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For almost all of you, emotions also run high when it comes to your politics and faith. Melissa Fryrear, the “ex-lesbian” who was “restored” with the help of Exodus, might want to consider bringing bodyguards with her should she ever choose to visit the make-up counter at Macy's in San Francisco. James Dobson, Lou Sheldon, Sean Hannity, and Arnold Schwarzenegger should also be on high alert. Mary Cheney, however, should probably consider moving to a small island, and she should take Ivette from Big Brother 6 with her. They would get along well, you've told me.
No real surprises there.
The shock of the year came to me in your responses to “Don't Quote Me: Straight Girls Happen.” While some of confined your comments to America's Next Top Model and/or its stars, Kim and Sarah, the vast majority chose to give me a peek into your own torrid love lives and limos. So many confessions, so little time! Naughty lesbians, naughty straight women, and not a husband in sight. Ah, the four-wheeling debauchery! Who needs a bedroom? Who needs TV? There's a future in writing erotica for some of you.
But I must stop there, even though I don't really want to, for fear of being accused of peddling tabloid journalism. There are party-poopers among you, as well--folks who feel the need to tell me that I cross a line now and then, that some topics and people are never to be made light of. They each have a sense of humor; I know they do. They just don't want humor, especially of a sexual nature, mixed in with the politics or business of media. And that's fine. This small but serious group keeps me on my toes and assures that when I mix business with pleasure or sarcasm it won't again be at the expense of Sarah Shahi's mighty fine derriere.
And finally, I'd be remiss if I didn't acknowledge those of you who just want to know a little bit more about me.
You've asked about the car I drive (a pick-up), my favorite movie (Moonstruck), my favorite L Word character (Alice), and if I have a girlfriend (yes) and tattoos (no). You've asked me out for coffee, tea, beer and a stroll down blotter acid lane. You've even told me I need a haircut.
It's all in good fun, I know, and I'm happy to play along, because the truth is, if I ever stop believing that I need you more than you need me, I'll find myself sharing coconuts and sunscreen with Mary Cheney and Ivette.
Anyway, I could go on and on describing just how eclectic, passionate, amusing and necessary you are, but I think it would be much more convincing and entertaining to give you just a few examples of what you've written to me. Don't worry; I've withheld your names.
As noted, you've written to express your pleasure and dissatisfaction, but you've also written to express your pain …
“At 17, I am still in the closet and am deathly afraid of being discovered by those who are in my life … And because I'm not a beautiful Hollywood movie star any sort of slip up or experiment I might make will not be laughed off by my family and friends … I look at those fake-lesbian-attention-seeking and drunken girl-girl kisses and wonder...if Hollywood isn't truly taking lesbianism seriously, will anyone ever take me seriously?”
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