters of gender and preference. I didn’t see her speech only because I refuse to watch the ESPY’S- an awards show whose very existence is yet another sign of the impending apocalypse. But Jenner nailed it from all accounts, and good for her.

Caitlyn Jenner is the rare exception to the rule in that she possesses the ability to be a symbol- a real deal one- for change. Symbols rarely have the ability to gestate. Typically, they behave very much like a supernova in that they burn brightly and then explode into a million tiny pieces before the meaning can foster a movement. In most instances all we’re left with is pixie dust and the mostly unrealistic wishes they engender. Caitlyn Jenner- for all the warts of her predecessor- has a chance to stick. Does this mean she’s going to morph from a media whore into a stoic figure? Fat chance. And it doesn’t matter, because all that’s really gonna matter are the actions taken in moving this gender discussion forward. You gotta start somewhere and she’s doing that.

Of course, being the childishly adorable mutt that I am, I can’t help but to wonder about things that have absolutely nothing to do with the big picture quality of this moment. Like, what would my name be if I were a woman?

Mia. Definitely Mia. It’s succinct, cute and versatile. You can see Mia becoming a doctor or a stripper. Hell, she could work her way through school as a stripper, after which she dons the white suit. Whereas Margaret is strictly PhD and Dallas should be written in glitter- Mia can be both, after which she writes a tome and becomes a talk show host. It’s the dream, right?

As far as accoutrements go, I would be a HUGE Coach fan. My collection wouldn’t rival Kardashian, don’t be silly, but it would probably result in divorce papers once I bankrupt my first hubby- who would also be a doctor (We met when I was stripping.) Skirts would be my thing. I’m a dude who’s pushing fifty and I am fed up with pants as it is. Skirts would grant me the presupposition that I was a classy dame whilst hiding the truth of the matter- that I’m just a slut who’s always ready to hike ’em up and get it on.

I’ll finally be able to admit that yes! I have fat days!

I would be all about hoop earrings and tramp stamps and cranberry lipstick (cranberry matches my mood, I read it in Cosmo). I would start a Vera Farmiga fan page that became so popular it gained me an audience with Her. Best case scenario involves me achieving bestie status- which I can only assume involves pillow fights, eating S’mores in lingerie and hours long tickle fights that end in slow motion kissing sessions (I know it’s predictable, but if Gloria Steinem taught this boy anything, it’s to dream big, dammit!).

The truth is, I don’t care whether I come back as a man or a woman in my next life. I just hope I have the courage and the voice that Caitlyn displayed in her speech. It’s pretty ironic, in that she might end up having more balls than Bruce ever did.

Too soon?

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5 thoughts on “Mars, Venus and Caitlyn

  1. And I would hope you and Vera Farmiga would publish selfies on Pinterest. I wouldn’t even care if you put on a duckface. I would just want a photo right after the lingerie pillow fight.

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