Unpleasant Oral

I’ve been going to the same dentist since I was a kid. Even as a grown-ass woman, I drive two states away (4+ hours) to go to the dentist in my hometown. Getting a new dentist didn’t even occur to me until this morning—you see, I’m from a very small town. Loyalty is *beyond* important to us small-town folks.  

I went to my dentist for my biannual cleaning this morning. When I got in the room, my hygienist—we’ll call her Jackie—started in with her usual questions: How’s your dad? Is your sister still with what’s-his-face? Is your mom still working at X? Did you hear about [insert latest small-town gossip]?

For the first 40 minutes of the appointment, I entertained her questions. I told her updates about my job, family, and friends from high school (the ones who used to get their teeth cleaned there).

Between flossing and scraping, I asked Jackie how her family was doing:

Me: How’s your daughter?

Jackie: She’s doing well. She married X. You know, he’s not your usual guy, but he’s nice to her. I mean, he doesn’t hunt or fish or anything! [I’m from a rural New England town where these are THE markers of manhood.] Get this! He doesn’t even know how to use a drill! What kind of man doesn’t know how to use a drill?! Have you ever met such a man??

Me: *happy that I don’t have to respond to this problematic statement since my mouth is full of gloved hands*

Jackie: But he’s good to her, so we’re happy. I hear your sister is getting married soon?

Me: *gargley yes groan*

Jackie: Do you like him? Is he Mr. Right?

Me: He’s really wonderful. I’m so happy for them.

Jackie: Soooo, have you found your Mr. Right yet?

Me: Uhh no.

Jackie: Oh, it’s okay dear. You have plenty of time. Plus, you’re probably too busy with your career right now to even date, right?

Me: Well I date, but I’m single right now.

Jackie: So you’ve dated since moving to [my current location]?

Me: Yes.

Her: Oh, so you had a boyfriend then? Oh honey, I’m so sorry it didn’t work out with him.

Me: Well, I had a partner last year…

Her: Oh?

Me: I—I— actually, I date women now.

Her: Oh. Well okay… Do you want mint or grape toothpaste today?

The remaining 15 minutes were filled exclusively with talk about my teeth, gums, and how I really should be flossing every day (yeah, yeah, yeah). If you knew Jackie, you would understand how very unusual this was.

Though Jackie didn’t actually say anything anti-gay, I’m guessing she isn’t particularly gay-friendly—especially given her overt investment in gender roles. For this reason, I regretted coming out to her when I got out to my car. But I also felt like I would have been hiding who I really am if I hadn’t corrected her NUMEROUS false assumptions about my “Mr. Right.”

After I came out to my immediate family, I promised myself that I wouldn’t hide who I am for others’ benefit. If I want to stop being ashamed of who I am, I need to act like I’m not. And eventually, if I continue acting like I’m not ashamed of who I am—especially in my conservative, Trump-supporting hometown—maybe one day I actually won’t be.

Intersectionally Offensive

I went on a date last night. We got drinks and ice cream (not together, obviously), then went for a walk. During our walk, a terrible thing happened. We were approaching a street corner, holding hands, and an older woman was standing on the corner. I noticed she was glaring at us from afar, but I didn’t think much of it. As we got closer she started to look physically uncomfortable by our presence and she quickly shuffled away from us in order to maintain her distance. She made a disgusted shriek as she scurried away like we were diseased. Her scampering and noises were so bizarre that we both turned around to see what she was doing as we walked by, and upon turning around, she spit at us. Don’t worry, the spit did not hit us—fortunately. We kept walking and I uncomfortably said, “okayyyy” to my date as we shared a mutual what-the-fuck glance. 

Once we were out of ear-shot, I asked, “Was that a mental illness thing or...?” She responded, “Was that a homophobic thing?” Then I was like, “Was that a racist thing?” (My date was Black.) We decided the explanation was all three. I think her reaction to us was the result of homophobia and racism, but her mental state (something seemed really off) allowed her to express those feelings so overtly to us. 

My date, being the fantastically strong woman she is, made a joke about how we were an “intersectional couple” since there were multiple layers of identities that could offend random street strangers. We laughed and carried on with our night. 

When I got home, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about this encounter. Here are the reasons it upset me and continues to occupy my mind:

1) The woman looked at us like we were disgusting and less than human. While I can write her off as ignorant, I was reminded that so many others—especially those from my hometown—feel this way about gay people, they just hide it better or say it behind my back (if I’m lucky). But their hatred and disgust are the same.
2) I felt like the main reason for the spitting was because we were an interracial couple. I hate that my date has to constantly endure racism.
3) It reminded me of all the reasons I’m afraid to be gay. When I walk around holding women’s hands, I always feel a little uneasy and hypervigilant—both for myself and for my date. When I used to hold men’s hands, I always felt more safe than I did when walking alone. 
4) I thought about my family and home community’s reactions to my coming out. I then thought about how the negative reactions I got would be multiplied exponentially if I brought home a Black woman. Thinking about this breaks my heart.
 
My heart is heavy for my date and her experiences in this hateful world. My heart is heavy for LGBT kids who have to confront this kind of discrimination during such a fragile and confusing life stage. I’m a grown-ass woman and this idiot’s hatred shook me to my core. But mostly my heart is heavy for people who carry blind hatred against other human beings—what a miserable existence that must be. 

Just Say She's Hot!

Let’s chat about something that really grinds my gears. When I show some of my straight friends (men and women) pictures of the women I’m talking to or seeing, the conversation goes something like this:

Me: *shows my friend a picture of a super hot masculine woman*

Straight Friend (SF): Well, she’s not my type.

Me: Well duh. I know she’s not your type, but she’s cute, right?

SF: I mean, we have different tastes.

Me:

I know my straight friends aren’t INTO masculine women, but that shouldn’t mean they can’t acknowledge that some masculine women look better than other masculine women. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’ve lost the ability to evaluate men.

For example, I have a few queer male friends who are into feminine men. I am (generally) into masculine women, so feminine men are pretty far from my “type.” But when my besties show me photos of their recent flings, I can evaluate their hotness! And when I show them pictures of my masculine cuties, their responses are always something like, “Oh my God! She’s a hottie. Dayyyyum.” ← Highly acceptable response.

I think the reason my straight friends react so poorly is because the women I usually date are gender non-conforming. The one time I dated a feminine woman, this kind of awkward conversation never happened. In fact, my straight men AND women friends were like, “Wow. She’s beautiful.” Their rude reactions are not totally about sexuality mismatches, since my straight women friends can acknowledge cute feminine women.

I don’t understand why some straight people can’t put themselves in other peoples’ shoes. When my straight women friends show me pictures of men, I can still appreciate their cuteness, consider how excited I would be to date said man if I were a straight woman, and give them a “Woah, he’s a cutie!”

Straight folks, put your heteronormative bullshit aside and tell your queer friends their partners are cute. When your friend is excited to show you a picture of whomever they are seeing, be a decent human and friend and react appropriately:

A Hard Day to Be Gay

Today has been an extra hard day to be gay. I’m sure other queer folks can relate. First, I went into work to hear two other queer people in the elevator talking about the Supreme Court decision. I whipped out my phone to read the article. The Supreme Court sided with the Colorado baker—you know, the one who refused to make a wedding cake for a gay couple.   

Within 5 minutes of hearing the Supreme Court news, I walked into a difficult conversation—prompted by someone else—about another person making crude remarks about my sexuality. Don’t get me wrong, I felt supported by the person who stood up for me, but it was a hard discussion that I didn’t want to have. I’d love to just be left alone.  

I got home and poured myself a drink. I started sipping my 3:00pm wine (don’t judge!) when my best friend (also gay) messaged me about the Supreme Court case. We went back and forth about how scary this decision is for both of us. We’re talking about bakeries now, but what about restaurants? Hotels? Law offices? Housing complexes? Hospitals? Freedom of religion shouldn't allow for blatant discrimination, right?   

While I’m angry and heartbroken by the events of the day, I’m even more upset at myself for my responses to them. I responded to the discrimination against me with, “Well, I’ve dealt with worse. I’ll just stay away from this person. Can we not talk about it again? I don’t want to label myself as a problem.” When my best friend and I were talking about the implications of the Supreme Court decision, I thought to myself, “If this were to affect housing, I should be able to look straight, plus I’m single, so I could weasel my way through housing as a “straight woman” if need be.” I’m embarrassed and ashamed to share these responses with all of you. I hate myself for saying and thinking them. But I also hate that I live in a country where I’ve been conditioned to think this way. 

It’s been such a hard day to be gay. To those of you who had similar days, I feel your pain. I’m sorry. I’m here for you. You are my family.

They won’t serve me cake, but I will.

Too soon? Yeah, definitely.