Image Problems/Zie's Got The Look

Scene One: Some silly uni society for alumni and current students in Arts or whatever. Zoo in usual working-at- uni-drag, camos and tshirt or some such, not even sure my tatts were on show. Wander in late as straight from work, ask conservative-looking mature lady whether I am in the right place for the blahdyblah gathering as I received an email inviting me and wanted to make sure. She says yes, then proceeds to eye my off suspciously whilst I grab a glass of chardonnay and some bread and dip. Eventually she wanders over and asks if I know this is for MEMBERS, and ALUMNI. Hmm. 'I'm writing a PhD' I say. 'Oh', she answers, all suspicious still 'in what department?'. 'Look, I have an Honours degree from this uni, I work for the postgrad association, I work for three differentuni departments, am currently writing a doctorate and am also a life member of the union. 'Well, perhaps you better find someone and check whether you should be here'. SHE WAS SERIOUS. Perhaps I should have apologised for not having obtained my English Lit degree in 1975 and spent the last 30odd years crapping on about the fact that I was once at university and writing pretentious poetry but I kept my mouth shut and just poured myself more wine. Idiot.

Scene Two: Interviewed for magazine article (pending). Recieve copy to look over before it goes to print, thank heavens. Was okay enough, 'cept for the numerous outbursts of 'well, she may look like a total freak and we wouldn't blame you if you thought she was a brainless junkie who survived by doing some type of illicit activity in laneways or trying the windows of parked cars but hey, guess what? She's actually kinda bright and does this academic stuff! Who'd have thought you could have facial piercings AND an IQ that reached double figures?' line of illumination of the masses. I called the dude, and pointed out that I could also smoke cigars and ride a bicycle, possibly at once, and maybe this was also worth mentioning. Well-intentioned, but patronising and offensive (both to me and the readership) all the same. Please, save me from the 'freaks are just normal people like US'. No, I'm not like most of them, I'm brighter and funnier and infinately more attractive and creative and that's why they want to read about me *tongue in cheek, really*.

Scene Three: Mixed fetish play-party deal yesterday. Strange man wearing mesh shirt and ball-tickler design of goatee comes up and asks me if he can embrace me publicly. Umm, okay, sure, he must be pinging off his tits and well, its only a hug. 'Bet that's the first time you've done that in a long time' he says to me. 'Done what exactly?'. 'Touched a man'. 'Umm, you mean except for the one I played with over Mardi Gras, and that one from Wednesday night?'. 'But you look like...'. 'What do I look like?'. 'You should work on your marketing campaign' he insists. 'Pray tell, why? I get leather fags and bears, and lots of dirty dykes to boot' 'Well if that's what you want then'. 'EXACTLY'. But it didn't end there. 'People tell me they think I'm gay' he continues, 'and I don't know why 'cos I'm straight'. And ITS ME who needs to revise my image to get what I want? 'Well,' I suggest, 'maybe if you did not wear a shirt most often seen on pretty boys at ARC and sport facial hair that seemed designed to please the nether regions of other men you might not have that problem.' WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ALL ABOUT? I mean, I'm sorry. He wants to hug the lesbian so that she can experience man-love or something? Then when the lezzo turns out to do boys too he gets offended that 'she' looks like a dyke? And then it turns out that while we both get hit on my gayboys its only me that wants to be still he insists that its me who should change my look. WHERE DO THESE IDIOTS COME FROM????

Good heavens, its been quite a week of it really.