Sometimes–I Don’t Care if You’re Gay!

Robot with tool saying "Yup, he's gay!"

So most of the time, like Sasha, I enjoy playing “Spot The Lesbian.” Although the hardcore butches aren’t much challenge for this sport (for them the game is: how do I get this butch to notice me?), there’s plenty of-in-between women  (and men) for me to test my gaydar on.

I also like to see who makes me: there was the annoying hipster who somehow pegged me on the first day of my last job, outing me by informing me in lofty tones that I “could get married too, now.” (Remember, I live in Massachusetts, where that information would have been thrilling if it wasn’t, like, six years old.)

There was the grey-haired professorial femme who stared admiringly at me for an uncomfortably long period of time at the airport on one of my boi days (bois fly more comfortably) before sitting down next to a soul-mate-matching short-haired butch who I could only assume to be her partner.

Then there’s that thrill of spotting the face that sends female signals from a masculine-appearing body, not to mention the lesbian nod, the extra smile… Sometimes I feel like a member of an exclusive club. A pretty darn cool one at that.

On the other hand, sometimes I just don’t give a damn! Today was one of those days: I was at an extremely dull party full of aging computer programmers, trying to keep my head up despite a sinking depression over losing a friend via email, and an older butch gave me that extra, approving smile. All right, so she made me! Like that was really so friggin’ hard when I’m wearing a purple tank top, goddess pendant, have my hair up in a bandana–oh yeah, and a big hurking Labris tattooed to my arm!

I felt like our conversation should have gone: “You like eating pussy?”

“Me too.”

Big freaking whoop! Is an attraction to the same gender really something you can build a friendship on? Wait, don’t answer that…lol…I know, it’s a place to start, and a lot of lesbians are fucking awesome people, it’s just…I don’t know, it can feel like a superficial connection at times.

I really feel that way about gay men a lot of the time. So what that you’re gay and I know it? Or I’m gay and you know it? Big fucking deal!!

I often feel like gay men and I have the least in common. Typical conversation at my last job:

Me: “Yeah I’ve been really getting into cooking lately.”

Gay Man 1: “Oh really, who do you cook?”

Me: ”  ”

Gay Man 2: “Oh I just love Rachel Ray!”

On the other hand, at my latest job I like the gay guy (it’s mostly women) the most. Having him there has helped me be out at work, and the fact that he’s something of a femme without going into “who do you cook?” territory helps. It really felt good when his fiance greated me with, “Oh I’ve heard all about you–your’e family!”

So I guess that I do care if you’re gay. Unless, I’m, like, in a bad mood, find you unattractive or am thinking about something else. Then I could fucking care less.


  1. I love to people watch too and play ‘spot the gay’ all the time.

    But I guess deep down we are really spotting ‘people who are expressing gender variance in subtle ways’ and/or ‘people who notice me because of MY gender variance and are therefore in on it, or something.’ Because honestly (as much as we’d like to think so) you can’t tell someone’s sexual orientation just by looking at them, and only for the fact that sexual orientation and gender non-conformity are often co-morbid that we get this strange idea in the first place.

  2. The one that always bends my mind is to see someone who dresses, acts, and swaggers like “butch” and to find out she’s straight. There is a cashier at my favorite grocery store who I swore was butch, everything about her screamed it. The other night, she changed out registers with the person taking over her station while I was in line and she said something to the affect “I gotta jet my boyfriend is picking me up” an then she ran to the back I guess to clock out. I figured she meant “boifriend” (I’ve always “somehow” ended up in her line). As I was leaving the store, her BOYfriend rode up on his motorcyle, she leaned over and kissed him and said “hey babe! let’s go!” and climbed onto the back of his bike. I shook my head all the way to my car.

  3. @Maddox. You are very right. There must be something to the confluence of gender & sexual variance, but they’re not necessarily linked. I think I can *read* femmes sometimes too, and gay guys are not necessarily femme for me to *make* them. I think it’s a cultural thing as much of a gender thing: small cues that ping your gaydar.

    @Rexie: office butches are my gaydar failing: I wrote a pot on it:
    Another one started at my job & I had an instant crush–until she came in with a scoop-kneck blouse, short skirt and peep-toed sandals! (oh, yeah, and mentioned her husband) Sigh!

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