Cross-Aisle Shopping

thin white femme in suspenders

Rod and Justa went shopping yesterday, with my son tagging gamely along, his nose buried in my iPhone.

Justa bought some strapless bras, a sinfully short black dress, short shorts,  a drapey graphic T and some super cute shoes. Rod bought a significant-other beater, suspenders, and his first fitted!

(Also purchased in the Men’s dept: belt and wallet. The women’s versions just suck too damn much. I also almost went into the men’s changing room twice. Freudian slip?)

The fitted was the hardest for me to get. I felt extremely transgressive walking into the store. I was glad that I knew exactly what I wanted to get, but when I tried it on it didn’t look right. (It wasn’t till I got home that I realized I needed to tilt the brim up. Going into the store, I tried to act like this white girl buying a fitted was totally normal, and the sales guys played along. (Unlike the time I was buying a men’s hoodie at Tello’s and dude called his friend to tell him about it.)

Buying the shoes was fun. A super-cute, extra thick stud whose tag read “Chris” was working the register, and I exchanged huge smiles with her as I asked for some shoes in my size. Then when I needed another pair this brother helped me out. He started flirting with me…and I started flirting back! What can I say–I’m a flirt? Flirting makes things go smoother and be more fun, and I don’t have to actually like someone to flirt with them–right?

“I like your tattoo.” He said.

“Thanks” I replied, “It mean’s that I bat for Chris’s team.” (No, I just said thanks–sometimes I spit the shit that comes into my head, but usually I chicken out.) Then a customer noticed that his fly was unzipped, and he bashfully zipped his fly up while I cracked a joke about him working the floor half-naked.

Chris came back and I flirted with her some more, wishing that I had an excuse for a real convo with her, but I had to go! (All of the flirting must have done some good, because my shoes mysteriously came out to $25. rather than $45 as it said on the sticker.)

Walking out of the Mall, I was like–wait–did I really spend $20 on suspenders? How often am I really going to wear those?  But it’s for an event that I’m going to, and I have this image in my head of how I want to look and I feel compelled to play it out–even if it means buying $20 suspenders!

(Oh, and I got a negative comment about naming aspects of your personality–FYI Rod just kinda named himself. It works for me as a way of thinking about something that I’ve been struggling with since way before I started this blog. It helps, but I don’t take it too seriously.)

Boi On Boi

sexy stud embrace

On one of my off nights I went to Felt–where they made the Lesbians go in through the alley, while the straights use the main entrance. It was too hot, too dark, too young and too white. (Not my scene lol) But I did have the pleasure of watching a nearly identical couple (wait, was that three?) with eerily similar hair and builds,  jeans and white shirts dancing oh-so-sexily together. Hot!

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.

Lesbian Lexicon

The idea for the Lesbian Lexicon came to me after watching some videos on YouTube that did a very bad job of explaining lesbian terminology. I wanted to do an illustrated lexicon from femme to stud–or, since blogs read in reverse, you’re reading it from stud to femme. I decided to only use terms that I hear regularly here in the Boston Area, rather than try to include everything I’ve seen online, so I did not cover words like futch, boi, or aggressive (referring to a stud). I also did not include trans, as I have recently realized that I am still working through issues and prejudices around transsexuals. (Probably the result of my own deep trans-desires I’m still struggling with.) If you want to write a guest post on these or any other term you think I missed, comment below.

I decided to use all celebrities, and as many out artists as I could. You’ll notice Mo’Nique in there, with a disclaimer. No there’s no disclaimer for the rest of them. Am I saying their Lesbians or at least bi? Well I’m not saying they’re not…

I also want to ask you to please refrain from making comments about “how stupid it is to label people.” Labels are just language that people use to try to understand and explain their environment. Obviously there is a wealth of depth in each person, regardless of where they fit on the spectrum, and I think everyone, male and female, has at least some traits from each.

Butch O'Meter

Butch O'Meter