The short version of my week is that I went over to Las Vegas to visit my folks a week ago, and then this past weekend was LA Pride. The long version is that I went out to Las Vegas to continue to feel like a failure as a daughter and adult, and subsequently to lose money (and a bit of hope), and then wait over six hours for my 45-minute flight. Clearly, awesome.
Oh, and to add insult to injury, my mom insisted on buying me a new girl bra, even though I patiently explained again that I rarely wear those kinds of bras, but she insisted I needed at least one, which required a FITTING by an old Las Vegas lady who was clearly a former exotic dancer and gave a huge effort towards not looking me in the eye. I chose to believe she was convinced I had put money in her g-string at some point in the very distant past. It made the experience bearable. I felt like a hog being trussed.
Then the week happened, which would have been uneventful except that I rarely have uneventful weeks – I wonder what that would feel like? First, I’m doing a cleanse. A “diet” cleanse. Therefore I’m a little… punchy, perhaps? As in, “I have eaten so little food I might actually rear back and PUNCH YOU IN THE BOOBS stupid girl looking terrified at me like I’m a butch-alien-terrorist” punchy. Although I like boobs too much to punch them. Other than that it’s going well. Second, I’m working with some clown friends on their terrific show in the Hollywood Fringe Festival, which means my time is not my own and I’m running around with a fake red mustache glued to my face (hot).
Then the weekend happened, and I sort of went to LA Pride. Friday was the Dyke March and the Purple Party, and after my show was done my gf and I went over to West Hollywood for the (free) festivities. We got there at a respectable 9:30pm, and avoided paying $20 for parking (!!! really??? don’t they know we queers are poor/only have $ for drinks???) by driving around and not being afraid to walk. And once we were there things were… awkward.
Well, once we found the Purple Party – it was … really weird. We had missed the March, but I figured all the marching ladies would be appropriately boozed up and having a good time at the free music festival afterwards. Which was sort of true. I mean, there were some gay ladies there. Not really any butches (need I ANY more confirmation that I am alone on the island?). There was also a mixed bag of other people. And some terrific singers who had been on The Voice working really really hard up on stage, while the crowd milled about, not really paying attention, sipping their overpriced Budweiser or Bacardi’s (the only options). I mean, the singers were incredible. And the lesbians could give a fuck. And then Ilene Chaiken and the cast of the Real L Word came on stage, and the sound of the one clap was deafening.
Mostly the girls were good looking, well dressed, long-haired, neither too butch nor too femme. They looked either newly-21 or in their 50s. They stood in groups and only talked to each other, unless they were casting a judgmental eye around the surrounding crowd. More than once I caught someone giving my shoes the once-over. Clearly there was a status game afoot, along with some heavy cruising by the singles AND by the men there who were obviously into queer women. But no one really looked like they were having that good of a time.
My gf and I are not ones to pass up free entertainment, so we danced and enjoyed ourselves while the tiny horde of the either too-cool or too-drunk looked at us blearily. Since I am cleansing there was no drinking for me, which was ok because I would rather chew glass than drink Bud.
It was ultimately fun, but also a little depressing. We didn’t go to the parade on Sunday, which I’m sure was more lively. Instead we were REALLY gay and stayed home and organized the garage like good domestics partners.
When we kiss on our patio, it echoes off the Hollywood hills into forever, reminding us that we are largely alone.
This post makes me sad because it sounds like something I could have written before I left L.A. twenty years ago, especially the part about being the lone butch (I was a milder version of myself then, but still, butcher than anyone else in Silver Lake or West Hollywood). There were a lot of good reasons to leave L.A. in 1992, but I admit I wanted to go back to the PNW where even the straight woman were pretty butch…
Hey JR – yep, apparently LA is one of those places that always changes and always stays the same. With all the ’92 riots and crime I’m sure it could be pretty scary. My sister was here then and she left for New York as soon as she could. Now we’ve switched and she’s in PDX and I’m here, trying to make it all work. For all my doom and gloom venting, though, things are not so bad – there is more work for an actor here than anywhere, and that’s the only thing that makes my heart sing (at least, as much as ladies…). So it goes!
Max–Sorry, I meant to end my comment with a compliment. I read through your archives a few weeks ago. You’ve written some compelling posts since you started this site and I hope you keep writing!
Wow, thank you! I appreciate it very much. I worry sometimes that because I’m going through a little bit of a mess right now my stuff is coming across too down. But any comments – positive or negative – spur me to keep writing. So again – thank you!
In my neck of the woods, I experience the femme version of the problem you describe here. Being alone on the island is no fun, so I truly empathize.
As for your “pretty butch” identity (which I find intriguing), I think a lot of butches are more manicured that they would publicly admit. For example, my partner Van’s brows are always well-groomed, although not nearly as gorgeous as my mine 😉
I love the way you using this blog to play with the category butch and what it means to you. I look forward to reading more!
That last sentence was supposed to read, “I love the way YOU’RE using….” Sorry, I hate typos! xo SF
thanks, sublimefemme! (awesome name, awesome typo-fixing.) i’m interested in where all those squeaky, butch/femme/boy/girl/queer/straight/other lines intersect, you know? and for a non-sequitur i will admit that i am having a bit of a brow-crisis right now since my threading girl let me down last time… too thin! too thin! grr. 🙂
if it were not for the lack of acting gigs here in Denver, i’d say move here. WE butches are everywhere…no seriously! EVERYWHERE! 🙂
absolutely!! and actually, were I still committed to primarily theatre acting, Denver would not be such a poor choice. sunshine, good seasons, good outdoors, good people, cute ladies, butch buddies… aaack, don’t tempt me! 😉