It’s My Party. Stop Crying

I recently received the weirdest request from a writer I enjoyed reading until I read that email:

“Please do not mention me in your tweets anymore. I am very uncomfortable being mentioned in your tweets, especially since you linked to Mr. X, a person whom I find to be hateful to the point of causing hurt and damage to people in my community.”

Even though I rarely tweet anymore, I removed them from my Follow Friday list (God forbid I ever do a FF and I mention them by mistake). My FF Friday list is not a twitter list but a Word document I keep because I’m old school like that. This person blocked me on twitter so I couldn’t remove them from my twitter butch/femme list and I don’t know if The Daily Butch Femmer will keep automatically pulling and publishing their posts. How many books of that person did I have? Five or six. How many books had I bought as gifts? I would say between 10 and 15, but that might be an exaggeration. How many books will I buy from now on? Zero. Am I going to go out of my way to go their next book reading? Hell no!

They wrote “my community.” I have never cross-posted/donated to any GoFundMe campaigns from the person who emailed me, but does this “my community” mean I’m not part of the LGBT community and now have an official pass to stop giving a fuck about desperate calls to fund someone’s gender reassigning surgeries, miscellaneous therapies, emergency dental expenses, overdue rent and bills, moving-to-a-new-state-to-find-myself-as-an-artist, side projects, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera? Since I’m not part of the community and very obtuse, I guess now I can stop donating/cross-posting and feeling guilty when I can’t give enough money. (Insert Hallelujah/Praise the Lord emoji hands here). I should frame their email and have it ready in a PDF to send it out the next time someone asks me for money, along with a blurb explaining a well known person in the LGBT community has said I’m not part of it so I’m going to keep my femme lesbian dollars for other femme lesbian TERFS which is basically what I believe I am now being called since I didn’t remove Mr. X from the butch/femme twitter list I have for The Daily Butchfemmer purposes nor the Follow Friday Word document.

The whole thing to me sounds as ridiculous as if I asked my friends to unfriend me on Facebook because their twice removed cousin from Florida keeps tagging them on Trump posts, or if I asked friends and acquaintances to stop inviting X person to group brunches because they went out of their way to leave me a bad review on Amazon, started rumors about me or simply are slobs and I can’t enjoy my meal if they spit into my plate from across the table (some of us get too excited when we talk, what can I say? shit happens).

The amount of babysitting in this person’s community is exhausting. I stopped hosting butch/femme outings because I can’t deal with the “if so and so is there I’m not going,” “well you told me to stay home instead of asking them not to go so that must mean you are taking sides and I’m not talking to you anymore,” etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I thought canceling all together was the only way to stop playing the rescuer/remove me from the proverbial drama triangle. Now I’m getting the same thing via email.

When does it end?!!!!!

Why can’t people keep their big girl/big boy undies up?

2 thoughts on “It’s My Party. Stop Crying

  1. “I won’t play with you if you play with her” is preschool behavior. I’m very angry that this happened to you. I never considered myself part of the trans community and vice versa. Self-righteous trans “role models” like this make it hard to empathize with them. They are trying to wipe out lesbians, lesbians femmes who don’t like transmen like yourself and anyone without body issues (aka anyone who is not them). And we are supposed to fight their fights and stop talking to anyone with a different point of view (aka other than theirs).

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