IF I SAVED YOU FROM DROWNING

Nothing is straight or narrow about the way T&S have changed my life.

 

(This is what I was working on last year for the high holy day of Tegan and Sara’s birthday, but never got around to finishing. Revisiting it, I found it to be rather poignant, and although this is last year’s perspective, it’s a love-letter I think needs to be shared.)

The first time I heard of Tegan and Sara, I was in the car with my ex-boyfriend Mark. We were sharing our music with each other. He’s into alternative stuff, and although I like a lot of foreign music, my taste in English music is admittedly mainstream. He played something for me. To this day I don’t remember what song it was – perhaps “I Hear Noises” or “I Know I Know I Know.” Something indie. Something alternative that you have a taste for or you won’t like. Their sound struck me as raw, unschooled. Juvenile almost. (Don’t hit me.)

Mark was telling me their life story – that they were twin sisters from Canada and had been writing their own music since they were children. I was half-listening. The part about them being children is what I heard, and my brain retained it as, “T&S are child songwriters.” So I thought they were about 15 years old, and the song that was playing supported that theory! Oh god.

About a year later, I was starting to have feelings for women, and I looked up “lesbian music artists.” I needed some jams that jived with my feelings, you know? Of course, Tegan and Sara was one of the first results, after K.D. Lang and Melissa Etheridge.

I typed their name into the search bar on Spotify and caught my breath in amazement at the picture that popped up: dreamy eyes and gravity-defying hair, x2. No shit, I thought. I’d tap that!

The #1 song was “Closer.” So I clicked on it. And that was all I needed: I was hooked on them forever after. It wasn’t as if it contained any explicit lyrics that screamed, “I’m singing to a girl and this is awesome gay music!” but there is something distinctly gay about this song.

All you think of lately / is getting underneath me
All I dream of lately / is how to get you underneath me

A girl doesn’t sing that to a guy, OK? I was at work listening to this, and I was grinning like a big stupid idiot. I clicked on the artist bio and started reading. A subconscious piece of cognition pulled up the conversation I’d had with Mark months ago and matched the details. Twins. Canada. Write their own songs. Play a lot of instruments. Wait a minute…

I sent Mark an IM. (Did I mention we used to work together? Yeah. We did.) “Hey, do you listen to Tegan and Sara?”

He replied excitedly, “Yes, I played them for you in the car, remember?”

“OMG! Well, get this. I just looked up lesbian artists, and they were one of the suggestions…I’m listening to their new album and it’s AMAZING!!”

“They’re lesbians?! Huh. I had no idea. And I don’t think I’ve heard the new album…”

Mark was an old fan. He didn’t exactly keep up with them, and Heartthrob was not his style anyway. I, however, would not have started listening to any of their earlier stuff nor discovered the amazing world that is T&S if I had never heard this album. I’ve always been a sucker for good pop – call me shallow – but I credit Heartthrob with reaching me. To all the fans who have called them sellouts for their involvement with mainstream music in the past few years, please remember this. Not everyone likes indie rock right away.

(Side note: I eventually fell in love with all of their songs, one at a time. Another one would get stuck in my head and I’d find myself singing it and then I’d add it to my playlist. I’d have to say that as of now I personally prefer the older stuff, although I very much support their exploration into pop. No matter the genre, they really own it.)

And so: the happy, sugar-sweet sounds of Heartthrob resonated with what I was feeling inside. Buoyant, ecstatic, full of light. All of the feelings that come with falling in love. And I was falling in love – with a deeper part of myself as I realized more of my true identity, and with an entire demographic of people. With women.

I listened to this album constantly at work. It made me feel good about myself. And when I would walk the 3 blocks from my apartment to Juneway Terrace Beach in the evenings and absorb the smiling sun and the long shiny hair and bronze skin of long-limbed women, whose hips I suddenly now wanted to press mine against, “Drove Me Wild” or “Love They Say” would pop into my head and I’d sing it to myself quietly, giddy with hope. To this day, I cannot listen to Heartthrob without having flashbacks to that beach and all of the feelings I felt there. The joy of watching the women, and the sudden sharp despair of realizing that I had a boyfriend, and my future was boxed in, forever.

I would get up from my spot on the rocks  – as the sun was finally setting and the night sky was changing overhead – and turn away toward the the little graveyard to the north, to begin the long lovely walk to Evanston. I tried to drown my sorrow in walking. I tried to flush from my ears the sweet synth and bouncing beat of Tegan and Sara. As the months went by and I acted the part of a model hetero girlfriend, I stopped listening to that album, because their music was now a knife going in. I replaced the music with crock pot meals and Christmas decorations and lots and lots of hetero sex. I reached a place of fragile calm where I almost believed I was happy.

A few months later, I was sitting abandoned at my parents’ house, alone, shattered, without a job, laptop or change of clothes. I didn’t know how to exist without Mark. I would wake up in terror, crying, shaking, unable to sleep, eat or breathe.

I want your lungs to stop working without me…

Well, they damn well did!

Lesbian or not, my love for him as real; he was my best (and at times, my only) friend and now he was gone. He had said that he couldn’t co-exist with my mood swings anymore. That he questioned the validity of our relationship if I was so traumatized by being with a man. It was my fault: I had killed our love.

I wanted to die. I raided my parents’ medicine cabinet for the most lethal OTC drugs I could find, and recovered only an expired bottle of hydrocodone + acetaminophen pills (I didn’t realize they were expired – but I did when I took about 6 of them and they didn’t do anything). I thought of getting drunk and diving into the lake. I thought of many things. I don’t want to list those things here, now. But I didn’t.

I didn’t because one night, sitting at my brother’s computer, I happened to remember Tegan and Sara, and began watching music video after music video, interview after interview. They were like old friends waiting for me, receiving me with open arms and soothing empathy. I found myself sobbing while hearing their coming out stories on “It Got Better” and smiled through my tears at their adorable funny banters. And Heartthrob again became the soundtrack to my life: I migrated gradually from “How Come You Don’t Want Me Now?” and “Now I’m All Messed Up” to the triumphant “Goodbye, Goodbye” and that tender torch-song “Closer.” The whole world was at my fingertips, thrumming with possibility and hope and yearning. I plugged into Tegan and Sara like a drug. Every day I found hope because of them.

One night, watching “Body Work,” it hit me that Sara Quin is the hottest thing since fire was invented, and thus a new love drove out the misery. I haven’t felt suicidal since.

MY LIFE TETHERED LIKE

I swear I only have one poster in my apartment (so far)…

“I have some tough stuff to go over this week,” I say walking into the room. My therapist looks at me with interest. I never start a session this way. “I’m telling you now so that I don’t chicken out,” I explain.

We go over some paperwork, some business items. She drags me back to it.

“What sorts of tough things?”

Dammit. Now I have to say it. I take a deep breath.

“It’s….well, I think I overdosed on Tegan and Sara this week.” My cheeks flush. Why? Why does this only happen to me? “I know it sounds weird. But they’re my drug.” At that moment I realize I don’t even know if she knows who the fuck I’m talking about. “Wait…you know who they are, right?”

She laughs and blushes a little herself. “Um, YEAH I do!” (Fellow fangirl? Fuck, it didn’t occur to me right then and there to ask her. Would have been useful information.)

I laugh. “OK, good. So it occurred to me last night that this is something I do. I escape my unfulfilling mundane life and my emotions that are intense as fuck by escaping into some obsession, whatever it is at the moment. If there’s a story to accompany the obsession, it’s better. So all weekend I’ve been reading fanfics, writing a fanfic, watching interviews, talking to my friends as if I live in Vancouver with Tegan, researching their lives and even reading the books that inspired some of their songs, and when I had to snap out of it last night in order to get ready for work, I broke down sobbing. This can’t keep happening.”

She just looks at me. I hate it when she does this – this NOT reacting. I can never tell what she’s thinking. She does it for a reason – to get me to talk more. And it usually works, goddamn it.

Oh hey readers, and I haven’t written in five months……..Hi.

So much has happened…SO MUCH. What you need to know is (1) things didn’t work out with the last girl I was dating – I freaked out when things got too serious and ended it after date #4; (2) I had my first Pride weekend, which was almost a disaster due to my social anxiety but turned out OK; (3) instead of OD’ing on drugs and having suicide attempts I started therapy again, had a psychiatric evaluation, and got on 2 prescriptions; and (4) I missed you guys. ❤

So, back to the spam…I wrote a lame little verse last weekend about Tegan and Sara:

I use you like
A drug. I overdose
On you; and when
Your magic is spent
Or my mind ceases
To make you real for me,
I shatter.

That’s pretty much how it is, this business of obsession. But SO MUCH is going on with them this year. It is the year to be obsessed before I move on. Excuse me while I fangirl for a hot second.

They dropped a hot new album, Love You to Death. It’s their queerest album yet, with songs like “Boyfriend” and “BWU” explicitly addressing the fact that they’re in relationships with women. That elusive “she” finally shows up in lyrics –

All the girls I loved before
Told me they signed up for more…

BAM! But wait, there’s more. Sara comes out as not wanting to get married (I applaud this – marriage is a difficult institution); Tegan revisits old relationships and takes a tough honest look at her own behavior; both reveal a bitter history in regards to their relationship with each other – we fans had no idea just how bad the fighting was. (There were fistfights. And hair pulling.)

It was cruel of me to do what I did to you
It was wrong of me to hurt such a big part of you…

There wasn’t a single dry eye in the fandom the first time we heard “100x” and “White Knuckles.” The sisters have reuinted, though, and things are good now, as far as we can tell. (They bought houses across the street from each other in Vancouver, so that’s adorable as fuck.)

The official tour has started, and as of right now I’m planning on going to 3 concerts…more on that later. I may have stayed up pretty much all night waiting for the tickets to go on sale. Teehee.

In other news, I’ve been seduced by the dark side and have fallen for Tegan. I’ve been cheating on Sara for a good couple months now. Yikes. (In case you’re wondering, yes, that part makes it into the fanfic. I’m preparing to be murdered by fans. But it will not break up the band.)

I’m hoping that the medication helps with the obsessive nature of my interests and emotions. In the last few days, I’ve felt more chill, even during a trip to Walmart, which always gets my blood boiling. LMAO. On the not-so-bright side, I never fell asleep last night, and this has been happening about once a month where I don’t sleep at all – not because I’m not tired, but because anxiety keeps me awake.

Tomorrow is my lovely ladies’ birthday, so I thought it was high time I made a comeback. 😀

THE BAD’S GOT TO FIX ITSELF, CORRECT OVERTIME

It finally happened.

By “it” I mean two things: a) I met a girl who’s adorable AND really into me, and b) my mom finally said what she really thinks of me, 8 months after my coming out. This weekend delivered a grand fucking mashup of emotions in a variety so disjointed it puts Cubist art to shame.

Let’s start with Saturday night: the date I wasn’t all that excited about. It really had very little to do with the girl – she made my heart flutter the first time she responded to my message on Tinder – it was just the fucktastic hole of depression I’d sunk into that had blinded me from anything else. (I’m terrified of the moment she finds out this is part of who I am…don’t even get me started.)

I decided to drive that night because the neighborhood of choice was not easily accessible by my beloved 22 bus, and taking an Uber would have been a tad bit of an unjustified expense. (SPOILER ALERT) In the end, I was glad I drove.

My date (let’s call her Sofia) was absolutely head-to-toe, radiantly, genuinely adorable. She’s 5’2” (Sara Quin’s height, don’t judge me for noticing) and moved to the U.S. two years ago from Mexico. For those two years, her English is admirable – far better than my Spanish would likely be in reverse circumstances – and she possesses a sense of honesty that’s refreshing. One day last week, she freaked out and texted me that she had to tell me something: she dates both men and women. I laughed and told her that I also had a confession: I’ve never had a girlfriend before, and this whole dating women thing is still less than a year old for me. If she’s OK with my lack of experience, I’m OK with her diversity of experience. She was relieved, and we bonded before even meeting. She’s just, well, sweet.

So we had our first date. It started with dinner at 7 pm – we couldn’t figure out what to order because we were too busy looking at each other and smiling shyly over our menus – and then we walked down a block to get donuts for dessert. It was colder than I prefer outside. But the damn cold was my friend, because all of a sudden the beautiful girl next to me was holding my hand. I was so surprised a silent squeal made its way to the base of my throat and hovered. There’s something gloriously free about walking down the street holding hands with a pretty girl, smiling like an idiot, not caring what the people think. (I did feel like we got some stares. But that was probably also because we were both smitten and tripping over our own feet.)

After the donut shop, we camped out in a bar with ambiance (a very cute ambiance during the evening, but a very bitch-slappingly drunk ambiance beginning around 11 pm, when the straight girls start making out with each other and the guys start Snapchatting themselves dancing with bottles of beer) for approximately 4 hours – yes, you heard me right. I did not get home until 2:30 Sunday morning. This was a SEVEN-HOUR FIRST DATE. You know what that means.

She was so easy to talk to. This is how the seven hours passed; they slipped through our fingers like water. We were racing to finish our mojitos – we’d decided earlier in the week that our first date should involve a race of some kind, and the winner gets a kiss – when she put her face close to mine, just enough that I could feel her breath on my skin, and said, “I really like you.” It was enough to make my bite my lip imagining her lips on mine.

I quickly finished the mojito and slapped the glass down on the table. “Done.”

She gasped. “You must have cheated.”

“I didn’t. I won.” I glanced at her flirtatiously. Then the room spun. I told her so.

“We’re waiting until you’re completely, 100% sober before I let you drive home,” she said.

“Fine,” I replied, and we sat there until I was well past sober.

“Do you want a ride to the train station?” I asked her, finally, when the night was winding down.

She looked down the street. “I mean, it’s just right there – “ She caught my eye, and amended her decision – “Okay.”

We got into my car. We sat there for a moment. I wanted to be a baller, say something romantic, kiss her. My heart dropped to my toes and I heard a sound like the ocean in my ears. I couldn’t.

I went to put on my seat belt.

“Wait!” she exclaimed.

“What?”

“I have to do this, or I’ll regret it.” She leaned over and suddenly her mouth was on mine, and the way she moved her lips made my brain fly out of my head and into the night sky, and simultaneously melt into soup. If they gave doctorate degrees in kissing, this girl would have one. It felt like all of the kisses in my life were lined up and revealed to be ugly little stick-figures of kisses compared to this one. It’s said among lesbians that “kissing a girl is 100% different from kissing a guy.” They’re right. It was fucking magical.

It was magical for about 2 seconds, until a truck came roaring around the corner and we were blinded by headlights. We stopped kissing, laughed our asses off, and resumed kissing. 10 minutes later we decided we should probably get to the train station, because it was almost 2 am.

I was double-parked on a busy street in front of the train station, but still she was kissing me, even though cars were honking at me to move and people were staring for real now. It was amazing. I haven’t felt so alive in months.

We’re doing a second date soon – possibly tomorrow. I feel like I can be myself around her. And I feel like it’s going somewhere.

Sunday morning (OK, it was noon, you got me) I woke up feeling different. Something had changed. What was it? Oh yeah, I remembered, and a giddiness came giggling out of me.

I went shopping – I need clothes for the next date – and amidst a fury of adorable texts from Sofia, I noticed an email from my mom. It said something about dates for a sibling hangout in Chicago, so I opened it immediately.

AND THEN THE BOMB DROPPED.

About a week ago, I asked her when my brother Liam gets out of school for the summer. I’m scheduling the rest of my days off till June, I told her, and I’d like to finally have the chance to spend a few days with him, just the two of us. I had lots of ideas: we could go shopping downtown, visit all the technology stores he’s been wanting to see, go to the beach, eat junk food, watch HGTV on my giant-ass TV, just hang out like we used to.

I didn’t explain all those ideas, but perhaps I should have, because based on my mom’s email I feel like what she thinks to be my list is as follows: get 15-year-old brother drunk, bring Liam to a gay club, send him home with a guy, have a huge homo party in my home and fuck a girl in front of him.

Her response to “May I have my brother over for a few days? I’ll pay for his food, pick him up and drop him off” is as follows (edited down to save space):

 

“I’ve been thinking about your offer to show Liam around Chicago. I’m sure he would love it. What days were you thinking about?

As parents we were responsible for everything we allowed you to do when you were still under our care.  We are currently responsible for Liam. One day we will stand before God and be held accountable for how we raised our children. It says in Luke 17:2: It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones to stumble. We are NOT perfect parents. We are just trying to do our best. With that we have a few requests/comments.

First of all, we would request that you do not drink alcohol while he is with you.

Second, put away any gay magazines, books, etc. and please do not discuss this issue with him.

Third, we do not have a lot of money, so we are not able to send him with much.

Fourth, we would like it to be just you and Liam and not anyone else that he does not know. If your aunt and uncle, or Mark (editor’s note: the self-same boyfriend with whom I was living in sin just over one year ago, and she wouldn’t let him visit us when we lived together) come along, that’s fine. He knows them. 

Fifth, I would like to know what your plans are each day. Keep in touch. Maybe take some selfies and send them.

I hope you will not be offended by these requests/comments. We love you both so very much and want this to be a wonderful time together. It’s very sweet of you to spend some vacation days with your little brother.”

 

I might as well have been slapped in the face by my own mother in the middle of the store. Note to self: don’t EVER read emails from your mom in public anymore. You never know what delightful horseshit they may contain.

It’s possible I may be overreacting, but WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

No alcohol? FUCKING OBVIOUSLY, HE’S 15.

I have to put away my gay items?! What exactly does this include? I don’t have a whole lot. I suppose my Tegan and Sara merch is out of the question! EVEN THOUGH WE LISTEN TO THEIR MUSIC IN THE CAR TOGETHER AND HAVE BEEN ALL FUCKING YEAR.

I have to “not discuss” my being gay with Liam? News flash: I’m already out to him. Once you’re out, you’re out. I’m not going to pretend to be straight to protect their comfort level.

And I have to send her my plans for each day, and send selfies to prove it because otherwise, you never know what sort of buttfucking might be going on around here.

And who is this “we” she refers to? Because I’m 99% sure my dad had absolutely nothing to do with this email, in fact if I had a relationship with him, I’d consider forwarding it to him and asking if he agreed.

And on top of it all, I’m not allowed to be offended by any of this.

FOR CHRIST’S SAKE.

The whole thing was pretty much a list of ways in which I’m a failure of a daughter and a person, ways in which she doesn’t want Liam to grow up to be like me (there was more, but I don’t feel like getting into it here, not yet). We return to a basic question: does she think “gay” is contagious? That by spending time with me outside the realm of her absolute mind-control he will suddenly become attracted to men? Or, worse, he might grow up to be open-minded… When “liberal” is the worst thing your kid can grow up to be, you know you’ve got issues. It was then that her absolute homophobia struck me. She’s literally afraid of my gayness. The idea of me not enjoying being rammed with a dick makes her so uncomfortable that she’s willing to put our relationship on the line for the sake of it.

The idea too that she can do “damage control” on Liam’s future, “save” him from turning out like me by controlling his environment through censorship and essentially controlling his mind is getting more and more tiresome – and slightly creepy. She wants to control what we talk about, label certain issues “taboo” because I have different opinions from her on the matter. She performs random inspections of his phone (he outsmarts her and hides all the apps) because she’s absolutely paranoid that he’s watching porn or being solicited by male sexual predators, or, you know, viewing the word “shit.”

Side note: I’m not advocating a childhood sans rules or technological restrictions whatsoever, but you’d have to meet my mom to see what I mean. When I was a teenager I wasn’t allowed to talk to a new friend because he was Catholic and not Evangelical Free and therefore his views were different from theirs. I was only allowed to listen to Christian music, only allowed to hang out with Christians, only allowed to read books approved by her.

That was a long rabbit trail…

Anyway, I’d like to tell her that I’m incredibly insulted, that until she’s ready to acccept me for who I am, get educated and acknowledge that gay  irresponsible perv, then I don’t need to be part of her life. I’m done bending over backwards to visit all the time. I’m done taking her shit.

I don’t want to lose Liam, though. I haven’t said a word to her since Sunday – just deleted every one of her texts. This morning she accused me of having stopped loving her, to which I also have not responded. She should fucking know better.

I’ve been attempting to balance these feelings from hell with the euphoria of meeting Sofia for the past few days, and it’s been really, really weird.

Final note: Sunday night, I texted Sofia about the email, just to let her know why I wasn’t responding right away, apologized if I was telling her way too much after only one date. She was incredibly sweet and supportive about it – “Are you OK? You can call me and talk if you need to, I’m here for you.”

I’m trying not to get in over my head, but I think I might have found myself a keeper.

 

THERE’S MORE TO LIFE THAN LOVE AND BEING TOGETHER

Sunday morning after our first date, I woke up giddy from excitement, my head still spinning from the memory of Liana’s lips on mine. I found myself unable to erase a giant stupid grin from my face. I found myself singing Bollywood songs again, because she had put color back into my life. (This all proved to be awkward when I had lunch with my family that day. They didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell.)

I want to tell you guys about what happened with Liana. About how things ended with her.

But to do that, I need to talk about the second date. And to talk about the second date, I need to talk about Monday morning and coming out to my coworkers. And to do that, I need to talk about the LGBT happy hour. And to do that, I need to talk about the holiday party. So here’s how it’s going to work: this is going to read like Inception, where we backtrack through multiple levels of story, only instead of dreams, they’re flashbacks. (I’m pretty sure that’s lame. But whatever.) I’ve neglected to report on SO MUCH that has happened. Apologies in advance. Here is a floorplan of the levels:

1 – How things ended with Liana
2 – Crash and burn (the second date)
3 – Monday morning coming out
4 – LGBT Happy Hour
5 – Holiday Party
6 – Work crush

 

LEVEL 3: SHUTTING THE CLOSET DOOR BEHIND MYSELF ON A MONDAY MORNING, PART I

 

Monday morning at work, a coworker asked me, “How was your weekend? Did you do anything fun?”

Huh. Did I. (Snicker.)

See, my coworkers are pretty amazing people. And, I’m learning, my workplace is pretty damn LGBT-friendly. I’ve neglected to write about my coming out process at work, so here goes a quick summary of where I was in relation to the closet as of Monday morning.

Two of my coworkers – Robin and Melanie – have been slowly building friendship with me since I started the job. In the half-year I’ve been here, we’ve gone to lunch together, scheduled once-a-month happy hours, kept up a group chat on our phones. We’re not so close that we drunk-text each other, but we’re close enough to share things about our lives. In the last month, the friendship has progressed to a place where we are gossiping like schoolgirls about our romantic histories and current exploits. But it wasn’t until Monday that I stepped firmly out of the closet for all to see.

 

LEVEL 5: THE RED CARPET HOLIDAY PARTY, PART I

 

Rewind: December, holiday party. I had no idea what to wear. I wanted to look good. I wanted to look amazing in a distinctly gay way, but not so gay that the gayness took over. I tried on every outfit in my closet to see if maybe, just maybe I could feel comfortable in a dress. (Nope. I looked and felt like Shane did on that episode of The L Word where Carmen’s mother makes her wear a flouncy white dress. Comical, dysphoric, weird as fuck.) What I really wanted was a casual-but-classy red carpet look that Tegan and Sara would be proud of. Not too much to ask for, right?

I eventually gave up and wore a flannel shirt to work that morning. Whatever.

Around lunchtime, I had an idea: run over to H&M and make a last-ditch effort to find an outfit. If I find one, awesome, if I don’t, at least I can say that I tried. What happened is that the gods of shopping smiled down on me and hand-selected a gray blazer, a dressy button-up black shirt that appeared to be shoplifted from Sara Quin’s closet, and some skinny black dress pants. And a belt. I was essentially wearing a suit. (I really wanted Neil Patrick Harris to pop out of nowhere and yell at me, “Look at you, you beautiful bastard. You suited up!”)

It was a risky outfit. It was quite masculine, though my hair and makeup balanced it out for a more androgynous feel. It screamed gay. But it also looked good, good in a way that made me feel like I was glowing inside, good in a way that milks the Gays have fabulous style, don’t they? stereotype, good in a “I finally feel true to myself” way.

Unfortunately, word had gotten out that Jenny Went Shopping During Lunch for an Outfit for Tonight, so when I got back to the office, the girls swarmed to my desk and demanded to see what was in the bag. I don’t think I have ever blushed so hard in my life. “It’s not what you think,” I warned them. I don’t know what they were expecting. Some kind of dress? They weren’t sure how to oooh and aaah over something that wasn’t “pretty.”

I pulled out the blazer, and the shirt, and the belt, and watched them struggle to comprehend. Part of me wanted to crawl under my desk. I was 0% out at this point. Clearly, I’d been wearing a bunch of gay clothes, but nobody assumes anything these days. I got dressed a little later before we headed out. My palms were sweating when I walked out of the bathroom. I considered running back in and putting my old clothes back on.

But I didn’t. I walked out and acted like nothing had happened, even though people were staring. (I didn’t look THAT weird. Did I?) There was an awkward speechlessness for a good 15 minutes, but finally, one person said, “Is that the outfit you got? It looks good!” and conversation resumed.

This reminds me. There is another back story.

 

LEVEL 6: THE GODDESS IN MY OFFICE

 

At this point in time, I was pretty damn starry-eyed for this new girl in the office. She’s not in my department. I don’t have any interaction with her. I’m not sure how to describe her, except that she’s gorgeous, Latina, and dresses like a power dyke (read: dresses like a straight girl. She’s probably straight. Fuck me up.). Soft curly hair that probably smells like coconut, radiant dewy eyes that make the universe skip a beat when she looks at you. I swear to god, I only noticed her because one day she smiled directly at me from across the conference floor, and my sad gay brain went, “OHMYGOD SHE LIKES YOU.”

After that, I found excuses to walk past her desk (“I need to refill my water glass” was a good one) and smiled prettily at her every time. I yelled at myself internally (“Hold it together, Jenny! That’s not being a baller!”) but to no avail. One day, I found myself alone in the bathroom with her, and she said she liked my leather jacket, and smiled at me meaningfully. I almost ran into the door on my way out.

I was hoping she’d be at the holiday party, and that we’d strike up a conversation, and I’d find out if she was single, if she liked girls, if she wanted to maybe hang out sometime and you know, like, marry me. LOL.

Well, she wasn’t at the holiday party, I found out a couple weeks later that she has a 5-year-old daughter (not that that means anything, but it would probably make things complicated even if she is single and likes women), and at some point I’m pretty sure she figured out that a) I’m gay, and b) I have a crush on her. She stopped looking up when I walked by. To this day I have a hard time looking at her. She’s too fucking beautiful and I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid if I try to talk to her.

Back to the party.

 

LEVEL 5: THE RED CARPET HOLIDAY PARTY, PART II

 

The party ended up being amazing, despite my crush not being there. There was an open bar. This means free gin. This means wait until your boss goes home and then drink gin and cranberry all night. (This means your boss will be in the office tomorrow at 8 am on the dot, whether you’re hung over or not. Fuck that.)

One by one, everyone from our team left, until it was just Robin and me sitting at a table with some random guy from Accounting. He was trying to convince us to go to a karaoke bar. I was trying to sober up. Robin was moaning about the lack of cute men in her life, and begging the guy from Accounting to introduce her to some brokers.

This went on for a good half hour, after which Robin said, “Hey, let’s go to the after party! You going?” The guy from Accounting said he was going home, and during the next 15 minutes, we struck up a conversation with another guy, Alex.

I figured I might as well hit the after party. “Yeah, I’m in,” I told her.

Robin was ecstatic about sharing an Uber with Alex. Early 30s, facilities management, from the UK, reasonably attractive, has an accent (loud as fuck on the phone, but only I seem to notice that). Girls love him. “Melanie is going to be sooooo jealous!!” Robin giggled in my ear.

Five minutes later, I found myself jammed into the middle seat between Robin and Alex. He was uncomfortable. I was uncomfortable. Robin was hissing things in my ear about how lucky I was to be sitting next to him. “Want to switch?” I hissed back.

The Uber arrived. We got out of the car and Robin said to me, “Jenny, we need to find you a boyfriend.”

I laughed nervously. The moment of truth had arrived. It was time. I was drunk. It wasn’t going to get any easier than this.

“No thanks,” I said.

Robin paused at the door to the bar. “Well, why not?!” she said.

I took a deep breath. “Because…I don’t like boys.”

I ran inside the bar, shaking. Robin came in after me. “Well…that’s OK!” she said. “Let’s find you a girlfriend then!”

Relief erupted inside me. It was over. Robin was the biggest office gossip, so by Monday morning, everyone would know. I wouldn’t have to come out to anyone else. (As luck would have it, Robin did NOT end up telling everyone, but it was OK.)

 

LEVEL 4: THE LGBT HAPPY HOUR

 

Robin and I squeezed our way past about 200 people to find out group at the opposite corner of the bar. Some guy I’d never seen before smiled at me drunkenly, and I geared myself up for indignance, but then he opened his mouth and said, “I love your outfit. You look fabulous. I’m going to invite you to the company-sponsored LGBT happy hour next week.”

What?! I’d just come out to my first coworker not 2 minutes before this. How did he pick me out of a crowd? I couldn’t believe it!

He invited both Robin and me and put our names on the email invite. The next day, I discovered that my company is trying to launch an LGBT networking group. It’s still in the beginning stages. I don’t know if it will ever take off. But I was absolutely psyched to know that things like this exist.

In the end, Melanie and Robin (and 2 guys on our team who are gay) came to the happy hour with me. I still had not come out to Melanie. I’m pretty sure at this point questions were flying about my sexuality, but nobody asked, and I couldn’t find an appropriate moment to volunteer the information, so I awkwardly kept my mouth shut. It was still a good event.

The next day, one of the supervisors on our team, Laurie, emailed me to ask how the happy hour went. “I really wanted to go,” she said. “I have a cousin who’s transgender and the topic is really close to my heart.”

I emailed her back, saying it was a wonderful event, how lucky her cousin was to have an ally like her in the family, and that I wasn’t sure if she knew this, but I’m gay. (Side note: Laurie and Robin talk about EVERYTHING, so I was 99% sure she already knew, and that would have been totally fine with me, but according to Laurie, Robin hadn’t told her.)

Laurie’s response was amazing: “I didn’t know, but I’m glad you feel like you can talk to me about it. If there’s ever anything I can do to help you, just let me know.” I almost cried.

We chatted a little about coming out to my parents, about how if one of her kids ever came out to her she’d be their biggest champion, how I can always tell her anything. I’ll put it this way: I never expected to find a mentor/ally in a supervisor, but the feeling that she’s got my back has given me courage to be a lot more open and honest at work, and I wish every queer person could experience this kind of support.

 

LEVEL 3: SHUTTING THE CLOSET DOOR BEHIND MYSELF ON A MONDAY MORNING, PART II

 

Back to Monday morning (after my first date with Liana). Robin poked her head over my desk. “Hey,” she said. “Do anything fun this weekend?”

I blushed a little. “Well,” I said. “I went on 2 dates, with different people.”

Her jaw dropped. “Really!” she exclaimed. “How did they go?”

“Well, the first one was OK,” I said. “But the second one…OMG. She’s amazing.”

Robin’s face lit up. “Wow!! Do you have pictures? Are you guys texting? Will there be a second date?”

Melanie walked over. “What are you guys talking about?” she demanded.

“Jenny went on 2 dates this weekend!” said Robin excitedly.

“What?! Tell me everything!” Melanie said. “Does this person live close to you?”

I took a deep breath. “Well…..she lives in the suburbs, actually.” There was no going back. I was firmly out of the closet. The door slammed shut behind me.

A thousand thoughts flickered over Melanie’s face as she absorbed the infomration in the space of a few seconds:

Why didn’t she tell me? I knew it!!
OMG. That explains SO much!
But…she had a boyfriend…
So Jenny likes girls. No big deal, roll with it.
I want to ask more. But I won’t.

“That’s so cool!” Melanie said. “Where did you take her?” She didn’t even miss a beat. Kids, this is the coming out of the future: the non-coming out. The “Oh yeah, I’m dating someone. She’s awesome.” Where people simply discuss their dating lives and nobody bats an eye at the gender identity of the dates.

Then she said, “Want to go get coffee? I need to hear all the details!” So we did. I think at some point we’ll end up talking about my evolution of preferences, about my coming out process, etc. But for right now, it’s nice to have coworkers who knew me first as a person, and then as a lesbian. Not “that one gay coworker” but “that coworker who’s our friend, and oh yeah, she happens to like girls.” It’s refreshing and awesome. All of a sudden my friendship with my coworkers is deeper, and more real, more honest. (Melanie is even coming up with plans to set me up with lesbian acquaintances, if I’m interested.) And it’s all thanks to Liana that I had this opportunity.

Stay tuned for the story of our terrible second date, and the positivity that can be drawn from the experience.

I WANNA SHAVE MY HEAD, LIE IN BED ALL DAY LONG

Last weekend was rough, guys. This business of making queer friends is not easy, and even my baller behavior this weekend that resulted in a few platonic phone numbers and future hangouts with like-minded people is still in its awkward duckling stages, at best. I’m going to write this story in two parts.

Part One: Last Weekend (Failure)

 

I really, really wanted to have a great story for you all. 

 

I really wanted to sit down last Sunday night and write about how amazing the meetup event was, how I made some new friends, how I talked to a cute girl or two. I wanted to be so proud of myself for going.

 

But here, instead, is what happened.

 

Rose (remember her? my ex-roommate? quasi “best friend”? my first and only?) texted me Saturday night.I hadn’t heard from her in a month. “Hey! Want to hang out tonight?” 

Um, sure. It isn’t like I was going to do anything better…

 

Now, before you go there, no, this is not the story of another failed sexual encounter. In fact, we’ve almost gotten to a place where we can joke about the past. She brought her boyfriend (whom I have mixed feelings about) and they both ended up spending the night on my living room floor, because at 2:30 in the morning we were so sloshed on gin and other things that biking home to the other side of the city didn’t seem like a safe option for them.

 

Somewhere amid the exchange of gin, wine, vodka, (was there rum involved? I don’t remember) – whiskey! Yes. I remember whiskey. At some point the question was asked, So Jenny, you think you’re a lesbian now…what type of girls do you like? 

 

Well then. Easy question. I swiped the screen open on my phone, and a magnificent glamour shot of Tegan and Sara appeared. 

 

“This.”

 

Rose’s boyfriend gasped in low, reverent astonishment. “You listen to them too?” he said. “Oh my god, “Walking With a Ghost” is my favorite!”

 

The shock I experienced could not be described in words. This total bro was a Tegan and Sara fan. I officially couldn’t hate him anymore. 

 

Of course, there was also the talk of “when you go back to men” and “you should present yourself as bisexual, don’t limit yourself” and, worse, “do you like eating clams? because that’s what it’s like…” But whatever. We drank it off and then discussed the punk band that we’re apparently going to form, until we get good enough to tour with Tegan and Sara (OK, that part was my addition). 

 

In the morning, we were so hung over that Starbucks was the only option worth mentioning, and while we sipped our hot lattes against the cold bright wind, I lifted my eyes to the little pub across the street and contemplated aloud my nervousness for the event later that day. 

 

“What time is it at?” asked Rose. 

 

“2:00,” I said. “It’s only 11. I’ve got plenty of time.”

 

Back in my apartment, Rose rummaged through the contents of my coffee table and picked up a copy of Out 100 from last year, the one featuring Ellen Page on the cover, and remarked how revolting it is when celebrities come out and “act like they’ve had such hard lives because of being gay, or transgender, or whatever. I mean, there are people with real problems.” 

 

My breakfast threatened to come back up my throat.

 

Her boyfriend joined in. Together, this straight couple explained to me what it means to be gay, what it means to come out, why celebrities like Ellen Page are the scum of the earth for suggesting that their personal lives have been difficult because of their non-heteronormativity – “I mean, they have the approval of the entire world, why does their parents’ opinion matter?” 

 

I was too stunned and too hung over to argue. I stood in the corner and scrolled through several hundred Tegan and Sara photos and tried to think of ideas for memes while they badgered on.

 

(Since then I have read Rebecca Solnit’s delicious little book Men Explain Things to Me, and I would very much like to add a chapter on how Straight People Explain Things as well.)

 

At 12:45, they were done Explaining Things. “All right!” said Rose. “We should probably start heading home. Let me know how that event goes! Good luck!”

 

Like a good host, I walked them to the gate and thanked them for coming. When I went inside, I checked the event reminder on my phone to make sure I still had that hour and 15 minutes. Should I take another shower? Yes. Should I wash my hair? Maybe. I’ve got to look perfect for this. 

 

The numbers on the invite glared at me accusingly. Something in my brain had gone horribly wrong. It was at 12:00, not 2:00. I would be walking in 45 minutes late!

 

Someone cooler than me would have run over there, proclaimed a grand late entrance and walked out with 5 new friends. 

 

Not me. 

 

I crumbled. 

 

I sank into the couch and sat in my dark apartment beating myself up over wasting an entire weekend and god only knows when they would have another event like this one and I’ll never make friends and why would anyone want to hang out with me anyway and I suck at life. 

 

Social anxiety has become a very real thing for me. I don’t know exactly what I am so afraid of – no, that’s a lie. I can define precisely what I am afraid of. I’m afraid of walking in and not finding the group, of wandering stupidly around some restaurant or bar looking for one of about 16 groups of lesbians. I’m afraid of sitting down with the wrong group of people. Or, even if I find the right group, of that group already being so engrossed in conversation that they cannot be bothered to talk to me (much the way my coworkers sometimes are when I walk into the lunchroom, or the office in the morning, or whatever). Of not finding connection right away, of awkward moments, of needing to get the fuck out of there but not being able to because I have to figure out how to pay my portion of the bill, and of not having correct change. Of being checked out, of not being checked out. I’m so afraid of all these things sometimes living alone now that I sometimes have anxiety attacks and cry before attempting to go out. Sometimes even after, even if it went well, because the hype was too much and I’m still stressed out. #confessiontime #thatsnotbeingaballer

 

Anyway, last weekend I did not drink myself to sleep at 1:00 in the afternoon like I wanted to. I got up, went to the beach, read some feminist books, came home and ate Indian food. I managed to make a good day out of it. But it still sucked.

 

I suppose, to be perfectly honest, I am operating under the hope that life will happen to me like a season of The L Word – that I’m going to be adopted by this posse of ridiculously attractive lesbian friends who meets at a coffee shop before work every morning, parties together on weekends, and goes out to conquer the world of women together.

 

Um…yeah. Life doesn’t happen that way. 

 

But it hasn’t been all bad…this weekend was far better. Stay tuned. 😀 

LESBIAN MOMENTS #4

How was everyone’s Halloween? I am completely too late to ask what you’re going to dress up as, but did anyone come up with an awesome supergay costume?

 

I was running around getting my car fixed and visiting my parents (I know, super lame), and I didn’t have time to come up with a costume, so I was Tegan and Sara. (That is to say, I wear what I normally wear. No one batted an eye.) 😛

 

For future reference, here’s a more creative, handy guide on how to make a Tegan and Sara reference out of your costume:

http://www.autostraddle.com/10-tegan-and-sara-halloween-costumes-to-make-everyone-so-jealous-258598/

 

Sorry for that lame intro. Now for the main story.

 

A couple weeks after I moved into my new apartment, my aunt who lives in the city came to visit me and see my place. We had a nice time – she brought me a bottle of wine (which I shamelessly almost demolished in one sitting) and a bouquet of cheery yellow tulips, and I took her to dinner at one of the many wonderful restaurants on my street.

 

I’m not sure if I explained before where I live – it’s in the most lesbian of all Chicago neighborhoods, historically speaking, and my cross streets are at the heart of the most popular stretch of bars, restaurants, cute little shops, feminist bookstores… So basically I have no excuse for not being social. (More on that later!) My plan is to try at least one new restaurant a week, but not break the bank. Ha.

 

When my aunt arrived, I realized that this was the first time she’d hung out with me alone since my mom informed everyone in our “close family” that I was gay. Yay.

 

Here’s the thing – my aunt is pretty open-minded. She spent many years of her post-college life in California hanging out with very diverse groups of people, loving them, understanding them. Some of her best friends are gay men. In the last few years, she’s started going to church, gotten serious about religion, moved back to Chicago, gotten married. She’s never been a judgy person, it’s just not her personality. But I still wonder, because she’s extended many invitations to me to visit her church. I’m just not interested. I’ve served my time, you know?

 

Anyway, we’re sitting at this Italian restaurant and the two women at the table next to us are on a date. They’re both attractive. I can’t help but check them out. One of them (with short blonde hair) starts speaking Spanish to the waiter.

 

“Oh, stop it,” says the other one, laughing, smitten (shit, I’m smitten too). “She’s just showing off, aren’t you, baby?”

 

The waiter smiles.

 

My aunt notices the conversation and smiles a little, watches me. I look away quickly.

 

“So have you found anyone you’d like to date?” she asks.

 

I almost spit out my water.

 

“Not exactly,” I say, picking up a fork and playing with the salad on my plate. “I’m just hoping to make new friends first and then if I happen to meet someone, great. If not, I like being single.”

 

She’s so proud of me. “That’s awesome!” she says, beaming. “Good plan.” (I’ve always been one to rush into relationships. When one ends, another one begins. I’m doing things differently this time around. For now. I can’t tell you how tempted I am sometimes to get online. But I’m still barely toe-deep in the friendship-building phase, so I’m not letting myself go there. We’ll see how long my resolve lasts.)

 

The Spanish-speaking blonde gets up from the table and comes back after a few minutes, comes up behind her date, kisses her cheek. Mmmf. Within seconds they’re making out and practically sitting on each have other’s laps. I’m trying not to look too hard, trying not to blush, trying not to giggle nervously. Hot. Awkward. Hot.

 

Where was I? Oh. So my aunt is still talking about dating and friendship. “Bottom line,” she says, “is that you want […] to like you for who you are.”

 

Wait. What was that? She said “he” or “she,” but I couldn’t tell which. Fuck! I desperately wished our conversation had been recorded so I could go back and check, because so much depends on that word. Does she accept me or not? I’ll never know. 😩

 

While we were walking back to my apartment, she said to me, “So I know this neighborhood is a lesbian area…”

 

“Yeah…” I said.

 

“But I feel like I’ve seen a lot of gay men here too…like couples.” Oh. LOL.

 

I explained that many gay couples come here to settle down and raise families. Even one of my managers at work lives a few blocks down with his boyfriend.

 

The traffic light changed, and we walked. She changed the subject. The feeling of the whole thing was as if she was trying to tell me, I know you like girls, and it’s OK to talk about it if you want.

 

At least, I hope so.

 

LESBIANS MOMENTS #3: ARE YOU A BABY DYKE?

I took a quiz on YouTube the week called Are You a Baby Dyke? The answer, apparently, is yes. (I’m not saying I answered “yes” to ALL the questions, but to the ones that really mattered…) Is it a bad thing? I don’t know.

I mean, I was aware of this, but every once in a while it punches me in the gut: I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing at this big gay party. I’m that girl standing in the corner talking to my cup of rainbow M&Ms because she doesn’t know anyone yet. The struggle is real, people.

Here are some “Are You a Baby Dyke?” questions that may or may not pertain to me.

1. Have you seen Freeheld? More than once? In theatres? Extra points if you went on opening night.

2. Do you look for subtle ways to broadcast your gayness on Facebook or other social media? (How about that rainbow coffee mug? You could take a picture of your kitchen and make sure it’s visible in the photo… Or wear a flannel shirt in your profile pic, or add Mary Lambert to your musical interests…That’ll be sure to get people wondering.)

3. Have you replaced your entire wardrobe?

4. Is your favorite band Tegan and Sara? Do you want to marry one of them? Do you dress like them? Do you have an Instagram account solely for the memes you make about them? (please click here for a more extensive list on whether you need a Quin-tervention. The condition may be serious.)

5. If you’ve dated people of the opposite sex, you try to refer to your exes without using gendered words when talking to people who don’t know your story. (“So I had lunch with my ex this weekend and we haven’t seen each other in 6 months…it was weird but I was OK with it because at least I’m not the one living with my parents at 32!”)

6. Have you subscribed to all of the gay magazines yet?

7. Are you late with your blog posts because you were up late re-watching The L Word? (Maybe you’ve just finished Season 3, episode 11 featuring the trippy Tegan and Sara concert…)

The first time I saw Freeheld, I assumed nobody would want to go with me, so I took myself on a date on a Friday night and went all the way up to Evanston to see it (because it was only playing in select theatres, what is this “non-mainstream” bullshit). Oh god. First time around, it was AMAZING: Ellen Page looked hot with short hair, what a triumphant fight for human rights, what a fucking sad ending. It was a theatre full of crying lesbians (and a few straight couples) by the end. Yay.

The following week, my straight friend Jennifer asked, “OMG, have you seen the movie Freeheld? I want to see it, it looks so good! Do you want to go with me?” Was this real? Did she have to ask? We made plans to meet up after work on Friday, grab some dinner, then head to the theatre.

Later, my queer friend Rachel texted me: Hey, want to go dancing tonight?

I texted back: No, going to see Freeheld tonight. Have you seen it?

Rachel: OMG! I’ve been wanting to see that!

Me: Well, want to come with?

Rachel: Sure, can I bring a friend?

Suddenly there were four of us going to see Freeheld. Pretty awesome. (“No one will want to go with me”) (WTF was I thinking)

Afterward, we stopped at a bar for margaritas. Rachel and I were halfway through a pitcher when she asked, “So Jenny, what kind of music do you listen to?”

My palms started sweating. I burst out laughing.

Rachel looked at me skeptically. “If you say Tegan and Sara, I’m going to throw up.”

Had someone told her? Is it that obvious? I know, it’s probably my Sara Quin jacket. (Black leather. I just got it. You’re welcome, Chicago.)

“Why, what’s wrong with them?” I inquired innocently.

“Who’s Tegan and Sara?” asked Rachel’s friend, who was straight. Jennifer looked equally confused. I simply whipped out my phone and showed them my wallpaper. Everyone laughed in shock.

Rachel just shook her head at me. “OK, for one thing, they’re completely mainstream-”

Tegan and Sara, an indie band that at one point rocked mullets. Mainstream?! (OK fine, I get her point. They might be mainstream among lesbians.)

She wasn’t done. “And all of their songs are so…codependent. You know, they even have a song called Why Don’t You Wanna Be With Me or something.”

“How Come You Don’t Want Me Now?” I started singing it, laughing. Yes. And what does she mean, codependent lyrics? Psssh.

…From the liquor stores to the train stop floors
Your filthy room, your drama blues
I am nothing if I’m not with you…

…I cried so hard that you pushed me further away
I screamed so loud you called the police on me…

…I can’t say that I’m sorry
For loving you and hating myself…

…Now I’m all messed up, sick inside wondering who
Whose life you’re making worthwhile…

Um, what.

But still, they are my loves, and I don’t apologize for my taste in music. Or in women. Besides, Rachel didn’t know who Ellen Page was until the week Freeheld hit theatres!!

Anyway, it was a very enjoyable evening, and I’m grateful for the new friendships that I’m building with people around me. Jokes aside, there is a feeling of unconditional acceptance of each other, of unanimous support. It’s beautiful and it’s refreshing.

Stay tuned for more lesbian moments.

NATIONAL COMING OUT DAY WAS A TOTAL BUST

a lovely view of the Riverwalk downtown

I know, I know, I know. I move and then don’t write for 3 weeks. What the hell. So much has happened!! There is a lot to say about my new neighborhood, but I’m going to say it later, because right now there’s something I need to get off my chest.

I was all set to celebrate National Coming Out Day last weekend by coming out to one of my most religious friends. I knew she would be a tough cookie, but Sunday was supposed to help me bite the bullet and get it over with.  It was the perfect setup: my college roommates Stephanie and Nora were coming to visit me in the city, and Stephanie, who already knew, would be there for support as I came out to Nora.

[Back story: Stephanie is super cool, casual about religion, not hung up on dogma. She was one of the first friends I’d come out to. After Mark broke up with me, she drove 2 hours to my parents’ house to cheer me up, and we had a good old-fashioned sleepover during which she introduced me to Hannah Hart and My Drunk Kitchen. She asked what happened with Mark, and as any good friend does, she made fun of my ex.

“Maybe you turned him gay,” she laughed, trying to lift my spirits.

I stared at her for about 3 seconds before making the decision that now was as good a time as any to come out, and said, “Actually, it was sort of the other way around…”

“What?!” she exclaimed, jaw dropping. I explained myself, she was intrigued and cool about it, and that was that. I was grateful for her response – it was a critical moment during the first couple of weeks after the breakup that gave me courage to live authentically and keep coming out to people. I stored it away as a source of positivity when the times got rough over the next 6 months.]

But that is not how this weekend went down. Not at all.

I did not come out to Nora. I just couldn’t find the moment. We were having such a fun time, and the vibe was so good, and I knew I would ruin it if I went there. And how was I supposed to say it? I could go the “So Nora, I need to tell you something serious…” route, but nobody enjoys that, and it sounds so damn ominous that they’re already freaked out before you even get to the point. There were several moments when I almost just blurted out, “Hey Nora, I’m dating girls!” But I didn’t do that either.

I’d talked to Stephanie the night before about it. She knew my plan. (She’d also asked how I identified, and informed me that if my relationships with men were at all real, then that means I’m bi, not lesbian. She has a bit of learning to do.)

THINGS NOT TO DO AS AN ALLY

1. SLAP LABELS ON FRIENDS

Stephanie had also come out to me, in a very passive, non-coming-out sort of way. We were eating pizza and drinking bellinis when she told me, “You know, I like guys, and I want a romantic relationship, but the most I’d ever want to do with anyone is cuddle. I think I might be asexual.”

I told her that was totally cool and I was happy she felt like she could talk to me about it. And we did talk about it, a little bit. It didn’t occur to me immediately that this was her coming out – which I am now a little ashamed of – but then, she didn’t exhibit all the typical signs of a coming out (sweating palms, stuttering, shallow breaths, heart palpitations…) and the conversation that followed let me know she didn’t think herself to be any different from a straight person because of her romantic preferences. It was interesting. Anyway.

2. FAIL TO RECOGNIZE A COMING-OUT

At a few points throughout the day I whispered to Stephanie that I needed her help bring up the topic with Nora, because the day was slipping away and still no sign of a good conversation segue.

If I can interject some advice here: Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. Maybe you’re already out to the most important people and you’re just taking care of a few “loose ends,” so to speak. Or maybe you’re planning on coming out to your parents that day, or making a Facebook announcement or lobbying to get your preferences broadcast on the front page of the Wall Street Journal (kidding). Either way, you might feel like you’re going to miss the boat if you don’t do it TODAY. But you know what? It’s totally OK if you don’t end up doing it, because sometimes choosing the wrong moment to come out can be worse.

So, Stephanie wasn’t much help. In fact, I felt like she changed the subject a few times when I was getting close to dropping the bomb.

3. CHANGE THE TOPIC WHEN YOUR FRIEND IS TRYING TO COME OUT TO ANOTHER FRIEND

When I asked her about it later, she rolled her eyes at me and said, “Jenny, you have to just tell Nora when you want to. Stop living your life in fear. She’s not going to hate you. I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of it.”

4. MINIMIZE THE IMPORTANCE OF/SCARINESS OF COMING OUT (“IT’S NO BIG DEAL”)

5. TELL YOUR FRIEND HOW THEY SHOULD FEEL ABOUT COMING OUT

She proceeded to change the subject (again) and I began to feel that my gayness was an imposition on her. Her body language said, “I’m sick of hearing about it.” I tried to keep myself in check, but I normally feel comfortable enough to be myself around her, so I hadn’t shut it down completely.

6. MAKE YOUR FRIEND FEEL AWKWARD ABOUT TALKING ABOUT THEIR SEXUALITY (“STOP BEING SO…GAY.”)

At dinner, she informed me that I was an obnoxious drunk (we weren’t drinking hardcore just then, just having a beer) and she was concerned that people wouldn’t want to hang out with me. Uh-huh. Things to say to an introvert who has trouble making friends. I get it: she was tired and had no filter. However, I did pay for her dinner (and a few other things) and had hosted her for 2 nights, so I’m not sure I deserved that.

Just then, “Born This Way” came on the radio, and both our faces lit up – she’s a Lady Gaga fan and me, well, I like the song for obvious reasons. We danced in our seats at the table for a little bit, and I felt a sense of goodwill restored.

I made the mistake of saying, “You know, you being asexual totally makes you part of the queer community…” I meant it in the sense of exuberant kinship, like, hey, we have something in common, we’re sisters. Not as in trying to slap a label on her.

7. ASSUME THAT JUST BECAUSE A FRIEND TELLS YOU THEY’RE NON-HETERONORMATIVE IT MEANS THEY WANT TO FLY A RAINBOW FLAG WITH YOU AND GO TO A PRIDE POOL PARTY

No.

“Not really,” she said, and the look on her face said, “I want nothing to do with your community.” She launched into a tirade on how we’ve hijacked rainbows and all the colors to mean things they don’t, and how we are so crazy flamboyant with our celebrations that it’s offensive to everyone else and that if we would just “act normal” people would respect us more. That we make way too big a deal out of being gay and that we don’t really have it that bad. (She said “the LGBT community,” but I heard “You.”)

8. INSULT THE COMMUNITY YOUR FRIEND CHOOSES TO BE A PART OF, UNLESS THAT COMMUNITY IS ALL ABOUT BEING DICKWADS

9. TELL YOUR FRIEND TO STOP BEING SO DIFFERENT

10. MINIMIZE THE DIFFICULTIES OF THE GAY EXPERIENCE EVEN THOUGH SOCIETY IS CHANGING

For the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed of who I am.

11. MAKE YOUR FRIEND FEEL ASHAMED OF WHO THEY ARE (THEY WILL NEVER WANT TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN ABOUT ANYTHING LGBT)

I could barely speak. Finally I said, “Well, we spend our whole lives trying to be ‘normal.’ I think we deserve the right to celebrate who we are just like anyone else.”

Now, writing this, I feel a bit guilty. I feel like I am coming to the group from a place of privilege because I spent most of my life being straight. Like, what right do I have to talk about the this community as if I’ve always been a part of it? I don’t know. But her harsh words sure didn’t calm my preexisting anxieties.

She didn’t respond to any of my attempts to put my experience into words. By the time we got home I wanted to cry. I wanted to lock myself in my apartment and never come out, in either sense of the word.

But I had another 24 hours with her, so I buried my feelings and served her snacks and stayed up late talking about random shit.

How have you guys been? It’s been way too long. I wish I could invite all of you to my new apartment and we could go bar-hopping and watch The L Word and bake some gay brownies (“What if the brownies were gay, Alice?”) and stay up all night sharing our coming out stories. Anyone down for that? 😀

I DIDN’T SEE IT COMING: SUCKER PUNCH

This is Part 2 of how I came out to my parents. Read Part 1 here.

Recap: I came out to my mom last night after she straight up asked me if I was gay. Very much awkwardness followed.

“How long have you felt this way?” was the first question out of her mouth. She exhaled like she’d been holding that breath for the entire 6 months I’ve been home.

“About a year,” I said. I could see her doing the math.

“Did something happen to you in Rogers Park?” she asked. “Something traumatic?”

“Oh, I see. You’re trying to figure out what turned me.”

“Well, yes. Because usually when people are gay, they know from the time they’re young. They don’t suddenly figure it out at 24.”

That stung. I was simultaneously being judged and having my offense invalidated. I figured this would happen, though – that she’d have a hard time with it because I’ve dated men and because I was truly in love with them. Her reminding me of this triggered my queer insecurity, and a large part of me wondered if the gay was, indeed, wearing off. If I was “gay enough” to go through the whole coming out ordeal. If it was worth it.

I told her I didn’t know how I felt about men. That one day maybe I could love them again, but it didn’t seem likely at the moment. That right now, the straight ones piss me off, and if that makes me an angry lesbian stereotype, I’m sorry but it’s how I feel.

There were several long periods of silence. The whole thing was very reminiscent of the time a friend’s mom had outed me as Catholic to my parents and we sat there in the living room judging each other quietly for an hour.

“You were such a nice girl back then,” she lamented, even though at the time there was nothing worse than having a Catholic daughter. (Actually, I’m fairly certain I said something to her like, Mom, it could be worse. At least I’m not gay or something. Ha!)

Still, she wasn’t throwing me out of the car, or onto the streets.

“We kind of knew,” she said. Oooh. I was dying to know. Was it the dykey shoes? The short hair? The way I’d stopped talking about men and used gender neutral ways of talking about future dates? Oh, of course. It was probably that damn Tegan and Sara wallpaper on my phone. The truth was less glamorous.

“You never make that many friends that fast,” she said. “You’re an introvert like me. And now in one month you have all these new friends, and they’re gay.”

Oh yeah, and then there was that. Aside from the ignorant “Your new friend/roommate is gay therefore you must be gay too” mentality, I’m slightly weirded out that someone we know – or several people according to my mom – took the effort to creep on these people’s Facebook profiles to find out their orientations. I have a few ideas about who it was. I thought about writing a Facebook blast this morning about how juvenile it was to creep on profiles of friends of friends and then snitch to other people about their personal details, but decided to take the high road and say what the fuck ever.

In the end it worked out to my benefit: I’m spared the agony of coming up with a way to come out, the sweating palms, the chickening out, etc. The part that comes next is harder. Do I take the initiative to tell the rest of my family – my grandma, my aunt and uncle, my cousins? I feel like they deserve a face-to-face coming out. They deserve to hear it from me and not from her.

When I converted to Catholicism, my mom did the job of telling everyone else, but because I didn’t tell them, it became the elephant in the room that nobody talked about. I don’t want that to happen with this. But I also feel entirely unprepared to sit down with my sweet, elderly, devoutly Christian grandma and tell her I want to date women. How do you do that?

A few other things were addressed:

• We talked about coming out to friends, and my mom actually said, “I would think it would be creepy, having a friend come out to you. Like, what if they had a crush on you?” She fucking went there. I’m proud to say I checked her on that: I asked if she was creeped out every time she met a straight man, because they also might have a crush on her. “I’m not attracted to every girl I see,” I said. “We’re not sex maniacs.”
• She used the words “sad” and “disappointed.” “But we still love you… ” Ugh. Save it.
• I made sure to tell her that I didn’t choose this. No one in their right mind would wish this on themselves. I think it made her think. But then she’s sad and disappointed, so clearly it was my choice.
• “I hope it’s a phase,” she said. And when she said it, I realized that I didn’t want it to be a phase for me anymore. I realized that I fucking love being gay. I tried to explain that but I don’t think she understood. Anyway, it was a significant realization for me.
• She asked some interesting questions like have I ever had a girlfriend (when? I’ve been stuck in your home from 6 months!) and have I told people at work. She doesn’t seem to get how awkward it is to just go around being gay for the first time ever, or to talk about it with new acquaintances.
• At the end, she said, “Well thank you for being honest,” as if I had confessed to a crime.

On the way home, I felt like sobbing tears of relief. Now I can come out to anyone without fear of having the information getting back to my parents! I can date again – and I can stop deleting The L Word from my Netflix history!

When we got home, there was a sweet moment in which she hugged me and my brother came up from the other side and hugged us both, even though he didn’t know yet. It felt like all was right with the world.

And then.

And then I asked her, so can I still bring Liam to Chicago with me tomorrow to help me start setting up my apartment? (I’m not very good at being the handy tool-wielding drill-bearing dyke yet, so I was planning on having him help with installations.)

She took one hard look at me and turned away. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”

It was like a death sentence. What the hell did it mean?

Two texts later, I learned that there would be conditions on my relationship with my little brother, my best friend. Best case scenario: they don’t want him visiting the city outside their realm of control. Because if he walks into a house with 2 lesbians, our combined magical unicorn powers will turn him gay. (It’s contagious, you know.) Worst case scenario: they limit our communication, censor our correspondence, never allow me to hang out with him without one of them present.

I don’t know what will happen. They are still deciding. As it is, I’ve already told Liam to unfollow me on Instagram (one too many “OMG Sara Quin is so fucking hot” comments, oops) and delete our texts, just in case there’s anything that could be used against me. It feels vaguely reminiscent of a custody battle.

If I’m allowed to go on a walk with him alone tonight, we’ll go to the park and I’ll tell him, just so he hears it from me. I’m on the train on the way home. It won’t be long now.

STRAIGHT OUTTA THE CLOSET

“I need to ask you something,” said my mom last night as we were getting into the car.

My throat suddenly had a heartbeat.

“Sure, what?” I asked, playing it cool.

We were parked in my grandma’s driveway, about to drive home after collecting about 1/4 of the stuff I’ve been keeping there since my last apartment.

She turned the car off. This was going to be a long conversation. OK.

“I’ve heard from several sources that Ella is gay,” she said. “I need to know how you feel about that.”

“What, my roommate? I’m cool with it,” I said casually. “You should be too.”

Her voice came out strained. “No, I mean…you. Are you gay?”

I had imagined it a thousand times in my head: or possibly less, because I never like thinking about it. But I had been starting to plan it out. I’d invite my brother to spend a weekend with me in Chicago at my new apartment, take him out to dinner and then to the beach, and come out to him before my parents could “get to him” first and brainwash him into hating me. I’d tell him I was afraid of telling Mom and Dad and ask if I had his support. And if I was right about the way I think he feels, he’d be like, “Whatever, Jenny. Love is love.”

And then I’d have the whole family over for dinner. If I was brave, I’d do it in person and say, “The next person I date is not going to be a guy.” (Isn’t that genius? It took me months to come up with that phrase.) Or, if I chickened out, I’d send an email later.

But that’s not how it happened. That’s not even remotely close. What happened was the small explosion of a failed firework going off, followed by the unexpected slow burn of gunpowder as it returned to the ground.

It’s funny, I spent all this time agonizing over what I would say to her, and then it turns out I never had to. It’s happened this way with a few secrets I’ve had: they ask before I can tell.

I squirmed for a few minutes, played with the cap on my water bottle. Finally I looked her straight in the eye and said, “OK, it’s true. I like girls.”

(Please stay tuned for the next part of this story and her reaction.)