“I identified as a heterosexually-inclined bisexual when I started giving hand jobs for money, and I left more or less a lesbian. It wasn’t the only factor in that transformation, but boy was it a major one.”
“Last week I found one of those butter-coloured strands on my dress, and wondered. Then I realised it was one of my own, greying hairs. Ten years have passed, and she’s straight now, living with the boyfriend I introduced her to nine and a half years ago.”
I feel nothing and everything when I’m with her and I want that more than I want to protect myself. I know this will hurt me, but pain is part of my life, so I allow it in bursts I think I can control.
“The first time I left my mom in the county jail, the only person more surprised than her was me.”
Forgiveness may be an attribute of the strong, but we also have the memory of an elephant.
“My brother would wander toward the TV to watch some movie, and I’d go straight for the computer and open two tabs. In one, YouTube. In the other, fanfiction.net, where I tweaked the character filters so I could read about Santana and Brittany falling in love for the thousandth time.”
I couldn’t deal with the love-hate whiplash anymore. I may have been patient, but I had my limits.
Don’t be a frigid bitch, but don’t be so un-frigid that you murder your husband with sex.
It’s not gonna happen, buddy.
“When her body shook I was filled with a fullness that almost made me cry. For me, in that moment, Dan wasn’t even in the room.”
“It’s about breaking the rules just a little bit.”
“Making love and choosing to be with other queer women of color is an act of love and defiance.”
Capitalism! So neat!
“Boarding school teaches self-possession repeatedly and thoroughly, because it teaches you how to be in control when you’ve made every effort to be out of it.”
“She’s a tomboy,” your mother says, frustrated. “I’m sure she’ll grow out of it when she gets interested in boys.” “More dolls,” repeats Mrs. Morris. They plan to doll this little problem out of you.
Even now, almost a decade after The L Word’s final season, with LGBTQ+ representation at unprecedented heights, we still hold Jenny Schecter up as our ultimate villain. Her name is a curse, a swear, a shortcut for derision. She is a model of bad behavior.
Just some of the many ways we ruin our lives after a breakup.
In the pool hall, my sweetheart and a close friend tease me one night: “unimpressive,” “pure luck,” “you aren’t that good.” They were trying to get my ire up so that an hour later when I told them to stare into each other’s eyes as I fucked my sweetheart’s body, I would mean it with a snarky competitive vengeance, I would mean it with power and control, I would be pushed to take what I want.
“It seemed at the time to be exactly what life was about, and only just barely staying alive, curling up in corners of lonely, unclean rooms in shaking fits of sadness too raw to keep inside my head, screaming into my bent knees.”
“As soon as we met Tara and Tony, our lives morphed to make room for them. Instead of drinking Carol’s parents’ liquor on Friday nights, we went to their apartment in Hillcrest to smoke pot from a bong filled with Midori and play with Tara’s snake.”