dinner party

a friend sent out an invite: "we want to thank you for helping out with moving by inviting you to come have beer and wings at our new home."

i arrive late. traffic. introduce myself to some new peeps. make small talk

It is evident i hail from the isle of lesbos...the rest of the party...they hail from the straight and narrow.

Folks are not necessarily rude but are not super warm and inviting either. 

They are all friends/family of my friend...they all are teachers and and they all go to church. yikes

I steer away from family conversations and church related talk.

I stick to traveling and beer...subjects i am fairly well versed in.

There is a child with pink eye present. I continuously wash my hands. 

There is a child who likes to stick his hand up womens skirts. Yowzers

There is a baby with big blue eyes and rather odd looking dog.

The dog and the baby are more interesting than the people. ain't that a shame.

Beer is flowing, a bottle of scotch surfaces. the couples become a little looser. The conversation is not quite so stagnant. 

We talk about The Avengers. Scarlet Johannson is mentioned. I joke that she is my girlfriend. The men chuckle mightily...the women look uncomfortable. 

 A new group of people arrive...all single (yay) all boys (rats) however, they are much more fun that the rest of the crew so i talk to them for a while.

there is a boy named stu. stu is short. stu rather reminds me of a young joe pesci.

Stu is witty

I am clever

We make the folks around us laugh and clutch their stomachs. 

Stu disappears. i have a feeling he is slinking of to meet up with mary jane...i wish i had been invited.

At the table there is my friend, three other married with children gals and one husband. I am empathetic with the trials and tribulations of motherhood but have have no actual experience. I nod my head and look concerned. they bitch about their husbands...the conversation turns to sewing patterns.

My eyes glaze over. I am still nodding and looking concerned but am wishing for an out so i can go play cornhole with the guys. 

The husband gets up suddenly...his eyes a bit desperate. 

"are you going to go hang with the guys?"

"of course"

"i thought it was about time"

he looks at me...i look at him...

He walks outside

I want to follow but am in the middle of expressing my concern at my friends lack of sleep.

I feel like i have been pigeon holed

I have boobs, a vagina and am no longer considered youngish....i must want to hang out with the woman at all times. RIGHT?

I feel confused and frustrated. I am a woman who likes women.

I love talking to women...getting to know them...learning about what makes them who they are. 

They are beautiful, graceful, warm, kind and sometimes they smell amazing (some of them anyway)

But, i don't want to spend the entire time with them...i have other conversations i would like to have.

I am hearing yet another nursing horror story (oh dear god) when stu walks by...

he's standing by the door. mouthing something and making wild hand gestures

what the...?

His hand signals are an invitation to partake of his weed. 

I make a move to go the bathroom but slip out the front door instead.

the grass is so very fine...so very strong...so very wonderful

My muscles relax, i smile. we are lighting up under an aspen tree in the park across the street.

I wander back to the house, stu asks if i've ever played cornhole.

"oh sure"

Teams are made, sacks passed out. I play corn hole with the men. They assume i know the rules...i do not. I quickly learn. My aim is oddly on target even with the weed. 

We talk smack, give props when props are due. I am not treated differently than they...i am one of the guys. 

Its liberating. In a way. Comfortable. Familiar. 

and yet

One can only take so many penis jokes. I am annoyed when they call each other gay and talk in lisps when they miss a shot. and when a beautiful red head walks by and stu says "I wonder which of these guys will fuck her tonight" i feel uncomfortable.

I feel frustrated and confused. I am a masculine identifying woman.

I wear mens underwear. I can throw a baseball farther than a lot of men. Give me a pick up truck and some hard labor and i am one happy boi.

but i don't want to spend the entire time with the boys either.

I am stuck in the middle...just not fitting in society's construct of make and female.

i am female but not woman:boi but not male

A square peg being pounded into a round hole. 

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