Question of the day: I was majorly turned on by the experience of shoe shopping. Does that make me a lesbian? LMAO.
In other news, this morning my brother Liam took a picture of me on his phone and Photoshopped it into this picture of Tegan and Sara (I’m somehow standing between them where the post is):
I fell on my ass laughing. He knows exactly how to make me smile. OK, anything involving Sara Quin generally makes me smile. She’s pretty much a goddess.
I think he knows something’s up. You’d know too if you saw us bumming around this morning, Liam on his first day of summer vacation watching random funny YouTube videos and me giggling over photos of hot girls. He wanted to see what was so funny, and when I showed him, he looked genuinely confused, as if he didn’t want to believe what he thought he was seeing: me having a girl crush. Poor kid. I’ll explain “gay” soon enough.
I made him delete it, though, because my mom periodically checks his phone (and computer, and tablet) to make sure he’s not watching porn or being solicited by men or playing evil online games. Not that she would recognize Tegan and Sara. But a picture of me squeezed between them would definitely tip her off.
I got a haircut yesterday. Shorter than the 5-weeks-ago haircut, which chopped off enough to take the length from below my shoulders to above my chin, much like Sara’s in the above photo. (Fangirl much?) I told the stylist I needed something professional-looking for my job starting next week and that I wanted more layers. She said she knew exactly what to do and got to work. Ironically, she kept emphasizing that it was NOT a “punk rock” look, but that it could be if I used a little styling gel and gave it a messy look, which I call bed-hair. LOL. I’m very pleased with the result, and feel ready to take on the world.
After my haircut, my mom texted me and asked how it went. She was like, “Take a selfie and send it to me! Or find a cute guy at the mall and ask him to take a picture.”
This is very unlike my mom. She has never encouraged me to go out and find dates. I think she’d rather her baby stayed at home forever than settled down with someone. And suggesting that I hand my phone to a stranger? Usually she is telling me to “make sure to keep your phone out of sight when you’re in public; someone could steal it.” (She’s paranoid like that.)
This can only mean one thing: she suspects something. If she has gaydar, I’m riding just under it.
And she’d much rather see me handing my phone to strangers and sleeping with men than dating girls and parading my queerness around the city.
She’s been dropping other hints lately. Little things. She emphasizes GUYS when talking about my love life. It’s very subtle, but it’s a marked change from how she usually talks. Last night we were eating dinner, discussing the health problems linked to consumption of red meat, and how much I unfortunately love it. (I blame Mark for encouraging me to become a steakaholic.) My mom goes, “Maybe you need to stop dating guys who are such meat fanatics!”
I almost choked on my drink, because I wanted very badly to reply, “No problem, I’ll date a lesbian who’s vegan!” But I didn’t. I mumbled something about how, yes, Mark and I used to eat steak probably twice a month and burgers twice a week.
It’s not that I’ve said anything explicit in front of my family. But I suppose there are little things. Whenever my mom remarks on how good-looking a guy is, I keep quiet. I suppose I have said “Ewww” a few times in reference to men. I have spoken very generally in support of gay rights.
Then there’s my appearance. I chopped off all my hair when Mark broke up with me, because I could. I’ve been wearing things like loose tank tops with visble sports bras, collared button-up shirts (not flannel, not yet), lots of black and white stripes, a thumb ring, and a leather jacket – and this is a marked difference from the form-fitting fabrics, pearls and lace of my very femme past.
Another example – the other day I tried on my only swimsuit to see if it still fit, a black bikini with a bright pink flower pinned between the boobs. It’s horrifying. I put the top part on and looked at the mirror in shock. Boobs spilling out, bottom way too small…Who the hell would wear this?! I thought. (I did, apparently.) Ever since I became aware of my preference for women, I’ve felt uncomfortable showing too much skin in public. So I guess if you’re looking for it, I give off a non-hetero vibe.
People tell me I’m pretty obvious. If I like someone, the whole world knows it. There are benefits to wearing your heart on your sleeve: nobody mistakes you for someone you’re not. But it also means your heart is sitting out there for the judging. When I was 16 and outed as Catholic to my parents by my friend’s mother, they confronted me about it but said they already knew. (What, all those crucifixes and saint statues in my room tipped you off? Gasp.) Point being, the longer I live here, the more likely it is my parents will find out without my telling them.
My closet is slowly making a turnaround. As a self-admitted baby dyke, I find myself gravitating toward a more androgynous style. It’s not that I think femme cannot be lesbian. It’s just how my taste happened to evolve. And there are still days I’ll wear a pink sweater or pretty earrings – but it feels good when my clothes match how I feel inside. Work attire is more difficult to be expressive in, but I’m opting for more button-up shirts, more blazers, skinny pants…and shoes.
About shoes. I have always been the girl in the office wearing the shiny metallic sandals in the summer and flats or zipper-style boots in the winter. I have never worn anything like menswear-inspired dress shoes or lace-up boots, but according to recent reading, these are a gayer alternative. (Am I trying too hard?) So I timidly poked around about 5 stores with not much luck: the dress shoes of the type I was looking for were ugly. They did not look like the fabulous pictures online. I felt self-conscious and weird trying them on, as if the whole store was like, “THERE’S A LESBIAN IN HERE!!” Awkward…
Anyway, I finally found a store that was divided up not by Men/Women but by shoe type: these are all the boots, these are all the sandals, the athletic shoes, the dress shoes, and so on. I appreciated that. They had a wonderful selection of said Gay Shoes, and I swooned. This is what it feels like to have a shoe problem, I thought to myself. I’ll be an addict in no time. I sort of fell in love with a pair of boots: they fit perfectly, looked hot, and passed as professional. But they were also expensive. So I didn’t buy them. The experience, however, left me giddy enough to allocate a separate shoe fund so that, perhaps in a few weeks, I’ll go back and buy them. 😀