Well, another Pride has come and gone. And all I got was a lousy rock.
Naturally, my grand gay plans for last month’s St. Pete Pride festivities fell through, as my group of cohorts whittled down to just me in an all-lesbian version of “And Then There Were None.” My ex-girlfriend would be there, I assumed, and if I had to run into her then the only acceptable way to do so would be if I appeared to be wildly popular.
Still, I had a few practical matters to attend to at Pride and knew I would make my way from Spring Hill (which people have referred to as Floritucky upon finding out where I live) down US 19 and into St. Pete. This is exactly what I did – eventually. And I actually adhered to the speed limit on the drive to kill even more time.
By the time I got there at 3:30, many vendors had already packed up and left and the few who remained were doing so as I walked down Central Avenue. Fliers and plastic beer cups littered the ground and the tents and tables stood empty, giving the street, which I’m sure had been vibrant and teeming with rainbow-clad life not even a half hour earlier, the feeling of a decimated city after nuclear fallout. I even got a much coveted parking spot on the street, just a block away from where the festival started.
But I wasn’t upset it was basically over by the time I arrived fashionably late. To be honest, I’ve never been a fan of Pride events. But I did have a gay duty to fulfill. So I walked a couple of blocks, called friends to complain about the heat as I wore pants and a long-sleeved shirt in a bout of New York stubbornness, chatted with random folks on the street, and went to my buddy Mike’s house, where I fell asleep watching True Romance.
July has really been a relief, now that Pride month is over. But despite the disdain I have for such things, I feel guilty sometimes. It makes me feel like such an awful lesbian.
I mean, I tend to date straight and bisexual women. Gay bar? I’ll catch a band at the dive down the street, thank you very much. I hate softball. Rainbows are tacky. “The L Word” is contrived and unrealistic. Come at me with a U-Haul and I’ll run in the other direction. Take me to Home Depot and it will make me cranky. And I will never go anywhere near cargo shorts.
Yup, I am an awful lesbian. Though, I do have cats. But I guess nobody’s perfect.
My friends like to joke that I’m a homophobic lesbian, or, at the very least, a self loathing one. And it’s true that I also tend to avoid large groups of writers, vegans, music snobs, New Yorkers and heavy drinkers. But I don’t think I’m self loathing; actually, I think I’m pretty fantastic. I just have a problem with homogenized groups. I hate being surrounded by sameness; it’s boring, unstimulating and certainly doesn’t allow for personal growth. I’ve met so many lesbians whose entire personality revolves around their being gay, when really it should just be one facet of who they are.
Before leaving for St. Pete Pride, in an effort to kill more time, I decided to go to Publix. Because when you won’t be home for a couple of days, groceries are imperative. Walking the aisles, looking for the store’s Greenwise section, where I can find natural foods and vegan items, I noticed that this store actually integrated it within each aisle, instead of having a separate section. Amy’s tofu scramble and vegan waffles in the frozen breakfast section. Soy and almond milk in the dairy section rather than its own end cap. Soy Crisps in the chip aisle. What a wonderful Mecca of integration!
Waiting to check out, I realized that everyone – gays, lesbians, straights, polyamorous transvestite dwarves – could really learn something from this shopping experience. I’m sure there are some vegetarians out there who would argue for the convenience of having everything they want in one neat little section of the store. Much like gays and lesbians like the comfort of going to an event or a bar and knowing everyone else there is also gay. And I get it. But life is so boring if you surround yourself by sameness, keeping yourself in your comfort zone, wrapped in a bubble.
But I’m aware that it will be a very long time before gay culture is as evolved as Publix. So until then, I’ll continue to unintentionally date straight and bisexual women, skip the gay bars for indie rock shows, avoid the softball games, make fun of “The L Word,” and be a really awful lesbian.
This article appears in Jul 22-28, 2010.