Friday, November 15, 2013

Jen The Lesbian


“Jen the Lesbian.”  When did my sexuality become my defining characteristic?

“My roommate – no, not the dancer, the lesbian.” “My lesbian coworker.”  “Yeah, I have four bridesmaids – the one in Peacecorps, the vegan, the lesbian, and the normal one.”

L-R : Peacecorps, the lesbian, the groom, the "normal" one, the vegan


This is just a small taste of something I’ve noticed when people talk about me.  And yes, those are all direct quotes I have heard about myself.  So when did my liking women become my ultimate (and usually only) signifier of whom I was? 



I often wonder if people are just too uncreative when having conversations; that putting me in a neat little check box is the easiest and most direct way to describe me.  I think that happens a lot, especially for people with privilege, to describe others by their minority traits.  “No, not that Brittany, the black one,” “you know John, the super gay dude,” “you’ve met Carl, the amputee guy with only one arm.”  Usually the thing that makes a person ‘different’ in someone else’s eyes shines like a big glaring spotlight on them.  But honestly, does a lot of the company I keep know so few lesbians that when they say “The Lesbian” I’m immediately the first person that pops into their mind? 

Find The Homo! 


Labels are bizarre to me.  Lesbian describes me a most of the time, but not all of the time.  I also hate labels and the need to fit into someone’s idea of a tidy checkbox. 



I’m curious how people described me before I came out.  If it wasn’t the rainbows and pictures of boobs and glitter exploding out of my face, what on earth did people say about me when I wasn’t there?  What else defines me?  Or more accurately, what other glaring personality or physical trait about myself did people notice and decide to use to blanket my entire entity with?  I remember my first birthday after my coming out.  I got a rainbow rug, a book on how to date women, a lesbian graphic novel, a rainbow cake, and several other queer presents.  Not that I didn’t like these items – I really did love everything a lot – but it just happened so quickly.  I had come out and a few months later it was the only thing people seemed to notice about me.  

so gay my bookshelf is in rainbow order


I do think that most people have good intentions.  My friends that bought me all of those gay birthday presents?  I honestly think it was a show of support.  And most of the people in my life who refer to me as “the lesbian” are most likely doing it because of the inescapable easiness to label someone superficially without really thinking about it.  I know I’m guilty; we’ve all done it.  It’s easier to look at one big differentiating trait than the thousand small ones that actually make up a person’s identity. 

according to this chart, i also like talking about myself, my friends, chicago, drinking, my girlfriend, and my mom!  
(i'm also slightly uncomfortable at how big the word "bathroom" is on this chart) 


I will be the first to admit my sexuality plays a big role in my life.  I read a lot of lgbtq books, I spend a lot of time being active in my community, I go to queer themed events, and I am proud of my sexuality and community and who I am.  But it isn’t the only thing about me.  In situations where I am described alongside other people – an example being my roommates and I (Sara is the hairstylist, Kelly is the dancer, I am the lesbian) – it almost feels unfair that they are described by traits of skills they have, things they are passionate about and have studied and put time into and are proud of, and I am described by who I like to bang.  And I guess my banging is something I am passionate and proud of, but it’s not a skill.  It’s just something that happens after a few glances across the room, a few okcupid messages, or a few beers.   I am so much more than the people I sleep with.  I am also a writer, a tattoo enthusiast, obsessed with cats to a slightly unhealthy degree, an avid reader, constantly sporting (what I think are) very awesome alternative lifestyle haircuts, a horror movie buff, and so much more.


this photo says a lot about me i think


I suppose it comes down to this – my queer identity doesn’t define me.  It isn’t the only thing about me.  But I will embrace that it is a huge part of my being and the easily accessible projection I put out into the world.  And while I hope that people notice the whole package that makes me into Jen the Human Being, I will use Jen the Lesbian (to the best of my ability) to be a role model and an activist for my community.  In the mean time I hope the rest of me doesn’t get lost in the rainbow.  

The Battle

cue the lights. scene : my room. eating pizza in bed. Kelly is in the shower in the room next to mine. a voice : "oh my god." a moment passes; again : "oh my GOD." 

i stand outside the door. "you okay?" 

door flies open, kelly dripping wet, wrapped in a loose towel. "it's huge." 

i peer around her tentatively; there it is. the biggest centipede of all time. a dark, evil creature decorated with ten thousand legs and a mass of unbelievable proportions.

i gag.

"what do we do?!" ideas are thrown out. vacuum it up. spray it with shave lotion. go get a neighbor. call 911. burn down the house. move out, start over, pretend it never happened, that we never met this beast from hell.

no. this is our house. this is our home. he must go.

we relocate to the kitchen and raid the supplies. armed with wood polish spray and orange cleaning agent, we return to the battle zone. the creature is elusive but we find him under a wash cloth. adrenaline flows and the war begins.

"DIE!" kelly sprays wood cleaning spray with a ferocity only known to those in times of peril. i bring up the back, orange cleaning spray flying like a thousand bullets from the barrel of a gun. our opponent is soaked, he is weak. limply he falls off the lip of the tub and onto the ground.

time for act 2. the monster, damaged and slow, makes his last move towards us. he stumbles drunkly to me and i prepare myself for the final moment. it's now or never.

i bravely throw a paper towel on top of satan himself, raise my new weapon of choice above my head (a motorcycle boot), and time blacks out. kelly informs me i brought the boot down over and over. when i come to, she is telling me "dude, i think it's dead." i stumble backwards and stare at the paper towel, now soaked with the remains of our tormenter. it rests atop him like a body bag.

shaken and exhausted, we realize the war has ended. we have survived. we are victorious.