Chapstick Chapstick

Thursday, October 4, 2018

Surprise! I'm Still a Lesbian.

I’m convinced that every gay person has that one family member who is especially shitty about their queerness. Unfortunately, I am no exception.

I came out to this family member less than a year ago and it did NOT go well. Not only did she call me a dyke, but she equated lesbianism with pedophilia, pretended to barf when “thinking about having sex with another woman,” was “confused” by how I could possibly be attracted to my butch then-girlfriend, and insinuated that my then-girlfriend—who was my first—had tricked me into thinking I was gay.

So, the coming out conversation could’ve been better, to say the least.

Fortunately, I only hear from this person once or twice a year, but when I do, it’s always difficult. A few weeks ago, I randomly received a Facebook message from her that said the following:

“Who’s the guy in your profile picture?”

A few things are strange about this inquisition. First, yes. We all know what she’s really asking. But second, the guy in my profile picture is my childhood best friend whom she has known for at LEAST 20 years. Like, she knows him. She watched us grow up together. Also, she knows that HE IS ALSO GAY.

On top of these already bizarre points, the picture itself couldn’t be much gayer. (Okay, maybe if we had rainbows painted on skin, but whatever.)

Since this is an anonymous blog, I’ll give you a little taste of the picture:

Doesn’t this photo scream “we’re a heterosexual couple?”

Here’s how the rest of the conversation went:

Me: “The guy is Jared Clark.” (pseudonym)
Her: “Oh, I didn’t even recognize him. I thought it might be someone you were seeing.”
Me: “I’m still a lesbian.”
Her: “Oh okay.”

It’s extraordinary the mental gymnastics people will perform to believe what they want to believe.

I’m hurt and angry and disappointed and not at all surprised. Hmph.

Monday, August 27, 2018

Massage Madness

About a year ago one of my best friends, Natasha, told me to go to this local massage place to get a massage from this adorable butch woman, Amber. Natasha said, “Amber is so perfect for you. She’s spot-on your type (i.e. older, butch, and brunette) and the two of you would be so compatible personality-wise.”

I never actually went and got that massage.

About 8 months later, this OTHER friend of mine, we’ll call her Frankie, called me:

Frankie: Giiiiiirl, I just got the best massage from the cutest butch woman. She’s EXACTLY your type and the two of you would be perfection.
Me: Ooooh really? What’s she like?
Frankie: She’s super nice, about 10 years older than you, and brunette.
Me: Wait, does she work at [the place Natasha told me about]?
Frankie: Yeah!
Me: Waaaait, what’s her name?

You guessed it, pals. Her name was—drumroll please—AMBER!

I called my first friend, Natasha, to report the news that Frankie got a massage from Amber and had the same feedback about me needing to date her immediately.

After some deep Facebook diving, the three of us discovered that we were actually talking about TWO butch, brunette, 30-somethings, named Amber, who worked at the SAME massage place, whom I am destined to marry. Wild, right?

Fast forward another few months to my birthday. Natasha and her lovely boyfriend bought me a 1-hour massage at the massage place where the Amber heartthrobs work. Natasha presented me with the gift and suggested with a devious smile, “We thought you could schedule a massage with Amber and see who you get.”

I loved the idea. When I called to schedule the massage, I asked, “Can I schedule that with Amber?” Instead of asking which Amber, the woman on the phone simply responded, “Of course. Amber has a Tuesday evening open. Does that work for you?”

I have no idea which butch beauty will be giving me a massage tomorrow evening, but I’m very excited regardless. Wish me luck, lezzies!