I'll be the first to teach the Gaydar Class

Friday, June 29, 2007

Every inhabitant of Manhattan needs the ability to decipher who is gay and who is not. Especially the straight female population who is often lulled into a false euphoria by a pair of dreamy blue eyes, before realizing they are attached to a man talking about Madonna.

Initially, I was thinking that people should be required to wear some sort of marking that denoted their sexual preference, but that seemed rather Nazi-esque. Plus, if Diesel jeans and a great haircut aren’t enough of an indicator, I don’t know what would be. And so I arrived at the conclusion that gaydar training should be made mandatory when one attempts to crawl to Manhattan’s nightlife.

Case in point:Last night I went out with The Model and a few people from his work. My friend from work--a kooky, crazy thing who I adore for obvious reasons--had one too many gin and tonics (or just the right amount, depending on how you look at it) and began talking to my friend The Model and his “friend”. Both are very, very good-looking.

And lived together.

In a one bedroom.

Who both work in creative fields.

Who wanted to discuss their many celebrity friends.

Who were wearing matching designers. (it certainly wasn’t helping to create an image of heterosexuality.)

Within an hour or so the girl had whittled her obvious fascination with both down to a more focused crush on one. We decided to go next door to a local karaoke bar. (I know.)

I wanted to say something but she seemed so happy with her prize, even mouthing to me “He’s so cute.” So I said nothing. Besides, I told myself, I shouldn’t get involved and crush her heart. But couldn’t she notice their startling attractiveness and attention to grooming. This was the era of the metrosexual, wasn’t it? Couldn’t straight men be hot?Apparently not.

At the next bar the man in question (The Model’s “friend”) tipped the woman running karaoke so he could sing immediately. Then he pranced (there is no other word for it) around the stage. Then he called my friend "girlfriend". I found myself thinking “it is so obvious.”

Many karaoke songs later, (no, I did not sing) The Model and I decided to go home. My friend looked alarmed. “But this is going to be so awkward. You’re going to leave me alone with him?” (she had no idea that The Model and his “friend” were sexually involved)

“Um,” I said.

“Do you think I should go home with him?” she asked as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s soooooo cute!”

Oh my God. I had never heard her squeal before. It was frightening. I had to say something.“Don’t you think he might be...”Just then the “friend” ran up behind her and gave her a hug. I stopped talking. She would figure it out eventually. Plus, he really did seem to like her in a platonic sort of way, so at the very least my friend had made a new pal. She could find her Prince Charming, or at least Prince Heterosexual, another night.

Still, if she had received gaydar training upon moving here (she’s from the Midwest), she could have wasted one less night in the all too common pursuit of a man interested in penises.

See? This is a great idea. I’m charging 500 bucks an hour bitches!

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NYSC's Treadmill # 15 hates me...

After a bottle of wine at lunch, I decided that going to the gym (after) sounded like a good idea. I don’t think I had enough cognitive power to actually have a reason for this decision. I was just following some strange instinct, lacing up my Nike Airs and walking over to the gym on 6 Ave. from my office, stopping to have a cigarette and seeing absolutely no irony in it.

Once on the treadmill I felt a little unstable, but mostly fantastic. I began to feel as though I was cleansing myself of all those alcoholic toxins. I was an Athletic Person who cared about her body. I was a Picture of Fitness. In the throes of my deluded health-fantasy, I pulled off my t-shirt, threw it to the ground and kept jogging in only my sports bra. Obviously, this was the moment in which I should have taken a figurative step back and realized that I was far too intoxicated to be using any sort of exercise equipment. But at the moment, all I could think was Goddamn I am HOT. And man, I can run FAST.

This bliss couldn't last long. Soon enough I lost my footing, and began fumbling for the red emergency STOP button. The button was either broken or my hand-eye coordination was woefully impaired. Either way, the treadmill kept going. I managed to stay on through a series of strange movements that were too mad and desperate to be called running. It was clearly time to abandon ship and jump onto one of the sides of the treadmill. Unfortunately, this move resulted in me falling off the treadmill in a complex series of motions that included banging into the sidebars and kneeling on the running surface.

I sprang up from the floor where I had fallen, my fight or flight response kicking in, and ran (at approximately the same pace I had been running on the treadmill) out of the gym.

I have a pleasing and annoying knowledge that I cannot go back to the gym for at least a month, possibly ever.

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An Eye-Opener

Thursday, June 28, 2007

This past weekend has been so fucking eye-opening. For the second weekend in a row I have been too tired to do anything but sit and watch movies. I have been too emotionally, physically, and intellectually exhausted to even write.

I also got a burst of inspitation from watching Garden State...I have not felt like that after a movie in years...completely enamoroured with the protagaonist the sexy vulnerability combined with stirrings of self-awareness and the observances of suburbia, were so on point that...anyway. You get the idea.

Going through my own emotional journey because of someone else's creativity made me realize I forgot what kind of power words and images can elicit from the audience. I want that power. I want to take people through an emotional journey, a journey b/c the trip isnt that far from where they are comming from.

I hate movies like that. Movies that get your hopes up for finding a love that is just so fitting and special...but then you date in NYC. And you come to realize that it just doesn’t really exist. There is a contrived way of dating, you present yourself...and after a few months, you may be able to tell each other something heartfelt. Or you just continue to receive compensation in the form of food for all of the money you spend making yourself attractive. I think I was just attracted to the vulnerability...and I know myself that if a girl opened up to me that quickly...I would run the other way. As would most women...there is something about wanting to be protected...and I am supposed to be the neurotic one. Perhaps not actually.

That is why I love movies, it is a forum that allows you a safe place to daydream and live the life if everything was perfect...always having a happy ending, then hitting the stop button, so not to destroy.

Enough about me sounding like a self-aware Bridgett Jones.But there is something I have been missing, connecting with my writing...writing as a way for me to force myself to be more observant with the world as opposed to putting on my I-pod and distracting myself into believing I am someplace else.

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Open Letter

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

I haven’t done one of these open letters to myself in a long time…

Dear NYC.Lezie,

I know that you are quite taken with- dare I say smitten? – A certain lady who is a great kisser and knows how to pick her cocktails. She is attentive and she is dorky in the best kind of way.

And I can see that the chemistry is there.

That said I encourage you to stop the freefall plunge into attachment just yet. It is perfectly fine to want things to work out. You do deserve a nice woman who is capable of having an adult relationship and have an adult/intelligent conversation (remember your last one? – enough said). But you can’t confuse this lusty flirtation with anything more than the beginnings of a really good crush with fun extracurricular activities.

And until she shows her hand, hold yours close to your own body. Call me cynic, dear, but there is nothing that says that slowly giving into your desires and developing feelings is bad. In fact, truth be told, it is probably much better to take a step back and wait for her next move. You are stuck in the haze, my dear. You are even having inappropriate thoughts about her involvement in your life. Aren’t you? I know you are. And that one about…was fantastic, if I do say so myself.

Make sure she is right before you get attached. Don’t put the dreams of a relationship before the right girl.

Put down the phone. Stop checking it obsessively. And if she doesn’t call, let it be. She may be busy.

Now go, have a Cosmo and stop thinking about her.

Sincerely,

NYC.Lezie.

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The Gym Whore

This morning during my usual “I want to be a hot sexy trophy wife workout” a random girl (Let’s call her Gym Whore) comes up to me and starts a conversation, which I did not want to be involved in at 630am. Some people have no clue and no game, and no charm when it comes to appropriate gym etiquettes.

Gym Whore: Hey there good looking
Me: [giving her the “what the fuck do you want” look]
Gym Whore: I see you often, you work around here?
Me: Yeah. [What a fucking psycho stalker whore]
Gym Whore: You lift?
Me: [while lifting some weights and checking out my sexy triceps] yeah
Gym Whore: So you like working out?
Me: uh…um…yeah
Gym Whore: my name is Ellie
Me: oh nice to meet you Nellie
Gym Whore: no um. It’s E-llie
Me: oh sorry Kellie ….oh ok Ellie, well, I have to go to work [walking away to the locker rooms]
Gym Whore: Where are you going?
Me: change, uh…locker room
Gym Whore: oh you aren’t staying?
Me: eh...nooo..I usually get dressed before I go to work ya know?
Gym Whore: ah well I guess I'll see you later, I mean I'm going to keep working out, like I gotta keep lifting you know, (I have already started walking away at this point) like i lift a lot you know, cause like I'm really into training, like big muscles and whatever, but like...I guess I'll see ya later…

Seriously. Working out has become the new let's mack it to “NYC.lezie” spot.

Working out is my life, please don’t try and talk to me Gym Whore, Can’t you see I have no time for you and your chatty chattyness?

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Restlessness

Monday, June 25, 2007

I feel some restlessness which is a result of loneliness right now or clearly it's PMS. Instead of going out and slamming back alcohol and fixing my boobs or my ass all night, I threw myself a pity party, with me acting as the guest of honor. It was one of those nights that no matter how many people I made laugh, or grabbing dinner with co-workers after work for a few hours, it just wasn’t enough, and it failed to provide me with a feeling of security and distraction from my emotional roller coaster last week. Sitting in front of the computer for hours taking screen shots, didn’t help my mood either.

As this past Friday afternoon rolled around, and although my body craved the effects from a bottle of ice cold champagne, and my mind needed a friend seated across me in an outdoor café, I realized that there wasn’t anyone who fit the mood available. Either my closest friends don’t live near me, my friends who live here are in relationships where the ass is plentiful and the Friday evening plans are “We’re staying home and watching the 10pm news-sorry”, or my laziness won out and I didn’t feel like putting forth an effort to have a conversation with someone except for The German, I always like our conversations.
That’s what makes afternoons in cafes so special. You tend to want to be seated across the person or persons at the table, and the wine in front of you is there as a prop to loosen tongues instead of acting as a vehicle of social lubrication. Very few people are absolute pleasures to be around, where the friendship is so comfortable that neither one takes offense to the inevitable silence, instead the break is seen as kismet, both parties taking a break at the same time, instead of simultaneously having run out of things to say.

It’s nights like those which reminds me why I am ready to leave my house. I just hope that my homesickness won't leave me romanticizing an already strained relationship with my life in NJ. Because, a relationship that sucks, is a relationship that sucks, no matter how unsure the prospect of a new one is on the horizon.

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Reminiscing...

Friday, June 22, 2007

O ne reason that is equally fabulous and awful about blogging is that you have your entries set in archives. Your thoughts and experiences – the disturbing and humorous ones are set in this little webpage, where you can easily access when needed.

It is fabulous because it gives me a chance to look back at how I dealt with things and reacted to situations and curve balls, which were thrown at me. And blatantly awful because I realize how often I fall into potholes and get fed up with things that really aren’t worth worrying over. I am most, my worst enemy and my biggest fan and probably the worst self-critic. And this is okay, I think, as long as I don’t build myself up too much or let myself fall too far behind.

I always wanted to be a writer. But there is one moment that I remember; clear as day when I knew I could be a writer. (Trust me, there is an infinite body of water between wanting and knowing.) I was in College and I was taking a Magazine Writing class and one of the assignments was to write an article about an experience you had – whether it was a blissful one or a tragic one, but it had to be about you realizing something great about yourself or someone close to you. I remember it took me a mere 4 hours to complete. I remember crying when I was writing it and even crying more when my professor decided to read it to the class. This specific article ended up being published a couple of months later. Till this day, that article I wrote years ago still remains one of my favorite pieces to showcase for freelance gigs. And since the day I sat glued to my computer for 4 hrs I knew then, as I knew now that I wanted to write professionally.

My professor saw something in my story that day. And she read my article and modeled my work and expected everyone to follow my work. I kept my head down while she read each painstakingly prepared phrase aloud, taking in what I wrote and blending it with my soul. She read it anonymously. But somehow, my classmates knew.

I remember everything about this moment – my Professor (she was a nun) and the rhythm she gave the words as she read, the shiny parquet floor squares of the 5th classroom, where I sat, with my back to the window, pride welling up in my chest and a tear in the corner of my eye. I never thanked her properly for this four minutes, when I went from wanting to be a writer to knowing that it was in me somewhere, obscured by uncertainty and immaturity.

I wonder if one day, years from now, when all of this dating and partying is in the past, I will look back on my stories and ridicule myself or cry.

Who knows, probably both.

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On a Serious Note...

Thursday, June 21, 2007

At present, I know more gay and lesbian people than I ever have before. When I was younger, I was often the lone blip of homosexuality in our heterosexual world. By choice? By circumstance. Interesting times, those. It was all good.These days I'm surrounded. It's been gradual, this expansion of my cultural vista. It's not sole source, either.

I meet lesbians and gay men so often, in such a variety of circumstance, it has almost become commonplace. We are everywhere.A rumor hit the mill that two friends, heterosexual females, were "hooking up" with each other. Surprised me enough to merit a raised eyebrow while rousing my curiosity. Who doesn't love a little titillating gossip now and again! And of course it was titillating. Since when is news of any two friends of any gender hooking up not titillating? It could be love! Or at least good sex.

Turns out the rumor was true. Not only were they hooking up then, but they are still a couple now. It's been over a year. At what point does "hooking up" turn into "having a romantic relationship" turn into "Hey world, I'm gay"?Lauren pinned the nickname "pseudos" on those friends of ours, a term of endearment if you will. Are they lesbians? Situational? Transitional? Who knows? Them least of all, maybe. Does it matter?She and I are fortunate to have friends who span generations { Wait I am not that old, am I?}.

Some are solidly heterosexual, some solidly homosexual. Others are trying to figure out who they are. Toss in a handful who have no fucking clue and all bases are covered.What's a friend to do when a friend switches sexual teams? I know what my "friends" did when I traded up. Many of them fled. A few adapted. I'm an adapter.

A friend is a friend. Life is hard enough without stressing over something as basic as who someone loves.

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The Jobless, Homeless Asshole Friend

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

I have a plethora of friends…really. Okay, just one.

Why do I always have the one friend who doesn’t have a job? But you have to explain it like they do have a job. And you’re always saying things like, “Oh, [anonymous]? Oh well yeah, she is um, well she just finished school, yeah, five years ago…so you know, she’s still, umm taking her time looking and stuff…” and it sucks because I can’t really hang with them at Happy Hour because I end up being the broke one.

And why is that my friend who is jobless, homeless, sleeps on their friend’s couch and keeps their clothes in a trash bag in the basement, always seems to have the most amount of sex?

And finally, Why is there always the jobless, homeless asshole in my group of friends? And everyone knows who the asshole is, even the asshole knows who the asshole is, but I’m friends with them anyway and I always have some excuse for why I’m friends with the asshole. I’m always like, “Oh yeah [anonymous], yeah she’s an asshole, but you know, we were Beer Pong Partners back in 2002…”

So it makes it okay for me to hang with the jobless homeless asshole who was my beer pong partner back in 2002.

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Yeah, call me a bully

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

I am in one of those moods – I am tired, cranky, currently hungry and over the top obnoxious. If you want the truth from me, today is the day – I don’t have any boundaries to what I’d tell you.

So I first wrote an entire entry on my friend’s current lesbian drama situation with her ex-friends and all and since she reads this, I decided that it would be too blunt and I would have to water it down before I get some crazy shit from her. So I won’t do that.

Although I look oh-so-fabulous today – a la Bette Porter I must say, I feel like the evil witch from [insert crazy witch fairy tale drama crap from the old days here]. Not even Angelina Jolie’s autographed picture on my desk can help me. I looked at it for hours this morning and I noticed that she has really soft eyes. Even with the media’s portrayal of her as this rebel, bloodthirsty vampire-ish, bisexual, husband snatcher – she is this soft woman who has a lot to offer to the world. Ok yes, I am clearly obsessed. But it’s ok. It’s healthy.

I think I am just starting off with a horrible week. Yesterday, I wore these really cute khakis and navy blue and white-stripped shirt with a navy blue blazer and all morning I was fine until lunchtime. I spilled my water all over my pants then it went on to me spilling salad dressing on my shirt AND when I got home, I had my Swedish meatball sauce on my new cleaned shirt and I had coffee stains on my pants by 9pm.

So what is going on? Make it stop please!!

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Kissing The German

Monday, June 18, 2007

See the story behind this title is actually very exciting. Ok, probably not for you, but definitely for me.

The German is someone I just met. We exchanged emails during the past weeks and we perfectly hit it off, we speak on the phone very often and our conversations are as thought we’ve known each other for a long time. They were just flowing, and I can’t even think of any awkward silent moment, that’s how intense and great they are. Besides the fact that she is extremely smart, witty, and cute and a hot German and…into the Arts and dining and museums, she is absolutely the sweetest person you will ever meet. I joke about how she will have to toughen up once she is in NYC.

The German endured a 4 hr bus ride from Boston just to come see me in the city on Saturday (for just a couple of hours). First, I didn’t know she came down sorely to have dinner with me. If I knew then, I probably would have asked her not too but I am glad she did. I had an amazing time and so did she.

We started off at this Afghani restaurant in midtown, which did not look great from the outside, nor inside but we walked in and absolutely not a soul in the restaurant. Sometimes, I really hate being the only person eating somewhere, but this place wasn’t too appalling. Of course, I let the German chose what to eat since I had no clue about Afghani dishes. Whatever she ordered was delicious. I definitely recommend Afghani food. So we order, and I ask for the wine list – there were none. I got nervous and was thinking, “What am I going to do without wine?? I don’t want to look like I am nervous” I ran across the street to a deli and grabbed whatever red wine they had on the shelf. Let me tell ya, drinking wine eased the situation a lot better. The German noticed that I wasn’t making any eye contact and was completely aware that I was nervous (she told me the next day). First, I do NOT get nervous around ladies. I am usually the one who makes them nervous. But there is something about this German. I wasn’t nervous to the point where I was stuttering or had sweaty palms or shaking uncontrollably. I was just not making eye contact at first (on the subway or at the restaurant). But when I did, I noticed how splendid her eyes were and how she really – really looked right at me when she talked.

So then, we finished the wine, food was delicious and we wanted to grab some dirty cocktails. We walked over to Mercury Bar, which is one of my favorite places to hang. It’s really trendy and they have really good Calamari. We had our drinks and talked and I got to know her a lot better and vice versa – although, I think I revealed some things that I never tell anyone. Guess it’s a good sign.

By the way, on our way to Mercury, we stopped at a corner (red light of course) and talked about our abs. Seriously, I think only lesbians compare their abs. It’s like this conversation starter –“hey, you have great abs, so do I, do you want to see?” c’mon, I don’t think heteros even think about that.

Fast forward – we decided that it was time for us to get going (1. I didn’t want her to see me getting buzzed, 2. She had to catch her train). We ended up walking to Grand Central and along the way, listened to our ipods and compared our playlist. Ya know, you can tell a lot about someone just by what they listen to.

Anyway, we get to GC… stuff happened… and I am not telling.

Ok, ok, usually I don’t talk about my dates especially when they have the URL to this blog. But since she kept insisting and well actually asking if I would blog about what we did…I had doubts. I didn’t want to because I don’t want to jinx anything. Plus, at first I didn’t want to say anything as I realize that the skankier and crazier my stories are, the better received they are by you, my readers. So I figured I should just continue writing as normal. A Lezzie who talks about a non-disastrous date is not interesting, right?

I know the German will read this and already knows what I think of her, but you don’t. I must say that she personifies many of the things I’ve always been attracted to (humor, passion, drive, sense of adventure, deep respect, love for the Arts), but – and what I think is most interesting – is that she’s also a lot of things I never thought I would want (a lady from Boston and a Yankees fan – although she did accept an intimate switch to the METS). Yet, these opposite attributes actually make “it” work.

So what’s so special about The German? Here’s a “short” list:
- She likes my writing.
- She thinks I’m funny.
- She’s funny.
- She knows how to pick a fucking incredible dish off a menu that’s foreign to me.
- She loves my work – other ladies think its lame and I work too much.
- She’s good at what she is passionate about.
- She makes me feel comfortable.- She TOTALLY gets all my dependencies – Angelina Jolie, the U.N., Writing.
- She makes fun of me – I was the president of the GLBT club back in college.
- I make fun of her – she was the secretary of Student Government.
- We both went to liberal colleges and were the hot Lezzie everyone wanted.
- She’s from Boston, but knows how to get around in NYC –not by cab but by subway.
- She has an amazing vocabulary.
- She’s a grownup and doesn’t deal with drama.
- She said I was better looking than Mariah Carey.
- She says sweetie in a very kind and genuine tone of voice.
- Her nickname (not given by me) is Christ and Jesus.
- She is a gal from Boston who likes the Yankees and who is a really good kisser and who isn’t scared of taking a shot of lemon-drops with me.

Ok now I should stop before I embarrass myself any more than I already have.

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The Kiss

Friday, June 15, 2007


I got an email this morning from The Writer with this. It is a poster every Lezzie had/has in their college dorm rooms. It is THE poster to have if you are into women. Her email says :
"Isn't this cute and simplistic and charming and absolutely adorable?"


and so I scrolled down and she added this picture with "Now, I don't know about you, but holy sweet jesus that's hot!"


Now...I really want to compare so stay with me here.
The original Kiss poster will remain my favorite until I die basically. There is something so simple and charming and cute about it. I love white things, tees, undies - it just looks so fresh and so clean. I love the girls in it...
Now the second picture is Hot in a very sexual way. I hate using the word "fucking" but that's the word that popped into my head when I saw it. Of course I was blushing because really it is hot. 1. they are topless and 2. they are little rockstar-ish with tattoos and funky haircuts and skimpy undies. They are obviously not your average Janes. but Oh Sweet Jesus!!!
ok I should stop. What do you guys think?

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Rules from the Lezzie. Drunk-Dialing/Texting

Thursday, June 14, 2007




In honor of Thirsty Thursday

Drunk dialing is great because 1) the person you chose to dial is either someone you don’t really know, hardly talk to or someone you sorta don’t like but you want to rub it in their faces that you are cool and out drinking with cool friends. 2) If you are the drunk dialer you are very honest to the drunk dialee – you reveal things about yourself that you probably would never mention sober. 3) Alcohol gives you balls to do the impossible, like calling the person you have a crush on. 4) It demonstrates you have social obligations (happy hour with friends/coworkers) and it proves that you aren’t the loser at work/school everyone tries to stay away from.

Now mastering the Art of Drunk-Dialing/texting is a very, I repeat very complicated thing. Take notes. Print it. Memorize it.

The Rules are as followed:

1)When you have the urge to dial, never put your drink down.
2)Scroll through your address book.
3)I would suggest to make a drunk dialing group in your address book (when sober)
4)Tell your friends that you are heading out for some fresh air.
5)Fresh air means fake smoking, bum a cigarette – huff and puff but do not inhale. I don’t want you to eventually die. I’d feel bad. Actually no. I don’t care.
6)With a drink in your right hand, cigarette dangling on your lip, maneuver the index finger and gently (you will find it very hard to hit the green button so try as many times as you want) press the TALK button and put the phone to your ear.
7)Tap your foot on the ground. It helps
8)If no one picks up – say “next”. And dial the next victim
9)Talk. Extensively. Tell them “dude, come to [name of bar] it is so packed, the drinks are cheap and tits are everywhere.”
10) They will have that awkward laugh and say “who is this”
11) Hang up. It’s not a good sign.
12) Remember that cigarette? Flick it. If you can’t, toss it.
13) Walk back in.
14) Have another drink and forget that shit ever happened.

Drunk Texting is similar to Drunk Dialing but if you are highly intoxicated do not attempt it. Texting can be done indoors. That’s the beauty of non-verbal communication. You can be on the Flusher [Hi C!] and they sure wouldn’t know.

1) Find yourself a victim
2)Got one? Then text away.
3) I suggest using T9 if not applicable to your communication device then you are screwed.
4)If you misspelled a word, don’t go back and delete it. Your wasting time.
5) Oh got a text back? Great. Never interrupt a conversation and say, “I am vibrating” it just sounds wrong.
6)Give yourself an excuse to reply. Just say, “it’s my mother” sure it will make you look like an idiot. But who doesn’t pick up when their mom calls. Right?
7)Walk away and take that smile off your face and text your night away.


There are certain people you should never text/call and they are: exes, your boss/manager, your parents, and your old buddy from Jr. High. Don’t call/text anyone whom you have not spoken to in months. It’s just rude. Although it would be ruder if you didn’t call them and ask them how their day went.

Anyway, I hope these were helpful.


Good Luck.

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Being Polite is Key

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

This morning I was trading e-mails with L.A. dude (because I have nothing else better to do - really), He has a girlfriend whom he adores and wants to eventually marry and procreate and have minis running around his white picket fence house in suburbia. Also he is parlaying this into a job as one of my non-paid therapist/counselors on issues of the same sex. As always, he was telling me to be bold and pick up the phone and I gave him a ton of reasons not to, which is one of my favorite things to do, next to working out and drinking wine.

He wrote “ it’s like going on a job interview, once the date is over, you need to follow up and thank her for having dinner and drinks.”

And because I am me: amusing, clever, charming and cute and all the nice words in the dictionary – combined with my boredom at work I had to write a sample of such a note.

Dear Madam –

Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I enjoyed speaking with you about your life and how my skills and experience would fit with your unmet relationship desires. Your intrepid dream for the future, coupled with your very adorable smile and height, makes you exactly the kind of woman to whom I would like to offer my services.

I am sure that I would surpass your expectations if given the chance to assume the position of Girlfriend. I understand that there is a trial period what will range from several dates to many months, depending on a combination of said skills. During this period, I will be acting as a freelancer, keeping my options open to explore girlfriend alternatives to ensure that you provide me with the greatest balance of comfort versus excitement. Once this training period is over and we have mutually determined our match, I expect full benefits and an investment on your part in my future happiness.

Should you have any further questions about my qualifications which are not limited to, micro-waving, kissing, being supportive, making you feel like a WOMAN when you are really acting like a two year old spoiled brat, back-rubbing, laughing at your lame jokes, listening and displaying an above-average knowledge of beer and a basic knowledge of lesbian terms, feel free to contact me by e-mail, cell, text message, blackberry, IM, Morse Code, pigeon messenger or smoke signal.


I look forward to hearing from you.

Many thanks,

NYC.Lezie

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Tales from the Office

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

New Intern: Where are you from?
Me: I grew up in Paris
New Intern: Where is that? Wait…next to France right?
Me: (Puzzled look) no
New Intern: oh
Me: It’s a major city IN France
New Intern: really, I guess you learn something everyday.
Me: Certainly.
New Intern: (giggling) […]


What? Is she serious?? And she is from Harvard for crying outloud. Ohhh those Trust-Fund babies kill me sometimes.

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Subway Surfing

I have a friend whom I kindly refer to as Jew. Actually I have another one who is Jewish but doesn’t get that title because I already call her Brooklyn. But anyway, Jew is a subway surfer, meaning, she doesn’t hold on to anything/anyone on the subway – I mean I don’t blame her. It is the dirtiest place in NYC – except for the public restrooms. Jew likes to look cool and she does actually. She rides the subway from Park Slope all the way to midtown without having to touch anything. That’s really talent because the average Jane would be flying across the subway car, screaming because she just broke a nail OR she might grab someone’s arm because the subway stopped short.

The other thing that Jew does that’s really fascinating is that she has the balls to dance – not stripper dance, because she doesn’t hold on to the poles, but like full hardcore, head bopping, feet sliding, shoulders leaning and finger snapping dancing. She is never embarrassed. She always says that NYC is the only city where no one truly gives a fuck about you. Everyone is either doing the same thing; reading/or pretending to read or they are eating an entire meal from the Chinese take-out. Speaking of eating full meals on the train – have you ever encountered someone eating a full meal on the train? See I understand if you are hungry and you are nibbling on chips or something small…but eating fried chicken wings covered in ketchup and hot sauce with pork-fried rice on the side is just rude (what if other people were hungry?). Jew is also the girl who will sing (not loudly but you can definitely still hear her) this girl evidently does not care what the world thinks of her.

I am also guilty of being a subway surfer – I have not yet mastered the not holding anything on our fine NYC public transportation but I am getting there – slowly but surely. I am also guilty of pulling out some major air drums or air guitar. But I do it a little discreetly – or so I think. I am the one who taps or bang the ipod on the side of my thigh, or the motion of striking the guitar strings. I have a reason though, and its only because I can actually hear a song and know the chords. Or I am trying to figure out the correct chords. I can split each instrument in a song and tell you exactly what’s playing and what keys they are hitting. I thank the one-hour session of music lessons everyday after school when I was a tiny tot. So thank you Madame Boire. When I play my air guitar, it may look as though I know nothing about music OR it may look like I know a shit load about playing music – it really depends on who is staring at me. BUT I will not dance on the train. I will occasionally bop my head but not pull out a whole Britney Spears – Hit me baby one more time dance routine. Remember the old Britney? Memories – really.

When I see someone who is like Jew, I just look intently for a little and see if they have talent (I love people who have real talent) and after a few seconds I go back to whatever I was doing. I don’t think people like Jew do it to get attention, I think they just do it because they don’t care what people think and also, because it is NYC. Imagine you pulled a Jew moment in eastbumblefuck? Or even better…the LIRR or the NJT??

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Oh man...

Monday, June 11, 2007

Totally forgot about mentioning my birthday bash this past Friday. So here is the 411. Cliff notes will be available at the end of the post – that way you will have to read the entire thing. Ha!

So Friday was supposedly going to be a mellow happy hour with some of my bestest minus the Pearl (she’s being a total bitch to the entire group of friends. She didn’t even call on my bday)

I got out of work at 4:45, well it was more like I ran like I’ve never done before, pressed the elevator door and I swear it took twice as long but anyhoo I walked outside and BAMMMMM my little shrimpster was there. We walked for what seemed forever because apparently there are no cabs available at 4:45 in the afternoon. I’m on 57th (no stalking please) and 8th and we had to go to my favorite bar “third and long” on 35th and 3rd. if you are not from NYC, you have no idea how far it is. Its far – lets leave it as that. Meanwhile, we are almost walking on the streets trying to hail a cab – me in freaking 4inch heels and in a tiny white babydoll dress which kept blowing and revealing what my momma gave me and shrimp in her usual jeans, tee and flips. This girl is veryyy tiny – like 5’1 and she’s almost jumping up and down waiving her tiny arms in the air and I, being the Jacqui O. that I am, just laughed and made believe I didn’t know her.

So finally after 20,000 miles we saw this little UES rich Jewish lady who gets out of her cab, I literally ran across 5th avenue and jumped in the cab before she even had the chance to come out and the driver who was Haitian told me “sorry miss, but I can’t take you” so I glanced at his ID (I always do – ever since that scary movie about NYC cab drivers who kill, along came a spider? I may be wrong.) I noticed he was hardcore Haitian (accent and all) so broke out some French mixed with whatever language I came up with which I taught was Creole but probably wasn’t. He turned around and laughed and said “anything for a little rich French girl”. Shrimp and I seriously looked at each other and whispered – wahhhh??

We get to the bar, very parched I must say. We head to the bar and I hand over my debit so that I can drink freely and not have to worry about looking for cash. Shrimp and I began to drink and drink and drink. The place gets packed within an hour and some of my old buddies from college showed up which made my night extra special it meant that 1. I won’t be bored and 2. more fun, and more fun on the dance floor.

A couple of beers and shots later- I wasn’t drunk and neither was Shrimp. We are true Champs, college taught us well. I go on to the dance floor and no one was there. I kept pulling people I didn’t know to come dance and get this boring corporate happy hour party going. I kid you not, as soon as I heard Rihana’s umbrella song, I went nuts – it is currently my favorite song. I got all my girlies to dance and all the fake guidos with their popped collars and pink shirts (here in NYC – we call those automatic douche-bags) stood in the back, bopping their heads and checking out everyone’s asses. I would have done the same, but knowing me – I wouldn’t pass a good song for that.

About two hours later, I tell the bartender that I would be right back because I was starving. I grabbed Shrimp and we went to the pizza place next door and I shoved a mushroom slice as fast as I could because I heard Bon Jovi playing. We ran back in, took another shot – there were amazing looking tequila shot girls serving some amazing tequila shots the entire night. Totally was not interested. So I went back to my corner with the girls and chatted and nursed a Budweiser.

Fast forward… it was about 930p when I decided to close my tab, which to my surprise was only 120 bucks, of course I didn’t pay because the bartender said that someone took care of it and all I had to do was come back and be merry. Good deal right?

Shrimp and I decided to walk to Penn station, along the way we made friends with some really strange peeps and also, shrimp kept saying she was hungry, so I told her to just grab one of the pretzels from those food carts people (they are everywhere in NYC) and she did – she just walked up to the cart and grabbed the pretzel, added some mustard and walked away. The food cart guy didn’t say anything I think he was more shocked than I was. I think she was done for the night (I asked her the next morning if she remembered the pretzel and she had no idea) poor child.

We get to Penn, hopped on the train and I pull out my book. First of all – I don’t remember what I read and secondly who the hell reads when they are intoxicated?? 45 min later I get home and I was going to walk up the stairs when my dad says to me “are you drunk?” and I told him “no pa’, you are seeing things” he just laughed and told me to go to bed.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken my clothes off so fast before – ok, I’m lying (there are other “important” times when clothes come off faster than…uh…lighting?) I stripped to my underwear and jumped into bed and turned on the tv and texted and spoke on the phone, slept in between, woke up and I ate again at 3am with my brother (don’t ask) and texted more and talked on the phone and slept and I woke up with the worst hangover of my life.

The end.


Ook cliff notes:

--Got out of work early
--Couldn’t get a cab so we walked half way
--Jumped into a cab and begged the cab driver to drive us to the bar in an unknown French-creole language
--We were so thirsty that within the first ½ hour Shrimp and I had 4 beers and 2 shots
--We danced, drank, and danced
--We walked to Penn station and made friends
--Shrimp stole a pretzel from the Cart man on 34th and broadway
--Jumped on the NJ transit and pulled out my book like I really read or understood anything
--Got home, layed naked on my bed watching tv
--Ate at 3am with the bro
--Texted, talked on the phone and more texting happened
--Finally passed out cold at 5am
--Woke up with a killer hangover

The end.

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Tea and then Some

I have to stop drinking my usual 7 cups of tea a day and my morning and evening espresso Cuban coffee, or else I will not be sleeping at all this year. It’s just that caffeine is so good – especially when you are so tired and perhaps addicted?

On a crazy note, ladies, if you ever want to feel even more cynical about love, sex and relationships, study familial structure. I’ve resigned myself to auctioning off my domestic labor power to the highest bidder. As a woman, I am literally fucked. I might as well be comfortable as I get the shaft from society. I am learning the hard way. not too satisfying. Going once, going twice?? anyone?

It seems that so far 2007/my 24 years on this earth has been fraught with situations that make me acknowledge my “maturation”, and get my head out of the sands of denial that the grown up bus is driving by. Weddings, an internship program that I can’t talk my way out of misery (I’m slacking with my poverty in Latin America research- please say a silent prayer for me), in addition to cutting down on the excess – drinking, partying, and all the other shortcomings I need to overcome with the help of my therapist. Who, by the way, probably gave up on me. “These services aren’t for long term therapy honey” and my favorite, “for someone who is so self-aware…”I interrupt her, “I keep on making the same mistakes, over and over again. Yes, I know this. Why do you think I continue to see you?” My therapist sessions are more about talking crap then anything. Instead of crying like normal people would, I laugh and we crack jokes. She’s like a friend with benefits (my health insurance pays her 500 bucks to listen to my lesbian drama).

I’ve noticed an interesting shift in my relationships ever since I left the women community back in College. Growing up all of my friends were females. Granted they were beer/wine (for the classy French ones), girl-kissing (even the straight ones), pranksters who got as much of a kick out of lighting a fart on fire (not naming any names), as knocking on each other’s doors when we knew someone was having sex. But then I noticed a change when I left the iron gates of women power – women for the most part are bitches, back stabbers, drop you for their girl/boyfriends, say that you look pretty when you look like crap, who whine – but I love them. This is when I began to foray into part-time fag enabling with those possession of y-chromosomes.

These were my platonic friends, and I was their little sister. They bought me beers, protected me from skeevy ladies in bars and cheered me on when I danced on bars and in exchange I offered them a female perspective to their gal/boy problems, and playfully flirted with them when their significant other was being an ass.

Symbiotic relationship.

Until they got married.

I have a very good friend of mine who wants to hang. I really like this kid. She is smart- although ex pot-head, funny, and adorably lovable in that dorky ‘save me’ kind of way. To put it diplomatically because I know she reads it and think her gf may read it too, she and I have a strained relationship. She may thinks I am trying to steal her girlfriend, when all I want to do is hang out with her, without her.

Whether girls want to admit it, your boyfriend/girlfriend is different hanging out with his/her friends than you. He/She is more liberal with the off-color jokes, has a propensity to drink a bit more than usual, and tends to be a lot more honest, especially when talking about you. Often times I’ve been subjected to seeing my friends leashed by the constraints of their girlfriends/boyfriends, toning down their behavior, keeping conversation neutral, and forgetting the people that made me want to be friends with them in the beginning.

So my point—I think I just needed to rant. Part of my frustration fuelled that I missed the relationship boat here – actually maybe not. Or maybe it is the prospect of spending an entire weekend with a person not because I want to, but because of the symbolism of the ring that sits on the third finger of one of my good friend’s left hand. Or maybe, I am just grasping for straws, since I am too lazy to be help accountable to my memory and recant the rest of birthday week—complete with the $1000+ bar tab and a promise to buy a drug dealer Freakonomic next time I saw him. Oh god I kid you not. Only in NYC.

But those stories will have to wait. When I am more mentally adept, and haven’t had the productivity bored our of me. Try reading a few thousand pages about poverty and immigration laws by the same three authors and then get back to me. Instead of being mature and tackling my work, knocking the shit out—I’ve reverted back to my escapist ways, and spent the last few hours of last night dancing around my room in my hot new undies ( I heart boyshorts) listening to ***** ( I can’t say – you’ll make fun) and watching trashy reality tv. While I look at the unread journal articles whose pages still have not been turned yet.

I seriously need to lay off the caffeine after 8pm, and/or find the motivation to do my work.

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An Explanation

Friday, June 8, 2007

I remember back in 2003 when I started to blog first on Xanga and now Blogspot about random things (I know, it was a long time ago) and being the 1. Exhibitionist 2. Rant(er) 3. Blind sheep that I was I had to jump on that bandwagon and I really never actually gave a reason to why I blog.

So before homeland security goes through the internet and thinks that this blog is set up by some detainee in Gitmo or the Chinese version in Siberia (or is that Russia...where do the Chinese put their angry political prisioners?), trying to make Americans sympathetic to my un-natural communist or otherwise cause...sorry to burst your bubble Mr. Rumsfeld. But how about becomming sympathetic to my cause.

My life for the last few years since I started blogging has been living in my own personal bubble, strapped to a guerney (sp) where the powers that be use Chinese water torture to make me submit/tear my intelligence down.

But what is sick is reading my friends post, they all have something in common, this need to vent about college/post college/ quarter-life crisis of sorts. We all have the same complaints, asked to do meanial tasks, to kiss the ass of someone to make them happy. You know how the old adage goes "College is the best years of your life?" Well no shit. And if you think about why...as humanbeings we are social creatures. We needed to be social for the survival of our species, so you had extended families taking care of each others children, people working together to put food on the table. Your family was your safety net. College is quite similar, in order to navigate the trenches of being on your own for the first time, you form these social groups that mimic familial ties...some over zealous students even get a pet...and you know that after the first week you are asking your friends to help you take care of/hide it from resident life. Or remember (for those who were on dry campuses) when you had parties and once the R.A. knocked on your door, you hid the red cups and hope your family never peeped a word about you drinking?

However, once we get into the "real world" a world that in fact did not exist 100 years ago ( I have proof)...we are no longer allowed to live in social sphere that we humans thrive upon. No instead we pay a shit load of money for apts where you cram as many people in to make your rent cheaper, I think I saw an ad on craigslist for a bathtub for $600 a month, prime Greenwich Village location. Work long hours where we live in cubicles and drink shit corporate coffee or if we do get an opportunity to be somewhat social (in HR called being a team player) it is with people who you dont like and all you can do is speak in netral HR speak so they dont figure out just how much you hate them. Extended familial ties? Good friends?? Not when you are in your 20's and single in NYC. My bestest friends live all over the country (fine SI (hi Tiff)/NJ/MA most of them and one in Italy) and my life in NY/NJ consists of going to the gym, and going out partying (which really consists of me getting pissed drunk, embarassing myself, and then dancing on a table top/bar somewhere until I sober up enough to realize that I should be on the NJ transit) I mean – working hard at the office...

I don't want to sound like the utopian in this blogsphere (Voltaire anyone?) but truth is, in an optimistic light, it is not impossible to get those things we do want. If we do give up all those things that human ambitions drive us to acquire and create this divide-and-conquer mentality of a social structure, we do get back those things we miss and love.But frankly a lot of it is self-inflicted. It was our ambition that drove us to move to large cities thousands of miles or even hundred of miles away from home – well I am from NYC so practically 2 miles away from home, our sense of curiosity. If a society didn't permit that, or didn't encourage it (hmm communist china 30 years ago) we would WANT it. It is an incorrigible human flaw. How can we change this? I don't think we can.Now obviously this applies on a level where our choice matters, if we were trabajadors de maquilladoras, its a whole different problem, and it also becomes our guilt, those of us creating and perpetuating this system that renders us miserable for selfish reasons, and renders them impoverished and in dangerous careers.Oh god. No solution...

I am actually laughing about what I have just written rather than hitting myself in the head for writing this.

I swear I don’t have a hangover. I just think like this everyday.

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Editor in Chief??? moi??

Thursday, June 7, 2007

Magazine Editor-In-Chief

Ambitious. Driven. Valedictorian. Do these words sound familiar? Calling you an over-achiever would be a huge understatement. Besides, you've probably known what you've wanted to do since you were like twelve and were the first person in your class to get a PalmPilot. Someone like you would
never waste their time in a dead-end field. You need a fast-paced environment with lots of room for advancement and personal recognition. And what better way to show everyone just how much you rock than with your own byline and eventually your own magazine. You could so rule the world of publishing, that is.



---first of all I was totally bored and took this career test and look what I got...seriously...can it be any more a slap in the face??

then again, it was from that 13 going on 30 website.

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Birthday Spanking Please

Today I am not feeling too creative and so I’ll just write about my birthday and what the heck…it’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to…cry if I want to…

Woke up this morning to the lovely sound of the Amazon forest: monkeys, birds, rivers, trees dancing to the rhythm of the wind… ya know…whatever you find in the Amazon. It was damn worth it. I did pay 20 bucks for that sound of nature CD. By the way, remember when CDs used to cost 20 bucks +? I was recently at Virgin and I wanted to get a DVD and like I always do, I went to the music section to see what was new and my mouth dropped when I saw the price of CDs now – they are less than 14 bucks!!!

Anyway, I got up, turned off the sound and turned on my Ipod and went to the bathroom (I always listen to music when I get dress and sadly I end up dancing around my room in my undies looking for clothes to wear and of course I am always late). I checked myself out in the mirror and glanced over to my makeup section and saw that my parents left me a card. I smiled, I opened it and plane tickets slipped out and fell onto the floor. I finished the card in less than 2 seconds – my parents have the habit of not writing much. I picked up the tickets and I saw that they were open tix for the Dominican Rep. I’ve been there a couple of times to play tennis but I haven’t been there on vacation. So I get to go to DR for a weekend with someone (2 tix)…whom shall I go with??

Got dressed to Rihanna’s umbrella song – I am clearly obsessed. Its ok. I had it on repeat and I didn’t dance I was too focused on getting dressed – for once. FYI, I look amazing today!!! I got a couple of catcalls here and there on my way to work, which I responded with a killer stare. C’mon who else can pull off a white suit??

Got to the office – opened my door and there…beautiful white daisies on my desk. I really wish I knew who sent them to me. It’s the second time. Geez reveal thyself. Please.

I got a couple of cards from the office peeps…scored a free lunch with the editorial department and a free happy hour on the company. Then again, its always a free happy hour for me since I use the company’s card. Shhh…

My day is still going. I feel old but good.

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Getting Older...

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Tomorrow I am turning 24. I cringe when I say it. I think about getting older – looking older with gray hair and winkles and veiny (is that even a word?) hands and then I think how much wiser I will be, or how amazing it would be to have achieved my goals or even perhaps looking like Meryl Streep from the Devil Wears Prada. I want to age gracefully. I am obviously exaggerating with the whole looking older – I am only turning 24. This morning I woke up and noticed how young I look. So that’s a plus. I am sure when I will wear my birthday dress tomorrow I will look in the mirror and cry with pity.

I’ve got a couple of parties here and there. This week and next week. I must know a lot of Gemini peeps. I have to make a casual appearance to two of them – 20 min max. BUT as far as personal parties – nothing planned. Hopefully no one will surprise me with some extravagant party like last year. This year I am actually not in the mood for any celebration. Party Pooper title gladly taken here with no shame.

All I really want to do is go sailing. I want to learn how to sail this year – really. I love water, I love boats, I love that rocking feeling when you are on a boat, I love the smell of the ocean and seeing the sunset on the horizon. Back in HS I dated a trust fund guy who owned a sailboat and he would sail for weeks at a time along the coastline. I thought he was the coolest person on earth. Yes-I dated a boy in H.S., I even went to the prom with him – because I couldn’t bring a girl (although I probably wouldn’t have asked a girl to accompany me) and plus he was my BFF and still is. We both went to different Schools – I was in NYC and he went overseas to some Italian boarding school (I wont give you his name – but here is a clue – His family make a very very very pricey Italian sports car) So we rarely saw each other and it was more of a friendship thing than anything. He was the first kid I knew who had a black Amex. My parents don’t even have that!!! Anyway – he is a cutie with a sailboat. I envy him. He is also the kind of guy who is just too suave…and all the girls (he only dates models now) fall instantly for him not because he has money or his last name (if you saw him on the street, you wouldn’t know he had money) but because he is a good-looking guy.

But anyway…big 2-4 tomorrow. Nothing to worry about I guess. When I turn 25 then I’ll start to worry and cry about being a quarter of a century old.

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Rebound Relationships

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

At some point in our lives, we all have been guilty of having one or two rebound relationships. Rebounds are a safe way for us to let go of the person we were with and also an easier way to get our minds off of the ex.

But is a good thing?

I guess it depends on each person. Whether you like having someone there to constantly remind you that you are loved, or having someone there to make you feel better about being alone. Either way, to me, I think is ludicrous. It's like a puppy that needs constant love.

The other night I was having dinner with the writer, and we spoke about rebound girlfriends. We both admitted to having these affairs but we would have never admitted such actions at the time. I don’t think someone can sit here and say, yes, I kinda feel lonely; I want to be with someone…just for the hell of it. I sort of brush the subject to the side. I've had a few. I've had enough relationships to realize what is wrong and what is right.
It is called growth.

After each break ups, I found myself yearning for the same attraction and passion I shared with an ex, and to me, the only way I can end my search is to be with someone, not because I care about them but because I want to satisfy that hunger.

I think there might be a general rule of “how long you can stay single before you get involved with someone else”. I guess people would agree with me, the longer you wait, the better you will feel about yourself. You learn your faults and you look back at your previous relationship and see what went wrong. I think breaks (right after a break-up) are made for that.

Jumping from one relationship to another is like setting yourself up for another breakup because you are just going to repeat the same mistakes you've made with the ex. And it becomes a pattern.

I am neither a psychologist nor a therapist, but it doesn't take a genius to realize that people repeat the same mistakes when they don't sit down and think.

Jumping from one relationship to another is not a smart thing to do. It just proves to others that you are not happy being alone. There is nothing wrong with being alone. I think people need to be alone sometimes. It clears the mind. I am all for taking breaks.

I guess everyone moves on differently. Some fast and easy and others slowly.

"It takes no time to fall in love, but it takes you years to know what love is..."

so…

…Can I get an AMEN!

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Weekend Debauchery

Friday, June 1, 2007

Oh Good Lord it is Friday!!!! Not much is planned for the weekend but so far here is what I have…

Tonight – Super cool outing with a bunch of my straight girlies – staying local (McFads in midtown and probably finish the night at Saloon on the Upper East)

Saturday – Heading to my first tennis practice after the Hospital incident. For those of you who don’t know, I do play tennis for a certain country. Right now, I am probably the worst player in the league but who cares…it’s fun and I get to travel…Really gay huh?!? That’s usually how I get my ladies. I swing a little “I play tennis, I moan and sweat, wanna see me play” not exactly using these words…but ya get my drift.

Sunday – scored some major Mets tickets, kick ass seats right behind 3rd base. Sweeeeet. I will be boozing with my pops and stuffing my face with chips and hot dogs.

Everyone I know (NJ peeps) are heading to the Asbury Pride this Sunday and I will be watching a sweet game at Shea. I am not a huge fan of Pride. Every year it is the exact same response. I get really excited about it because I get to be around other GLBTs and it feels like home and every year I get disappointed.

When I came out in HS, It was a brand new beginning- new persona…gay belt around my waist, bandana rainbow flag tightly wrapped on my head, rainbow bracelets safely worn around my wrists and any other paraphernalia that will show that “yes I am gay”- I would stand among other GLBT and show my pride with screams which can be heard across the river.

Now, 8 years after my first tentative steps from the closet, I don't find Pride festivals as significant anymore. First of all – I don’t bear any of the old gay gear; I just show up, drink and be merry. I don’t need to tell people that I am who am anymore. That phase of wearing everything gay is long gone.

Every year I tell myself that I will not go to Pride because I don’t see a point and clearly I get bored with the same floats. I still manage to go, for no other reason than to be counted and of course to see the dykes on bikes and PFLAG.

BUT BUT BUT Excuse me while I don my bitter hat -- Pride Parades lately seem much more about see-and-be-seen than an actual expression of individual or group pride. Sometimes I think it's really just a huge cruise-fest, where generally attractive women/men remove their shirts in their bids for attention while less "attractive" women are all too happy to lavish such attention on them. (I use "attractive" in a community standards sense of the word, which is horrible, because gay community standards are ridiculous.) Sure, lesbians are proud of being lesbians... and gays are proud to be gay.

Once upon a time, I went to Pride because I wanted to be among people who didn't make me feel like a freak, an outsider, a pariah. I no longer feel like an outcast every day. Sometimes, though, one comes to miss the affirmation -- the kind that comes only to the insecure -- when one has truly become comfortable with the skin she's in.I am not against being naked and showering oneself with bottled water while floating in the air and barely wearing undies. But is that showing pride?

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