White girl privilege - like white girls not getting arrested, humiliated or called out on inappropriate sexualized behavior. You will notice in this piece that no one get's arrested. No 911 calls are made. No one accuses anyone of sexual assault. Why? Because, the parties involved are all adults and not narcassitic children. In other words, we take responsibility for our own behaviors, and forgive those who trespass against us.
Kate Harding at Salon.com wrote a piece on March 23, 2009 about bachelorette parties at gay bars ("Gay bars to bachelorettes: Not tonight, honey"). Apparently, it is a phenomenon that puts a soon to be bride celebrating her upcoming nuptials in a venue primarily geared toward people who can't legally marry. That is the crux of the debate in the article.
In the article, she explains the phenomenon:
"...They want the freedom to get plastered and dance without being groped by equally drunk straight men..."
I wrote a comment, replying to the article, stating:
"I don't believe that women are afraid of straight guys groping them. I believe that they are afraid of their own actions once they get drunk. They are afraid they'll wake up next to some stranger after a drunken f*ck fest, and their reputations will have suffered. In other words, women go to gay bars to defend themselves against their fellow mean girls..."
Why is any of this relevant? Well, funny you should ask. One night I went out to Martuni's bar here in San Francisco to meet up with "Charlie Girls." It is a get together organized by local writer Charlie Jane Anders for the TG community and friends to socialize. Martuni's is not a gay bar. It is an piano bar with a comfortable mixed crowd.
During the get together, a self identified lesbian, who's name I forget and whom none of us knew, introduces us to Natalie and Graham. "Like the cracker?" I ask. "Exactly," Graham replies. They are a couple from Phoenix, though Natalie now lives in Alameda. They are in their mid-twenties. Graham is visiting and looking for work locally. One of our tranny posse leans into me and whispers, "Someone tell Natalie that her boyfriend is gay." Graham looked gay. He had a severe case of gay-face and dressed the part. Natalie is drunk. She introduces herself by telling a joke. "What's the difference between jelly and jam? I can't jelly my cock down your throat." Apparently, this was a line some guy used on her recently.
Anyway, to make a long story longer, Natalie goes on to tell us how she loves trannys and that we are all her best friend. She finds the women hipsters in the mission to be rude, uptight and arrogant. At one point, she reaches between my legs and tries to touch...uh, mmm, you know what. I had to forcibly remove her hand, not because I minded that she cop a feel, but because I didn't wanna get kicked out of the bar. By the end of the evening, Natalie had shown everyone at the table her breasts (which were spectacular, by the way). Without bothering to add context to content here, let me say that in an exchange between her and me, I tell her, "I don't like vagina's because they smell like fish" (A little white lie. I love vaginas.) She grabs my hand and tries to stuff it down her pants to feel her vagina. I demurrer. So she takes her own finger, places into her pants, inserts it into her vagina, pulls it out, and places it in front of my nose. "My vagina doesn't smell bad," she insists. By the way, it didn't smell bad. But, that is besides the point.
The point here is that we of the XY chromosome types should not allow people to attribute malevolent behavior to us to cover over their own faults. We must demand that people take responsibility for their own actions, and insist that they not attribute decisions made by them to behaviors for which we are not guilty.