Sorry I'm Not Sorry

I’m different. In the most superficial ways, but also in deep ones. Despite being at Duke for two years I’ve never been to Shooters. I’ve never blacked out from drinking and have no incriminating pictures on Facebook. I don’t own one item of Duke clothing. I didn’t go to the convocation during orientation week and thus did not sign the sheet binding me to the honor code. I seriously thought about skipping the class of 2013 picture. I didn’t care about being able to spot myself in the blown up print. When I confided my plan to the black-clad video game nerd from Idaho in my FAC group, he said "You really enjoy being different" without a speck of judgment.

My rugged independence and determination are great qualities. I never understood the big fuss over peer pressure. (And my friends in high school "pressured" me to try cocaine, meth and heroin.) I came out early and often. To quote Mean Girls, I’m a “floater.” But I know my difference can lead to a defeatist attitude, laziness and loneliness. I don’t feel in my element in a group of white people, a group of gay people or a group of upper middle class people. I actually feel most uncomfortable in groups whose composition is upper middle class and white, even if a quick glance at my government forms would indicate that is what I am. I’m most comfortable in groups so diverse they're practically walking advertisements for the Center for Race Relations. I pat myself on the back for fighting self-segregation, but I know I am staying within my comfort zone, much like the members of minority and majority groups that are accused of this heinous crime. I'm comfortable with people who are also different, not people who assume incorrectly that the color of my skin means my background is similar to theirs.

Acknowledging the irreconcilable differences I have with the majority of the Duke population- my sexuality, my cultural mixdness, my “hardcore” middle and high school experiences, my insistence on a social life that doesn’t require a large disposable income- has made my Duke experience much more enjoyable. I’m hesitant to say I love Duke because of the social ills I’m confronted with everyday. I don’t feel an affinity with every Duke student. I definitely wouldn’t want to be here all year round. At Duke, school spirit is such an all-consuming ideology that it’s easy to forgot that at other colleges (for example, Carnegie Mellon and Brown) my level of zealotry would be normal. I understand that people can love Duke and acknowledge its social ills. I can see myself living in San Francisco after graduation even though it has serious issues with housing affordability and homelessness. The difference is that right now Duke’s flaws affect me personally and San Francisco's don't. Do I have to love Duke to love being here? No. That meta-level love, while encouraged by pep rallies and O-week events, is unnecessary.

I’m no longer in an ill-defined league of my own, where I congratulated myself simply for being myself. I see other Dukesters with similar goals and serious strengths over me. I have a supportive network of friends, a secure study spot in Perkins and an awesome summer in San Francisco lined up. I have no doubt that Duke is facilitating the life I want. I dance with queer ladies at the Pinhook and Vespa, tell it like it is at Women Loving Women, drink Paris tea at the Coffeehouse, smell the night air in the picturesque gardens, go to parties every weekend, see world-renowned performances for $5, participate in the ELI program at the Public Policy school, hop on the Robertson, and talk with people Singapore one minute and people from the rural South the next. I feel like it’s finally time for my difference to become a selling point, not a hindrance. Sorry I’m not sorry for my disinterest in Shooters, investment banking, grade-grubbing, sports, classic rock, Duke hoodies, celebrity gossip, going to the beach and television shows. Sorry I’m not sorry for my inability to dance like a white girl, my habit of dissapearing and getting lost, my encyclopedic knowledge of sex, my penchant for studying alone, my laid-back attitude and my outlandish ideas. It's easy to be sorry when you’re struggling to come alive, to find your place, to have audacious goals and good grades. But now I’m no longer struggling and I’m definitely not sorry.

Have a great summer everyone! If you're going to be in San Francisco during June and July, hit me up. Also, is it just me or is San Fran the queer femme capital of the world?

When You Give Your Gal Some Advil

I have a new gal in my life. Fun facts: She’s a senior Exercise Science major at UNC and plays on the club lacrosse team. She lives with a couple roommates in a Carrboro house and has her own car. We have the same taste in music. (If you're a romantic playlist voyeur, check out my Project Playlist profile.) We talk about anything and everything, especially our shared interest in food politics. Our distance is bridged by exciting text messages during Global Health class and Friday afternoon dinners at Chapel Hill Mexican restaurants. I have a willing companion if Childish Gambino ever decides to come to North Carolina and a dance partner when "My Chick Bad" comes on at Vespa. (As much as I like Lady Gaga and Katy Perry, I can’t give anyone a proper lap dance to their music.) Each Monday when I swipe dental damns from the Know Your Status table; I know they aren’t going to be used as bookmarks.

Unfortunately, this unfurling relationship is marred by one thing: a terrible toothache. (White girl problems? I think not.) Pain radiates through the left side of my mouth at all times. I wince when I smile at cute children. My painkiller of choice, chocolate, is double-edged. I must use real drugs, like Ibuprofen (eeek!) and Advil (yikes!) Eating regular meals is also difficult. I’ve been feeling lightheaded and weak, which is derailing my exercise routine. I just completed two hell weeks, and am gearing up for a possible third. The gulf between what I need to do to get A’s and what I can do is growing wider each day.

A Facebook status about bringing soup and meds to your baby seems like the perfect way to herald the "In a Relationship" life. (This new life requires a revamped Facebook strategy, starting with a new profile picture.) Cuteness is totally Facebook worthy. It is sure to generate a torrent of comments and likes, almost as much as the status about your awesome summer internship or DukeEngage acceptance. But posting cute statuses just isn't my style. I want my Facebook output to inform, educate and entertain, not make people gag. The 43 word synopsis: After scoping out my mouth (my student health appointment isn’t until next Friday) my gal decided Orajel was not a good idea. She hooked me up with Ibuprofen and fast-acting Advil Liqui-Gels. Both of us avoid painkillers, but this is an exception.

Caring for short term, minor health issues is like riding a bicycle with training wheels. When the training wheels come off my new gal could be an incompetent asshole. But all I can expect right now, in this amorphous situation-cum-proto-relationship is what I have received. Namely, an inspection and some pills. And as much as I think I can easily take care of myself, the times in high school when when I screamed and writhed on the carpet from cramps until my mom came home indicate otherwise. Now is the time to delegate, to say no, to give myself some time for mental rehabilitation so I can finish the semester strong. That my new gal supports me in this endeavor bodes well for the future of our relationship. The first hurdle has been cleared. On to the next one.

The Pinhook (Is Why I Leave Campus)

Last weekend I went somewhere worth gushing over. I’m talking about the Pinhook.

I was wary of going to the Pinhook because I heard it was very “homonormative.” As a femme, I equate homonormativity with the erasure of my identity. But the Pinhook is not solely homonormative. Yes, there were girls in jorts. Girls in ties and plaid button ups. Girls with alternative lifestyle haircuts and an array of v-neck shirts. But, there were also girls in tutus and dresses. Larger girls and smaller girls. Girls wearing lipstick while rocking doorknocker earrings. It was like everyone I had seen on sites like Fuck Yeah Femmes, Fuck Yeah Dykes and Genderfork was at one big party. (Everyone I had seen on OK Cupid was literally there too.) And they were dancing! Not sullenly standing against the wall or trying to wade through a blockade of gay men to find each other. No need to ask “Are you straight?” For once, I felt it.

I know this gushing might make we sound naïve or inexperienced. I’ve only been to gay clubs in San Antonio, The Triangle and New York. (I'm aware that the Pinhook is not specifically a gay club.) Even gay clubs that aren’t entirely populated by men present an obstacle to queer gals. For example, most of the women who go to Vespa are straight. When I’m feeling entrepreneurial I approach everyone I fancy. This can get tedious. My $10 cover goes towards seeing more homo PDA than I would at a Duke Selective Living Group party. It goes towards catching up with members of the Duke and UNC gaystream. Do I expect to meet other queer femmes? Not really.

The Pinhook felt like an alternate universe, a dream, a drug-infused terrarium. It was a flurry of bodies writhing to danceable music. Piercings, tattoos, glitter, binders, soft skin, tube tops, gym shorts. I was slightly buzzed but felt too drunk to walk straight or talk cohesively. To outsiders (read: Duke students) this group might have seemed impermeable. Fun to look at, not to join. Through some inspired dancing and the queerfemmeness I radiated I became part of the potent organism that lived on the dance floor. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t feeling bold. Women pulled me to them.

Now that I’ve exhausted the pros, I’ll head to the cons. The Pinhook crowd was quite white- not as white as a Portland potluck, but close. The non-white contingent was represented mostly by light-skinned ambiguous looking people and cute black guys. I knew that if I came to the Pinhook every weekend I would get bored seeing the same small group of folks over and over. I don’t know if I want to become embroiled in the gossip and drama endemic to small, tightly connected communities.

Gossip and drama. All queer ladies must deal with them eventually. Sure, I’m an upper middle class Duke student, but these are Triangle hipsters, not necessarily denizens of the Bull’s Eye. Even the most sheltered Duke student would feel comfortable walking in this neighborhood at night. Am I really afraid of pot, crafting and social justice? No. In high school this was my scene. Really, I’m afraid that by delving into Durham (not as an observer, as a participant) I’ll shake loose the foundation of the successful social life I’ve finally erected at Duke after three semesters. Hopefully I can strike a balance. Durhamite (not just Durham) friendly in theory and practice. Duke friendly too, even if nothing at Duke will ever be as queer as the Pinhook.

Crucial question: Will the second time be as great as the first? I’ll find out soon.

My Queer Secret

At first Queer Secrets seemed to be written in a foreign language. Demisexual. Cisgendered. Panromantic. Genderqueer. Intersex. Dysphoria. These words, which initially seemed pedantic and clinical, came alive as secret makers attached them to their stories. Some people didn’t yet have words to describe themselves. Some loved labels, some rejected them. Queer. Questioning. Asexual. Dapper queer. Dapper femme. Sub. Dom. Genderfluid. Transmasculine. Words of pride. Words of inclusivity and exclusivity. Words that defy the status quo, both heteronormativity and homonormativity.

I’m in my friend and cultural soulmate Hilly’s room (background: half white, half Hispanic, no one believes she's Hispanic, grew up in suburban southern California) , talking about a monologue I just wrote for next year’s Me Too Monologues.

What am I? is a theme of this monologue. I reflect on my gradual whitening since arriving at Duke. I wanted to finally express what word fit me, what experiences were similar to mine. Is my cultural and ethnic ambiguity a disappearing mirage or the symptom of an unchanging quality? I knew that “culturally Hispanic” was no longer cutting it. I’m culturally mixed not culturally Hispanic. And ethnically white? That’s a statement of fact, even if I’m not comfortable putting White on government forms or dating sites. So I’m culturally Hispanic/white, ethnically white. In that order. Like a heteroromantic asexual or a female-bodied genderqueer, right?

My body passes for Hispanic. My experiences pass for Hispanic. My pain and fear and anger and observations pass for Hispanic. The reason why no one ever “finds me out” is that at my core I’m not 100% white. There’s nothing for me to hide. Hispanic cultural and social events are not an opportunity for observation and cross-cultural education (nothing wrong with that, it’s what I do at other cultural and religious events) they are an opportunity for me for feel alive and connected to myself and others who share my values and cultural background.

If someone assumes I'm a recent immigrant or my first language is Spanish I'll correct them. The myriad other assumptions people make are so subtle I don't know if they're in my head, and if they involve culture (not ethnicity) a correction isn't actually needed. Blurting out that I'm white would just create distance and uphold the ridiculous idea of a monolithic whiteness that must be asserted at all times. It's like saying "That dude looks nice, no homo" or that I'm a straight ally.

Why do I feel torn about not correcting people? Eventually someone from Duke will meet my parents (who are quite culturally and ethnically white) and know what's going on. And an ethnically white person who identifies as anything other than white is just not cool.

The ability to navigate different cultures, to be accepted in different countries, to pass for different races is a privilege. A white privilege. A white person who adopts the cultural practices of a non-white people for fun, entertainment or street credibility is engaging in cultural appropriation, and it’s not cool. The key difference is that my Hispanicness is not a front or a phase. When I went to London I didn’t talk in a British accent or dance “whiter.” When I go home to San Antonio I don’t put on a chola tear and a bandanna and eat rice and beans every day. My Hispanicness is not mired in stereotype, irony, fascination or choice. It's not mentioned in contrast to my whiteness, nor is it trumped by my whiteness. It’s just me. All day every day, expressed in subtle ways.

Some people appropriate LGBT culture for fun, entertainment or street credibility. But not everyone who isn’t strictly L, G, B or T is engaging in appropriation. What about the pansexual person who has only been in heterosexual relationships? Polyamorous people? Bigendered, genderqueer and gender-non conforming humans? An effeminate straight dude? Straight people who pass for queer? Heteroflexible folks? A heteroromantic asexual? People who reject labels? Though they aren’t always accepted by the LGBT community, they live in the rainbow tree house. They, along with the entire LGBTQQIA diaspora, keep our community humming and relevant.

I’m not a one-off. Think all the children who have been adopted transculturally/ethnically/racially. The Colombian grad student who was adopted into a white family. People so ethnically/culturally/racially mixed they don’t know who they are, where they came from or where they fit in. Hispanic Afro-Caribbean people. The white guy who was Valedictorian at Morehouse.

Hopefully when we start posting our own queer secrets the words will appear.

My queer secret would say:

I'm culturally Hispanic/white, ethnically white. It's not a phase or a front. I'm not comfortable with the White greek scene at Duke or at nearly all-white events. I don't fit conventional white beauty standards. (But who does?) I talk with a Spanish accent. I'm told I don't dance like a white girl...every time I go out. Sometimes I have to represent Hispanic culture because I can't deal with ignorance and racism. When I embrace my mixedness I feel alive, but also guilty. People like me are supposed to be bad people, or at least the butt of jokes. I'm culturally queer and sexually queer. If I think about this too much my head will explode.

Adventures in Online Dating

I’ve been doing some “market research” on the free online dating industry. Yes. Market research.

I started with Ok Cupid, so well designed and full of interesting, educated people with witty profiles that it has almost single-handedly sucked the shame out of online dating. I quickly went through all the girls who met my basic criteria. As a result I’ve been on a brunch date at the Nasher and had interesting conversations with more girls I may see soon. I grew curious about the other types of free online dating sites. Would more queer women be on them? OK Cupid is the the crossover success. How much worse could these other sites be?

I checked out Plenty of Fish (literally the market leader,) which was horribly designed but not very sketchy. My inbox on Plenty of Fish is a repository of banal “Hey pretty” and “You’re adorable” messages. On DateHookup, I received my first no-strings-attached sex solicitation from another woman. (This could have boosted my ego, but I hadn’t even uploaded my first profile picture!) Now that I’ve received catcall messages I see it as less of an ego boost than a let down. Like getting a text, only to realize it’s from my Dad (which usually goes something like "Make sure you are using wifi while on campus!!" or "Do you think Texas will beat Bama?") I liked the idea for How About We, a site designed to match people based on their ideal date. Unfortunately no women who live in the Triangle and meet my basic criteria use this site.

I wanted to revisit the Mogenic of my youth (whichwas not just for teenagers,) but it has shut down. The first Google hit for “LGBT social network” was Downelink. What Downelink has in quantity (over 700 women in the Triangle who fit my basic criteria, over 500 of them black) it loses in quality. Sifting through profiles on Downelink is like looking at woman seek woman on Craigslist crossed with Myspace. All eyesore backgrounds and unsolicited music. I discovered people who spelled “younqq” instead of young, who wanted to meet “FUCK THAT A BANGED AZZ GIRL WHO I CAN CALL WIFEY” and self-identified as 15 year old jailbait. One girl replied with “That was the most refreshing msg I have received on here.” As a Duke student, I also found her refreshing. She had traveled throughout the South, meeting with a former slave owner, and had lived in New York City while auditioning for Broadway plays. For good or ill, unstructured wandering is not in the conversational repertoire of the typical Duke student.

I enjoy this research project, but it is not sustainable. Crafting opening messages beyond “Hey what’s up?” requires the type of close reading of a profile normally reserved for applications and cover letters. I don't have the time or interest to tease out personality from people content to say "I go to NCSU." Every time a message exchange abruptly ends I feel like I've expended much more effort than if I had just talked to a girl for 20 minutes at a party.

Results: My outlook has expanded beyond the terrarium known as Duke. I now realize just how many queer women are in the Triangle, some a bus ride away. The opportunity to check out many women at once is something straight people can take for granted but I rarely do in real life. When I start to think I'm the only queer femme, fashion conscious, intellectual, ethnically ambiguous lesbian in the Triangle I think of this quote by Frida Kahlo:

"I used to think I was the strangest person in the world but then I thought, there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too.
well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it’s true I’m here, and I’m just as strange as you."

Then I check my new matches on OK Cupid.

[I'm currently undertaking a ridiculous stunt to meet a lot of "my type" women in person. If the stunt is over in two weeks I'll post an article about it.]

Relationship Oriented, But Not Narrow

After reading the top three essays in the Modern Love college essay contest (Want to Be My Boyfriend? Please Define; May I Have This Dance?; My Dropout Boyfriend Kept Dropping In), I wanted to add my personal experience to the dialogue about my generation’s conception of love, sex and relationships.

I consider myself relationship oriented. I find them simple. Straightforward. I don’t like starting my shivering walk of shame without saying goodbye. I don’t like getting hickies from over-zealous partners who don’t know about my “No Hicky” policy. I enjoy my rough, one-night-in-Vegas hookups, but I can't always stop myself from developing romantic interest afterward. Hooking up can be edifying, but is also as potentially lethal as entering a relationship.

Why am I like this, especially when avoiding commitment seems to be the official philosophy of my generation? The rules of the game are: Don’t ask anyone on a date. Don’t expect exclusivity. Don’t ask if you’re going to see someone again. But I do ask people on dates (I’m careful not to use the terrifying word date,) I do expect exclusivity (though this is not requisite for all successful relationships) and I do ask people if I’m going to see them again.

I don’t have a laundry list of interesting characters that I’ve done interesting things with. My post-college romantic life has been a sandwich: a couple of hook-ups buttressing a long, committed relationship. This relationship was the meat-substitute of my romantic life. I wouldn’t trade a million encounters in far-off locations or quirky stories for what I had with her. When our relationship ended I felt wounded. All last semester I was only able to hook-up. I rearranged my non-negotiables. I reevaluated my preferences.

In the midst of this, I asked a girl on a date off-campus. I was relieved when she said she didn’t want to pursue anything further. I didn’t see a relationship unfurling between us, nor the potential for a hook-up. My relationship-oriented brain didn’t calm down until it knew the other party had no interest. In my simple world, if you like a date with someone you go on another. And then eventually you are in a relationship. This narrative is hopelessly quaint. Impossible to achieve consistently, if at all. Did this really use to be my life?

I’d like to analyze the Malcom X movie with someone and make-out with them afterward. Someone I can go out to dinner with. Someone I can have amazing sex with. (Preferably someone who is into kinky shit but is also a sexual health nerd.) Someone I can go thrifting with. Someone with a car. Someone I can dance wildly with. If I met someone now who embodied all these qualities I would feel crushed. Like a butterfly in an exhibit. I don’t like the feeling I get after watching Malcolm X with someone who might hold my hand or fix my collar, but nothing more. I am frustrated by long, intimate, sexually tinged conversations with essentially straight friends. I feel alienated when I grind with someone I couldn’t converse with. This incompleteness is new to me.

The few queer girls I knew in high school rotated around me like a merry-go-round. In middle school I went to sites like Mogenic. In high school, I used Myspace and Facebook (Is anyone else disappointed that on Facebook you can’t search for people by sexual orientation?) My most epic moment was an awkward, groping kiss near the entrance of a Plano mall that was the result of a month-long long-distance online relationship. Then I met another girl who played World of Warcraft and sent me a (obviously fake) picture of her hot girlfriend in Iowa. We watched Brokeback Mountain in a theater (where she got asked to leave the women's restroom) on New Years Eve. She drove me to my house and we watched the ball drop with my family. Then she had to go home, ostensibly to feed her grandmother's cats. Another girl, the reason for the phrase "You looked better on Myspace", visited me at Vacation Bible School. Meeting people online still feels shamefully juvenile and desperate. (The origin of stories you don’t tell anyone, unless you write for this blog.) Over winter break a friend suggested I start using OkCupid. It has so far proved worthwhile; though I've already contacted or rejected every single gay female in a 25 mi radius.I think the more gay saturated an area is, the more the gay and straight youth converge in their attitudes on relationships. If I had more women to pick from, I might not feel the need to commit. (I could also be permanently relationship oriented, or value my relationship skills enough not to let then atrophy. )

I first meet someone in person, usually at school. We start talking. We start talking more and seeing each other more. Eventually someone makes a flirty comment. I’m nervous. I like this person a lot but don’t expect them to feel the same way. They do. We starting hooking up and going out, everything blurring together. Eventually someone pops the Facebook relationship status question. We’re official. In my narrative there’s no room for disappearing acts. If someone becomes unresponsive I imagine that they got busy. I wait. I don’t pine for them. No relationship, no problems. Then the cycle begins again. I don’t envision another relationship created by my dated high-school formula. Like the quadratic formula, it doesn’t work for every polynomial.

Study Abroad the LGBT Way

[Note: I know some of yall were looking forward to me writing more about sex. I will be. I'm in the process of figuring out how I can write about girl-on-girl sex in an inclusive, fun and legal way, while protecting everyone's privacy. You know how it goes. Feel free to leave me comments about what you'd like to see.]

I’m considering two different study abroad options for next year. Copenhagen and Istanbul.

Here are my ill-informed fantasies of what would happen in each case:

Copenhagen, I imagine- drag kings, vogueing, Scandinavian style, for once not having my sexuality be a dull hum in the back of my mind (it used to be a rock concert, I’ve since mellowed), walkbility, livability, world renowned woman-oriented sex stores. [Ed. Note: NSFW (unless you work at a sex store).]

I know I’m reducing Copenhagen down to a clean, livable LGBT utopia. But who cares, since no one would deny it?

Copenhagen has its cons. It’s $20 for an average hamburger expensive. It offends my anti-Eurocentric sensibilities. Am I living my life according to Stuff White People Like? Is studying abroad for me all about accumulating sexual partners, binge drinking and partying?

Which leads me to Istanbul. A megacity/megaslum straddling Europe and Asia. Secular, but with a majority Muslim population. Layers of history on every street corner. Turkish tea. (Is my Orientalism showing?) Classes on Islamic art and architecture, Urban Economics and Transportation Economics. Lightly “immersing” myself in language that I might find interesting and useful enough to pursue when the semester ends.

But Istanbul is NOT GAY ENOUGH. It just isn’t. If Istanbul has a thriving female-identified queer scene, it certainly is not showing up on my Google searches (which are mostly generic Istanbul Gay & Lesbian Travel Guides- apparently LGBT people don’t actually live there.)

I can’t deny that my sexuality is at the forefront of my study abroad decision. I’m so over being the weird lesbian girl from high school. While Duke was a step up, getting a date/getting laid is still work (werq?). Yeah, I’m all about “staying and fighting” and “pride bigger than Texas” but even I feel like busting out. Since when was I the mistress of LGBT purgatory, suffering alone so that debonair urbanites didn’t have to? I can inject LGBT life into the gay ghost towns of the world without sacrificing my well-being and potential.

I’m done with taking risks on places whose LGBT-friendliness is not well-established. I’m tired of being told by non-LGBT people that some place is “gay-friendly” when what they really mean is that I won’t consistently get called fagdykewhorebitchslut or mauled if I decided to kiss another woman in public. I’m tired of LGBT men telling me someplace is gay friendly when what they really mean is that men have a scene and a voice, but women don’t. I’m sure many of yall know how it feels to expect a LGBT haven and realize that the community was unaccommodating, whether because of your race, class, gender expression, gender identity, sexual orientation, confusion, fluidity, ambiguity, body type, taste in music…the list goes on.

How many LGBT people do you know who have studied abroad (or lived and worked for an extended period of time) in a country known for its mistreatment of the LGBT community? The kind of place whose name elicits a "Why would you ever go there?" from confused LGBT comrades. Is everything just part of a gradient…can one person’s San Antonio be another person’s New York? One person’s Istanbul another person’s Copenhagen? One person’s Uganda another person’s Jamaica? From Sao Paolo to Little Rock, we are all armed with a vague sense of where we came from and where we think we are going. I’m from Texas and want to end up in the American Northeast. Of course this affects how I view Istanbul.

When has LGBT life ever been the featured reason why I chose to go somewhere or do something? Maybe it’s time it should be.

Let's Talk About Sex...Lesbian Sex

I’ve had this idea for awhile now. I’m currently trying to formulate it in the best way and see what other people think.

Almost everyone who has been through some form of sex education knows how to put a condom on a dildo. Hardly anyone knows how to use a dental dam. I can understand why dental dam demonstrations might not happen in sex education. Putting a condom on a dildo can be fun. Putting a dental dam on a plastic vagina seems much more intimate. And weird. Here’s the deal: for men who have sex with men, they’ve been taught (albeit in a heteronormative way) how to protect themselves. For women who have sex with women, the waters are murkier.

LGBT students often don’t get inclusive sexual health education in highs school or from parents. In college you’re on your own. Fortunately, people of our generation can use the internet to find sexual health information. I use the internet to find the information I need- whether it’s a Youtube video demonstrating how to use a dental dam or charts that show the risk levels of various sexual activities. I expose myself to a menagerie of information partly out of curiosity and partly because I need to answer questions when I’m counseling. I don’t see the problem as lack of access to information.

I know what it’s like to be a queer women struggling with if and how to have safe sex. I know what it’s like to feel nervous asking a partner to use protection with me, and the frustration felt when a partner wasn’t as enthusiastic as I was. Dental dams aren’t weird and awkward, and haven’t impeded my ability to get someone off. (Maybe I’m just that good.) While LGBT women and men have many reasons to collaborate, we might be more different than similar when it comes to sexual health. I’m not qualified to tackle sexual health from an LGBT men’s perspective. I know which acts or more high risk than others, but people are already aware of that. I’ve yet to encounter an LGBT man at Duke who didn’t find safe sex perfectly obvious (in theory at least.)

How do women have safe sex with other women? By using a dental dam during oral sex or rimming. You could also use finger condoms or latex gloves. Valencia by Michelle Tea, a novel I read in high school, described women wearing latex gloves when they had sex, so it’s on my radar. Barring specific medical conditions, I don’t see any need for finger condoms or latex gloves. To be honest, the idea of having unsafe sex freaks me out, especially when I have my public health nerd glasses on. (Those glasses do sometimes come off in the heat of the moment. But yall already know I’m not a sexual health saint.) I have never talked to a queer woman who knew about dental dams or wanted to use them. I have never shared sex toys with a woman. If I did, I would at least know to clean them. Not to be a Debbie Downer, but women can transmit STDs to each other. Otherwise this discussion would be moot.

I want to hear from yall. What (if anything) do you use for protection? What are your reasons for using or not using protection? Do you feel uninformed or inexperienced? Do you consider lesbian sex safe, or safe enough? Do you find dental dams awkward/gross/pointless/potentially lethal?

The Gay Disease

I always thought of AIDS as a “gay disease.” Whenever I went to a site for LGBT youth, I would see a prominent sexual health section with information about HIV/AIDS. This was my first sexual education, other than questions my parents answered (one being “What is oral sex?”) I recieved decent, though heteronormative, sexual education in middle school. I learned about STDs through pictures in my high school’s health class. I watched a memorable video about abstinence in religion class. (Its message against cohabitation and reasonable defense of waiting till marriage has stuck with me, it's line that "condom's are a joke" did not.) If I heard about AIDS in school sex education, it was presented the same way as LGBT issues. As in: We know that some of yall are LGBT or might have experience with HIV/AIDS, but we don’t have time to cover everything. You’re on your own.

The secrecy surrounding HIV/AIDS determined me to find out more. I tried to volunteer at the San Antonio AIDS Foundation (SAAF) in middle school. By then I was aware of my LGBT identity and had connected HIV/AIDS to it. I was too young. In the middle of high school, I donated a fraction of my birthday money to SAAF. By senior year I had participated in a variety of service projects to fill my school requirement, none of which had any effect on me. I contacted the SAAF again. After a brisk training (watching dated anti-sexual harassment and fire safety videos) I was a volunteer. The rest of the story is what college admission essays are made of.

I volunteered at the SAAF for only seven hours, including training. I popped into the SAAF less than an hour a week for a semester. I realized that service isn’t all making copies and playing with dogs at the pound. I couldn’t stomach this kind of service for very long. My main task was serving food to people on the verge of death. Most either spoke in inanities accompanied by inappropriate expression or looked permanently terrified.

One man was lucid enough to be my friend. My Catholic school uniform put him at ease. I was an innocent receptacle of his recycled stories. I reminded him of his youth: playing baseball, his first girlfriend. This man, like many of the people at SAAF, was black. This wouldn’t be significant except that since I lived on the Northside of San Antonio and went to Catholic school, seeing a black person was an unusual event. The only time I saw more than a couple of black people at once was at the SAAF. I stopped volunteering for a couple weeks. When I returned, I didn’t see my wheel-chair bound friend in the dining hall. His obituary, along with many others, was in a glass case. Growing up, I was sheltered from death. Other than my great-grandparents and opa, I didn’t personally know dead people. As a kid, I thought that the death of these ancient relatives was inevitable, a non-event. This man seemed healthy. His death seemed sudden, though I knew it was years in the making.

I have other memories of the SAAF. Wheeling a man to the outside porch so he could smoke. I put the wrong side of the cigarette in his mouth. I ashed and lit for him too because his hands didn’t work. He was good-natured and gracious. We had a functional, though mundane, conversation. I fed another man who kept repeating that he liked black guys. I told him I liked them too, sheepishly trying to hide my discomfort. Another man had the stoic face and tattoos of a contraband leader. The nurse ordered him in Spanish to open wide so I could spoon food into his mouth. I went once to a patient's room. It was dark except for a minature TV perched on a tall shelf. Her bed was lined with pictures of family, friends, and what I assumed was the healthy patient. My hands shook as I spooned the food. This woman had one expression (terror in the face of death) and four words (the food is good.) I took it for granted that her and I could never be friends, could never have a conversation.

All these experiences led me to believe that AIDS wasn’t what you saw in Rent. It killed people, yes, but it also took away their brains and marked their bodies. It forced them to tell old stories and watch TV all day. It made them the antithesis of sexy. Due to advances in medication, people newly infected can escape this fate with enough money or public assistance. Yet the regimen is exacting, the stigma still acute.

I admitted in my previous post that I am no sexual health saint. I do what I can to stay safe and keep up to date on my facts. I won’t engage in certain sexual behaviors. I try to keep my partner count low. In line with my Catholic education, I err on the side of prudishness and serial monogamy.

As most people know, when I came to Duke I became trained as an HIV counselor. (Don’t worry; I don’t remember what people tell me in my sessions.) I was terrified at first of giving positive results. I thought the person would be angry with me. I have since realized that I am still the innocent girl in the Catholic school uniform. I didn’t give anyone the disease. I still listen to stories, but now I can help people avoid life as a hospice patient.

Some of my fellow counselors are black women. Some of them, like me, made it clear that their identity was why they got involved with Know Your Status. I’m not going to naively say that HIV/AIDS will bring together the LGBT and black communities, but it is an opportunity.
A couple days ago I watched a movie called The New Age of HIV/AIDS, which focused on North Carolina. I learned a lot about the spread of HIV/AIDS on college campuses and in rural areas. I was ecstatic to learn that research is being done at Duke that might lead to a vaccine within 15 years.

I care about HIV/AIDS because I’m gay. While HIV/AIDS is not a gay disease it is woven deep inside of the gay community. I believe no one should be alienated from the sexual health information they need. Condoms, lube or dental damns (I plan on stocking up), information about the risk of certain behaviors or the disease itself are available on campus. An LGBT sexual health related event is in the works for this coming year. I don’t know what it’s like to be personally affected by the disease. But I have seen HIV/AIDS kill people, and I have seen people narrowly escape it.

For reasons I don't understand, sex is endowed with negative externalities. These externalities are impossible for me to forget (even at the most inappropriate times.)

The Prison Effect

I apologize for not posting in forever. I’ve been busy with non-LGBT stuff. Also, the discussion group isn’t doing well. I’m attempting to revive it and not lose hope. [Update: Two people have already expressed serious interest in taking over the group when I leave!]

This past week I was at the computer hacker’s conference Defcon in Las Vegas. This led me to think about the “prison effect” which famously produces Lesbians Until Graduation (LUGs) at elite women's universities like Smith. Though I have never been to prison, I have been to Catholic school, math camp, frat parties and now a computer hacker’s conference which was 99.99% white male. (I know what you're thinking: Catholic school? I have fantasies about all-girls Catholic schools! The hetronormativity and proximity of our "brother school" created an exotic type of "prison effect.")

I am particularly susceptible to this effect for three reasons. I don’t know of any reliable, classy (sorry Steel Blue) queer women hangouts in the RTP area. I’m excited to check out CC's hip-hop nights. Since I have a girlfriend it would be for observatory purposes only. I’m interested in male dominated fields like computer science and business. And I’m the kind of femme who finds masculine energy more important than gender.

Picture this: I am surrounded by men. It’s probable that one out of the thousands of straight men I encounter at a computer hacker’s conference will think I’m attractive. It’s probable that I will find at least one man without a floppy Mohawk, giant Goth pants, and a beer gut. In fact, he will have a winning smile, an adorable Oklahoma accent, broad shoulders and the ability to hack SCADA systems. I can safely assume this man is straight. My nonchalance is an asset. For once I am not the embarrassing, over-aggressive chaser.

Of course there are one or two women that catch my eye. But, save for subtle body language (which I don’t understand) and asking a woman upfront, I’m not going to know her sexuality. Butches/studs are easy to spot, but I’m afraid they want more femmeness than I can provide. I have never seen a nerdy, Rachel Maddow type butch in the wild. And I’m not exactly attracted to women who wear sensible shoes, so the L Word gaydar checklist does not apply.

Finally, I avoid casual sex with women because protection is so confusing. Men get condoms. Women get dental dams. I have never used a dental dam! Yes, I am a public health hypocrite. So as to not destroy my public health credibility I simply don’t have casual sex with women. I don’t feel confident in initiating the use of such an awkward device. And since I have a girlfriend my lack of dental dam aptitude is a less urgent concern.

Do I feel good about my conquests? Not really. But it’s something. I want to taste that privilege many straight people have of getting lucky at a generic college party. Making out on the dance floor. You know how it goes. It’s like eating coffee flavored ice cream. I don’t like the coffee flavor, but it’s still ice cream.

I know many people won’t understand my susceptibility to the prison effect. They think if I call myself a lesbian instead of a queer woman I should treat interested men like wild hyenas. I think calling myself queer would be a cop-out. To me there is a gulf between romantic and physical attraction. I call myself a lesbian because my romantic attraction lies squarely with women. My physical attraction is nebulous. I bet (I just came back from Vegas after all) if you walked a mile in my shoes you would also hook up with some computer hackers, entrepreneurs, math nerds and Catholic school boys along the way.

I did it!

Yall already know that I came to my homeland with a MISSSION (thanks Chantel!)

I'm not religious and resent the fact that much of the support for LGBT people in San Antonio is done through churches. I personally do not feel comfortable going to church or church related events. I think non-religious as well as religious folks should have access to this kind of support.

Unfortunately I developed activists block. I had sent e-mails to coffeeshops and community centers to no avail. Last night I bypassed my pride and e-mailed a slew of LGBT friendly churches that I found in an online directory. This morning three e-mailed back saying I could use their space for an LGBT youth discussion group.

One pastor in particular lamented the dearth of resources for LGBT youth in San Antonio. He, along with some other pastors, was trying to start a religious group for LGBT youth. He could get the message out to members of gay-friendly parishes across San Antonio. Most importantly, he promised me access to a large meeting place equipped with state-of the art games like ping-pong.

I was wholly unprepared for this to happen so quickly. I did what anyone in my situation would do: I created a Facebook group. Now the group has almost thirty members. I have sent e-mails to arts organizations, synagogues, HIV/AIDS organizations, meditation centers- every place I think will lend me a sympathetic ear.

I would like to contact high school GSAs (does anyone know if an online directory exists?) and reach out to all sides of town. I want people to hear about and have access to this group whether they live on the Northside, Southside, Eastside or Westside. The highways in San Antonio can take you anywhere. Unfortunately, public transportation is limited and doesn't yet exist in the newer parts of town. I love that the church is located near San Antonio College in the downtown area.

I know this was a simple step that required no high-tech skill or grant-writing ability. Yet for some reason it hadn't been done before (correction: I have since learned is has been done before, it just didn't last.) I can't wait to see how this group develops and meet some more amazing people.

For those of yall who found this via Google and want details about the group: the first meeting will be Thursday June 17th at 6:00 PM at the Cove. Check out the Facebook group San Antonio LGBT Youth Discussion Group. Please RSVP for the event. I look forward to meeting you!

Butch/Femme

“I like butch girls and I cannot lie

You other femmes can't deny

When a butch walks in all the femmes make a fuss

Because there's like one of them and thirty of us”

-“Butch/Femme” by Team Gina

Don't hate me but...I can somewhat relate to the characters on the L Word. Don't get me wrong- I am just as annoyed that there were no real butch characters. I find the level of wealth and glamor unrealistic. Yet I can't help myself. I am attracted to the women on the show and aspire to be like them. My race and socioeconomic status also play a role, but I will address those identities another day.

Today is all about gender expression.

I see myself as a queer femme. It makes me feel like I’m in a burlesque troupe. While I am not the typical femme girl, I am a femme girl nonetheless. (And really, regardless of sexual orientation, who is the "typical" femme girl?) Before this year I assumed that since I wasn't “femme” in the most narrow, stereotypical sense I wasn’t a “femme” at all. I also assumed that in order to be “femme” I would have to date only “butches.” I changed my mind partly because Tiffany kept telling me how femme I was. I also realized that well…I wasn’t like all the other LGBT girls I knew. This realization wasn’t of the “OMG I’M SO ALONE WHAT EVER AM I GOING TO DO WITH MY LIFE” variety (we've all had plenty of those.) Rather, it was accompanied by a sly grin. One more hitherto unanalyzed part of me was finally beginning to make sense.

Part of the reason why I was so hesitant to claim the identity was because I was I was a flaming tomboy growing up. When I was younger I would often pass for a boy. I envied girls who could wear shorts and a t-shirt and still look like girls. In many arguments with my mom and grandma where I have been accused of “not being feminine enough.” Someone was always willing to explain to me that I was too loud, too logical, too brash, too sporty, too ugly, too to-the-point to be a girl. I still don’t feel like I have correct femme foundation. Whatever “femme” is, it’s not completely instinctive.

We all have many sides and histories. The word “femme” to me is not about wearing heels everyday, wanting to be a mother, having a million cute pictures on Facebook, heightened sensitivity to colors or shopping stamina. It’s not about only dating women who can pass for men, though I do find masculine women appealing. The aforementioned qualities are more stereotypical than realistic, though sensitivity to colors is based in biology. What makes me a femme? Well, my love for skirts, dresses and all things beautiful. My hair-flipping ability. My freakish emotional intelligence and sensitivity. My aversion to physical pain. My desire to comfort others. To you this may sound like outdated stereotypes. Yet for me the details are less important.

I am constantly "hacking" the word femme, teasing out of it new meaning.

Putting a definition to “feminine” and “masculine” is one of the hardest tasks I can imagine, slightly less hard than running the Federal Reserve or being a neurosurgeon. I understand why someone wouldn’t want to identify with a label. This may surprise you, but I can wear a suit and tie or play a contact sport and it has no effect my status as a femme. I have femme tenure.

Femme is also more liberating because I made the choice to identify as such and feel no shame in it. Of course I would feel no shame- as a woman I am encouraged by society to be "femme." And you'd be right to assume that it's easier for straight women and I to find common ground when I look similar to them. I also find it easier to introduce straight women to a girlfriend who looks like a boyfriend. But I don't have a firm ally in men or women. While straight women can relate to me and make up most of my friends, I am still too often seen as the tainted lesbian. I'm like a slut or a whore. And I have difficulty forming strong friendships with straight men.

This exercise has taught me to me more sensitive to the unique gender expressions of those around me. You are free to identify as butch/femme, genderqueer, androgynous or just yourself. I not vulnerable to harassment because of how I look, walk, dress or talk. I am vulnerable to harassment because I choose to be visible. I'm angry whenever I hear the line "If I wanted someone who looked like a man, I'd date one" on a television show, especially one that is LGBT themed (Sugar Rush comes to mind.) The gender expression chauvinism is our community needs to stop. I know the butch/femme dynamic seems passe, but it's just as passe as only valuing feminine (or non-butch) lesbians.

Identifying as femme is not about putting myself in a box. It’s about finally finding a box that so many people hid from me and saying

“Hey! That’s my box!”

Being Queer Gave Me Unrealistic Ideas About Cities

As I've been thinking of my fair San Antonio this past week I have also begun to think about cities in general. What do I want from a city? Do I even want to be in a city? Why am I so obsessed with cities?!!! (I promise y'all I will make this LGBT related!)

I live about 15 minutes from downtown San Antonio. Going downtown is an easy drive that I undertake multiple times a week. I usually stick to hip neighborhoods because literally driving in the downtown area is tricky. I am a beast at finding fun things to do. (Just ask Tiff: I found a cool, inexpensive play to see in Baltimore in a matter of hours and I don't even live there.)

I am certain I am biased towards cities because I am queer. Ever since I came out, I yearned for the neon lights of New York and the power lesbians of Los Angeles. Every show I watched, every book I read, every magazine I flipped through reminded me that I was MISSING OUT BIG TIME. It seemed that all LGBT people lived in a few fabulous cities. They had the most political clout, funnest places to meet up, most extensive resources and best overall experience. I couldn't wait to bust out of San Antonio and enter the major leagues of queerness. Only then would my sexuality stop being such a hulking "issue."

Little did I know I would get rejected from 7 colleges and end up at Duke University, my North Carolina wild card. I love Duke University and the community I have. Though Durham is a pint-sized city that most Dukies fear, it is a major hub for queer women. Do I want to stay in Durham? Probably not. I think Washington D.C. would be better suited to my career goals. But I want to leave my future location unresolved. I'll go wherever my life leads me, whether it's Portland, Boston, Berlin, Beijing or Augusta, Georgia.

Many of my relatives live in the country. They don't understand why anyone would live in a city. Whenever I express my distaste for the country, my parents remark sternly that some people prefer it. They want to be able to fish any time. They want wide open spaces to themselves. They want to see the stars. Maybe it would be nice to have natural beauty to go to when the bars close. Throughout my life many people have reminded me that you can truly feel alive in a small town. My city chauvinism is astounding and will be difficult to undo.

I know I would be incredibly lonely if I lived far away from civilization. Yet I often stay home and read a book rather than go out. I don't take advantage of all the amenities my city has to offer. How useful in an awesome alternative theater when I don't feel like making the drive? Or, more often, when my friends can't afford to buy tickets? How fabulous is a metropolis when you don't have any meaningful relationships? When you're sick from the pollution?

I'm trying to dissect what I want from a city. Do I want access to every type of restaurant imaginable? Yes! Do I want to meet diverse groups of people? Certainly. Do I want to experience cutting-edge art and design? Of course. Do I want access to a large public library? Don't get it twisted! I definitely do! When I get in my "pro-city" mentality I can't see much of anything else. I don't realize that I experience more cutting edge art and design through the internet than in person. While San Antonio is a major city in its own right something about it feels limiting. It may be huge geographically but it's not fulfilling in other, subtler ways. This is less about San Antonio and more about me. Until I find the city that feels like home I will keep searching.

Which is why I half-decided to stay in San Antonio this summer. Most of my family lives in Central Texas. Though I fantasied about moving up North in high school, I know that leaving my family will be a slow and painful process. I have friends who need me right now who won't take kindly to me running away from them. I have half-entered the real world and feel like I need to realistically assess who I am and where I'm going. If I can't do meaningful academic research in San Antonio, why would I assume that I would do it in Boston? If can't meet new people in San Antonio, why would I meet them in New York? If I can't find fun shit to do in San Antonio, why would the fun shit fall on my lap in Chicago? If I can't handle being called a "dyke" in San Antonio, why would I handle it with perfect poise when I'm in Portland? Of course I'll discriminated against in all of these cities. Of course I will encounter homophobia. Sometimes I get to thinking the grass is the perfect shade of neon green everywhere but San Antonio.

I stayed in this city as a challenge. I mistakenly believed that if I left San Antonio I would be able to achieve my dreams. I feel profound satisfaction that San Antonio seems riper with possibilities because it means I have acquired better eyes and better tools. I am fortunate to be from such a culturally complex city and near my family. Whether you are in New York City or the middle of nowhere this summer, I encourage you to take advantage of your location. I know what it's like to find your home stale and limiting. Keep searching. And if all else fails, there's always the internet. I am so excited for the people going to South Africa, England, China, Kenya, Ecuador, Vietnam, Tibet, Germany and everywhere else in the world this summer. I can't wait when I too will be able to say I am going to [insert awesome country here] to do [awesome thing.] For someone like me who is so internationally minded (I have a world map on my fucking wall!) staying in my hometown for the summer sounded completely counterintuitive. That's also why it makes perfect sense.

Back to the LGBT message: I firmly believe that no part of America should be left behind in the quest for gay rights. While I can't blame anyone for flocking to a "gay mecca" the migration of LGBT people to certain cities just serves to make the less desirable places even less desirable. If it wasn't for natural beauty, family connections and moving for jobs I fear that some places would lose all their LGBT citizens. I know I'm a hypocrite because I have have an escape plan in my back pocket. Who knows, maybe I won't have to use it.

Summer Session: San Antonio

This summer I half-decided to stay in San Antonio. I hope to bring some necessary resources to San Antonio and eventually create a fiscally sustainable LGBT Center (using Duke money of course.) I will continue posting but be warned that my experience in San Antonio will be the main topic. I'm going to start off with a reply to a comment I received on my How I Stopped Worrying and Learned To Love San Antonio...Not post because it encapsulates the strong feelings I'm experiencing at the moment:

One problem I see with the LGBT community in San Antonio is that it's very content in its position. Speak up about San Antonio's ills and someone will quickly try to make it seem like everything's fine. In high school I was too often silenced by people who thought because they were happy and "tolerated" that I had nothing to complain about. People think San Antonio inherently can't be like other big, boisterous, gay-friendly cities. It can't support a gay district. The community is divided and lacks political clout.

But San Antonio is not a little city where this situation might be understandable. San Antonio is the 7th largest city in the United States! Its peer cities in size are Dallas, Houston, Phoenix, San Diego and Philadelphia, all of which have basic resources for LGBT people. San Antonio might be "fine" if you have a home, education, job, community and your health. If you don't, San Antonio might seem like the worst city in America. Last night I discovered that of the 50 largest cities in the United States, 15 did not have general LGBT community centers. Of these 15 cities many had centers for youth, discussion groups for youth, were part of a gay-friendly metroplex, or had services for LGBT youth in foster care.

I think Duke's situation is similar to San Antonio's. Many non-LGBT people might think that the LGBT experience at Duke is "understandable" because Duke is in the South and not historically known as a gay-friendly university. (You're in the South, what do you expect?) Many LGBT people, because of their gender, gender identity, race, interest in *gasp* non-LGBT things, lack of interest in being a part of an LGBT community or any number of other reasons don't see how much room Duke has for improvement. Duke's peer institutions are not Baylor and Texas A&M. Duke attracts students from around the world and its peer institutions are some of the most progressive in the country. Duke cannot be complacent and neither can San Antonio.

For those of yall who found this via Google and want details about the LGBT youth discussion group I started for the summer: the first meeting will be Thursday June 17th at 6:00 PM at the Cove. Check out the Facebook group San Antonio LGBT Youth Discussion Group. Please RSVP for the event. I look forward to meeting you!

An Open Letter To Closeted Duke Women

My Statistics final is tomorrow morning. Of course I can’t sleep.

From perusing the Me Too Blog I can tell that many women at Duke are in the closet. I also know that Janie and Chris meet with many closeted people at the LGBT Center. I like to think of myself as an approachable gal. If a closeted woman at Duke wanted to talk to another queer student, she’d feel comfortable talking to me. Yet so far I have received no Facebook messages. No e-mails. No calls. No texts. No one has randomly come up to me and identified herself as a queer woman. Why is that?

I’m a self-proclaimed Center kid. I have been out since I was 12 and visited the LGBT Center during Blue Devil days with my dad. I am committed to both Blue Devil’s United and Women Loving Women. Most of the LGBT people I interact with are open enough to come to the Center or Women Loving Women. Next year as a member of the executive board I will help shape Blue Devil’s United and I have no idea what it is like to be in the closet at Duke. I know of the many pros of being out of the closet and can also attest to its cons. Every day is an opportunity to conduct informal research. What reactions do my girlfriend and I get when we’re holding hands on the Plaza? How many people came to Lavender Ball? How do the people in club X and Selective Living Groups Y and Z view openly LGBT people? What do some members of sororities think about not being able to take other girls to their formals? When and where do I hear the most hate speech? My research has also extended beyond Duke. What is it like to be openly LGBT and homeless? What is it like to be openly LGBT at a Catholic all-girls school in San Antonio, Texas? What is it like to be openly LGBT and a great dancer?

To all the closeted LGBT women at Duke: I need you as much as you need me. The regular attendees of Women Loving Women have already convened to talk about what we can do next year to reach out to closeted women. I’m sure you’ll find our ideas strange, but hopefully you’ll also find them attractive. If you want to chat send me a message on Facebook. Perhaps in the Fall we can meet in person.

To everyone: Have a swell summer!

How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love San Antonio...Not

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how much I’m going to miss my Duke/Durham LGBT community this summer. I think my homeland has some potential and it’s nice to have a mission but…

I’ll probably just spend my time doing research and making websites and hanging out with people I already know instead of taking on the gargantuan task of assembling a cohesive LGBT woman-identified community. Though I’ve already broken down my task into manageable parts and sent some e-mails, I still feel sorry that I live in San Antonio and not metropolitan, livable, liberal, "we’re not really part of Texas", Austin (gag me with a fucking spoon.) I could commute one hour plus in horrid traffic to go to the discussion groups at the LGBT youth community center and the hipster lesbian clubs. I probably will just because I’m going to Austin anyway to work with professors at UT. Late-nighting will be difficult since I don’t have any friends who live in Austin (I don't want to repeat the Homeless Challenge.) Making friends in Austin is high on my to-do list.

Even if I volunteer at the few LGBT organizations and art spaces and go to the (male/straight/American Eagle butch dominated) gay clubs in San Antonio I doubt I’ll become a part of a legitimate community or find an acceptable hook-up. This is partly because I have difficulty talking to total strangers and partly because I rarely find someone I want to talk to.

I’m leaving Duke just as I realize that a great lesbian community exists in Durham. I have well-connected friends (ahem Summer.) And I might actually see the women I meet again. Though I’ve lived in San Antonio my whole life I have a paltry LGBT network. I semi-regularly communicate with two queer women. Maybe I fucked up in high school. I spent too much time doing math problems and not enough time getting to know the girls on the softball team. When I got pissed off that no LGBT youth community/resources existed I merely changed my Facebook status.

Now that I’m an anonymous college-age human rather than a wholesome youth I think I would have more options. I can go clubbing all I want but finding a hook-up isn’t as a mechanical, guaranteed process as it is for gay men. When it comes down to it, my desire to build community and serve the LGBT community has always stemmed from my desire for hot women. The more people I meet and the more involved I become, the higher my chances are of meeting a woman who fits my esoteric qualifications (non-white, butch-ish or femme-like, indie, artsy, conventional haircut, internationally-minded, certain piercings, intelligent, tall, fashionable, D&D free.) Though my interest has lusty origins, I can now say that being part of such a community has rewards beyond meeting people to hook-up with. The truth is that the women I’ve hooked up with don’t go to the Center. Some people don't feel the need to be part of the LGBT club. I admire their spontaneity. I can't leave my sex life up to chance. The cholos who used to hit on me on the bus are starting to look good. Maybe I should use this summer to squeeze the gray areas out of myself instead of trying to squeeze the LGBT out of San Antonio.

As I wonder what/who I’m going to do this summer, I can’t help but be bitter that I’m from San Antonio, whose motto is “Keep San Antonio Lame.” Sure, it’s better than being from middle-of-nowhere Iowa, but having to hunt for LGBT shit that’s open to women is getting old. I’ve promised myself that this is the last summer I’ll spend in San Antonio. I don’t care if Harvey Milk told me to “Stay in San Antonio and fight!” He probably never went there himself.

My Coming Out Story

I came out so long ago that it feels like ancient history. Or Texas history. I came out in 7th grade, the one year I had to take Texas History. My coming out is kind of like the Battle of the Alamo: though I initially lost I ended the war a winner. I knew I was non-straight when I saw the Rocky Horror Picture show live the summer before the start of 7th grade. I had previously been attracted to women but had thought everyone else felt the way I did; they just didn’t talk about it. After going home I talked to my friend Blake on AIM who was in the same theatre program as me and openly gay. We talked about the show. I casually mentioned that the character Columbia was “hot.” He asked me if I was gay. I told him I had never considered it. After our night-long conversation I was convinced that I was different from the other girls and the word “bisexual” applied to me. My friend Catherine started talking to Blake. He accidentally told her of my sexual revelation.

I didn’t know this had happened until the first day of 7th grade when Catherine and her friends interrogated me about my “bisexuality.” Lacking any sense of self-preservation and with the knowledge that the damage had already been done, I told Catherine I didn’t care about whom she shared this knowledge with. One day I had a group of nerdy, conventional friends. Another day they all avoided me. The words fag, dyke, bitch, slut and whore followed me from advisory to the long bus ride home. I had been diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder in elementary school. This wave of hostility brought out the worst depression of my life.

I came out to my parents around the same time. I had come home from school crying. My dad went to my room and asked me question after question. He asked me if I had a boyfriend and then asked if I had a girlfriend. When I answered yes, he told me I was too young to know and left the room. I tried in vain for months to convince my parents that I wasn’t too young to know. My dad, concerned about my safety, forbid me from telling anyone about my sexuality. Unfortunately, the damage was already done.

My new friends were potheads and punks, though I was too emotionally detached to be more than their mute accomplice during school. I had been a tomboy from a young age but slowly morphed into a feminine creature. At first I was grotesque. I wore too much make-up and thrift store clothes. Now I am completely comfortable with my identity as a femme. In 7th grade I managed to still make excellent grades. I was isolated but not without hope. By 8th grade I was barely passing my classes. The “girlfriends” I had in middle school only wanted sex from me or told the most vicious bullies about my sexuality. Everyday I faked sick or begged my mom not to take me to school. I was convinced that I couldn’t stay in school and had no future. The summer between 7th and 8th grade I only ate cheerios and nearly fainted in the shower.

Though I constantly felt like I wanted to die, I didn’t have a plan for how to commit suicide. I faint at the sight of blood, had no idea how to get a gun (I hope no one’s surprised that my Texas house was sans gun) and didn’t have pills readily available. I spent most of my time listening to avant-jazz and making crude drawings. When my parents and I met with the school counselor I spent the whole time hysterically crying and yelling at her. I was convinced that all the other kids in school were stupid. Though I don’t like to draw now, I became quite good at anatomical drawings. This one picture particularly impressed me and I was fond of copying it:


My privilege saved me from suicide. My parents had enough money to send me to therapy and put me on anti-depressants and cared enough to let me leave therapists who I felt weren’t supportive. The transfer to private Catholic school saved me academically and wouldn’t have been possible without my parent’s economic status. Though I was marked as the “weird lesbian girl” at my Catholic high school and wasn’t socially active, I did well enough to get into Duke. I am privileged that my family now treats my sexuality as a non-issue. As a result I can completely commit to being out to everyone I meet at Duke and can act as a witness to all facets of Duke’s social climate. I am not afraid of how people will react to my sexuality because I’ve heard it all. I still don’t know what it’s like to live somewhere where race and sexuality are not hot-button topics. While I intend to have this experience soon I am also grateful for the perspective I gained from being out at a young age in San Antonio, Texas.

This is part of a poem I wrote from my “dark period.” I sometimes chant the stanza to myself when I’m feeling down:

If god hates fags
You think that I would burn and die
My outside rubbing with my inside
Like they teach you to rub two sticks together