logicbutton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
logicbutton) wrote2003-11-27 11:12 pm
logicbutton) wrote2003-11-27 11:12 pm
Being home...it's just loverly.
"So you go to school where? In Atlanta?" asks my great-uncle Joe (my grandmother's sister's husband, not a blood relative) at the dinner table.
"That's right," says I.
"Lot of blacks there?" he says.
Oh, great.
"Yeah, the ratio is higher," I reply with some trepidation.
"There are more here now, too," he continues. "Everywhere you go. Can't look anywhere without seeing a black person."
"Really."
"So what's the average intelligence level like there?"
"Um, well," I say, hoping to say what I mean on the first try, "I couldn't speak for all of Atlanta, of course, but I'd say overall people at my school are of about equal intelligence--we're very diverse--"
"You've got a lot of minorities there?" asks Joe.
"Uh, yeah, we--"
"Yeah, they got a lot of lesbians there," adds my brother helpfully.
Cue my "why must you exist" face.
"What?" Hewer says. "lesbians are minorities."
In conclusion, I'm thankful that I only have to field questions like that on major holidays, and that my brother and I live a thousand miles apart for two thirds of the year.
I did have a pleasant Thanksgiving, though. My cousin Hannah, the six-year-old cutie who exists in a fog of pink, drew various people pictures of hand-tracing turkeys. The ones in the picture she gave me were pastel-colored and had eyelashes, while the ones on the picture she gave Hewer were in "boy colors". She also gave me a drawing of a stegosaurus, which was labeled "Stegosaurus" and said "By Hannah, to Diana" on the back. Her handwriting is already better than Hewer's. He's sixteen years old, by the way. Also, my aunt Lori made sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top. She is now my favorite person.
On another note, I saw like all my high school friends last night, and was reminded why I don't keep in touch with them during the year (besides the fact that I am a bum): it's so much more fun to hear everyone's stories all at once. For example, my very good friend whom I will call Matt, because that's his name, happens to be gay, which his mother (poor woman) considers enough to suspect that everyone is gay. Including his fourteen-year-old sister. The conversation, which I heard thirdhand from Matt, apparently went something like this.
Matt's mom: Are you going to the homecoming dance with a boy?
Matt's sister: No.
mom: No? Well, don't you want to go?
sister: No, I don't really like any of the boys.
mom: You don't? None of them?
sister: No, I don't like them like that. They're just my friends.
mom: Do you like any boy?
sister: Not really.
mom: Well...do you think you might be gay?
The most amusing (sad?) thing about this is that Matt's mom is a professor...of psychology. Matt said his sister stormed out of the house after this conversation. I think she handled it well.
"That's right," says I.
"Lot of blacks there?" he says.
Oh, great.
"Yeah, the ratio is higher," I reply with some trepidation.
"There are more here now, too," he continues. "Everywhere you go. Can't look anywhere without seeing a black person."
"Really."
"So what's the average intelligence level like there?"
"Um, well," I say, hoping to say what I mean on the first try, "I couldn't speak for all of Atlanta, of course, but I'd say overall people at my school are of about equal intelligence--we're very diverse--"
"You've got a lot of minorities there?" asks Joe.
"Uh, yeah, we--"
"Yeah, they got a lot of lesbians there," adds my brother helpfully.
Cue my "why must you exist" face.
"What?" Hewer says. "lesbians are minorities."
In conclusion, I'm thankful that I only have to field questions like that on major holidays, and that my brother and I live a thousand miles apart for two thirds of the year.
I did have a pleasant Thanksgiving, though. My cousin Hannah, the six-year-old cutie who exists in a fog of pink, drew various people pictures of hand-tracing turkeys. The ones in the picture she gave me were pastel-colored and had eyelashes, while the ones on the picture she gave Hewer were in "boy colors". She also gave me a drawing of a stegosaurus, which was labeled "Stegosaurus" and said "By Hannah, to Diana" on the back. Her handwriting is already better than Hewer's. He's sixteen years old, by the way. Also, my aunt Lori made sweet potatoes with marshmallows on top. She is now my favorite person.
On another note, I saw like all my high school friends last night, and was reminded why I don't keep in touch with them during the year (besides the fact that I am a bum): it's so much more fun to hear everyone's stories all at once. For example, my very good friend whom I will call Matt, because that's his name, happens to be gay, which his mother (poor woman) considers enough to suspect that everyone is gay. Including his fourteen-year-old sister. The conversation, which I heard thirdhand from Matt, apparently went something like this.
Matt's mom: Are you going to the homecoming dance with a boy?
Matt's sister: No.
mom: No? Well, don't you want to go?
sister: No, I don't really like any of the boys.
mom: You don't? None of them?
sister: No, I don't like them like that. They're just my friends.
mom: Do you like any boy?
sister: Not really.
mom: Well...do you think you might be gay?
The most amusing (sad?) thing about this is that Matt's mom is a professor...of psychology. Matt said his sister stormed out of the house after this conversation. I think she handled it well.