Any Next Any One Can Jump Start an Evolution

When I’m dressed for business, I pass for straight for ~6.1 seconds.  But on the weekends—when I’m in my free-to-be-me-in-my-Levis and baby blue Monterrey cap—people stare too long.  I know they are sizing me up and imagining the many ways that I’m different than them (in bed).  My chosen casual combos successfully isolate me from the maddening crowds.  I’ve actually walked past coworkers, on weekend, without being recognized.  Clothes can make such a difference.

When I'm wearing my props, I'm invited into stranger’s spaces through eye:eye contact.  For a fleeting second, I think, “She might be wondering if I could be her next best friend.” And then I think, “I’m gay, and she’ll figure it out in a few more seconds.”  But most often, I forget to look up. 

  

Today I was wearing an outfit that makes me feel authoritative.  When it came time to lead the meeting, I had trouble thinking.  The stiffness infringed on my mind’s free reign.  I know I would be a smarter thunker if I could wear my Levis to work, but I wouldn’t have the authority that comes for free with purses, sparkle and dry-cleaned outfits.  My point is that while my mind thinks better when my butt is in Levis, I need to subliminally persuade others to pay attention to what's coming out of my head.  If authoritative attire does it, I sell out with no qualms.  Of course, this is a dumb trick and I have hope that human minds will someday evolve so that Levis can be the standard corporate outfit—except in Texas during June, July, Aug, and Sept. 

I wanted to disrobe before I started on the long road back, so I stopped to change and grab a bite.  When in Monroe I eat at Sam’s.  It’s surprising for a joint this far in-land, they have the best grilled shrimp po’ boys.  YUM!  I pop in and there’s a lesbian popping out through the same door.  She’s in her painter outfit and cute little white cap.  She does a double take as if my beauty stopped her in her tracks—or, more than likely, her gadar was going off and my clothes were screaming straight conservative.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough on the draw to hand her a “twogirlsarebetterthanone” card (that I printed so that girls can check out the site when they (sober up and) get home).  Still, if I had been quick enough, would I have done it?  I haven't been handing them out during the day, in common areas.  More, would she have taken it from me—there in front of her small-city community?  Probably “no” to both questions.

This aversion to publicly align is silly.  We represent .5-5% of the human population.  (Isn’t it amazing that no one really knows?)  If we were any other minority, we would embrace each other like long lost relatives.  Since I started this blog, I’ve purposefully made eye contact with lots of lesbians.  To my surprise, none of them have averted and all of them seem to be relieved that I provided an outlet to return the recognition.  This warms my shy heart. 

I arrived in Baton Rouge after dinner time and grabbed a bowl of Pho. When I walked in, I was wearing my blue jean shorts, a jean Polo button down with 15-year old paint on the elbow, and blue tennis shoes without socks.  (These shoes are my mowing and dog walking shoes so they look terrible with grass stains over the cracked rubber side walls.)  To add to my attractive state, by the end of the day my hair is almost always flat which makes me look like a long teenage boy.  When I rounded the corner to grab a seat, two gay guys spot me.  They were probably alerted by my beauty—or, more than likely, they were trying to decide where to begin the makeover.  Unfortunately, I was a bit self-conscious without my starched clothes.  I tuck my tail and don’t look back like I had been striving to connect with lesbians. By the time I reach the bottom of the pho bowl, I feel like a trader.   

I got to my car and thought about walking in and plopping down a “twogirlsarebetterthanone” card. I wanted to claim triumph for overcoming the free-falling fear of gay recognition. But, bigger fear rose.  So, I looked for the only car in the lot with a gay sticker.  There weren’t any, but I found one car with an equality sticker, so I slipped a card under the windshield wiper. Maybe I got the right car and they'll chime in.

I guess if I want for others’ minds to evolve and respect me without dry cleaned outfits, I have to jump start my own mental evolution.  Maybe lesbians have always tried to make eye contact and I’m only now joining the pack.  I don’t have to look at gay boys because they’re not going to give me babies.  (This reasoning works for “the majority” whose brains have been negatively impacted by the belief that primal drives that were hardwired for procreation lend to a specific and pointed intention which justifies a lack of social skills, so I’ll use it too.)  However, I do like more and more gay men, especially since I’ve been hanging with MacTiger and Free Willy.  (They are the softer side of Sears.)

After I began to like more gay men, I started swapping eye contact with them and am realizing that they too will look at me.  Like my clothes, I’ve been hiding behind labels.  Any next anyone could be my next best friend.