By Dana Kaye
I'm a bad lesbian. I'm not butch nor femme. I'm not a feminist and I don't volunteer for HRC. I don't own flannel or a cat. I don't have cable, so I don't watch the L-word, Lifetime, or Oxygen. I don't drink Bud Light and watch Monday night football. I don't look good in truckers' hats, or sun glasses, and I can't ride a motorcycle. I was a synchronized swimmer and I suck at softball. I listen to hip-hop and I never went to Lilith Fair.
I don't hate men. I've even slept with a few. I've never been to Chix Mix or Girlbar or any of the other lesbian nightclubs. I'd rather go to a hole in the wall bar and sip Jameson than pound shots and dance to bad house music.
I don't like wearing dresses, but I don't like wearing suits either, so going to formal affairs is always a struggle. My girlfriend took me shopping once, spending hours and hours picking out various things that she thought would be appropriate.
'If you're not wearing jeans you just look weird!' she finally blurted out in frustration. Even the black slacks and button down shirt she had picked out felt awkward on my skin, like I was playing dress up, pretending to be someone I am not.Read more story below....
'You'd look hot if you'd just stop fidgeting!'
Sure, there are people who have said I look dykey, but they are mistaken. They confuse dykey with lack of fashion sense. My strict attire of baggy jeans and T-shirts is for comfort reasons only. My short hair and unshaven legs come from pure laziness, not from a desire to look more 'lesbian'.
On a road trip with a few friends, our tire blew out on 57 and all three heads turned to me to fix it.
I shrugged, looking at the jack like it was an alien life form. 'I don't know how to change a tire.'
They looked at me, two gay boys and a straight girl, in disbelief. If anyone in our group should know how to change a tire, it was me.
One of the gay boys placed a hand on his hip and exclaimed, 'You're, like, the worst lesbian ever!'
Although he was only joking, I have to agree. If there was a test that you had to pass in order to be a lesbian, I would fail miserably. They wouldn't let me do it. The sisterhood would take away my membership and throw me to the breeders. I would go in front of the lesbian review board and plead my case.
'You've failed every aptitude test we've given you,' the head board member would tell me, rolling up her flannel sleeves and stroking her tabby cat. 'Why do you think you can call yourself a lesbian?'
And I would shrug, giving the only reason that I could think of, the only one that's been keeping me in the sisterhood for all these years.
'Um, I like girls?'
Dana Kaye lives in Chicago where she reviews books for the Chicago Sun-Times and Crimespree Magazine, and is a contributing writer for Curve Magazine. More of her writing can be found on her Web site, www.DanaKaye.com .