Name::straighttalker05 From::Northern Ireland, United Kingdom
I'm an avid dreamer. I have big ideas, and I'll probably take them somewhere. Watch this space.
I want to present what I think - and not with words minced up into an acceptable platter. Some things need to be told straight - particularly gay rights. Particularly life in the closet, it's very nature means no one hears it. If they do it's usually tinted with nostalgia.
I'm confident, I know what I like and what I don't. Please don't confuse this for arrogance. I'm probably more insecure then you imagine. View my complete profile
I have a job now – it’s not glamorous, but it’s not McDonald’s either. It’s as bar staff in the Student’s Union. Not quite some swanky cocktail bar, or even a gay bar, but the pay is pretty good, and the hours not too shabby. I can just about reach the spirits, and I’ve already done my first 6 hour shift. Yes mummy, I was in the presence of drunk people and loud music for a full 6 hours, and I actually kind of enjoyed working.
The pervy part of me is looking forward to the hot tub party later this term. That should make up for the fact no one warned me about the cleaning up afterwards. The amount students drink is quite frankly amazing, and more amazing is the amount they buy and don’t drink – spilling it on themselves, on the floor, down the stairs, or just abandoning a full pint on any flat surface. Yes, cleaning up afterwards wasn’t as romantic as pouring pints and the like. However, at least no one was there to see me prancing about with a bin bag and a tub I called ‘Tubby’.
More importantly, I’m still as stubborn as anything. I took a kind of strange delight in telling my mother that I had a job, and then the next day I regaled her with tales of how late I was home, how drunk men oogled me, and how I was held at knife point until I poured the perfect pint of Snake bite (well, maybe not the last one). She hates the idea of it, I know. But even if I was getting my full allowance, I now want something to fall back on. It’s not much, but I don’t have to justify what I spend it on. My money, my life.
Christmas has most certainly been and gone, thankfully, for another year. New Year seems an age past. Yet only now am I enjoying the delights of the L Word, series 1 and 2, which my girlfriend got as a present. Yes, that’s 30 episodes of gay goodness.
I don’t love the L Word, and I don’t hate it. It’s not a bad TV show, the concept is clever. It doesn’t represent my friends and I, and it’s obviously a glammed up version of someone’s experience at some time. Many people have damned it because it doesn’t reflect a certain part of their life – it doesn’t include a butch, they all have too much money, they are all too pretty and wear skirts and make up. It’s not meant to represent exactly the lesbian community, because if it did we would complain anyway.
One thing it does get pretty much bang on, is the tangled web of relationships that most of us seem to have behind us. Not that sexual conquest is anything to be proud of, but it would appear that lesbians can be just as bad as the reputation our male counterparts get. We’re all connected, and while it’s not necessarily as easy to bed someone in real life as it is in the show.
To demonstrate this I did a doodle of what my chart would be like. Sure as anything I’m connected to my best friend in less than 6 moves. She is dating A, A once dated B who dated C who dated D – I was in a relationship with both C and D.
This may be because the community is so small, because we’re afraid of what we don’t already know, or maybe we’re just all slappers.
It’s a well-known joke that lesbians rush into relationships like a sports car on an open motorway. We bring the cat, personal belongings and emotional baggage on the second date. By the third date, it’s hardly worth going out seeing as we act like a straight married couple on their golden wedding anniversary.
The reason for this phenomenon is less clear. Some think we just fall easily, and that’s partly true – I know I’m guilty as any of that. But that isn’t, in my opinion, the sole reason for our over hasty progression of relationships.
It’s because we’re all really too shy to call our lovers our ‘girlfriends’. That, for a start, immediately identifies us as lesbians to all and sundry. Perhaps we’re also just too bashful to admit that we have a ‘fancy woman’ or ‘sweetheart’ (just cringe worthy terms).
By rushing into a serious relationship, we can avail of the gender-neutral terms – ‘partner’ and ‘other half’. We can safely talk about our relationship amongst people we don’t know, saving the embarrassment of being forced to come out to them. Like a secret code, only like-minded lesbos will pick up on our subtle word use. We’re just terribly clever really.
Funny how things turn out really. I was in London today for meetings (at the Poetry Society, ooh la la). Of course seeing as someone else is paying my expenses I tend to spend some time mooching around shops and the like. I just love aimlessly wandering around a city and looking at the people and places you end up. Thanks to my sense of directly, I usually end up where I started, and relatively unscathed.
Today my gaydar led me directly to Soho. Perhaps aided by the fact I’ve been there before (but just the once). There is something quite liberating for a recently de-closeted lesbian to wander about one of the world’s most famous gay areas. Also, for one who last saw it in a drunken haze, seeing it in the harsh light of day was also interesting, and just goes to show my drunken memory is really quite clear considering.
Many people wonder why we gays need to create a ghetto for ourselves, surely it’s just a barrier to the world? Well, yes, but no. We’re everywhere now – everywhere I turn I see gays in positions of authority – and more importantly, more are out and proud than ever before. So what if we are too sissy to walk far from pub to pub, surely that’s sense more than fear.
LGBTA trip to London this term? I think so. I can impress them all with my detailed and intricate gaydar navigation system.
The job hunt begins; quite why any firm wouldn’t want an eloquent dyke like myself is beyond me. The fact that I don’t really like people is slightly restricting, but I’ll possibly find something. If anyone knows of any high paying, low effort, flexible and exciting jobs in the Leicester area, just let me know a.s.a.p.
I’m sure some of you are thinking how easy I’ve had it in the past. You really don’t need to tell me, as many people have before. I am totally aware of this fact – I’ve had a simple and easy life. I wasn’t doing a paper round at 12, washing dishes at 15 or selling shoes at 17. I’ve never had to worry about where my money came from, I’ve never not had enough money to go out and enjoy myself. I know all of this. However it doesn’t help when the only low paying jobs I can find that I might like all insist on prior experience. Thanks mum.
Otherwise, being back id good. I don’t think my mother is really that happy at me being back – she’s been on the phone making disapproving noises already. What she doesn’t know and won’t find out won’t hurt her. I’m not exactly an irresponsible student anyway, and if I was, everyone needs to go mad every once in a while. Indeed, given the Christmas I’ve had, going mad seems quite an attractive option. Maybe after my exam.
Yes, escape is iminent. My bags are packed (perhaps a little too eagerly), the essays are printed off, and I am having one last cup of soft water tea before heading back to Leicester.
Obviously, given the circumstance, I'm not that upset about leaving. Yet part of me is a little sad to leave behind my home comforts - my ford ka, my tv and dvd player, my bed... But I've proven in this holiday at least that I'd be willing to sacrifice all of it in order to be me. Even my parents have to respect that.
So, I've fitted as much as possible into my case. Let's just hope it isn't £30 over the weight limit like last time.
And, more importantly, don't mention the fact I'm a big raving lesbian.
Things are better now. Or, if not better, more bearable. My parents have entered into the ‘If we don’t mention it, it isn’t true’. Which, quite frankly suits me. Part of me is disappointed that they took it as badly as I always assumed they would, I wanted to be proved wrong.
Maybe I was right because I know them better than I know most people. Maybe I know them better than they know themselves. I know them well enough to realise that they are mainly upset that they didn’t know me well enough to spot this fully themselves.
I don’t presume that my mother will be embracing the gay community, I still expect to have to fabricate certain situations (like getting cash back in Canal Street at 2am). With time I expect her to get over it, but that’s up to her now. I can’t push her to accept something, or I’ll just dig her heels in deeper than before.
Harmony is hardly restored, and I’m not even sure if it ever will be fully. But she’s stopped smashing plates, and it’s a start.
Many thanks to those who have sent me advice and good wishes at this time. It is much appreciated, even if I know it all already, reassurance is a blessing none the less. I’m a bit strange right now, somewhere between happy (even ecstatic) at not having to lie anymore, and totally distraught. This is certainly not an ideal way to come out, and my parent’s reaction has been as bad as it could be.
The story is a relatively simple one. They found a letter I was writing to my girlfriend among my papers and notes. Maybe I was too lax leaving it lying around, maybe it was fate and I couldn’t have avoided them. But I’m not one to dwell on the maybes, it happened.
My parents are at rock bottom, and I’m not lying or pretending to help pick them up. I’ve had every possibility thrown at me, I was influenced, it’s a phase, it’s me being rebellious, I’ve been indoctrinated, I’m being immature, I don’t really know what it means, I’m imagining it, I just haven’t met the right man: if it’s a feasible answer to them, it’s been chucked at me.
I’ve had the hysterics, the suicide threats, the guilt, the denial, the blame, the hate.
More practically, this will affect me in a more dramatic way than simply causing a fuss at home for a while. My parents are entirely adamant that I will not get any money from them. I don’t know if they expect that that will make me change, I’ve been quite honest – if I have no money, I’ll still be gay. They think I’m not thinking ahead, but I am. I’m already looking for jobs, I’m already considering how to reduce my expenditure and ensure I get my degree, money or none.
They claim I am being unfair when I’ve told them that if they will cut off my finance, I will move out and continue my degree with whatever money I can. But I don’t think I’m being unfair: I have never had a choice in choosing my sexuality, I can not repress it, I have no choice in whether or not they support me.
H, of ‘Steps’ fame has come out of the closet. I’d never have guessed. But, he’s a bit slow. He follows on from Stephen Gately (Boyzone), Mark Feehily (Westlife), Lance Bass (N Sync) and Andrew Kinlochan (Phixx). It’s always been clear that boy bands needed a camp, girly one, with blue eyes and nice hair. But what girl bands have a tank top wearing, spiky haired lesbian? (We aren’t mentioning Tatu here)
So maybe a girl band isn’t the perfect career choice for me. I can sing, and I like to think I can sing bloody well… But I know my voice isn’t suited to ‘Sugababes’ classics, and I still groan at the play on words in ‘Girls Aloud’ *groan *
Maybe karaoke is as close as I’ll get to pop stardom. Music is one of those industries where it’s more acceptable for men than women to be gay. One of the few out and proud lesbians is KD Lang, followed closely by Melissa Etheridge, but many of the others are obscure and unheard of. ‘Horse’ is a gay icon, but who outside the lesbian fold has actually heard of her? Alex Parks was a lesbian, who achieved some mainstream success, but few people, other than lesbians, actually remember who she even was in the first place. (And it pains me to admit that.)
I’m no pop expert, and feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but what girl band or pop diva is gay? (With the exception of a possibly bi P!nk) They may flirt with it, knowing fine rightly the gullible lesbian public, obviously coaxed by silver hot pants, will run out to buy it.
That’s another thing – how many hetero men actually like girly pop music enough to go out and buy it? I would imagine the answer is very few. Yet Jessica Simpson is prancing around in hot pants and pouty lips, Britney (when sober) is shoving her cleavage in my face, and Christina is straddling a chair.
I'm not often totally shameless (except perhaps, after I've had a few drinks). I like to think of myself as the shy, retiring type - although those who know me would likely totally disagree. I'm sorry, but I'm a publicity whore.
Please feel free to pop on over to the shiny Lesbian Lifestyle blog to nominate me for Best Lesbian Blog of 2006. I might cry if you don't.
In other news - my Sylvia Plath essay is sending me quite neurotic. In an extraordinary burst of creativity I did over half of it in an afternoon, who knows where it all came from. In punishment for my nerdiness, I've been given a mighty migraine, so apologies that this post is somewhat short. Typing in between throbs isn't nice at all.
My mother also keeps asking why I keep doing essays on feminism in literature. I just told her it's on the course (for the next 3 years). My mother hates feminism - it ends in the same letters are the hated lesbianism.
I have a job now – it’s not glamorous, but it’s not McDonald’s either. It’s as bar staff in the Student’s Union. Not quite some swanky cocktail bar, or even a gay bar, but the pay is pretty good, and the hours not too shabby. I can just about reach the spirits, and I’ve already done my first 6 hour shift. Yes mummy, I was in the presence of drunk people and loud music for a full 6 hours, and I actually kind of enjoyed working.
