Patience is a Bitch

I recently visited Palm Springs, CA for a long weekend.  I was apprehensive, not because I would be meeting people I’ve never met before and staying in the house of strangers, but because I have dreamed of going to California since I was a kid.  Hmmm…dream?  Apprehensive? Yep.

I have dreamed of acting and singing professionally since I was a kid.  And as everyone knows, California is where you go to make those dreams come true.  To understand my hesitation in heading west, you may need to know a little about my personality.

To most people, I seem patient.  I don’t anger easily.  I seek to understand other people’s points of view.  I am known as a baby whisperer, putting babies to sleep without a fuss.  Once, as a kid, I stood still until a hummingbird landed on my finger, using it as a perch to eat.

But stay with me long enough and you realize that I am not as patient as I seem.  Once I decide that I want something, I want that something five minutes ago.  For example, I always said I wanted a tattoo.  It took me 28 years to finally decide what I wanted for a tattoo.  Once I decided, I obsessed over getting it until I got it.  So I figured that since I’ve wanted to go to California so badly for so long, going there for a weekend might spell trouble.

Upon arriving at the Palm Springs airport, I felt my fears coming to fruition.  It was every bit as beautiful as I feared it would be.  Hot. Dry. Mountains. Palm trees.  Everything a person could want.  Not to mention just a couple hours from L.A. and the ocean.  I instantly started imagining myself moving there and making a living.  This longing was only made worse hearing stories from our gracious hosts and their friends.

As Saturday came and went, my mind was focused on leaving.  And I have to say, I wasn’t at all disappointed that our flight was full and we might have to drive into L.A. in order to get home, which is exactly what ended up happening.

Now the test begins.  Back in Kansas, away from the dream.  Eight years to wait.

Why dreadlocks?

It has been just over three weeks since I started my dread journey for the second time.  My first journey lasted almost two years, but wasn’t meant to be forever.  I was naive about some things and took bad advice as good.  I just wanted dreads and didn’t know to be patient about the process.  I kept reading about how dreadlocks are a lifestyle, but I didn’t get it.

For my second journey, I conducted more research and really thought about why I wanted to have dreads.  This time, dreads aren’t the goal, they are just the (much wanted) result of reaching the goal.

I get tired of everyone being so caught up on looks.  How people dress, what their hair looks like, how much they weigh, where their clothes come from…

Dreads are my way of saying, I don’t care what you think of me.  Well, my way of saying I’m working on not caring what you think of me.  I’m just as guilty as the next person of wanting people to like me and to not judge me.  The dreadlocks are essentially forcing me to take a step back and be okay with myself no matter how I look.

They are also an opportunity for others to stop and look at themselves.  Why are you judging me and my hair?  Why does the way I look make you uncomfortable?

No more dreads

It has been one week since I cut off my dreads.  The reactions from others have ranged from sadness to an exclamation of “God bless America!”.   The sadness came from my son and the “God bless America” came from my mom.

I did have someone ask if I was going to have to change the name of this blog.  My response was no.  At my last job, it felt as though some people dreaded seeing me approach because I was that lesbian who didn’t keep quiet about things.  I’m sure there are other people out there who have the same feeling.  I won’t name any names, but I have my suspicions.

So why did I cut off my dreads?

A number of reasons.  First, I can’t tolerate one hairstyle for too long.  I get bored, and I’ve never really been too attached to one particular look.  I’ve never really been into changing the color of my hair, I just change the look.  When I made my dreads, I used a novice technique that should never be used.  I may choose to have dreads again some day, and if I do, I will use a much better technique to create them.  Washing them was a huge effort and often left me exhausted.

In any case, while my dreads journey is currently on sabbatical, my journey as a lesbian is not.

Judgment in the waiting room

10:15 am; time to go.

I grab some items and head out the door to a doctor’s appointment.  Darn, I forgot to make sure I know where the building is.

10:31 am. A minute late, but by the looks on everyone’s faces, the Dr.’s are running behind and one minute won’t matter.

I get checked in and pick a seat in the waiting room, not too close to anyone, yet not completely secluded.  Ever since I got dreads, I feel the need to not hide myself.  I think it probably weirds people out to see a white girl with dreads, and have made it my responsibility to make them look at it.

“I’m just looking at your hair.  What is that? Do those braids damage it? Be honest now.”  What? Who? Why are you asking me so many questions?  I look up and a woman with white hair, probably in her mid 60’s is standing in front of me looking quizzically and judgmentally at my hair.  “They aren’t braids”, I reply.

“What is it then?”

“They are matted up hair.  I call them dreads.”

“You won’t ever do it again will you?”

First of all lady, who are you to make a judgment about my hair, let alone what I do with it in the future?  But I simply reply, “I’ll leave them in for a few years.”

“Really?! That crap? Has your mom seen that?”

Are you kidding me right now?  Crap?  Did you just call my hair crap?  “Yes.”

“Poor mom, poor mom.”

Thanks for your concern, but she never reacted like that.  In fact, before I even got them, she looked at pictures on the internet with me and said she thought they would look good.  Yeah, it was a bit of a shock to her when she saw them on me, but they are growing on her and she has never judged me.

I see her start to look down my arm as she asks, “Did you lose your husband or boyfriend ‘cuz of that?”

Well lady, I’m gay so I don’t have a boyfriend or husband.  Assuming that she is still referring to my hair, I simply answer, “No”.

That seemed to stump her.  She’s finally leaving me..

“Do you have a husband?”

Here we go.  “No, I’m married to a woman.”

“Oh.”  Long pause.  “So is she the woman?”

Flashback to coming out to my grandma.  What is it with people thinking that somebody has to be the guy.  And why are you assuming she’s the woman?  Couldn’t I be the woman?  I realize I’m wearing plaid shorts, but come on.  Lots of girls wear plaid shorts. “Well, we’re both women.”

“I thought in those kind of sexual relationships one was more the woman and one was more the man.”

Are we really having this conversation in the middle of the waiting room? Well, if you insist, “Well, I think it used to be more that way, a long time ago, but it’s not like that anymore.”

“Well, I don’t care one way or the other.  I’ve got some of “those” as my neighbors.  They’ve never said, but I know.”

Thank you, lady, for the violent head nod in my direction at the word “those”.  I am now fully aware that I am one of “those”, and that when you say that, you are referring to lesbians.  That’s right. The word is lesbians.  Oh, you’re not done.

“I think they’re moving to Colby for school in the fall.  Where are you from?”

“I’m originally from Phillipsburg.” And why do you care?

“I know where that is.”

“She was born in the Olathe area, but has lived all over the country.”

No response, this is good.  Maybe she’s done.  I wonder how many people have been listening.  No one is looking at us, but we haven’t been quiet.  And this lady is dressed kinda mannish.  I don’t think she should be judging my woman-ness based on how I…

“Do you work much?”

Right, this is an appropriate question.  I can see how you would think that I probably don’t work, seeing as how I am a dreaded lesbian.  “I work full-time.”

“Where at?”

“FHSU, Financial Aid.”

A nurse opens the door and calls a name.  Please let it be this lady.  Oh, she’s getting up.  Thank God, that’s over.

I sit quietly and undisturbed waiting for my name to be called.

Pilot Episode

When I came out as a lesbian between 2005 and 2008 (this process generally doesn’t happen in a day), I experienced some challenging reactions from friends and family. It took many years to become comfortable holding the hand of my wife in public. Then I decided to dread my curly locks. To my surprise, this resulted in a more visible reaction from the general public.

When holding hands with my wife on the sidewalk, people would smile, look down at our hands, and then get a weird expression on their faces. When I walked down the street with dreads, the reactions were stronger and immediate. People would stare as if I had just landed on a spaceship. It should probably be mentioned that I live in a conservative town of approximately 20,000 people. Still, this is a town where people prefer to keep to themselves, and this blatant staring was unusual. I mean, isn’t that something we do from around the corner or with our peripheral vision?

Needless to say, being a lesbian with dreads in a conservative Kansas town has given me many stories, and I’m sure many stories to come. My blog will relive past adventures, tell of current ones, and look at other events from my dreaded lesbian perspective.