The Interview Game, Part 2.2: Nadir
If you just came in: I signed up at Suburban Lesbian to participate in the Interview Game meme, and the lovely Suzanne has given me five questions to answer. When I finish answering all five (which may take a few weeks, at this rate) I'll pass on the meme to anyone who wants five questions of their own.
Question 1 is here.
The first part of Question 2 is here.
2. When did you realize you were a lesbian? Part 2
I should warn you right now that if you're hoping for some kind of torrid sex episode, it ain't gonna happen. (While I'm at it, I should warn the people who are finding this blog on Google searches for "blog addiction": Hah! Sorry, pals, no answers here! Just a full-blown example of the disorder.)
This is not because I'm so inherently modest or anything; it's just that nothing did happen. Not for a long time, anyway. Well, not with girls; I did have the standard kind of high-school stuff going on with boys for a while. But I'm getting ahead of the story:
So in 8th grade, I tried to put sex behind me and concerned myself with the standard teenage-girl nerd things: reading the Foundation trilogy, writing in my Notebook, enduring the boredom of typing class, and trying not to get beat up by mean kids.
The mean kids were terrible; really, really mean. Some of them are probably in jail even as I type. Mainly the Mounger sisters. And possibly Nicole Robertson, who was constantly threatening to beat me up because I was so bad at volleyball. (And you have to wonder: why did she care? I wasn't even on her team! I was on her friend's team. Nicole was one of those girls who was mysteriously allowed to spend every gym class sitting on the bleachers, gossiping and making obnoxious comments.)
This is mainly relevant because one day Nicole ventured down from the bleachers to give me yet another hard time about how my inability to spike the ball was going to lead to my imminent demise at her hands. All of a sudden, she stared at me hard, and demanded accusingly, "Are you a lesbian?"
My jaw dropped. My first impulse-- honestly, I was this nerdy-- was to say something like: "How am I supposed to know if I'm a lesbian? I'm only thirteen! No one can know if they're a lesbian when they're thirteen! All the books say so! I'm waiting to see. Ask me again in a few years." But even I knew that that would've been a Big Mistake. Though, in retrospect, maybe not worse than what I did say, which was (after a few seconds during which all the above thoughts flashed through my mind) a bare and unconvincing "No!"
Oh how I wish I'd said "Yes!," swept her into my arms, and given her a big smooch in front of the whole gym class. It would have made for a much better story. But I probably would've gotten suspended and beat up.
As it was, she stared at me for a couple more seconds, while all her friends went "ooooooh!" with that rising inflection indicating a fight's about to start. But nothing happened. She made a few more remarks about how dumb I was and went back to the bleachers.
You know what's weird? No one ever did actually beat me up. They just spent most of 8th grade threatening to.
Oh my, look at the time; I'm late for work already, and I didn't even get to the second time I sort of realized I was a lesbian. Soon, I promise. (I didn't start out trying to draw this out, honest. But this is definitely becoming the Kitchen-Sink Coming-Out Story. Stay tuned.)
Question 1 is here.
The first part of Question 2 is here.
2. When did you realize you were a lesbian? Part 2
I should warn you right now that if you're hoping for some kind of torrid sex episode, it ain't gonna happen. (While I'm at it, I should warn the people who are finding this blog on Google searches for "blog addiction": Hah! Sorry, pals, no answers here! Just a full-blown example of the disorder.)
This is not because I'm so inherently modest or anything; it's just that nothing did happen. Not for a long time, anyway. Well, not with girls; I did have the standard kind of high-school stuff going on with boys for a while. But I'm getting ahead of the story:
So in 8th grade, I tried to put sex behind me and concerned myself with the standard teenage-girl nerd things: reading the Foundation trilogy, writing in my Notebook, enduring the boredom of typing class, and trying not to get beat up by mean kids.
The mean kids were terrible; really, really mean. Some of them are probably in jail even as I type. Mainly the Mounger sisters. And possibly Nicole Robertson, who was constantly threatening to beat me up because I was so bad at volleyball. (And you have to wonder: why did she care? I wasn't even on her team! I was on her friend's team. Nicole was one of those girls who was mysteriously allowed to spend every gym class sitting on the bleachers, gossiping and making obnoxious comments.)
This is mainly relevant because one day Nicole ventured down from the bleachers to give me yet another hard time about how my inability to spike the ball was going to lead to my imminent demise at her hands. All of a sudden, she stared at me hard, and demanded accusingly, "Are you a lesbian?"
My jaw dropped. My first impulse-- honestly, I was this nerdy-- was to say something like: "How am I supposed to know if I'm a lesbian? I'm only thirteen! No one can know if they're a lesbian when they're thirteen! All the books say so! I'm waiting to see. Ask me again in a few years." But even I knew that that would've been a Big Mistake. Though, in retrospect, maybe not worse than what I did say, which was (after a few seconds during which all the above thoughts flashed through my mind) a bare and unconvincing "No!"
Oh how I wish I'd said "Yes!," swept her into my arms, and given her a big smooch in front of the whole gym class. It would have made for a much better story. But I probably would've gotten suspended and beat up.
As it was, she stared at me for a couple more seconds, while all her friends went "ooooooh!" with that rising inflection indicating a fight's about to start. But nothing happened. She made a few more remarks about how dumb I was and went back to the bleachers.
You know what's weird? No one ever did actually beat me up. They just spent most of 8th grade threatening to.
Oh my, look at the time; I'm late for work already, and I didn't even get to the second time I sort of realized I was a lesbian. Soon, I promise. (I didn't start out trying to draw this out, honest. But this is definitely becoming the Kitchen-Sink Coming-Out Story. Stay tuned.)
posted by elswhere | 7:23 AM
3 Comments:
Hey, forget work! get back here and FINISH YOUR MEME. . .HEEEEYYYYYYY. . .dagnabit.
I'm with Kate -- what do you think this is? Just a blog? *stamps foot* Inquiring minds NEED to know! *sigh* Please, please finish it's killing me. (dramatic faint onto couch)
"Oh how I wish I'd said "Yes!," swept her into my arms, and given her a big smooch in front of the whole gym class." Oh I I wish you HAD! She might have died of septicaemia though. You know, Lesbian kisses... Toxic.
"It would have made for a much better story. But I probably would've gotten suspended and beat up." - Yes. Very wise not to. I used to get beaten up once in a while till I got taller than most - by one kid in my street AND the gypsies, no less. At least it's exotic, there's that.
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