National Coming Out Day 2011

Every person in the LGBT community who has made that journey from the closet has a story.
Some of those stories are funny, some heartwarming, others are heartbreaking, even violent.
In the end, we all have a story. I've shared my story. The parts that were scary, exciting, and sexy.
I encourage you to tell your story. Your sexual orientation is nothing to fear.
For the straight allies ~ For the families who've welcomed us with open hearts, minds, and arms ~
For the friends who became family when our own turned their backs ~
For the ones who've lost their lives ~ For those who've suffered in silence ~
For all the ones who came out before me ~ For all the ones who will come out after me ~Thank you.

It is with PRIDE that I celebrate my sexuality today. And every day.

The Truth Hurts: but it hurts so good

"You're lying."

I sat, nearly crippled from the blow. I had shared something so personal, so secret, so real, so...me. Why was I left feeling as though I had spilled out my true self- for the first time in an unsafe environment, at least- only to be devalued, disregarded, and labeled a liar? And from the very people who claim to love unconditionally.

I had just come barreling out of the closet like I'd been a caged animal, met at the door with disapproval (which I'd anticipated) and disbelief (which I hadn't.) I was dumbfounded. I wrestled with how anyone would even think lying was an option. I made a semi-sub-conscious (if there is such a thing) decision that day. I was queer- and dammit, no one else would ever question it again.

I spent time looking at why I was so unbelievable as a lesbian. Frankly, I'm no 100 footer. Surveying all the dykes I knew at the the time- from my butch BFF to Ellen Degeneres- they pull off gay so much better than me. Maybe, I told myself, no one will ever take me seriously as a lesbian. So far, the reception into the club had been less than I'd hoped. And even the straighties think I'm a joke. This damsel in distress business was getting me nowhere. I began a transition at that moment- I didn't want to be a joke. I was real- I was queer. I wanted to be a part of the community. Some part of me believed something was wrong with me- questioning how I can be this feminine, sensual, womanly...lesbian? A contradiction if there ever was one!

Within weeks, I had replaced my wardrobe with sports bras and cargo shorts, and parted with my girly auburn locks and acrylic nails. Camo cargos, a black wife beater, and a flat top is how I arrived in Maine. And don't fuck with me, either--because now, I am a total badass dyke. You looked at me and you knew. People just assumed I was gay. What a relief! Finally, I'm "official." Never again would I have to struggle with my identity.

I couldn't have been more wrong...

While I looked that part, I felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I walked by the windows of stores and admired the sparkly dresses and the sexy shoes and the glittery make up. I reminded myself- those things aren't for dykes. And for god's sake, Lori- you ARE a dyke. I met a couple of... I'm not even sure what I would've labeled them at the time, but they were girls. With girlfriends. Real girls- like the one I used to be. Granted, there were only two of them in our group of maybe 20 lesbians. Odd balls? Maybe. The elusive, novelty "lipstick lesbians" I'd heard of, but never known? Definitely. (The fact that all the butches were drooling and practically worshipped them was just a bonus.)

I was jealous. Were they real? Did I have hope to be Lori the lesbian AND Lori the woman? Damn right, I did. I bought heels, skirts, real bras, worked with my stylist on a plan to grow back the hair I had so cold-heartedly dismissed, and got a mani-pedi. Immediately. I literally went to work in a button down and necktie one week and returned the next in heels and a skirt. I was itching to get out of the handsome gear and back into my boobalicious frocks-- I ran and never looked back.

This has always felt like a hard story to tell- I often struggle with how that looked to others, what it meant for me as a person. Am I really that wishy-washy? Is there any demographic who will take me seriously? Eventually, my friends forgot about it as though it were simply a bad haircut. And it was. *grin* Most of the people in my life now never knew me then, and this may even come as a huge surprise to some. Because...well... I'm such a femme.

I am femme. I am a proud femme. I am a member of the lesbian community who is both the holy grail and the myth. The femme. I love every part of it. I love the way it sounds, the way it reads, the way it looks, everything it implies. The letters themselves give me joy as I see them in front of me. Femme. Femme. FEMME.

This is a label I wear with pride. I embrace it. *I am femme...*

Saturday Stories...

I awoke Saturday morning with only a few things on my mind: the first day at the pool, BBQ, and the Almond Poppyseed Loaf I had prepared just before bed.

Looking forward to the day, I was in the best of moods- jovial, energetic, and just plain old giddy.

I prepped my bag, pup, kid, etc for the day, then enjoyed a slice of the baked yumminess with a cup of coffee before tearing out for a great day in the sun. I sent the kids off to the pool whilst I picked up BBQ for poolside lunching and ice for the cooler.

The smell of pulled pork filled my nostrils as I pulled into the convenience store for a couple bags of ice. The young man who works at Country Farms is typically very friendly with me (sometimes semi-flirtatious, which I find amusing for a dozen reasons) and I was in such a great mood, I wanted to share that and uplift his spirits.

I flashed my most dashing smile, behaved "cutesy", and told him I'd be spending the day poolside, bet you're jealous, giggle- you know the routine... I skipped back to the car, still looking forward to the day, feeling good about the ego stroke I had given to this awkward guy.

Inserting the key into the ignition, glancing in my rear view (still smiling like the Cheshire Cat), I catch a glimpse of my reflection and was instantly mortified. There- staring back at me were a few poppyseeds lodged in the crevices between my teeth. Yep- right in the front where it really matters.

Those of you who do not know my intense passion for dental hygiene will perhaps not be as horrified as you should be.

For my pathetic ego, deflation occurred with all the gusto of a worn out whoopie cushion. With my head hung low, I emerge from the car and join the family for food and a dip. As I share the events of the morning with the family, I can at least take pleasure in others' joy- even if it is at my expense (I'm just that kind of gal.)

Important facts you should have learned from this story:
Poppyseeds are the enemy.
The dude at CF digs chicks with gnarly teeth.
Lori has the bounce-back potential of a brand new bungee cord.
My days of eating foods all willy-nilly are done...

Thursday, November 27, 2008

For my avid survey readers- I am sure you are all quite concerned with why I asked for healing for my vagina. I wasn't being facetious. I discovered over the last week that something was terribly wrong. My body would no longer respond normally to sexual stimulation. Yesterday, I pulled out all the stops- no orgasm. Typically, I am pretty easily orgasmic. Quite frankly, if I do it myself it is a sure thing. Not yesterday. I was convinced that my body had simply shut down and my days of great sex were over. Apparently the drug Zoloft has a potentially serious side effect called genital sensory impairment. Since I have very recently begun this new drug regimen, I can only make an educated assumption the two are related. Of course, this realization had to take place after my Doctor's office had closed the day before Thanksgiving- 5 days until the office reopens. Last night I managed to break down the anti-orgasm barrier, with the help of a stud and lots of patience. But I intend to get off (no pun intended) this medication as quickly as possible. I fear if I continue taking the drug, (of which I currently only take a half dose) I may become paralyzed from the waist down once I am on a full dosage. Point is- I hate you, Zoloft. If you thought I was depressed and anxious before, try my mental state after spending the rest of my existence without getting off.

Things I have learned...

Saturday, November 08, 2008

Seems that in the past few weeks, I have been overwhelmed with feelings, thoughts, situations- often more than I thought I could bear. I was wrong. I can handle almost anything. I just need to remember these things I have learned. It is not my responsibility to make others happy. Each person is responsible for their own happiness. I am responsible for MY happiness. If I'm not happy- I am the only person to blame. Sacrificing oneself is not a way to demonstrate love. Anyone worthy of my love will realize that. It is impossible to give something you do not have. You must have love for yourself before you can give it to others. People will always lay guilt at my feet- it is my choice to pick it up. That was the most intense revelation I've had through this. I don't HAVE to feel guilty? Incredible! I choose not to anymore. Stop beating myself up for choices that could have been made differently. Life is a learning experience. I must simply suck it up and move on. Once I have learned that most consequences are self induced, I will discontinue my self-torturing ways. I am strong. Looking back on my past, the reason I have felt so weak is simple. I had carried too much for too long. Just like all general life principles, exerting too much energy will make even Mr Universe weak. When I look back on all that I have been through- all the experiences I've had, the hurts, the fights- I realize I had to be strong to make it through. Wow! Not everyone deserves the same priority in my life. As a mother, I have ranked the people in my lives today. God, my children, then myself. Everyone else comes after that. Family, friends, etc will fall in according to their spot in my heart, the amount of trust I have in them, and what they offer to my life. I have made a decision this week. I will only put my kids before myself. This isn't an act of selfishness- I truly believe it to be a way to better love others. Loving myself first. Thank you to those of you who see your own words above. You know what you shared made a difference in my perspective and in my life. You are truly amazing and I love you.

Things I love...

Thursday, October 09, 2008

The things I love are varied. Obviously, I love my kids most of all. My family, God, my country, my friends are all at the top of the list. But there is a subset list of my loves. Allow me the freedom to share? Music- especially really good music, Crossword puzzles, Sudoku, Board games, and Cards. Laughter, Butterflies in my stomach, Holidays, Good food, Wine, Beautiful weather, Birthday parties, Beaches, and Hammocks. Camera phones, Texting, Phone calls with people I care about who are too far away to hug, toe socks, and underwear. Hugs, Kisses, Cuddling, Fireplaces, Cabins, Campfires, S'mores, and Fresh air. Ice cold beer, Cigarettes, The smell of cigars, burning leaves, and Bread baking. The feeling in my chest when I breathe really deep in the super cold weather, Taking in the sounds and sights of the outdoors, and Behaving like a child. I recently decided to create a To Do list- things I really want to try, but haven't. Here are a few of the things on the list already. Skydiving, Snow skiing, Go back to college, See the West Coast, Visit a tropical place, Put a hammock in my yard, Become an advocate- not just in my mind, Deliver a baby, Own a horse, Meet new people, Perform a wedding ceremony, Return to the theatre, Explore New York City in depth, Journal my life experiences for my kids and grandkids, Have more experiences to journal, and Publish my poetry. Some of these things are less concrete: Teach my kids the value of acceptance, Lead them by example, Open their minds to all of life's possibilities, Let go of my fears, Live for the moment, Speak my truth, Become an even better woman/mother, find closure for all the "openness" in my life, and Live out my dreams.

Update on a previous post

Sunday, September 28, 2008

So, in the blog, "How Does One Become a Lesbian?" I mentioned 2 people who were pivotal in my experience. The first was Denise. She was my first clue that I was a big raging lesbian, the source of my teenage lust, and an amazing part of my memories. She and I reconnected a couple of years ago. She is doing great, is as wonderful as ever. But had NO clue, until reading the blog, the significance she held in my adolescence. Now she knows and has handled it rather well. Better than I expected. An amazing friendship has blossomed and we have gotten a chance to know one another as adults. A fabulous reunion is planned and I am stoked. The second was Bonnie. She was the first girl with whom I had an actual encounter. I haven't seen her since 1994. I talked to her on the phone once about 3 years ago. Then yesterday, I was shopping at Wal-Mart. As I begin down the aisle, I see a very familiar face. It's her. I stopped and spoke with her for several minutes. She didn't recognize me at all. Which I thought strange, I don't look that much different than senior year. Older- but the same. She did look very different. She was thin, her eyes were dark, she had sores on her face, was jittery, she smelled like piss, and was clearly on some pretty serious drugs. She had her 2 toddlers with her. It broke my heart to see her that way. But it has always been my oath to myself to stay out of other people's drama. So, I said "it was good to see you," gave a hug, and walked away, leaving that part of my life back in 1994- where it belongs. Goodbye, Bonnie. You changed my life in ways you will never understand. However, the past is where you must stay. Some things are better left as memories.