As a society, we’re more focused than ever on making sure that bullying on the basis of gender or sexual orientation isn’t harming queer kids the way it has in the past. Lots of anti-bullying campaigns focus on the fact that once a kid is out of high school, they get to be a lot more selective in the people they hang out with, and as a result, they escape from a lot of the bullying. But is high school really where that level of bullying ends?
I love squash. In the winter, it’s pretty much all I eat. It’s such an easy food too! Just cut it open, scoop out the seeds and bake it – automatic deliciousness. However, one squash can be a lot for a person to finish as I’ve discovered, living on my own. So last night, my former roommates and I had a mini squash party and what started out as an informal get-together morphed into visiting happy hour at a local restaurant. As the night wore on, my former desi roommate blurts out, “Oh, I have something to tell you!”, but refused to say it in front of the group.
I’m proud to call myself a staunch queer advocate. I’m admittedly not completely out to everyone in my life, but I don’t bother to hide my queerness anymore. As long as I feel safe speaking out, I’ll do so. And that has been a big step for me.
In a somewhat unexpected turn of events, I am now seeing a dude. As in, a biological, male-assigned and male-identified individual. I won’t say it’s not weird in some ways. Then again, I don’t think I’d ever date anyone that expected traditional gender roles or attitudes, so it’s not all that different from dating anyone else who respects equality and difference.
I tried to think of a more subtle title, but couldn’t. There’s nothing subtle or artful or profound in the end of what was once a beautiful relationship. And I’ll be honest – it was the best relationship I’ve ever been in, to date.
I’ll admit, up until more recent times, I didn’t worry so much about the downstairs maintenance. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a relatively hippie city, in a relatively hippie state, but I always felt like my pubes weren’t really anybody’s business but my own. That being said, I wasn’t going to make anyone go extreme trekking to get to the goodies, but I was always a little creeped out by the idea of intense hair removal. Then I got to college.
Breaking news – I have officially joined the ranks of the employed! Realizing that I don’t want to spend my post-undergrad gap year living with my parents was pretty good incentive to intensify the job search. And I landed one that I really love!
I think porn can be awful – and a lot of the free stuff out there is truly…strange, for lack of a better word. Speaking as a queer-identified female who is really into other queer-presenting people, mainstream porn doesn’t really do much for me.
There are times when I look at my girlfriend and realize…I could marry this girl. Not just because I adore weddings. Not just because we’re still in what could be considered the early U-Haul stage of our relationship. But just because she feels so incredibly right. We’ve been through our rough patches – hell, I thought for sure that we weren’t going to make it as little as 2 or 3 months ago – but every time we’ve hit a set-back, we’ve somehow come out stronger.
Same deal as last time, ladies. Awesome songs by awesome artists, and queer artists get asterisks next to their names. Check it out!
It’s finally that time of year students spend ages counting down towards…summer break! And via some level of divine intervention, I’m only spending one week at home with my parents this summer, so it’s just that much sweeter. And being home in the city is amazing – to quote Regina Spector, “summer in the city means cleavage, cleavage, cleavage”. Lesbians in sundresses and cargo shorts? Yes, please.
You know, this was supposed to be my self-imposed deadline for “Love Songs for Lesbians 2.0”. I had it drafted and all ready to go. And then…I suppose the easiest way to put it is that I got my heart stomped on? I don’t generally let people get close enough to be able to hurt me, but oh man. I didn’t really see this one coming.
To be honest, I’m a sucker for love songs. And by sucker, I mean SAP. If you get me at the right moment with a good love song, I will get teary-eyed on you, no lie. But being queer sort of complicates the whole love song arena. Every popular love song is hetero-oriented, and somehow stereotypically “homo” songs are never really love songs.
Sad fact – I’ve steadfastly avoided queer culture. Even once I came to terms with my sexuality, I still avoided things like queer movies and queer books. I can’t even explain why, really. I’d like to pretend it was because I didn’t want to see stereotypes thrown back at me in various mediums, but really, I was just too timid.
Neha dreamt she was flying.
Rika slept beside her, spooned up close, her body snug against that of her beloved’s. It was the end of what had been a long …
I’m still a Valentine’s cynic. And I hope my girlfriend doesn’t hate me for it. But I think it’s pointless to designate one consumerist day to your loved ones, whether they are romantic interests or your platonic nearest and dearest. Why not tell them how much they mean to you every day?
Okay, disclaimer: I’ve only been with my girlfriend for 10 months, and I’m still pretty young. So I’m not contemplating marriage anytime soon. But like a lot of people, I like to dream. I feel like the holiday season goes crazy with engagements. Practically everyone I know got engaged over the winter holiday break. But I digress. This isn’t about them. It’s about me, and my big fat gaysi wedding dreams.
My parents left India more than 20 years ago, and still view “India” and “being Indian” as what that meant some 20-odd years ago. India has modernized, but my Indian parents have not. While I was born in the states, that means very little as far as who my parents expect me to be – they still expect a sati savitri daughter. While my cousins in India can wear mini-skirts, I’m barely allowed to go out in short sleeves. My one body piercing, when it was discovered, caused quite the uproar, followed by lots of praying on their part – and lots of eye-rolling on mine.
My younger brother was out to a holiday party, and my parents asked me to come sit with them. I was assuming they wanted to watch an old Malayalam movie with me or something, but in retrospect that would have been the less torturous option. Instead, my parents wanted to discuss my “lesbian tendencies”. I’m beginning to think my dad should copyright the phrase “lesbian tendencies” for usage by future homophobes/jerks.
I can’t say for sure whether the person I decide to spend the rest of my life will be male or female. And I don’t think it really matters. Ultimately, I want someone who I adore to cherish me. And either a male or a female can be capable of that. But here’s the other caveat. Let’s just say, for hypotheses sake, that I end up with a male. I’ll get to enjoy the privileges that come with being in a heterosexual relationship, but that will not make me a heterosexual person. Not one bit. I will still be a queer lady, in a queer relationship with a man. And that man, by necessity, will have to not only accept, but embrace the fact that I am not straight.
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