1. At 12/13 I was a “She’s going to come out someday” stereotype. At every sleepover, I was the girl who initiated kissing each other as a joke or “to practice” for boys. I made out with my friends more than I ever made out with any of the scrawny boys I would cuddle with on the bus. And I admittedly had a lot more fun kissing said friends than the scrawny boys I’d hide in the basement with at parties.
2. It was a really stupid night that’s honestly not even worth talking about. I guess he was there too which again, was stupid. But all I wanted to do was kiss her. Touch her. Be with her. And when he pointed it out because I didn’t hide it in the slightest I remember snapping back, “Well at least she’s fun to kiss and it’s not like anyone can say that about you,” and that was not a stupid response. Not at all.
3. I don’t fully remember the context of the conversation but I know we were in North Dakota, I know I was eating chex mix because when I’m in North Dakota all I eat is chex mix, soup, or Vinyl Taco, and I think we were sitting at the kitchen table and my dad was messing with his tablet. But somehow the shock of finding out you have a gay child came up and liberal me vs. a conservative Boomer got into it ever so slightly. And so with a mouth full of rye chips I said, “Well what if I came home with a girl? Then what?” And my dad barely blinked before he said, “I’d get over it I suppose. As long as they were a good person.” And that was that.
4. We were at a bar. She was adorable. Everyone noticed. And I left with her. The end.
5. It was Pride and I was dancing and we were making friends with strangers because that’s what you do when you’re dancing in the street in June in a crop top with star pasties on your nipples. Some guy in a scarf (Who wear a scarf and a beanie in June?) kept giving me the “up down.” And not the good kind where he was obviously into my star pasties. The bad kind. The kind that says without saying it, “What the fuck are you doing here?” And so I called him on it and he said, “It’s just never fun to deal with straight girls in a gay club you wouldn’t understand.” And I responded with, “It’s also never fun to have someone assume you’re straight.” And then I danced with all of his friends in the rain and he hated it and I hope he still thinks about what a dick he was.
6. I was perched on my bed eating a Chipotle bowl that had too much guac, if you can even believe such a thing is possible. (It is possible. Chipotle’s guac is a runnier guac, and too much in the burrito bowl will make it gooey and soupy. Ask for it on the side and add it yourself. You’re welcome.) I don’t remember what we were watching (probably Jeopardy) or what we were talking about (probably work and she was probably berating me for interrupting her) but I remember looking over at this person who I like so much I’m willing to order Chipotle for her in spite of their runny guac and I looked back at my burrito and said, “Yep. I’m pretty gay.” And she laughed at me for approximately 10 minutes and then we went back to doing nothing particularly memorable but I love that I’ll always be able to remember that laugh.
7. I present to you a series of texts I sent to my best friend.
And nothing about this fact to her was particularly significant or crazy or in need of a therapy session. And that to me is what’s special about it. That it wasn’t some life-altering thing. Except that she still has her appendix. That’s pretty cool.