Living in a small college town, the hetero-homogeny of bars frustrates me.
Sure, we queers have a tiny closet to dance in on weekends and our night at the big club once a month, but other than that we’re on our own.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy breeders, it’s just that I’m tired of watching them hook up night after night while I go home to Patches, my beat up old teddy bear.
Token Straight Guy and Lee, our good buddy, took me skiing for my first time since I was 7 this weekend. After three hours of shockingly good sportsmanship, I left the boys to their black diamond runs and made my way to the bar in the lodge.
A tatted up guy next to me suggested I have a “Face Plant” – rum, brandy, mint schnapps and hot chocolate – and his number. I thanked him for the suggestion and the offer, explained that he wasn’t quite my type and took a seat next to the giant window overlooking the slopes.
Girl after girl swooshed by, yet – as much as everyone looks butch in snow gear – my gaydar didn’t go off once. Had I been hetero, I’d have had a sexy snowboarder’s number, but as a lesbian I was batting zero.
On our hour drive back to town, the boys harassed me for being too picky with girls, while at the same time complaining about lesbians and their complicated love triangles. I explained to them that in a community as small as ours, the only way I, theoretically, avoid conflicts is by being picky.
Lee is married to a wonderful woman (gotta lock that down), but Token Straight Guy is single and is always meeting interesting women. At the law school straight men have about 200 women to choose from, half of which are single.
Us gay women, on the other hand, have about 10, half of which are taken, all of which would be awkward to date.
So I go out to bars, I reply to ads on Craigslist and I put profiles on every dating site Google directs me to. Yet where do I find myself on a Saturday night? Gawking at over-dressed sorority girls throwing themselves at under-dressed frat boys in a bar where I’m the only gay in sight.
Token Straight Guy tells me it’s dry spells like these that make me appreciate the wetter days, and as much as I loathe admitting it, he’s right.
Before law school started, almost everything I did was gay. I spent a majority of my time exploring the nooks and crannies of the closets of this little town, and I met wonderful women who enrich my life to this day.
But, as happens to the best of us, I let all of that die. Between The Wind and law school, I lost my connection with my community. So folks, I’m branching back out again. I’m consciously moving out of my bubble, away from the usual haunts, and I’m dragging the breeders with me.
I say you join me. I say everyone out there, small town or NYC, taken, open or alone, branch out. Expand our community. Break free from nesting, and get your butt outside.
I’ll be waiting.