Apparently, I am a counterculture toughie lesbian.
Shortly after washing a sink full of dishes that my marvelous family neglected before going on vacation — hey, I am a make-the-mess-clean-the-mess type of woman — like any normal mortal existing in this century, I checked my email.
It’s scary in there.
After deleting a slew of spam letters and guest post offers, in which, do not truly fit the nature of my website — Isn’t that hard to believe? — eventually, I opened the latest DowneLink newsletter.
“What Kind of Lesbian Are You?”, it asked. I don’t know about you, but as detailed and descriptive as I tend to be, I couldn’t think of a straight answer. Subsequently, like any sexually confused person or downright inquisitive earthling, I clicked on the link. I couldn’t help it.
In seconds, thankfully to the fast Internet that I pay decent money for, a page on this website downloaded. Four types of lesbians were highlighted and I didn’t identify with any of them.
I was saddened.
Then, I realized there were pages, more content to be read and entertained by. I grew happier by the second.
On page 3, the last page, there I was. The brown counterculture lesbian who doesn’t own a pair of Doc Martin’s but can easily say she has tons of friends and fans who do. Oh, and I don’t drink dirty chais from Starbucks, but I slam soy chai teas when I’m kicking it in Pacific Palisades with friends old enough to father me and when I am at Starbucks, I order a hot chocolate with ice and soy.
Don’t ask. It’s a bizarre preference.
It’s true. I love lace more than I love boys, and I can cover or attend an event for a complimentary pair of boots. Often, I wear my lacy items with boots, because that’s what just what counterculture toughie thug lesbians do. I live in New York City, and I am into crowd-watching. It’s seldom you get to watch so many different types of people, in their natural habitat, so to speak, being themselves. I take pleasure in snapping pictures of random tourists, transplants and natives all the same, for the aforementioned reason. I don’t wash my own hair often because my Colombian princess slash hair stylist Blanca takes care of it.
Lastly and unfortunately, I don’t sell sex toys. It doesn’t seem like a bad occupation to have. I love Claire Cavanah and Rachel Venning (owners of Babeland) and not until this very moment, I haven’t told anyone that I frequent Babeland events. There it is, the cat’s out of the bag. Not that it was a secret. I’ve published a print issue inspired by human sexuality and religion a few years ago and without shame, I own a cupcake mold that serves 6 penis cakes and I do not own any sex toys.
With all of that personal information written and shared, I must ask: Does the title or idea of the counterculture toughie really fit my lesbian persona or am I just an unidentifiable lesbian whose character or style is left to be covered and pinpointed in the near future? Or am I lesbian at all? The world may never know…