I went to a wedding this weekend. It was the perfect fall wedding. The chapel was small and intimate, the bride was gorgeous, the weather was perfect, and the trees were on fire with fall colors. I brought one of my gay-male friends to assure that my date would look, dance, and act smashingly. Which both of us did. The day before the wedding I had to make an emergency-hyper-shopping-mode trip to the mall because I forgot my heels. I only had yellow converse. I also ended up buying a dress to match, so I looked damn cute.
After the wedding we headed over to the reception, and my friends and date and I all walked around a bit until some other people sat at the temple. Looking around, it seemed as if we were the “kids table,” even though the other “kids” were probably in their mid-twenties. Everything was fine, until we started talking about where we went to school:
Asshole: “She goes to that dyke school, Notre Dame.”
*Everyone laughs, including my friends and I out of shock.*
Asshole: “Her sister even played softball there.”
*Another laugh from Asshole’s friends.*
Asshole: “But now she’s married to a man, which is a good thing.”
I don’t think I have to explain why this is offense. My friends and I were all completely shocked, and the man’s girlfriend realized immediately that we were offended. My date went to the bathroom while I tried to keep eating, and then my friend and I both went to the bathroom to explode. They tried to explain themselves, of course, but it only dug them into a deeper hole.
This was the first time that I’ve ever experienced any discrimination, directly or indirectly. These people didn’t mean anything by it, but their ignorance really hurt. Luckily, I have really good friends, and my friend’s boyfriend told them:
“Hey, you know that he’s gay right? And she’s also gay.”
They felt awful. Asshole apologized the rest of the night, and tried to make up with my date the rest of the night, and ended up getting us Captain and Cokes the rest of the night. I’ve never felt so discriminated before, but I’ve also never felt so proud of my friends, or so happy with how the world has progressed. A few years ago even, they might not have even tried to accept us.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that it was a pretty eye-opening experience for me. I knew that someday I would face discrimination, but I expected to be angry and ready for a fight, and not having to forgive them so quickly. It also made me to realize that it is better to play nice, and people are more willing to ask for forgiveness.
Funny thing, friends, is that I didn’t have to ask these questions. I knew that I knew her. I knew we were friends on Facebook. And I knew her full name. She looked like Natalie Portman and Regina Spektor’s baby, and I thought she was probably the most beautiful person I’d ever seen.
I don’t know whether this is a personal trend or a trend in all lesbians, but I continually find myself attracted to my local baristas. No matter where I am, I find myself being absolutely the most awkward possible when ordering coffee. And believe me, this is not because I order anything complicated, or because I don’t know anything about coffee. It’s because I can’t stop staring at the barista.
Let me tell you why, baby-gays, you shouldn’t fall for the barista:
1) If shit goes down, you can’t go to your favorite coffee shop.
2) The barista can mess up your drink.
3) All the lesbians there will hate you.
I’m going to tell you a little story. There was once a little baby Emily that went back to her hometown for summer vacation AKA summer waitressing. She had a favorite coffee shop, and it served the only good coffee in town, because she was a bit of a snob. Emily was also a manly-man and drank her coffee black as her fedora. There was a cute little lesbian that worked there. Her name was Lenny. Lenny was short, cute, but with a bad-ass Ursula tattoo on her arm that made her seem less bad-ass and even cuter. Emily liked her and loaned Lenny books and went to the coffee shop even more regularly, so all the cute baristas pretty much knew she only liked black coffee (or an occasional chai), and always in a mug.
One day Emily went to the coffee shop and ordered a black coffee. She waited at the counter for Lenny to come by and talk to her like usual, and there were no customers, so Lenny couldn’t have been busy. But she did not come back. She gave Emily a half-smirk-half-sneer and cleaned the espresso machine, sink, and counter.
She hated me!
Not really, but it felt like it, and I didn’t like it. Now we’re friends and we text like good lesbians.
Hi there! I’m Emily, and I’m a baby-gay!
Because I KNOW you’d be disappointed if I didn’t, I’m going to make my first post about…*drumroll*…my coming out story!
In high school I never had a boyfriend, but I never really WANTED one. Part of that I figured was that all of the boys in my town are losers. I never dated girls, but I knew a lot of lesbians. It never really occurred to me that I might be gay, actually. I always just figured that I wasn’t into dating. Part of that was probably my suppressed sexuality from my Roman Catholic upbringing (yay Catholic guilt!). I was also a top-notch student, and ended up being valedictorian in high school, so I told myself I didn’t have time for boys. Silly me.
Fast-forward to the end of my sophomore year of college. I was dating a short, awkward, trombonist because he was the first boy to ever ask me out on a date (how did I not know I was gay before? hm?). He was super nerdy, really sweet, and took me to coffee and the art museum for our first date. He made blueberry-banana jam with toast for our second date while we watched a God-awful movie on TiVo. He told me I was beautiful and talented all the time. With my equal amount of nerdyness, butterflies should have been spinning around in my stomach. But no such luck.
At the same time I was taking an acting class through the university. While getting to know the people in my class, I knew that I really wanted to become friends with this one girl: Anna. She was super cute and a little awkward (the right balance I think), and she always had the cutest hats and jackets when she came to class. The few conversations I had with her consisted of her explaining her “Sexuality in Ancient Rome” class and her intense love for all things The Legend of Zelda.
I was in love. Every time I saw her I got the butterflies, and there was one day in class where we had to lead a partner around the theatre building by the hand with their eyes closed, and I got all nervous and goosebumpy and felt like I was in middle school or something. I had questioned my sexuality before, but she was the last straw I think. I realized it wasn’t working with Trombonist, so I dumped him as compassionately as I could. You know what he said?:
“But I love you!”
My first thought:
I knew something was different right then. Luckily, I had lots of friends to complain to, and one friend in particular that came to my place with Reese’s cups to tell me that she was gay! Yay! She told me her story about how she knew she was and blahblahblahfeelings, then she said to me with knowing eyes, “Do you want to talk about anything?” Of course, instead of talking about breaking up with Trombonist, I said, “What do you mean by that?!” At that point I couldn’t hide it, so I told her what I’d been sort of thinking. She nodded knowingly and said that she had 3 reasons for coming over:
1) “I knew you’d just broken up with Trombonist, and figured you needed someone to talk to.”
2) “I had something to tell you anyway.” (that she was gay, duh)
3) “I had an inkling about you.”
After that everything went crazy for me. I talked to her about it, then told a few of her gay friends, told my gay best friend, told my straight best friend, made out with a girl at a club (we’re friends now and calls me her little lesbian prodigée), told my mom and sister, and am now back at school ready to be a raging gay.
Everything’s going very well, but my current dilemma is: How to Tell Your Roommates You’re a Lady-Lover. For me, it’s all a matter of JUST FUCKING TELLING THEM. I know they’re fine with it. Two of them probably ARE lesbians, and yet I still can’t seem to just say it. Part of me thinks that I’m waiting for the right moment when I can tell all of them, but that would be fucking cray-cray. Another part of me thinks that I’m just going to let them find out WHICH at this point seems to be what’s happening anyway. If I told them, perhaps I could conveniently use National Coming Out Day and bake a rainbow cake?
A delicious, unhealthy, but possibly successful solution to the puzzle. Let me know what you think! Let me know your coming out stories, delicious cakes you’ve baked, or even how much you love The Legend of Zelda, because then we can definitely be friends.