The Gay Disease

I always thought of AIDS as a “gay disease.” Whenever I went to a site for LGBT youth, I would see a prominent sexual health section with information about HIV/AIDS. This was my first sexual education, other than questions my parents answered (one being “What is oral sex?”) I recieved decent, though heteronormative, sexual education in middle school. I learned about STDs through pictures in my high school’s health class. I watched a memorable video about abstinence in religion class. (Its message against cohabitation and reasonable defense of waiting till marriage has stuck with me, it's line that "condom's are a joke" did not.) If I heard about AIDS in school sex education, it was presented the same way as LGBT issues. As in: We know that some of yall are LGBT or might have experience with HIV/AIDS, but we don’t have time to cover everything. You’re on your own.

The secrecy surrounding HIV/AIDS determined me to find out more. I tried to volunteer at the San Antonio AIDS Foundation (SAAF) in middle school. By then I was aware of my LGBT identity and had connected HIV/AIDS to it. I was too young. In the middle of high school, I donated a fraction of my birthday money to SAAF. By senior year I had participated in a variety of service projects to fill my school requirement, none of which had any effect on me. I contacted the SAAF again. After a brisk training (watching dated anti-sexual harassment and fire safety videos) I was a volunteer. The rest of the story is what college admission essays are made of.

I volunteered at the SAAF for only seven hours, including training. I popped into the SAAF less than an hour a week for a semester. I realized that service isn’t all making copies and playing with dogs at the pound. I couldn’t stomach this kind of service for very long. My main task was serving food to people on the verge of death. Most either spoke in inanities accompanied by inappropriate expression or looked permanently terrified.

One man was lucid enough to be my friend. My Catholic school uniform put him at ease. I was an innocent receptacle of his recycled stories. I reminded him of his youth: playing baseball, his first girlfriend. This man, like many of the people at SAAF, was black. This wouldn’t be significant except that since I lived on the Northside of San Antonio and went to Catholic school, seeing a black person was an unusual event. The only time I saw more than a couple of black people at once was at the SAAF. I stopped volunteering for a couple weeks. When I returned, I didn’t see my wheel-chair bound friend in the dining hall. His obituary, along with many others, was in a glass case. Growing up, I was sheltered from death. Other than my great-grandparents and opa, I didn’t personally know dead people. As a kid, I thought that the death of these ancient relatives was inevitable, a non-event. This man seemed healthy. His death seemed sudden, though I knew it was years in the making.

I have other memories of the SAAF. Wheeling a man to the outside porch so he could smoke. I put the wrong side of the cigarette in his mouth. I ashed and lit for him too because his hands didn’t work. He was good-natured and gracious. We had a functional, though mundane, conversation. I fed another man who kept repeating that he liked black guys. I told him I liked them too, sheepishly trying to hide my discomfort. Another man had the stoic face and tattoos of a contraband leader. The nurse ordered him in Spanish to open wide so I could spoon food into his mouth. I went once to a patient's room. It was dark except for a minature TV perched on a tall shelf. Her bed was lined with pictures of family, friends, and what I assumed was the healthy patient. My hands shook as I spooned the food. This woman had one expression (terror in the face of death) and four words (the food is good.) I took it for granted that her and I could never be friends, could never have a conversation.

All these experiences led me to believe that AIDS wasn’t what you saw in Rent. It killed people, yes, but it also took away their brains and marked their bodies. It forced them to tell old stories and watch TV all day. It made them the antithesis of sexy. Due to advances in medication, people newly infected can escape this fate with enough money or public assistance. Yet the regimen is exacting, the stigma still acute.

I admitted in my previous post that I am no sexual health saint. I do what I can to stay safe and keep up to date on my facts. I won’t engage in certain sexual behaviors. I try to keep my partner count low. In line with my Catholic education, I err on the side of prudishness and serial monogamy.

As most people know, when I came to Duke I became trained as an HIV counselor. (Don’t worry; I don’t remember what people tell me in my sessions.) I was terrified at first of giving positive results. I thought the person would be angry with me. I have since realized that I am still the innocent girl in the Catholic school uniform. I didn’t give anyone the disease. I still listen to stories, but now I can help people avoid life as a hospice patient.

Some of my fellow counselors are black women. Some of them, like me, made it clear that their identity was why they got involved with Know Your Status. I’m not going to naively say that HIV/AIDS will bring together the LGBT and black communities, but it is an opportunity.
A couple days ago I watched a movie called The New Age of HIV/AIDS, which focused on North Carolina. I learned a lot about the spread of HIV/AIDS on college campuses and in rural areas. I was ecstatic to learn that research is being done at Duke that might lead to a vaccine within 15 years.

I care about HIV/AIDS because I’m gay. While HIV/AIDS is not a gay disease it is woven deep inside of the gay community. I believe no one should be alienated from the sexual health information they need. Condoms, lube or dental damns (I plan on stocking up), information about the risk of certain behaviors or the disease itself are available on campus. An LGBT sexual health related event is in the works for this coming year. I don’t know what it’s like to be personally affected by the disease. But I have seen HIV/AIDS kill people, and I have seen people narrowly escape it.

For reasons I don't understand, sex is endowed with negative externalities. These externalities are impossible for me to forget (even at the most inappropriate times.)

The Prison Effect

I apologize for not posting in forever. I’ve been busy with non-LGBT stuff. Also, the discussion group isn’t doing well. I’m attempting to revive it and not lose hope. [Update: Two people have already expressed serious interest in taking over the group when I leave!]

This past week I was at the computer hacker’s conference Defcon in Las Vegas. This led me to think about the “prison effect” which famously produces Lesbians Until Graduation (LUGs) at elite women's universities like Smith. Though I have never been to prison, I have been to Catholic school, math camp, frat parties and now a computer hacker’s conference which was 99.99% white male. (I know what you're thinking: Catholic school? I have fantasies about all-girls Catholic schools! The hetronormativity and proximity of our "brother school" created an exotic type of "prison effect.")

I am particularly susceptible to this effect for three reasons. I don’t know of any reliable, classy (sorry Steel Blue) queer women hangouts in the RTP area. I’m excited to check out CC's hip-hop nights. Since I have a girlfriend it would be for observatory purposes only. I’m interested in male dominated fields like computer science and business. And I’m the kind of femme who finds masculine energy more important than gender.

Picture this: I am surrounded by men. It’s probable that one out of the thousands of straight men I encounter at a computer hacker’s conference will think I’m attractive. It’s probable that I will find at least one man without a floppy Mohawk, giant Goth pants, and a beer gut. In fact, he will have a winning smile, an adorable Oklahoma accent, broad shoulders and the ability to hack SCADA systems. I can safely assume this man is straight. My nonchalance is an asset. For once I am not the embarrassing, over-aggressive chaser.

Of course there are one or two women that catch my eye. But, save for subtle body language (which I don’t understand) and asking a woman upfront, I’m not going to know her sexuality. Butches/studs are easy to spot, but I’m afraid they want more femmeness than I can provide. I have never seen a nerdy, Rachel Maddow type butch in the wild. And I’m not exactly attracted to women who wear sensible shoes, so the L Word gaydar checklist does not apply.

Finally, I avoid casual sex with women because protection is so confusing. Men get condoms. Women get dental dams. I have never used a dental dam! Yes, I am a public health hypocrite. So as to not destroy my public health credibility I simply don’t have casual sex with women. I don’t feel confident in initiating the use of such an awkward device. And since I have a girlfriend my lack of dental dam aptitude is a less urgent concern.

Do I feel good about my conquests? Not really. But it’s something. I want to taste that privilege many straight people have of getting lucky at a generic college party. Making out on the dance floor. You know how it goes. It’s like eating coffee flavored ice cream. I don’t like the coffee flavor, but it’s still ice cream.

I know many people won’t understand my susceptibility to the prison effect. They think if I call myself a lesbian instead of a queer woman I should treat interested men like wild hyenas. I think calling myself queer would be a cop-out. To me there is a gulf between romantic and physical attraction. I call myself a lesbian because my romantic attraction lies squarely with women. My physical attraction is nebulous. I bet (I just came back from Vegas after all) if you walked a mile in my shoes you would also hook up with some computer hackers, entrepreneurs, math nerds and Catholic school boys along the way.

I did it!

Yall already know that I came to my homeland with a MISSSION (thanks Chantel!)

I'm not religious and resent the fact that much of the support for LGBT people in San Antonio is done through churches. I personally do not feel comfortable going to church or church related events. I think non-religious as well as religious folks should have access to this kind of support.

Unfortunately I developed activists block. I had sent e-mails to coffeeshops and community centers to no avail. Last night I bypassed my pride and e-mailed a slew of LGBT friendly churches that I found in an online directory. This morning three e-mailed back saying I could use their space for an LGBT youth discussion group.

One pastor in particular lamented the dearth of resources for LGBT youth in San Antonio. He, along with some other pastors, was trying to start a religious group for LGBT youth. He could get the message out to members of gay-friendly parishes across San Antonio. Most importantly, he promised me access to a large meeting place equipped with state-of the art games like ping-pong.

I was wholly unprepared for this to happen so quickly. I did what anyone in my situation would do: I created a Facebook group. Now the group has almost thirty members. I have sent e-mails to arts organizations, synagogues, HIV/AIDS organizations, meditation centers- every place I think will lend me a sympathetic ear.

I would like to contact high school GSAs (does anyone know if an online directory exists?) and reach out to all sides of town. I want people to hear about and have access to this group whether they live on the Northside, Southside, Eastside or Westside. The highways in San Antonio can take you anywhere. Unfortunately, public transportation is limited and doesn't yet exist in the newer parts of town. I love that the church is located near San Antonio College in the downtown area.

I know this was a simple step that required no high-tech skill or grant-writing ability. Yet for some reason it hadn't been done before (correction: I have since learned is has been done before, it just didn't last.) I can't wait to see how this group develops and meet some more amazing people.

For those of yall who found this via Google and want details about the group: the first meeting will be Thursday June 17th at 6:00 PM at the Cove. Check out the Facebook group San Antonio LGBT Youth Discussion Group. Please RSVP for the event. I look forward to meeting you!

Butch/Femme

“I like butch girls and I cannot lie

You other femmes can't deny

When a butch walks in all the femmes make a fuss

Because there's like one of them and thirty of us”

-“Butch/Femme” by Team Gina

Don't hate me but...I can somewhat relate to the characters on the L Word. Don't get me wrong- I am just as annoyed that there were no real butch characters. I find the level of wealth and glamor unrealistic. Yet I can't help myself. I am attracted to the women on the show and aspire to be like them. My race and socioeconomic status also play a role, but I will address those identities another day.

Today is all about gender expression.

I see myself as a queer femme. It makes me feel like I’m in a burlesque troupe. While I am not the typical femme girl, I am a femme girl nonetheless. (And really, regardless of sexual orientation, who is the "typical" femme girl?) Before this year I assumed that since I wasn't “femme” in the most narrow, stereotypical sense I wasn’t a “femme” at all. I also assumed that in order to be “femme” I would have to date only “butches.” I changed my mind partly because Tiffany kept telling me how femme I was. I also realized that well…I wasn’t like all the other LGBT girls I knew. This realization wasn’t of the “OMG I’M SO ALONE WHAT EVER AM I GOING TO DO WITH MY LIFE” variety (we've all had plenty of those.) Rather, it was accompanied by a sly grin. One more hitherto unanalyzed part of me was finally beginning to make sense.

Part of the reason why I was so hesitant to claim the identity was because I was I was a flaming tomboy growing up. When I was younger I would often pass for a boy. I envied girls who could wear shorts and a t-shirt and still look like girls. In many arguments with my mom and grandma where I have been accused of “not being feminine enough.” Someone was always willing to explain to me that I was too loud, too logical, too brash, too sporty, too ugly, too to-the-point to be a girl. I still don’t feel like I have correct femme foundation. Whatever “femme” is, it’s not completely instinctive.

We all have many sides and histories. The word “femme” to me is not about wearing heels everyday, wanting to be a mother, having a million cute pictures on Facebook, heightened sensitivity to colors or shopping stamina. It’s not about only dating women who can pass for men, though I do find masculine women appealing. The aforementioned qualities are more stereotypical than realistic, though sensitivity to colors is based in biology. What makes me a femme? Well, my love for skirts, dresses and all things beautiful. My hair-flipping ability. My freakish emotional intelligence and sensitivity. My aversion to physical pain. My desire to comfort others. To you this may sound like outdated stereotypes. Yet for me the details are less important.

I am constantly "hacking" the word femme, teasing out of it new meaning.

Putting a definition to “feminine” and “masculine” is one of the hardest tasks I can imagine, slightly less hard than running the Federal Reserve or being a neurosurgeon. I understand why someone wouldn’t want to identify with a label. This may surprise you, but I can wear a suit and tie or play a contact sport and it has no effect my status as a femme. I have femme tenure.

Femme is also more liberating because I made the choice to identify as such and feel no shame in it. Of course I would feel no shame- as a woman I am encouraged by society to be "femme." And you'd be right to assume that it's easier for straight women and I to find common ground when I look similar to them. I also find it easier to introduce straight women to a girlfriend who looks like a boyfriend. But I don't have a firm ally in men or women. While straight women can relate to me and make up most of my friends, I am still too often seen as the tainted lesbian. I'm like a slut or a whore. And I have difficulty forming strong friendships with straight men.

This exercise has taught me to me more sensitive to the unique gender expressions of those around me. You are free to identify as butch/femme, genderqueer, androgynous or just yourself. I not vulnerable to harassment because of how I look, walk, dress or talk. I am vulnerable to harassment because I choose to be visible. I'm angry whenever I hear the line "If I wanted someone who looked like a man, I'd date one" on a television show, especially one that is LGBT themed (Sugar Rush comes to mind.) The gender expression chauvinism is our community needs to stop. I know the butch/femme dynamic seems passe, but it's just as passe as only valuing feminine (or non-butch) lesbians.

Identifying as femme is not about putting myself in a box. It’s about finally finding a box that so many people hid from me and saying

“Hey! That’s my box!”

Being Queer Gave Me Unrealistic Ideas About Cities

As I've been thinking of my fair San Antonio this past week I have also begun to think about cities in general. What do I want from a city? Do I even want to be in a city? Why am I so obsessed with cities?!!! (I promise y'all I will make this LGBT related!)

I live about 15 minutes from downtown San Antonio. Going downtown is an easy drive that I undertake multiple times a week. I usually stick to hip neighborhoods because literally driving in the downtown area is tricky. I am a beast at finding fun things to do. (Just ask Tiff: I found a cool, inexpensive play to see in Baltimore in a matter of hours and I don't even live there.)

I am certain I am biased towards cities because I am queer. Ever since I came out, I yearned for the neon lights of New York and the power lesbians of Los Angeles. Every show I watched, every book I read, every magazine I flipped through reminded me that I was MISSING OUT BIG TIME. It seemed that all LGBT people lived in a few fabulous cities. They had the most political clout, funnest places to meet up, most extensive resources and best overall experience. I couldn't wait to bust out of San Antonio and enter the major leagues of queerness. Only then would my sexuality stop being such a hulking "issue."

Little did I know I would get rejected from 7 colleges and end up at Duke University, my North Carolina wild card. I love Duke University and the community I have. Though Durham is a pint-sized city that most Dukies fear, it is a major hub for queer women. Do I want to stay in Durham? Probably not. I think Washington D.C. would be better suited to my career goals. But I want to leave my future location unresolved. I'll go wherever my life leads me, whether it's Portland, Boston, Berlin, Beijing or Augusta, Georgia.

Many of my relatives live in the country. They don't understand why anyone would live in a city. Whenever I express my distaste for the country, my parents remark sternly that some people prefer it. They want to be able to fish any time. They want wide open spaces to themselves. They want to see the stars. Maybe it would be nice to have natural beauty to go to when the bars close. Throughout my life many people have reminded me that you can truly feel alive in a small town. My city chauvinism is astounding and will be difficult to undo.

I know I would be incredibly lonely if I lived far away from civilization. Yet I often stay home and read a book rather than go out. I don't take advantage of all the amenities my city has to offer. How useful in an awesome alternative theater when I don't feel like making the drive? Or, more often, when my friends can't afford to buy tickets? How fabulous is a metropolis when you don't have any meaningful relationships? When you're sick from the pollution?

I'm trying to dissect what I want from a city. Do I want access to every type of restaurant imaginable? Yes! Do I want to meet diverse groups of people? Certainly. Do I want to experience cutting-edge art and design? Of course. Do I want access to a large public library? Don't get it twisted! I definitely do! When I get in my "pro-city" mentality I can't see much of anything else. I don't realize that I experience more cutting edge art and design through the internet than in person. While San Antonio is a major city in its own right something about it feels limiting. It may be huge geographically but it's not fulfilling in other, subtler ways. This is less about San Antonio and more about me. Until I find the city that feels like home I will keep searching.

Which is why I half-decided to stay in San Antonio this summer. Most of my family lives in Central Texas. Though I fantasied about moving up North in high school, I know that leaving my family will be a slow and painful process. I have friends who need me right now who won't take kindly to me running away from them. I have half-entered the real world and feel like I need to realistically assess who I am and where I'm going. If I can't do meaningful academic research in San Antonio, why would I assume that I would do it in Boston? If can't meet new people in San Antonio, why would I meet them in New York? If I can't find fun shit to do in San Antonio, why would the fun shit fall on my lap in Chicago? If I can't handle being called a "dyke" in San Antonio, why would I handle it with perfect poise when I'm in Portland? Of course I'll discriminated against in all of these cities. Of course I will encounter homophobia. Sometimes I get to thinking the grass is the perfect shade of neon green everywhere but San Antonio.

I stayed in this city as a challenge. I mistakenly believed that if I left San Antonio I would be able to achieve my dreams. I feel profound satisfaction that San Antonio seems riper with possibilities because it means I have acquired better eyes and better tools. I am fortunate to be from such a culturally complex city and near my family. Whether you are in New York City or the middle of nowhere this summer, I encourage you to take advantage of your location. I know what it's like to find your home stale and limiting. Keep searching. And if all else fails, there's always the internet. I am so excited for the people going to South Africa, England, China, Kenya, Ecuador, Vietnam, Tibet, Germany and everywhere else in the world this summer. I can't wait when I too will be able to say I am going to [insert awesome country here] to do [awesome thing.] For someone like me who is so internationally minded (I have a world map on my fucking wall!) staying in my hometown for the summer sounded completely counterintuitive. That's also why it makes perfect sense.

Back to the LGBT message: I firmly believe that no part of America should be left behind in the quest for gay rights. While I can't blame anyone for flocking to a "gay mecca" the migration of LGBT people to certain cities just serves to make the less desirable places even less desirable. If it wasn't for natural beauty, family connections and moving for jobs I fear that some places would lose all their LGBT citizens. I know I'm a hypocrite because I have have an escape plan in my back pocket. Who knows, maybe I won't have to use it.

Summer Session: San Antonio

This summer I half-decided to stay in San Antonio. I hope to bring some necessary resources to San Antonio and eventually create a fiscally sustainable LGBT Center (using Duke money of course.) I will continue posting but be warned that my experience in San Antonio will be the main topic. I'm going to start off with a reply to a comment I received on my How I Stopped Worrying and Learned To Love San Antonio...Not post because it encapsulates the strong feelings I'm experiencing at the moment:

One problem I see with the LGBT community in San Antonio is that it's very content in its position. Speak up about San Antonio's ills and someone will quickly try to make it seem like everything's fine. In high school I was too often silenced by people who thought because they were happy and "tolerated" that I had nothing to complain about. People think San Antonio inherently can't be like other big, boisterous, gay-friendly cities. It can't support a gay district. The community is divided and lacks political clout.

But San Antonio is not a little city where this situation might be understandable. San Antonio is the 7th largest city in the United States! Its peer cities in size are Dallas, Houston, Phoenix, San Diego and Philadelphia, all of which have basic resources for LGBT people. San Antonio might be "fine" if you have a home, education, job, community and your health. If you don't, San Antonio might seem like the worst city in America. Last night I discovered that of the 50 largest cities in the United States, 15 did not have general LGBT community centers. Of these 15 cities many had centers for youth, discussion groups for youth, were part of a gay-friendly metroplex, or had services for LGBT youth in foster care.

I think Duke's situation is similar to San Antonio's. Many non-LGBT people might think that the LGBT experience at Duke is "understandable" because Duke is in the South and not historically known as a gay-friendly university. (You're in the South, what do you expect?) Many LGBT people, because of their gender, gender identity, race, interest in *gasp* non-LGBT things, lack of interest in being a part of an LGBT community or any number of other reasons don't see how much room Duke has for improvement. Duke's peer institutions are not Baylor and Texas A&M. Duke attracts students from around the world and its peer institutions are some of the most progressive in the country. Duke cannot be complacent and neither can San Antonio.

For those of yall who found this via Google and want details about the LGBT youth discussion group I started for the summer: the first meeting will be Thursday June 17th at 6:00 PM at the Cove. Check out the Facebook group San Antonio LGBT Youth Discussion Group. Please RSVP for the event. I look forward to meeting you!

An Open Letter To Closeted Duke Women

My Statistics final is tomorrow morning. Of course I can’t sleep.

From perusing the Me Too Blog I can tell that many women at Duke are in the closet. I also know that Janie and Chris meet with many closeted people at the LGBT Center. I like to think of myself as an approachable gal. If a closeted woman at Duke wanted to talk to another queer student, she’d feel comfortable talking to me. Yet so far I have received no Facebook messages. No e-mails. No calls. No texts. No one has randomly come up to me and identified herself as a queer woman. Why is that?

I’m a self-proclaimed Center kid. I have been out since I was 12 and visited the LGBT Center during Blue Devil days with my dad. I am committed to both Blue Devil’s United and Women Loving Women. Most of the LGBT people I interact with are open enough to come to the Center or Women Loving Women. Next year as a member of the executive board I will help shape Blue Devil’s United and I have no idea what it is like to be in the closet at Duke. I know of the many pros of being out of the closet and can also attest to its cons. Every day is an opportunity to conduct informal research. What reactions do my girlfriend and I get when we’re holding hands on the Plaza? How many people came to Lavender Ball? How do the people in club X and Selective Living Groups Y and Z view openly LGBT people? What do some members of sororities think about not being able to take other girls to their formals? When and where do I hear the most hate speech? My research has also extended beyond Duke. What is it like to be openly LGBT and homeless? What is it like to be openly LGBT at a Catholic all-girls school in San Antonio, Texas? What is it like to be openly LGBT and a great dancer?

To all the closeted LGBT women at Duke: I need you as much as you need me. The regular attendees of Women Loving Women have already convened to talk about what we can do next year to reach out to closeted women. I’m sure you’ll find our ideas strange, but hopefully you’ll also find them attractive. If you want to chat send me a message on Facebook. Perhaps in the Fall we can meet in person.

To everyone: Have a swell summer!

How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love San Antonio...Not

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how much I’m going to miss my Duke/Durham LGBT community this summer. I think my homeland has some potential and it’s nice to have a mission but…

I’ll probably just spend my time doing research and making websites and hanging out with people I already know instead of taking on the gargantuan task of assembling a cohesive LGBT woman-identified community. Though I’ve already broken down my task into manageable parts and sent some e-mails, I still feel sorry that I live in San Antonio and not metropolitan, livable, liberal, "we’re not really part of Texas", Austin (gag me with a fucking spoon.) I could commute one hour plus in horrid traffic to go to the discussion groups at the LGBT youth community center and the hipster lesbian clubs. I probably will just because I’m going to Austin anyway to work with professors at UT. Late-nighting will be difficult since I don’t have any friends who live in Austin (I don't want to repeat the Homeless Challenge.) Making friends in Austin is high on my to-do list.

Even if I volunteer at the few LGBT organizations and art spaces and go to the (male/straight/American Eagle butch dominated) gay clubs in San Antonio I doubt I’ll become a part of a legitimate community or find an acceptable hook-up. This is partly because I have difficulty talking to total strangers and partly because I rarely find someone I want to talk to.

I’m leaving Duke just as I realize that a great lesbian community exists in Durham. I have well-connected friends (ahem Summer.) And I might actually see the women I meet again. Though I’ve lived in San Antonio my whole life I have a paltry LGBT network. I semi-regularly communicate with two queer women. Maybe I fucked up in high school. I spent too much time doing math problems and not enough time getting to know the girls on the softball team. When I got pissed off that no LGBT youth community/resources existed I merely changed my Facebook status.

Now that I’m an anonymous college-age human rather than a wholesome youth I think I would have more options. I can go clubbing all I want but finding a hook-up isn’t as a mechanical, guaranteed process as it is for gay men. When it comes down to it, my desire to build community and serve the LGBT community has always stemmed from my desire for hot women. The more people I meet and the more involved I become, the higher my chances are of meeting a woman who fits my esoteric qualifications (non-white, butch-ish or femme-like, indie, artsy, conventional haircut, internationally-minded, certain piercings, intelligent, tall, fashionable, D&D free.) Though my interest has lusty origins, I can now say that being part of such a community has rewards beyond meeting people to hook-up with. The truth is that the women I’ve hooked up with don’t go to the Center. Some people don't feel the need to be part of the LGBT club. I admire their spontaneity. I can't leave my sex life up to chance. The cholos who used to hit on me on the bus are starting to look good. Maybe I should use this summer to squeeze the gray areas out of myself instead of trying to squeeze the LGBT out of San Antonio.

As I wonder what/who I’m going to do this summer, I can’t help but be bitter that I’m from San Antonio, whose motto is “Keep San Antonio Lame.” Sure, it’s better than being from middle-of-nowhere Iowa, but having to hunt for LGBT shit that’s open to women is getting old. I’ve promised myself that this is the last summer I’ll spend in San Antonio. I don’t care if Harvey Milk told me to “Stay in San Antonio and fight!” He probably never went there himself.

My Coming Out Story

I came out so long ago that it feels like ancient history. Or Texas history. I came out in 7th grade, the one year I had to take Texas History. My coming out is kind of like the Battle of the Alamo: though I initially lost I ended the war a winner. I knew I was non-straight when I saw the Rocky Horror Picture show live the summer before the start of 7th grade. I had previously been attracted to women but had thought everyone else felt the way I did; they just didn’t talk about it. After going home I talked to my friend Blake on AIM who was in the same theatre program as me and openly gay. We talked about the show. I casually mentioned that the character Columbia was “hot.” He asked me if I was gay. I told him I had never considered it. After our night-long conversation I was convinced that I was different from the other girls and the word “bisexual” applied to me. My friend Catherine started talking to Blake. He accidentally told her of my sexual revelation.

I didn’t know this had happened until the first day of 7th grade when Catherine and her friends interrogated me about my “bisexuality.” Lacking any sense of self-preservation and with the knowledge that the damage had already been done, I told Catherine I didn’t care about whom she shared this knowledge with. One day I had a group of nerdy, conventional friends. Another day they all avoided me. The words fag, dyke, bitch, slut and whore followed me from advisory to the long bus ride home. I had been diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder in elementary school. This wave of hostility brought out the worst depression of my life.

I came out to my parents around the same time. I had come home from school crying. My dad went to my room and asked me question after question. He asked me if I had a boyfriend and then asked if I had a girlfriend. When I answered yes, he told me I was too young to know and left the room. I tried in vain for months to convince my parents that I wasn’t too young to know. My dad, concerned about my safety, forbid me from telling anyone about my sexuality. Unfortunately, the damage was already done.

My new friends were potheads and punks, though I was too emotionally detached to be more than their mute accomplice during school. I had been a tomboy from a young age but slowly morphed into a feminine creature. At first I was grotesque. I wore too much make-up and thrift store clothes. Now I am completely comfortable with my identity as a femme. In 7th grade I managed to still make excellent grades. I was isolated but not without hope. By 8th grade I was barely passing my classes. The “girlfriends” I had in middle school only wanted sex from me or told the most vicious bullies about my sexuality. Everyday I faked sick or begged my mom not to take me to school. I was convinced that I couldn’t stay in school and had no future. The summer between 7th and 8th grade I only ate cheerios and nearly fainted in the shower.

Though I constantly felt like I wanted to die, I didn’t have a plan for how to commit suicide. I faint at the sight of blood, had no idea how to get a gun (I hope no one’s surprised that my Texas house was sans gun) and didn’t have pills readily available. I spent most of my time listening to avant-jazz and making crude drawings. When my parents and I met with the school counselor I spent the whole time hysterically crying and yelling at her. I was convinced that all the other kids in school were stupid. Though I don’t like to draw now, I became quite good at anatomical drawings. This one picture particularly impressed me and I was fond of copying it:


My privilege saved me from suicide. My parents had enough money to send me to therapy and put me on anti-depressants and cared enough to let me leave therapists who I felt weren’t supportive. The transfer to private Catholic school saved me academically and wouldn’t have been possible without my parent’s economic status. Though I was marked as the “weird lesbian girl” at my Catholic high school and wasn’t socially active, I did well enough to get into Duke. I am privileged that my family now treats my sexuality as a non-issue. As a result I can completely commit to being out to everyone I meet at Duke and can act as a witness to all facets of Duke’s social climate. I am not afraid of how people will react to my sexuality because I’ve heard it all. I still don’t know what it’s like to live somewhere where race and sexuality are not hot-button topics. While I intend to have this experience soon I am also grateful for the perspective I gained from being out at a young age in San Antonio, Texas.

This is part of a poem I wrote from my “dark period.” I sometimes chant the stanza to myself when I’m feeling down:

If god hates fags
You think that I would burn and die
My outside rubbing with my inside
Like they teach you to rub two sticks together

The Homeless Challenge

I have known for a while that homelessness among LGBT youth is a problem. Many teenagers either get kicked out or live in fear that they will get kicked out when they come out to their parents. It is estimated that 20 to 40 percent of homeless youth identify as LGBT. After completing the Homeless Challenge I have a much better idea not just of how it is to be homeless, but also how it is to be openly LGBT and homeless. Thinking about how toned down my experience was compared to the plight of actual homeless youth makes me sick. Nowhere else in society is homophobia so clearly and destructively expressed.

The Homeless Challenge is put on by the National Coalition for the Homeless in cities throughout the country. Fifteen people went on this year's Alternative Spring Break trip to Washington D.C. We were divided into groups of five and spent most of our time walking in groups of two or three. For 48 hours we gave up possessions, showers and money. At night formerly homeless guides kept us safe while we slept on the street in our sleeping bags and layers of clothing. During the day we were encouraged to complete tasks like applying for a job or library card, using the bathroom at a fancy hotel, talking to homeless people and panhandling. We ate at soup kitchens.

Being out is important to me. I saw the homeless challenge as an opportunity to experience what it was like to be a openly gay homeless youth without compromising my safety. While panhandling, a seemingly homeless man asked me why I was homeless. I told him I was kicked out of the house because I was gay. He proceeded to quote Bible verses at me and ask me why I chose to be gay. I pretended to agree with him. After telling me how nasty I was he stormed off, no longer the concerned man who thought I was too young to be on the streets. During our wrap-up session with our guides I was asked to share my cover story. Right after I said I was from Texas he remarked “The only things to come out of Texas are steers and queers.” When I told him I was one of those queers, he said he didn’t believe me. I told the group my cover story (that I was kicked out of the house) and about the random man who chastised me for being gay. The guide couldn’t have cared less. Later, when we reflected on the experience just as a group, the comment was mentioned. Turns out it went beyond just one remark or cold stare. Other people in the group thought our guides were homophobic. The reactions I personally received were not extreme. I could have heard them any day of the week on Duke’s campus and have heard them throughout my life. The difference is that I had been singled out and shamed by an authority figure. When you are on the streets without food, shelter and safety these attitudes are the difference between life and death. While I am not quick to call any of these selfless and strong men “homophobic bastards” I know that their attitudes are dangerous. During our challenge I was surprised at the existence of a homeless community. Homeless people we met were quick to give us advice, clothing or companionship. Most non-homeless people don’t know where the soup kitchens are. Finding out where to eat was not as simple as searching on the Internet since most public libraries require a library card to use their computers and library cards usually require a permanent address. Additionally the soup kitchens we went to had a strong religious component. I don’t think there is anything wrong with charities run by religious groups or religion as a means to uplift people. Yet these places are likely to be unfriendly to LGBT homeless people. Sometimes the harshest rejection comes from religious institutions. When you need food, clothing and companionship you can’t pick and choose where to go.

After this challenge I reflected on how different my experience would have been if I was flamboyantly gay. I wondered if my homeless peers would have showed me the same friendliness. I wondered about violent reactions and sexual assault. I wondered if I would have been able to find a girlfriend in my dirty, lethargic and isolated state. During our reflection one of my friends remarked that when I thought some men on the streets wanted to sexually assault me it was just fear. Yet this is anything but empty fear. It’s not empty fear when you have the statistics and experience to back it up. Over the next couple days I will continue the homelessness theme by posting data, suggested reading and resources. Any LGBT student who has experienced homelessness and wants to be interviewed should contact me.

I encourage everyone to participate in a homeless challenge and an Alternative Spring Break before they graduate.

LGBT Leadership

In high school I never read the newspaper or watched the news. Now I read the Wall Street Journal almost everyday. In high school I never played sports and worked out three times a year. Now I (am still learning to) play rugby. In high school the only position related to “student government” that I ran for was National Honor Society President. Now I can’t even say that much. It’s not like I wasn’t president of multiple clubs (who wasn’t?) it’s just that my presidency wasn’t earned from convincing a large number of people to vote for me. In both cases I was the only person who ran- the obvious successor to the previous president. Leadership is a dirty word to me. Every over-achieving youngster is indoctrinated with the idea of leadership. Yet not everyone can be President. Not everyone wants to either. I wanted to be a writer or an intellectual. Someone who knows weird shit that no one else knows. Someone who can give uncensored advice.

I have a feeling that being openly lesbian was the source of my “unpopularity” in high school. I came into Duke with no knowledge of LGBT politicians or presidents and the overwhelming feeling that the only role I could play in life was that of a subversive lesbian intellectual or mathematically adept robot. My experiences at Duke have taught me that LGBT leaders exist and that I can be one of them. The first time I felt like a “representative” was at Common Ground when Bruce appointed me to speak for my group about what we had learned during the retreat. I had the same experience at the LGBT Leadership retreat. Speaking for a group, expressing my ideas and experiences- these are all things I enjoy doing. Every time Gordon tells to run for student government I get closer to the point of no return. The choice to not run for office or influence social life at Duke is one for me to make.

Right now I am focused on other endeavors. I’m trying to greatly improve my grades after a scarring semester in Pratt. I’m trying to not get between Riot and Scorch during rugby games. I’m trying to be involved in Know Your Status beyond just HIV-counseling from 3-4 pm on Mondays. I’m trying to pursue my academic interest in East Asia and find a fulfilling social life that doesn’t revolve around partying and getting drunk. Most importantly, I’m trying to be a good girlfriend. YIKES!

I have looked at applications for various student government positions and try to keep up with school news. I stayed after a BDU-meeting to listen to the three Young Trustee finalists and ask them questions. I take every opportunity to talk about my experiences with campus culture. For someone who thought that she’d be on the Varsity Crew team before she’d have any involvement with student government these are small but vital steps. Though my life as it is has no room for running a campaign, that doesn’t mean I can’t be a “representative” in other ways. Next week I will be participating in an Alternative Spring Break in Washington D.C. where I’ll lobby Congress about bills related to homelessness. What scares me the most is the possibility of failure- not because I’m a lesbian but because I am not the best candidate for a position or don’t have the most compelling argument. It is a fear that everyone must deal with and one that is particularly strong because the game of politics is so new to me.

North Carolina needs LGBT politicians as much as the Duke women’s rugby team needs players. Playing a rugby game with thirteen instead of fifteen women (less when people get injured during the game) sucks just as much as not having enough young LGBT politicians to secure the future. After listening to Mark Kleinschmidt, openly gay mayor of Chapel Hill, I feel this sentiment with great urgency. As I continue to think about what it means to “Stay in San Antonio and fight” the thought of being an elected representative continues to pop up. I have no idea what this part of my life holds. I am excited for what might happen.

Beyond "Lesbian" Fashion

“Forgive me father for I have sinned
I have broken the commandments of the fashion world
Shaming my LGBT brother, with his muscled body and one-of-a-kind tennis shoes
I am without direction, doomed to think impure thoughts
About what clothes I will buy and wear
A mullet atop my head
A flannel shirt and ill-fitting jeans loosely slung on my body”

When I told my mom I was going to write about lesbian fashion for the Our Lives blog she replied “Lesbian fashion? You’ll really be able to write a whole article about that?” My sweet mother is not exactly immersed in current fashion trends, because if she was she’d know that I could write an entire book about lesbian fashion. In the early 1990s K.D. Lang ushered in the era of “lesbian chic.” After that, a distinct “lesbian” style went mainstream. Now LGBT women are an integral part of the fashion world, whether as models, stylists, or fashion bloggers. Unfortunately certain ideals about beauty still persist. Masculine lesbians, no matter how dapper or handsome they are, still don’t get the same positive attention as glamorous fems. In my articles on fashion I will often focus on female masculinity, because I find masculine women as beautiful and fashionable as feminine women.

If you’ve ever seen me traipsing about campus you know fashion is something I have a passing interest in. My style is trendy though subtly androgynous. Though “keeping” up with richly dressed fellow Dukies is not an endeavor I’m proud of, my love of fashion extends beyond just looking like the typical Longchamp toting Duke girl.
I like to think that my style is guided by myriad sources, from street fashion blogs to magazines to music to different cultures. (Sometimes it's just by what I can find at used stores.)I also can’t forget how indebted I am to my fellow queer women. From them I have learned not to be too literally feminine or impractical in my fashion choices. I also learned not to wear clothing that overpowered me, or clothing that was trendy but unflattering. The desire to look good, whether by wearing clothing intended for men or for women, is a hallmark of “lesbian” fashion.

Short-haired, beautifully androgynous women are presented as the “ideal” face of lesbianism. These are the tombois, hipsters, rocker chicks and power lesbians. It’s no surprise that Ellen DeGeneres makes the cut in addition Kate Moennig, Beth Ditto, K.D. Lang, Jackie Warner, Kim Stoltz (!!!!), Joan Jett, Leisha Hailey and Samantha Ronson, What unites all these women? They wear men’s clothing, often in creative ways. Most have short hair. They wear suits, leather, bright colors, muted colors, ties, fedoras, sports-bras, sneakers, low-slung jeans…If fashion is all about contrast then these women are masters of the contrast between masculine and feminine. No gender expression can be overpowering.

Ever since YSL made the first woman’s suit, androgyny has been a fixture of women’s fashion. The right kind of androgyny is difficult to achieve; so difficult that lesbians have an unfortunate history of fashion mishaps. Lesbians are able to wear just about anything they want, from sensible shoes to skirts to camo cargo shorts, and as a result must choose their clothing with great caution. Men on the other hand must not only avoid wearing dresses, skirts and heels, they also have difficulty finding clothing that uses creative proportions or colors. Jean-Paul Gaultier first presented skirts for men in a show in 2006. Now men in skirts (along with men in tights) are common in fashion shows. Street fashion blogs often feature men in high heels and skirts carrying hangbags previously reserved for women. While the fashion world has become more accepting of men who boldly cross gender-lines in their attire, American cities, and especially Duke’s campus, are much less accepting.

If you’re a tomboy you probably have trouble finding clothing that fits. Men’s clothing hides your body while women’s clothing emphasizes it too much. Many fashion lines are now being crated that fill these needs. If you’re the fashion-conscious tomboy with loads of cash, check-out Made Me Clothing. Unbound Apparel sells gender-neutral t-shirts. Dykes In the City carries a wide range of clothing for masculine and queer women. While in our particular moment in time and place a woman in men's clothes in assumed to be a lesbian, masculine clothing choices were not always tied with queerness in America. Other cultures have different ideas about the relationship between gender expression and sexuality. I've noticed that East Asian culture is more accepting of avant-garde fashion for women and women that crosses gender boundaries. Just around Duke's campus I have seen more Asian women dress in men's clothing than any other ethnic group. On a campus where gender expression is severely limited, these women stand out to me.

If you’ve ever been to www.xxboys.net, watched an Athens Boys Choir video, or seen Lucas Sliveria of the band The Cliks, you know that transmen are a diverse and attractive bunch. One of the most important clothing items for pre-op or no-op transen are chest binders. Fun fact: Taiwan is leading the world in chest binder production. Queer and trans friendly sex shops tend to sell chest binders, and they are easily found online.

Though I don’t have trouble buying my clothes at non-specialty stores I have had problems with getting my hair cut correctly. I stopped going to cheap hair cutters because I would always get a tame, femmed up version of the hair I desired (even when I brought photographic evidence!) Bianca Jimenez was the first hairstylist I had who understood lesbian haircuts. I told her all my business. I even made her a mix CD of post-punk music! Then one day I called the salon and I was told that she had left. Dejected, I bounced around to different salons; even trying out the local Aveda before I finally came across Doo or Dye, unquestionably the only punk-rock hair salon in San Antonio. (Its motto: 110% pure Texas fury!) I’ve become so attuned to the minutiae of my desired hairstyle that I don’t think it matters who cuts my hair, as long as they aren’t hell-bent on femming me up.

I feel like I have it easy because I’ve been out about my sexuality from an early age. I have an intuitive grasp of “lesbian fashion”- to the point where no one has ever accused of being “too femme” or asked me what I was doing at a gay bar. Has anyone felt like they were being ignored in a queer environment because they didn’t look or act queer enough? Do you feel like you dress in a “lesbian” way even if you don’t intend to? Do you not believe you dress in a “lesbian” way, even if you wear jeans, Converse and t-shirts every day? Do you think that the whole concept of “dressing like a lesbian” is ridiculous, outdated and sexist? What stereotypes pertain to how bisexual and queer women dress? Are they radically different? Finally, from your experience how does gender expression differ from culture to culture?

XOXO
Veronica

Interracial Lesbian Relationships: A Swell Endeavor

Hey yall! I'm Veronica Ray, the newest addition to the roster of bloggers at Our Lives. I play rugby, do HIV counseling and aspire to be a power lesbian when I grow up. My future posts will probably deal with race, economics, business, international news, fashion and art.

“Wouldn’t it be cool to have interracial friendship cards? Like a little white girl kissing a little black girl on the cheek and inside it says something like “Thanks for being such a great friend!” ?

Race is a popular topic at Duke. I feel like any post about race can quickly fall into the trap of rehashing the same ideas and grievances without really getting anywhere. With that disclaimer I hope I can begin an article that offers a personal perspective on my experience with race in the gay community.

My preference for black women has become a running joke with my friends both in and outside of the center. If I innocently tell a friend that I met a cool girl named Chantel, chances are she’ll reply “Oh….you WOULD be friends with a girl named Chantel.” If I tell you I’ve met a girl “of the hue that I seek” it means I’ve met a special African-American and I won’t be surprised if you joke that I’m mess for getting so worked-up. Though I am currently flamboyant about my love of black women, I didn’t acknowledge my preference till after I graduated from high school. I never wanted my interest in black women to be simply “jungle fever”- objectifying women as exotic objects who I thought fulfilled certain sexual stereotypes.

The first time I told someone that I was interested in black girls she replied “Hmm…I can’t exactly agree…black girls are so ghetto.” I found this comment strange because I have always been interested in educated, accomplished women regardless of their ethnicity. Where I grew up many people, including me, were mired in ignorance of the black community. Some friends in high school would throw around the N word in an attempt taunt my best friend, who is part black. After she went off on me for asking what part black she was when we were 14 I considered race an off limits topic. I secretly looked down on her for not fighting back against racist comments. I felt like I could tell her anything about my sexuality and I hoped she wasn’t keeping any of her thoughts from me. I realized after telling my best friend about my preferences that race was never an off limits topic for us. When I described race relations at Duke to her, she revealed that she identified with white culture. It was then I realized that our whole life I had put her in a box she never felt comfortable in.

Though I had “come-out” to myself about my preferences, I was still intimidated by the prospect of approaching an actual black woman. Before I left for college a friend scared the shit out of me by saying that she didn’t think black lesbians dated white lesbians. It seems ridiculous now, but I spent a lot of time finding examples of interracial lesbian relationships to prove my friend wrong. I thought no black girl I met would want to date me. I now know that some people are equally worried that I wouldn’t be interested in them because of their race! The many revelations I’ve experienced are a testament to how naïve I was when I entered Duke. Even after growing up among Mexican Catholics and with a family full of different ethnicities black America was still a dark continent. After being at Duke for a few months my interest in black woman remained theoretical. It wasn’t until I started telling the queer black women I met that I was interested in black women that I started getting the attention I was looking for. It was not as difficult as my friends back home led me to believe! I don’t think indicating my preferences was necessary, but it took away the lack of confidence and tension I felt due to the myths I heard growing up.

I am still sometimes amazed at my own ignorance. I read the book Hair Story at my girlfriend’s recommendation and afterwards we watched the hilarious Chris Rock documentary Good Hair. When it comes to black hair, instead of a dark continent I now see a dimly lit path. I don’t need to be a black hair expert to know that doing my girlfriend’s hair is bonding time that I look forward to each week. It’s not like my girlfriend and I talk about race all the time (though we might talk more than usual due to my academic interest in ethnic conflict, international relations, and urban studies); she just can’t help noticing things that I don’t. We joke about how a PDA-loving interracial lesbian couple is a unique sight on Duke’s campus and a rare one in the media. In addition to making interracial friendship cards, I’ll expand my business to interracial relationship cards. A simple drawing of a short white girl kissing a tall black girl is all I need. So I can say “Look! That’s us!” and mean it. As I like to say: when it comes to people, ghosts, chocolate, clothing and tea, black makes everything better. The only thing that black doesn’t improve is tenting.