If I was a Lesbian

So here I am, one year of grad school complete, two(ish) more to go. Relief. I have so many things I want to do this summer like hangout with my friends too much, read, date the terrible and non-terrible, not think about school, get awesome lady muscles with an awesome lady tan and write. I do have a specific writing project in mind, but for now and publicly, my goal will be to update this blog at least once a week until school starts back up. ... So again, here I am.

A few nights ago while a little woozy on allergy meds, I watched an old episode of ABC's "Grey's Anatomy." I haven't seen this show since my first year in Chicago, which was when I lived in a beautiful, sunny 4-bedroom on Roscoe & Broadway. It was in the heart of Boystown and I had three roommates, two other Laurens and a Rachel. (I know).

The episode I watched was about a lesbian wedding between Callie and a blond doctor. It was really dramatic in that way which has suburban pastors preaching against lesbian weddings the following Sunday and using the show as an example of the devil's work. Anyways, it got me thinking, what if I was lesbian?

I'm pretty sure I would be really good at it. I mean, I would clearly be a power lesbian in the six-figure club, adopting non-white babies and wearing really cool white suits. But every time I picture myself as a lesbian, I just see two me's, standing in a kitchen, lots of plaid happening, while putting pasta into one of those plastic reusable containers that ensures freshness. Does that mean I consider myself the perfect person or that I'm too self-involved?

I'm not sure either.

There was a time when I thought everyone, all girls and even guys, were lesbians. It was back when I lived in that sunny, 4-bedroom with the Laurens and Rachel. I was put on pain killers for a medical issue and had spent a few days bedridden, sipping Crystal Light and watching Seasons 1-4 of "The L Word" on Showtime. At one point I remember leaving my room, shaky and stoned, to find my three lady roommates smoking on the back deck.

"You guys, I have something to tell you."

"Yes," one of the Laurens answered.

"I think you guys are lesbians."

My point wasn't very well taken, mostly because I hadn't showered in a week and my greasy hair was sticking to the side of my face. But at that point, under my cloud of numbness, I was a Showtime lesbian expert and almost positive I was right.

I wasn't. My roommates weren't lesbians. And neither are most men.

I'm not really sure how to end this post. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I'm not a lesbian, I still hope to find a companion exactly like me one day.