Born this Way—Even if the Photos Lie

I know everyone and their queer aunt has landed on the Born This Way photo blog/essay in the last month now, but I wanted to toss in a thought or two on the subject for the record (since that's what us nosy bloggettes are notorious for).

Once a queer kid has taken the steps to accept herself, or to start sharing her real self to others, one of the greatest moments beyond the closet door arrives in the form of retrospection—we go back to excavate the photo albums for evidence of the baby gays we were. More often than not, we stumble across those blatant, obvious photos screaming out our proto-queerness, and we marvel over the fact our loved ones were somehow shocked when we chose to come out.

O'Neill sent me this link a few weeks ago, and I cannot stop poring over the personal stories and the adorable photos that queers across the Internet have submitted. I find it overwhelming (in the awesome sense) to see photos ranging across the twentieth-century. It's fascinating to read the accounts of queer people growing up throughout different decades among various cultural backgrounds. Despite our differences, we all share that one common experience of emerging from our own fears and insecurities to finally embrace that tiny version of ourselves from so long ago. Born This Way achieved the one goal I wished to see—a space where queer-identified people of all ages could gather, reminisce, and find our similarities despite the generation gaps.

Brilliant! Enlightenment, at last!

Of course, the next morning, I ran to the photo albums to find pictures of me in full baby dyke regalia, but—

I'll be damned.

I discovered I remembered life a lil' differently from the photos populating our albums. Most of the shots taken of Lil' Miz Moffatt were from family gatherings which meant I was decked out in full-on party dresses for the occasion. I come from a British-Scottish-Newfoundlander background, and I can tell you it's a traditional scene when it comes to gender norms. Now, of course, we've all relaxed a touch with age, but we were not exempt from formal attire as kiddies. And, having an older sister guaranteed girly hand-me-downs in the dozens…

Of course, I know assuming stereotypes tends to be more hurtful than helpful—I know of a large contingent of queer femmes who would be rightly pissed at the assumption that butch little girl = queer (and I know of some butch straight gals who would take offence to being stereotyped, too). But, when I remember the clothes I loved wearing as a child, I know for a fact it revolved around overalls and baseball tees.

So…where are those shots?

A few exist, but the overwhelming image skews me toward the opposite end of the spectrum.

Regardless of the strange absence of the everyday shots, I'll still take to skimming through the albums to get that shot of the baby dyke I was. In the meantime, I suggest you check out Born This Way if you haven't already—it's a guaranteed smile waiting to happen.

Milestone Missed

There is no greater injustice than a personal milestone passed in silence. See? Yet another reason to blog with greater fervor and without pausing for two months *cough* Miz Moffatt*cough, cough*

I seek reconciliation with the person I was one year ago and the person I am at the moment of writing this post now.

On August 28, 2009, I made the major passage from closeted so-and-so to out 'n' proud woman on the home front. From where I sit at this moment, I have now been out to both parents for over one year.

ONE YEAR, people.

The revelation is humbling. It caps off a personal adventure spanning almost a decade, encompassing most of my teen years and the entirety of my adult life.

I first came out to myself when I was sixteen.

I first came out to others when I was eighteen in the safe confines of "CampOut," a coming out discussion group.

I came out to my Sister when I was twenty-one, spurred on before I was quite confident enough.

I came out to a high school best friend when I was twenty-two and tired of displacing all responsibilities for myself.

And then, in 2009, I took the leap and outed myself to the lil' Brother and the 'rents in the span of one month. I never thought I would reach that point where I was comfortable enough with myself to talk with them as equals, to not ask permission but to present the simple fact of who I am with the understanding I might not be met with acceptance.

One year later and I have attended Toronto's main Pride parade with my Sister.

One year later and I have noticed the sudden appearance of "partner" in my family's vernacular where "husband/wife" or "girlfriend/boyfriend" once existed.

One year later and there are new discussions in the home focused on understanding queer issues and where it places us as a family.

Total head rush.

And I took that milestone for granted and let it pass without its due respect.

So here is to that night in August and here is to the kids in years to come who will embark upon the same journey I did.

Tension and Turning-Points, G20-Style

Canadian news outlets have been overflowing with a sick swirl of violence, mass arrests, and illogical political demonstrations for hours now and it seems the garish spectacle will march on into the night.

I am struggling to form coherent thought over top of the pulsing anger I harbour for these supposed "protesters." Granted, I know the violent ones are a small demographic mixed in to the overall legitimate protesting groups -- but to see the shattered glass of Queen St. West and gutted police cars while comparing it to the gorgeous memories I garnered just last week launches me into this loop of anger, disbelief, and frustration.

The blood boils with each new storefront smashed and looted. And to know there are friends trapped in the downtown core based on the location of their homes pushes me further into this livid state.

Toronto is being ripped apart for what?

It seems like such a tragic joke to hear protesters yelling at police officers to, quote, "get a real job," even while these same shit disturbers have the time to march through the streets on weekday afternoons leading up to the actual G20 Summit. Go figure.

I admit, I have a bias toward Canadian officers at the heart of this ordeal. I have immediate connections with one of the officers donning riot gear this weekend. In fact, she holds quite a central position in the background of this blogette right here. When I was sixteen, she gave me a shot as an HMV employee when I had no previous work experience to speak of. She could be tough when she needed to, but she was patient with her employees and we knew she would support us in the face of customer-instigated adversity. In essence, she is the one manager I compare all other managers to. Her dream was to enter the police force and I am glad to note she achieved it after intense training and dedication to the cause.

On another clever note, she was also the first out and proud lesbian I met. She even helped me find that initial shot of self-confidence while I was first coming out to myself. Though I never came out to her while we worked together, it was just her presence and her openness about herself that helped me understand how to live as an out woman. She was a mentor without even realizing it.

And now, she is stationed in the downtown core for the express purpose of minimizing destruction and corralling protesters.

Ah, quite the woman.

Well, this has been an abrupt change of pace with this post. What started from a need to vent about the damage done to our fair city has transformed into praise for one helluva woman. I love how the mind works sometimes, especially once sleep-deprived and on the cusp of a cold.

I am sending out all positive vibes to the friends at the centre of "Fortress Toronto" and to the women and men in blue who are working around the clock for us all. Here is hoping the night proves to be a short one.

How the Stereo Shattered the Closet

Again, leave it to AfterEllen.com to encourage discussions on various coming out subjects. This particular topic seems tailored for this blog and this blogette right here.

Trish Bendix launched a survey around the e-water cooler with her fellow writers and I am compelled to respond. "The Soundtrack To Your Sexuality" -- what song/album/artist formed the soundtrack to your coming out?

I could not resist.

It's difficult to pick out individual tracks. Plus, most of the songs I attribute to coming out are based on a reflective stance. Most of the music comes from the days I term the "proto-lesbian times" when I was still unaware of who I was. As for the later years, I don't have tracks I associate with for the sheer fact of coming out. There were other events going on at that point while I was still mulling through my own identity politics.

Anyhow, too much chat.

Here are the main tunes and artists on the soundtrack to my coming out:

The Beatles: Now, I know I made a post on this about one year ago (May 25, 2009: "Speaking of Origins....") but it still holds true. My Dad made it his mission to teach us kids about the bands he worshipped and, yes, The Beatles were my favourite band by the time I was six-years-old. However, their lyrics had the opposite effect on me. Instead of imagining myself as the love interest of the Fab Four, I found myself falling for the women in their songs. Stand out tracks include: "Lovely Rita," "Long Tall Sally," "I Saw Her Standing There," and "Back in the U.S.S.R." -- huh, in that brief survey alone, it appears Paul McCartney had the biggest hand in my coming out. Congrats, Macca. I still find myself swooning over the women depicted here. I'm pretty certain when I fall in love for the first time, The Beatles will find their way onto numerous mix CDs I will make for her...

"Don't Speak," No Doubt: I know, it's a break-up song. But, as indicated above, the young Moffatt did not interpret lyrics in the standard form. Without delving into great detail, I associate this track with the great loss of a great girl. In reflection, I believe she was likely the first love of my life -- it was subconscious, though, which is why I do not count her as the official first love. Still, it brings me back to grade six each time.

Third Eye Blind: Most people write off this group and I bite my thumb at them. Their self-titled debut is the living soundtrack of my thirteen-year-old self. It is vivid for me and I still register physical reactions to most of their tracks. The album was released in 1997, but I did not stumble across it for an additional two years. Still, the effect it has on me is beyond words. It is the soundtrack for the clearest and happiest moments of that year, the heart-shattering events, and the first expressions of confusion I went through regarding that fragile sexual identity of mine. I can remember the people I dedicated each song to. Complex emotional ties to 3EB -- some might laugh, but the album will always hold a great significance for me.

As for the high school and undergrad years, I don't have the same palpable connection between music and the coming out process. I don't know that I used music to nurse me through those internal discussions and those personal revelations. I know Queens of the Stone Age hold a special spot for O'Neill and I in relation to our friendship and our first faltering steps out of the closet as adults, but I wouldn't point to an album or a song to depict it.

Strange.

So there, another music-themed post for this week at Cute, Queer, Canadian. I'm sure I've tuckered out all the ears across the Blogosphere with the bands and/or artists I've been forcing onto readers this week. I'm just full of cheek, aren't I?

And now, I turn this question over to you -- what songs impressed themselves onto your coming out years? What sort of impact lingers there?

I'm all ears.

Tips for the Ol' Brush-Off? Anyone?

The Brush Off: BUT HOW DO YOU DO IT?

As I suggested toward the end of the last post, I had an issue I wanted to turn to the Blogoverse to solve. I figure this dedicated base of readers would offer sound advice on the subject as I'm certain more than one of you have stumbled into a similar situation.

I should preface this a touch: on Saturday, I got a hair cut. I was two months overdo for one and, when you've got short hair, IT SHOWS. Anyhow, when I go in to get those unruly strands tamed, my hair dresser straightens it all as well. I have naturally thick curls and a stubborn wave to my hair, so getting it straightened is a joyous occasion for me. That being said, it tends to attract attention from folks who would otherwise let me fly under the radar....

Now, I thought I was dressed in a solid, queer-influenced sense. It was a 50s-themed joint and I came dressed as a tomboy. I assumed this would send out signals to other queer ladies in the crowd and I tried to focus those clothing visual cues with that in mind.

No.

IT HAD THE OPPOSITE EFFECT.

I had three men hit on me. Three. While a part of me is flattered, another larger part is even more confused. And then it hit me: THE HAIR. There is some mysterious property to the straight hair that the straight boys respond to. Despite the otherwise queer appearance of the ol' outfit, the hair overwhelms all other social indicators.

And so, I am left with the question: how does one give a polite brush off to a gent who has just worked up the courage to even talk with one?

It's a queer conundrum. In essence, the situation tends to nudge you toward coming out to a complete stranger. While hitting the town and celebrating a close friend's birthday, the last thing I want to do is explain or defend my orientation to someone I will never meet again.

So.....

I'm curious to know about you, dear readers. Have you found yourself in this scenario before? What's your approach to the brush off? I am interested to find out what the other gay gals use in these situations. I wonder if there are similarities between the brush offs carried out by straight gals and gay gals. Oooh, I feel like this could be a case study.

So please, discuss!

Ins and Outs: Doctor's Edition

Closet: 1

Miz Moffatt: 0

Another innocent situation where I neglected to clarify. I went to an interview with a new doctor who's set up her new practice near the house. I'm in the process of switching doctors at the moment -- it's a detailed situation.

The Moffatt Notes version: The current doctor refuses to do full physical examinations for female patients. I want a doctor who will consider my ENTIRE health.

Anyhow, the new doctor is fantastic. She's knowledgeable, professional, and personable. She's a doctor I could approach with any concern and I know she would respect me (even if I was overreacting to certain symptoms). Most importantly, she adheres to a preventative approach to medicine. Rather than throwing pills at symptoms, she wants to work with patients to reduce the chances of illness in the first place. A+.

But, hrmmm..... interviews.

It strikes when marital status is brought up. I can sense all the queer readers nodding their heads now, we've all been there.

Doctor: And do you have a boyfriend?

Miz Moffatt: Uh....Nope, I'm a single gal.

Doctor: Oh, don't worry. It'll happen for you.

I had a nice, insider's chuckle with that one. Still, I had the familiar rush of thoughts when presented with this:

"Do I come out? I'm evading the truth if I don't correct her. Though, I am being honest when I say there's no gentleman in the picture. Still, does the situation warrant my coming out? Am I taking a step back if I keep silent? Is coming out relevant in this situation?"

It's quite the conundrum.

I opted for silence. Now, I should explain -- I didn't feel pressure to hide myself. It just didn't seem relevant at the time. If I were in a relationship, you can bet your buttons I would make it clear I was a gay gal. But, when you're single and you're in a doctor's office detailing the extent of your medical history in the hopes of finding a better doctor -- I don't know, coming out was just not on the priorities list there.

I still feel a little weird from the experience, though. There's a piece of me that's got the scolding face on and is harping at me for sitting on my heels. But, the majority of me belongs to the "Enh" School of Thought.

Ho hum.

***

OLYMPIC UPDATE:

Such a bittersweet win last night. The nation mourns and celebrates with the latest addition to Team Canada's medal count:

• Joannie Rochette, Ladies' Figure Skating (Bronze, Feb. 25)

It was only four days after her mother died from a heart attack and Rochette still managed to pull out a medal-winning skate. It was a heartbreaking and uplifting moment on the podium, that's for sure. I wish the circumstances could have been brighter for Rochette, but there's no doubt she had a brilliant performance. She won respect for her perseverance long before the medals were awarded.

It's been quite the Olympic Games so far. I think I'm not alone in stating that.

How My Parents Made Me Queer: Colour-Coding

Ever look back on those childhood memories to discover innocent oversights made by Mom and Dad that nudged you closer to coming out? It's as if they possessed gaydar without being able to read it.

It was Feral Geographer who first tipped me off to the concept of "How My Parents Made Me Queer." It's an idea I've contemplated over the years as I'm sure most queer kids have. In retrospect, it's as if we were all born waving rainbow-coloured flags -- yet, we can still remain invisible for decades until we make the choice to come out.

Regardless, I think we've all got those little quirks or those special interests that our parents picked up on and encouraged without realizing those points are vital to our coming out narratives as adults.

For me, the earliest encounter with this phenomenon was in household personal branding. Enter: Colour-coded towels.

After dealing with numerous fights regarding bathroom items, my Mom decided to make it clear for us. She bought toothbrushes and towels in specific colours that corresponded to the child in question. In that sense, we could claim ownership over objects with visual cues dyed right into them.

Of course, this is where the concepts of colour and gender become most apparent.

In our house, there are two girls and one boy. I am the middle child. My sister was assigned all the pink gear and my brother received all the blue gear.

So, where does that leave the second girl?

In the end, the official colour for Miz Moffatt was green. Gender neutral. From the start, I was not only born between siblings, I lived between the traditional colour spectrum designed for Girls and Boys. I was different from my sister's world of pink and different from my brother's world of blue.

I was green. I was uncharted territory. I was so going to become fascinated with concepts of gender norms and the act of transgressing those boundaries once I got older....

Subtle? Sure. And, to be fair, I was obsessed with the colour green as a child. I reached the point where I would only eat vegetables if they were green.

Still, though, I wonder how those first concepts of myself might have been affected had I been assigned pink or even purple. Or, what if the colours had been pastels instead of vibrant shades? I wonder if that helped set the tone for my childhood or if it was me who set the standard for the colours used to define me.

Oh, endless numbers of avenues to walk down with this thought, I imagine.

I'm intrigued to know what other small acts contributed to that proto-lesbian identity of mine. Perhaps it requires further investigation and more posts on my part. Hmm, we shall definitely see, dear readers.

***

OLYMPIC UPDATE:

Congrtas to another medallist hailing from the Team Canada set:

• Kristina Groves, Speed Skating - Ladies' 1500 m (Silver, Feb. 21)

And, to make this particular match a little sweeter for all the queer women out there -- the Dutch gold medallist in the event, Ireen Wust, is an out and proud gay gal herself. So there's our Olympic moment of Cute, Queer, and Canadian personified.

(L-R) Kristina Groves, Ireen Wust, Martina Sablikova

Night on the Town: Buddies in Bad Times

Reasons I am a lucky son-of-a-gun:

• Received a premium Valentine via snail mail from The Advocate this week AND received two of her three special care packages this afternoon. Vancouver is being shipped here to the GTA in pieces which I am thankful for.
• Heading out this evening with Ship Sharp to experience the Toronto queer clubbin' scene for the first time. I cannot express how excited I am to see what T.dot has to offer a lil' gay gal like myself.

First stop on Miz Moffatt's Exploration: Buddies in Bad Times. I attended a show there when I was a bright, young first year kid and I loved it. It was the first time I'd been to the central hub of queer theatre here in Toronto -- I don't know if it's the same purple building from 2005, but I know the atmosphere will be the same.

So there, I return to Buddies for the first experience of queer club life. Who knew that one venue would hold such a vital position in one girl's coming out experience?

Should be excellent times, contrary to the name of the theatre. Will update tomorrow.

Facebook Fiasco

I appear to be challenged when it comes to first impressions. Or, rather, I am challenged when it comes to impressions made via the Internet.

Case and point: Readers will note that back on Jan. 16/2010, the Kyles recommended I send out a note to one of their friends over Facebook. Kyle C. knows me as "one of the nice lesbians" and he wanted to make sure that his best gal pal was treated well as she started her fabulous journey out the closet.

Now, I am also quite new to the queer scene in Toronto. I am fortunate enough to know an amazing, stunning, and drop-dead gorgeous group of gay men and straight allies who are more than willing to help a gay gal out. However, I'm not actually close friends with ANY queer women.

I know. Weird, eh? I seemed to miss out on that experience in those vital undergrad years and it's proving difficult to find a collective of open, kind, and relaxed gay gals in these parts.

So, I think the Kyles were of a sound mind when they suggested I introduce myself to another queer gal who is currently in the same position as me.

Alas, I've stumbled across another awkward situation it would appear.

The introduction was mistaken as a pass. I became a creeper without intending to.

I ignored the initial urge to write back and clarify my position. However, after discussing said issue with The Advocate and Ship Sharp this evening, it was agreed that perhaps another message was required. And send it, I DID.

Ah, first impressions in written form are such fickle things. I have the sinking suspicion I've blown the chance at a friendship with this particular girl. I know I shouldn't take it personally -- I mean, this WAS a Facebook message here. The forum is notorious for breeding creepers and I would have carried out the same screening process if I were in her position. Still, I hope that I haven't soured a future, in-person introduction. I mean, we're friends with the same folks -- I'm more than certain we'll meet at this year's Pride parade whether it's planned or not.

Weird -- if Facebook's meant to connect people, why is it helping to disconnect me further?

The Birthday Blitz

It was quite the glamorous stretch this past weekend. It's an energetic scene in the city and, when paired with a cool crew of arts kids, well -- it's impossible to not feel charged. I spent two late evenings in Toronto celebrating the birth of two close friends and I am raring to go for the next round.

I'm sensing a point-form rundown, folks:

Friday, January 15/2010: Mr. Shirreff's 24th

• 5 pm: Met with The Advocate at Bathurst/Bloor for our own mini adventure prior to the shindig. Made the first visit to The Beguiling, the hub of Toronto's comic book scene. I was floored by this place. I mean, the rumours are true -- the second floor was wall-to-wall manga, people. The Advocate and I were prepared to set up camp and live there between the stacks of graphic novels and other goodies. Managed to resist buying... well, everything. Trust me, it was tough.
• Approx. 6:30 pm: Headed over to Future's for a dinner of cheesecake. SO GOOD. As we sat down, The Advocate realized she was taking me on one her patented First Date Excursions® (includes cheesecake, fine conversation, and a trek to the BMV). Scared The Advocate with that pesky adult logic I've developed in the past few years. I know, where the heck did THAT come from? Serious, though, it was a great location and I had a difficult time deciding which cake to try. Darn, guess I'll just have to go back.
• Approx. 7:30 pm: Arrived at the BMV to browse books, film, and music. Also encountered more manga (very appreciated). All those endless stretches of new and used books wore down my resolve -- I picked up two. Very Bad Poetry (collection) and Once Upon A Time In The North by Philip Pullman. The Advocate was a rock and avoided the allure of all those titles. I was impressed. Cashier laughed at the Very Bad Poetry title -- boasts the WORST poem ever written in the English language. Need an ego boost for your own writing? Well, there it is.
• Approx. 9:00 pm: Arrived at Molly Bloom's, decidedly late. I think books are a justifiable distraction, though. Our birthday boy was in fine form once we arrived -- the kid was already starting in on shots and beer to ring in that 24th year. Folks were trying to force disgusting shots on him, but Mr. Shirreff persevered. Worst Shot of All: Beer and relish. *Shudder* NO GOOD.
• Met The Advocate's gentleman friend. He is every bit as fabulous as the lady's let on. We recited/sang scenes from Labyrinth, so, um, my approval is complete. Those kids are too cute, I tell you. All I need now is a nickname which I will consult The Advocate over.
• Impromptu Coming Out: C1 showed up later in the evening. We were chatting about the dreaded Plenty of Fish site and I thought, "Well, I'd like to share those horror stories, too -- might as well tell her." She seemed chill with it, as did The Advocate's boy. Again, we're an arts crowd, so it's a liberal group. I love that I'm relaxed enough with myself now to treat it as a lack lustre bit of information about me.
• Parted ways with The Advocate and her boy after a street car ride, sang "Magic Dance" in hoarse voices. Definitely a magical evening, was quite serene on the subway ride home.

Saturday, January 16/2010: Ship Sharp's 24th

• EXCITEMENT ABOUNDS! She is the first of our tight collective to turn the big 2-4, so we had to celebrate in style. Alas, though -- the lady suffered a migraine earlier in the day and was still on the mend as we headed out the front door. She's a trooper, I tell you. (But that's why she's Ship Sharp)
• Surprised Ship Sharp with ALL of our MSN scripts from back in high school. That's about 340 pages worth of writing, in case you were curious.
• Tori arrived whom most of us kids haven't seen since high school. She was gracious and drove us into Toronto. Definitely amused by her firm, though panicked, GPS narrator. I feel I need to find more topics to gossip about, I don't have the gossip. Perhaps that's a New Year's resolution all on its own.
• End Destination: Super Market. Encountered Napoleon as we pulled up out front -- the gentleman has quite the distinguished goatee now. Lord, quite the blur after that. We were in a haze of delicious Thai dishes, smooth beers, and great company. I totally ordered a beer called Amsterdam Blonde because I'm a lech, apparently.
• Discovered that we were ALL channelling a Captain Jack Harkness vibe that evening. Hypothesis: Proximity to funk beats and a dance floor --> The 2010 Captain Jack Off. Oh yes. I kid you not.
• MUCH LOVE for the Kyles -- Kyle C. has decided I'm a cool lesbian and wants me to befriend one of his closest friends (who is just working through her own coming out, really). I'm still quite new to the scene and would love to make friends with queer girls. Ah, it was so great to catch up with those boys. I haven't gotten the chance to talk queer issues with a crowd for SUCH a long time, it was a refreshing scene. And yes, "Mo Money Mo Problems" came on and the Kyles told me the "I'm coming out!" lines were all for me. It's ridiculous how sweet those two are and I get the impression I'll be hitting the queer scene with those two and the crew in the near future.
• I think it's been decided by us ladies, too, that more outings to Toronto are DEFINITELY called for. We need to pull Ship Sharp onto the dance floor when she's feeling 100% healthy.

***

I think I'm finally at the point where I'm investing in myself and the happiness of others more. I'm conscious of the fact that I'm becoming more honest with those closest to me and it's a liberating sensation. I'm definitely in an optimistic head space at the moment and I'm looking forward to 2010 even more so.

Toronto -- you best prepare thyself.

Gay Gal, Straight-ish Past: The Reconciliation Act

There's a new issue that's presented itself since I first started my campaign to out myself en masse -- what to do with this straight-ish past of mine?

Now, granted -- I do not possess a detailed dating past. AT ALL. In fact, the longest relationship I've ever been in was exactly five months.

(It was a relationship that should have ended after three weeks.)

Mmm hmm.

Still though, I'm faltering with the whole reconciliation of past and present. I mean, I went through about a four- or five-year period where I genuinely identified as a bi woman. I faced and fought biphobia within the queer community on our campus, I tried one doomed relationship with a boy I lived with in second year, and I eventually realized I was DEFINITELY a gay gal after one magical night of spin the bottle.

After the whirling internal confusion and the pressing external evidence, I came to the one conclusion: When I pictured how I wanted to be loved and how I wanted to relate with a partner, I could only see a woman there.

And I've never looked back.

However, I still hesitate to talk about that younger version of myself. She was the girl who gossiped about boys and wrote about her "dream guy" to her journals and obsessed over her perceived failure when it came to attracting the gents. I find that girl to be a distant echo or some kind of blurry figure against my current horizons.

But there are still real emotions there. When I talk about the guy I dated in second year, I still feel that sharp embarrassment while remembering what I put up with. And I still sense that awkwardness and that desire to never speak with him again. I mean, I am certain he's a heavily closeted gay man -- takes one former closet case to know another, right? So, why is there still a lingering hurt when I think of that time? And why do I struggle to talk about those experiences in the present tense?

Even if I wasn't outright attracted to him, how do I speak about a past hetero relationship without compromising this genuine life as a queer woman?

I know that my identity as a queer woman is one of those fundamental, central visions of myself. I don't question that at all. It's just those high school crushes and that weird period as a straight girlfriend that's throwing me off.

I'm curious to know if this is a common concern among queer women who have dated men in the past. Can you reconcile both versions of yourself, or do you choose to ignore those days as a misguided youth? Are you willing to discuss those times in detail, or do you just focus on your more recent relationships with women?

Mmm... identity politics are best mulled over before an epic weekend. T.G.I.F. indeed.

The Tri-Force of Sheer Perfection

Right, so -- I am lacking in the Tunes for Tuesdays department. *Dodges the spoiled tomatoes raining down from the Blogiverse* I know -- for shame and other such curses. However, instead of meandering down that path, I thought I'd take a different course this evening.

I want to use this space to sing the praises of those two special ladies who have kept me sane, grounded, and even optimistic over the past year. 

***

October has been quite the month for our trio. In the stark, quiet hours after Nuit Blanche, I came out to My Advocate. And, as of Friday, October 23, I came out to Ship Sharp. As a result, our tri-force of sheer perfection has become even MORE perfect. I know, I was shocked that there was anything beyond perfection, but apparently there is -- and it's filled with apple tarts, beer, and Return to Oz, too.

For starters -- I love how fantastic this coming out process has been. Now, I knew the ladies would be fine with everything and that there would be no awkward gaps and the like. We went to an arts school, we know a plethora of other queers, it's all good. Still, working up the confidence to state the obvious and trying to work that into a regular conversation can be tricky. It always feels like you have to hit the invisible RE-SET button in the conversation when you finally come out. It's strange, even while it's necessary.

I think Ship Sharp takes the prize for greatest reaction, though -- once an hour passed after telling her, she said, "Sorry, was that a good reaction? I mean, it's such a non-issue for me, but I know it takes so much courage on your part to come out. But, honestly, after you said that, all I could think was, "Oh, I wonder if I could hook her up with my friend -- she's single, too!" 

Serious, I have the greatest friends ever. I'm out for ten seconds and I've already got ladies working overtime as matchmakers. Why on Earth did it take me this long to talk to them? I am a crazy one, I can tell you that. Their new enthusiasm for my queerness and their desire to help a gay gal out knows no bounds and I am THRILLED to count them as my nearest and dearest.

Friday evening was an excellent one -- we sat around and talked about the fickle world of love, dating, and sex. I've never been that blunt before and it felt so reassuring and calming. I know I've said this numerous times before, but I still get such a high when I realise I can talk to the both of them about all these queer experiences with a rich sense of self-confidence and assurance. Cheers to trust!

I was invited over for another Ladies Night on Tuesday, though the mood was darker and more subdued-- The Advocate and Ship Sharp have run into a number of hitches with the gents in their lives. I only hope that I can offer them even half the support they've shown me in such a short period of time. 

I believe there are plans in the works to hit up some of the bars/pubs/clubs in the Toronto area, both hetero and homo alike. I mean, heck -- we're the perfect wingwomen for one another. The Advocate and Ship Sharp won't feel nervous around the ladies, and I have no fears chatting to the lads -- what a brilliant melding of worlds. 

Brings a whole new meaning to the Gay-Straight Alliance.

So there -- tonight is one to celebrate those closest to you, all the queer kids and the straight allies alike. We're a clever bunch and we're here to support one another through all means possible.

And yes, endless rounds of beer and pool constitute moral support. 

The Wide World of DATING

... I can feel it happening again.... it's that quiet tugging at the back of my mind when the autumn is reaching its colder points.... it's that vague, half-wondering state over the cause(s) of my singledom... I can almost hear the Siren song of Plenty of Fish and all its potential dating connections....

Yes, I've been pondering this matter for a number of weeks now. Ship Sharp and The Aussie have been apartment hunting together; My Advocate dove into the world of online dating and is frolicking among the avalanche of e-mails she's received; and one of my favourite bloggers, Ferry Tales, has been debating the same issues raised by PoF that I've been concerned about, too...

Girl, I need to get a date.

I swear, it must be a condition of winter -- the need to date is all mixed in with that need to eat hearty meals and hibernate/curl up in the warmth of a fleece blanket. We're all getting cozy as the cold sets in and that cuddling sort of vibe --> DATING. (This is a part of the reason why us Canadians are just so lovable -- because WE ARE COLD. ALL THE TIME.)

Serious though, I am still such an amateur at this whole dating game. I mean, don't get me wrong -- I am AWESOME when it comes to first dates. Like, freakishly so. I'm good with small talk, so it's never an issue. But, second dates...... well. That's a whole different breed, that one.

One of the main reasons I pushed dating to the background had to do with my "pre-Out" days -- I knew it wasn't fair to A) See someone behind my parents' backs and B) Force a girl to closet herself in order to date the still-closeted me. 

But, I'm out now. It's a whole new state of being for me. The former excuses have dissipated and, well.... um, I'm.. still...single -- Granted, I know these things take time to change and blah blah blah, self-enlightenment and other intelligent insights.

It boils down to me being a N00B, with capital zeroes (if that is at all possible in 1337-speak). I've deleted my account at PoF twice in 2009 alone. Hmm, I should probably dedicate a post to the dating issues I've encountered. I'm curious to know how many other ladies out there have come across these same problems, both online and in person. We can compare our battle wounds, what say you?

But yes, definitely debating a brash comeback to the deep end of the dating pool. Time to polish up that weathered profile and dive on in... though a helmet might be in order, just in case I hit the ocean floor once again.

The Brightest Note

Just a short post tonight -- it's a snapshot I wanted to save for posterity. I tell you, the smallest actions seem to hold the greatest value, it would appear.

My sister and I went out to a well-deserved dinner at Oliver & Bonacini's this evening. We've both been stressing about various issues and needed the chance to vent/process/rebuild to preserve our combined sanity.

And heck, a portobello burger with a side of tomato, watermelon, and feta salad is a gorgeous conduit for conversation.

We discussed her upcoming wedding, a potential weekend trip to Las Vegas (umm, yeah, it just might happen, kids!), and other stressors. About an hour later, the tables around us were slowly vacated until it was simply us sitting in our section.

When a lull in the conversation arose, my sister jumped right in: "So, I heard you told Mom and Dad about your news." News? Quoi? -- OH! "News," yeah, THAT news. Yeah, I came out to Mom and Dad at the end of August.

Turns out my Mom spoke with my sister the DAY AFTER I came out. I have to admit, I wasn't sure if my parents were ever going to bring up that conversation with my sister or my brother -- I thought it might turn into one of those uncomfortable silences we are notorious for creating and maintaining at all costs. But no, I was certainly mistaken!

I want to remember this evening because of the confidence I felt while talking with my sister. I never dreamt that this sort of ease could exist in a conversation that dealt with my orientation. I'm snug in that sleepy sort of happiness, the kind that comes after a long day that ends on the brightest note possible.

I'd say it's a decent starting point to another weekend, wouldn't you?

How I Knew: Childhood Celebrity Crushes

Oh, the younger years -- how I love to reminisce. All the free time, all the inflated dreams, all the new wonders to discover. And, lest we forget, all those little signs and hints piling around us that would one day break down the closet doors in front of us...

Yes, I find this type of retrospective work is a core concern for all the queer kids out there. As an adult, I've gained a bit of perspective on my interests and impulses during my childhood and, well -- all signs point to G-A-Y.

I was inspired to write this post tonight after the lesbian/bi girl Mecca that is AfterEllen.com decided to honour America's National Coming Out Day (Oct. 11) with a compilation of actresses who nudged us even the tiniest bit toward an open and proud adulthood.

So, I dedicate this one to some of the ladies who dominated my television set during those vital, pre-teen years. Check 'em out, compare notes:

Amy Jo Johnson as Kimberly (aka. The Pink Ranger)

Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers (1993-1995)

So, from the tender age of seven, I knew I liked a femme girl who could kick my ass. It's a trend that has remained constant throughout my life, one I wouldn't realize in great detail until I was about 18. Still though, the Pink Ranger embodies all the qualities I like in a lady -- heck, she probably even established most of those guidelines even before I was aware they existed. She's spunky, she fights for what's right, she can stand up and defend herself regardless of the situation, and she can weild a crossbow. Alright, that last one isn't a necessary trait in a partner, per se, but it's damn cool. I always wondered why I hated Tommy so much... that jerk of a Green-later-White Ranger.... could it be connected to the fact that HE won Kimberly's heart? .... Just maybe....

Tiffani Thiessen as Kelly Kapowski

Saved By The Bell (1989-1993)

As a young'un, I could not WAIT to be in high school. To be 14-years-old was like some misguided Holy Grail for me when I was in grade one. Serious, I knew I was going to be awesome and popular and start my own band and did I mention I would be cool and famous? Yeah. 'Cause that's what always happens. Anyway, Kelly Kapowski and her absolute flawlessness was one of the driving forces behind my impatience to grow up. I mean, there were girls like HER in HIGH SCHOOL? It seemed a travesty to be six-years-old at the time. It wasn't until I was in high school for myself that I understood it was never Zack Morris I was crushin' on -- no, I wanted to BE Zack Morris in order to get close to a girl like Kelly.

Lucy Lawless as Xena

Xena: Warrior Princess (1995-2001)

.... Do I even need to explain this one? I seem to recall that Xena came on either right before or right after Power Rangers during the 1995 season. All I remember was the close proximity of fierce, gorgeous women. And that's all I NEED to remember. Oh, Xena -- both a warrior AND a princess. What gay girl in the making could resist you? It's almost not fair that she embodies that much hotness. The battle cry, the discus, the plated chest armour -- she is perfection in leather, yes ma'am.

Persia White as Denise Williams and Rachel Wilson as Tamira Goldstein

Breaker High (1997-1998)

Curious to find out how to capture the attention of pre-teen audiences in the late 90s? Take a group of adventurous, attractive high school students and place them on a yacht/floating school that whisks them around the globe. I wanted to live in this show when it debuted in 1997. Serious. It fed into my dreams of high school even more than Saved By The Bell. And again, it was the women of the cast that provided much of the incentive behind those transatlantic travel/education plans of mine. Persia White was cast as Denise Williams, the intelligent and enlightened teen-turned-activist. She was sharp, sweet, and oh-so-nerdy. And, I can't forget about Rachel Wilson as Tamira Goldstein, the bashful, sensitive wallflower who took a full series to find herself. *Sigh* Love 'em both, even if they can't wield a discus or a crossbow.

And, to celebrate this trip to the past, I will leave you with the ever-catchy theme song for Breaker High -- carry me away, indeed.

... How about you? Who caused your young, queer heart to skip?

Nuit Blanche

So, I've got yet another Toronto-centric event to scratch from my list: Nuit Blanche. All the kids in town have attended, save this one right here. Luckily, I made amends and launched an epic adventure through altered, urban spaces with The Crew in tow....

• Silly Moffatt could not find the Kipling subway station. *Shakes head at herself* Sent The Crew off ahead of me and drove around some more, mostly in a tizzy. Managed to arrive at Union about half an hour later than the rest.
• Explored a scent/auditory version of Alice in Wonderland.... staged in Port-o-Potties, if you can imagine it. One smelt like chocolate which was both delightful and disturbing....
• Powered a fountain with my legs! (And a stationary bike)
• Witnessed the Witches' Cradles.... wanted to be hoisted up in one, but the line was KILLER. I guess sensory deprivation is all the rage now.
• Tossed some spare change into a pool of vodka.
• Ate roasted corn and watched an excited crowd rush a massive slide at a street carnival in the financial district.
• Watched a game of Monopoly played with REAL cash. Supposed to have "Canadian celebrities" there.... the only one I recognised was the rapper, K-OS.
• Saw a massive, silver rabbit-shaped balloon in the Eaton's Centre.
• Rush of occurrences: Light graffiti on a building, seventeen caged wrestlers fighting with blindfolds on, giant NO sculpture, bright lights to buzz the eyes.
• Timmies' run: Scored an excellent table and partook in hot chocolate, tea, scones, and doughnuts for a stellar hour of reflection.
• Ship Sharp and The Aussie parted ways with us at 1:10 am -- My Advocate, Napoleon, and I headed to Younge-Dundas Square for cheap popcorn. Marveled over how un-Canadian the square looks. Serious, it looks too cool for Toronto.
• Headed to the Toronto Reference Library to witness this odd dance/martial arts dance course. More distorted lights followed....
• Walked through darkened streets to Napoleon's house. Passed through mist, connected over the desire to kick Canada from our heels and travel the world/Universe (a la Doctor Who, naturally).
• Headed to Liberty Village to witness the apocalypse -- or, rather, an unnamed disaster where us wanderers were the victims. It was 4-5 am, we were cold and tired, and there were free blankets and mugs with the word "MERCY" written across them. Managed to connect with perfect strangers while we huddled around garbage can fires and rearranged tin cans. 
• Passed through the narrow, passive-aggressive, apology lane.... very eerie having people in large, paper bags apologizing to you after you bumped into them.
• Napoleon drove My Advocate and I back to the Kipling Station where I then drove her back to her place.

AND -- BIG NEWS! I came out to My Advocate at 5 am on Sunday morning. It was entirely unplanned on my part -- I point to my sleep deprivation as the driving force behind my sudden sense of confidence. And, as I predicted, The Advocate was supportive, excited, and proud of me. (Hey, she was made My Advocate for a reason here, people). 

She invited me in and we gossiped over some fresh-brewed tea. I got to tell her about all these undergrad moments and experiences that I had never shared with her before which felt marvelous. I love that I'm at this point where I'm so excited to let people know this vital part of me -- and heck, it's getting easier each time I come out, so far. None too shabby, I should say!

Turns out My Advocate knows more queer ladies than I had anticipated -- though she still argues that no one is good enough for me (her words, not mine), she is all for helping a gay gal out. I had to admit how lame I am with the ladies, and she's now on a mission to get me mingling with the queer community. Lord, I won the lottery when it comes to friends and straight allies, I tell you. Suppose it comes with the art school territory.

Crawled into bed as the sun rose at 7 am and still managed to get myself up somewhere between 11 am - 12 pm. I'm disciplined, what can I say? Adjusting to regular hours has been a cinch, though I think I'm coming down with the wicked cold that's been claiming my family members one at a time. I was the last hold out. 

Ah well, it's a minor concession for another stellar weekend. I'm thinking I need to invest in some more late night, modern-art-induced conversations. Definitely inspires a night full of revelations...

Being Queer vs. Living Queer

And here it is, the moment where paths diverge -- I am leaving the space of Being Queer and transitioning to the real world of Living Queer. Oh, what a world. Or, rather, what a week.

I couldn't quite grasp the thought at first, it was all bubbling away just below my consciousness. It stemmed from my excitement over seeing Zoe Bell in Gamer, for all two minutes of her blazing magnificence. (Yes, I'm still obsessing -- so sue me). And it took a hasty journal entry written at work to finally make the idea concrete.

.....It was the hesitation in her actions, the quiet air around her. I want to say it was a certain awkwardness, though not so dramatic. 

But I've noticed it.

Whenever the conversation turns to women I like or women I've dated, Chantal backs away from the topic. It's the same reaction my sister has shown me before. And I wonder if it will work its way through each and every one of my friends who I am poised to tell within the coming month.

I mean, it's one thing to talk about queer issues and to out myself to others-- I just think it hits people differently once I start talking about the women I like. And I do mean LIKE, like.

It's that moment when the other person realises, "Oh... oh, this is real now." You move from being the distant, abstract concept of "Queer" and start to actually be queer and to live as a woman who loves and desires other women. I guess that's the root of coming out, isn't it? Not just to qualify or validate yourself in name, but to actually inhabit a space AS yourself.

It's odd to sit here in full acceptance of myself only to watch as those around me struggle to come to terms with..... well, with ME. 

Weird. Weird, indeed. 

SUCCESS!!!

IT IS DONE!

SUCCESS IS MINE!

I AM OFFICIALLY OUT ON THE HOME FRONT!

... It's time to crack open the champagne, set the neighbourhood alight with fireworks, and just generally bask in the glory that IS being out to your parents.

It happened last night. I thought I was going to be ill with the stress of it. But, I had a spiel plotted out which helped matters along. Serious, I mean I spent company hours making sure my 'speech' would cover all the main topics I needed.

The jist:

• I am gay.
• I am confident with this identity.
• I love and respect my parents and needed them to know this important part about me.
• I am safe.

The spiel was about, oh... five minutes long at most. But, I spent about an hour to an hour and a half adding detail and tackling as much information as I could. I mean, I think fear develops from a lack of understanding, so I tried to provide them with as much concrete material as possible. I could tell Dad felt awkward, but he tried his best to keep the conversation going and make sure I felt secure in myself. Mom definitely looked upset at the start, but I feel as though my confidence mixed with my (surprising) amount of level-headed eloquence coaxed her away from her initial sadness.

I think that's what caught me the most off-guard -- I was calm once I started speaking. I was even confident throughout it. I made sure to take control of the conversation and take responsibility for their well-being and their understanding, and I think that's what turned the occasion into a positive one. And humour! I even incorporated humour into it all to break the tension which worked wonders, I tell you.

I've talked to quite a number of people about their own coming out experiences and I think I figured out how to approach the subject through those stories. I remember talking to O'Neill about this a while ago. He always stressed two vital ideas that every queer kid should tell their family during their Coming Out: that you love your parents and that you're safe. I tried to point out as many issues/thoughts that might be swirling around my parents' heads in that moment and I had planned out responses to them all (often before they could even ask the questions themselves).

My Dad reminded me that I'm his daughter, and being gay would never change that fact and would never change his respect for me.

My Mom told me she loved me and that she was thankful to know I felt confident and comfortable with talking to them and being honest with them. She even said she wanted me to know that should I ever want them to meet a special someone, our crew would be welcoming and open.

Honestly, I feel so at ease right now. I feel as if I could take on the world. I know my parents are concerned that life will get complicated for me at times, especially with being out -- but I'd rather deal with issues as an OUT woman than hiding away that aspect of me.

Hot damn -- what a day to be alive, kids.

I GOT SCOOPED?!

OH. MY. GOODNESS.

I had finally worked up the courage I needed to come out. I had the whole spiel worked out, I had a clear weekend, and I was stoked to get myself right out there in the open.

... And if I had just skipped out on the gym this morning, I could have done it. I could have been OUT.

But, Miz Moffatt -- what on EARTH could have stopped you? You've been building yourself up to this moment all month.

...... This morning, my sister and her boyfriend got engaged. I am simultaneously excited/thrilled and pissed off.

I'VE BEEN SCOOPED! 

SCOOPED, I TELL YOU!

Now, I seriously CAN'T come out this weekend. I mean.... how can you come out to your family on the same day your sister is finally engaged after 7 years of dating? As I walked through the front door after being at the gym, my Mom was already on the phone with my sister -- she told all of us to "not go ANYWHERE" as she and her boyfriend were headed over "to tell us some news."

I was only at the gym for an hour. 

If I had JUST SKIPPED IT, I would have been out and I would have felt no guilt about 'ruining a family weekend' or trying to 'upstage my older sister.'

I AM SO FUMIN' MAD AT MYSELF...... though, going to the gym = a chance at hotter looking arms, so, I guess not everything is terrible. And hell, my sister is engaged -- I should be celebrating!

So, I guess the coming out is postponed for yet another weekend. It's hard feeling disappointed by such amazing news -- what a mix of strange emotion. Oh, Moffatt -- you certainly take the cake now, don't you?

War Re-Enactments, Anyone?

It's not everyday that a person's Coming Out is interrupted by an annual War of 1812 Re-Enactment.

But, this Saturday proved it is certainly possible.

What impeccable timing I possess. Yes, I had intended to have The Talk with The 'Rents on Saturday evening, however my plans were shuffled about to accommodate for a quick trip to Fort Erie for some casual bloodshed.

I spaced out and hadn't realised I more or less double-booked events. The battle was scheduled for 8 pm which means we had to leave at 6 pm and my sister and her boyfriend were over at our place early in the day, etc. with the excuses. Still, though -- what a sweet Saturday, if you ask me.

We were showered with peat moss after a series of particularly nasty 'canon firings,' and we were treated to blazing muskets and accurate period costumes and all the other fabulous trimmings of 1812. Well, we actually saw a re-enactment of the Siege of Fort Erie that took place in 1814. It's known as Canada's bloodiest battlefield and this is the 23rd time it's been staged for history buffs everywhere. We watched Dummond's night assault on the fort where the British were repelled by the Americans after the fort's expense magazine exploded and more or less decimated the one column of British soldiers that were able to invade the fort. 

Yes, I realise I'm a nerd. But trust me, it gets nerdier from here.

Afterward, we headed inside the fort walls ourselves for the annual Lantern Tour of the fort. I absolutely LOVE fort tours/historical sites where actors treat you as though you are a member of their time period. Like.... serious, I can't help myself. I blame my Dad who is also a mad historian at heart. He tends to gravitate toward Canadian history since A) He lived in Montreal during the '67 World Expo/Canada's Centennial Anniversary, and B) He's an incredibly proud Canadian. Me, I just love history in any shape or form. But, I'm heading off on tangents at this point.

And what did I do while we were touring around a darkened fort and watching all the re-enactments of battle-weary, injured American soldiers?

.....

I was pretending I was Doctor Who and that I had been pulled out of the time vortex to solve some sort of sci fi mystery that just happened to be taking place during 1814.

..... And now, you may cancel your subscription to my blog/delete me from your bookmarks.

***

Oh well, next weekend for sure -- I will re-focus my efforts on the Moment of Truth and the biggest step in my Coming Out journey thus far.