We, as a community, have thoroughly honored ourselves. Why not indulge in a spot of self-depreciation? All that quality queer time during Pride month probably reminded you of a bad habit or two rampant in lesbian circles. Here’s seven you may have spotted. Where are you? What are you doing? Absolutely nothing with one person, aka how you spend every free minute of every day? Sounds super cool! Aren’t you bored of going to bars, standing in a circle with two to eight friends, and talking amongst yourselves? You could do that at home. You probably do. I’m not suggesting you walk around the club shaking everyone’s hand and introducing yourself (do not do that), but if someone normal smiles at you, just smile back like a pleasant person. I don’t care how followers you have, group selfies should not take that long. Look up from the tiny screen, #lovers. Remember what happened to Narcissus. Don’t work with your girlfriend unless you have a pre-written signed agreement you are both EXCITED to sign because you agree WHOLLY in the agreement’s fairness, with clean understanding of separation of duties.
There are many, many rap songs about the negative consequences of mixing money and personal relationships. Bitching about work is a venerable American pastime but if you work with bae, you will end up bitching about bae to mutual friends and she will know my friend because she is bitching, too. A bisexual friend of mine is stuck in a dramatic love triangle between two good-looking, wildly successful bachelors. I keep forgetting to ask how it all worked out. If those potential suitors were women, I would be all up in that because other people’s love triangles are wildly entertaining. Dudes are frustratingly forgettable with their bland brown hair and forced joviality. This is not cool of me and something I have remedied. We will go on a double date, and I will generously allow her new boyfriend to buy drinks and casually mention his many other gay friends. Gripping stuff. Going out is a catch 22 in adulthood: You can’t meet someone cool sitting at home alone, but you can’t claw your way up the career ladder hungover and broke. Between ages 20-23, I went out every other night and impetuously flung myself into socializing and exploring. Super fun, but seriously unproductive. At 23, I realized that becoming the right person far exceeds trying to meet the right people. Time alone is forming, centering and essential to self-respect. Fuck FOMO—alone time rocks. Home is not where your new girlfriend is. I’m genuinely sad for the women who never experience the joy of walking into an empty apartment filled with all your stuff, paid for by you and you alone, and thinking “ahhhhh.” That sweet sigh of relief and independence. Solitude is bliss. Upheaval is hell, and being trapped in an apartment with your ex girlfriend must be the inner circle of hell Dante forgot about. Not that I know about that first hand—I’m too smart. Also no one has ever wanted to move in with me. But still, do not move in with your girlfriend until after dating a year, minimum. Like my wise mother always said: “Never move in with your partner before getting engaged, because that’s what I did with my first husband and he was a real dick.”
Having your own place is relaxing, responsible, and an important part of adulthood. Don’t be in such a rush to get wifed up; middle age will envelop you in its tedious monogamous embrace soon enough. Your sole topics of conversation should not be gossip. When a group of girls gets together, catching up can quickly devolve into hours of gossip, followed by the uncomfortable silence that follows the realization that without gossip, you’re not sure what to talk about. That’s just tragic. I’m not dissing gossip—or, as I like to think of it, staying abreast of current events on the micro scale—but lately I’ve been feeling a little empty in my friendship interactions. Even in Los Angeles, where the bounty of lesbian gossip flourishes in fertile fields, there are only so many breakups to discuss.
Sometimes I find myself talking about people I don’t even care about. Does that make me a shallow person? Maybe. Or maybe it’s borne out of real social anxiety, the fear that no one likes what I like because it’s lame. A queasy throwback to middle school days when I’d attempt to strike up a conversation only to be laughed at and sent back to the bathroom to eat my lunch alone a la mean girls.
Are we all shamelessly gossiping, then going home to feed our outside interests in solitude? What about current events? Sure, they are depressing as hell, and discussing politics is often a futile exercise in “shit’s fucked up” or “I disagree with you and you can’t handle it so that’s hella awkward.” We should still try. Let’s all agree to brush up on non-depressing current events so small talk expands beyond perceived slights and tragic haircuts.
