It seems as though I just went on a date from hell.
I despise dating. Yes, I do. I hate navigating the glbt waters of the relationship scene. The need for definitions, categories, delineated lines always repels me, and I always end up in conversations that go a little like this:
"Straight or gay?"
"Pansexual."
"....oh."
or,
"Gender identity?"
"Androgyne."
"MtF?"
"No, androgyne."
"....oh. So you're male, really."
"No! Androgyne."
*sigh*
When I do go on dates, I either find myself in a meat market of people who look like they want to rip my clothes off with their teeth, or alone somewhere making awkward conversation with a near-complete stranger. I prefer so much more when relationships just form naturally, when they grow like they're supposed to, and I really don't know why I keep trying... Especially when I ended up so hurt by the end of tonight.
I don't know why I let my friend set me up, other than that I trusted her, and it seemed to make her happy to want to do this. (Apparently it seems criminal to be fairly content on my own, and I get tagged as a hermit, and people feel the need to start handing me off to Be Dated, as though that would cure the disease o'enjoying my solitude.) She assured me before I went that this person was "very understanding of all these gender and sexuality issues." And he was gay himself. Fine. No problems, at least on that end, right?
I know I present as somewhat exotic and fey. Everyone who knows me knows this. My hair (and brows) are dyed a pale silver-blue, I have large gray eyes and very fair skin, a slender small body, and I like to present androgynously (long fingernails, glitter around the eyes for the fun of it, androgynous clothes). He said, when he saw me, that I was "so fucking beautiful, wow" and I took this as a (vaguely) positive sign (because I don't really care to be judged on a five-second glimpse of my appearance, and if I have some hideously rotten soul, then looking pretty isn't going to do anyone any good, is it?).
And then it started.
He this and his that. When I requested gender-neutral programs he looked at me askance, and when he ordered for me I looked at him askance. He said, "You don't sound gay," which almost gave me an aneurysm because I was torn between replying with "No, I'm not gay, I'm pansexual," or "...tell me, what does a 'native gay' sound like in its habitat?"
He put his hand up on my thigh, I shifted so he'd move it, and he muttered something about "my kind of people not minding that kind of thing." ....what?
His frustration over using gender-neutral pronouns kept growing until he threw down his fork, leaned over, and told me: "I can handle dating someone who looks like a fairy from a book, 'cause that's pretty, but I can't handle dating someone when I can't even tell what they are. You have to pick one, or you're going to be really lonely. Nobody wants in-between."
I threw down the money for my half of the meal, and left. Meh. And it does hurt, because those kind of comments on account of my gender are...well, besides being phenomenally ill-informed and Neanderthal-like in their staggering stupidity, strike at the very core of what makes me me. On the other hand, I suppose I should be grateful I was warned so early of his proclivity for being an idiot, and have been spared from any future interactions.
I refuse to feel ill-tempered about this for very long; I'm going to go play cello until I'm worn out, and then eat sliced apples with caramel. Sleep. And be thankful to the gods and goddesses that I love myself enough not to tolerate people who refuse to understand me.
"Straight or gay?"
"Pansexual."
"....oh."
or,
"Gender identity?"
"Androgyne."
"MtF?"
"No, androgyne."
"....oh. So you're male, really."
"No! Androgyne."
*sigh*
When I do go on dates, I either find myself in a meat market of people who look like they want to rip my clothes off with their teeth, or alone somewhere making awkward conversation with a near-complete stranger. I prefer so much more when relationships just form naturally, when they grow like they're supposed to, and I really don't know why I keep trying... Especially when I ended up so hurt by the end of tonight.
I don't know why I let my friend set me up, other than that I trusted her, and it seemed to make her happy to want to do this. (Apparently it seems criminal to be fairly content on my own, and I get tagged as a hermit, and people feel the need to start handing me off to Be Dated, as though that would cure the disease o'enjoying my solitude.) She assured me before I went that this person was "very understanding of all these gender and sexuality issues." And he was gay himself. Fine. No problems, at least on that end, right?
I know I present as somewhat exotic and fey. Everyone who knows me knows this. My hair (and brows) are dyed a pale silver-blue, I have large gray eyes and very fair skin, a slender small body, and I like to present androgynously (long fingernails, glitter around the eyes for the fun of it, androgynous clothes). He said, when he saw me, that I was "so fucking beautiful, wow" and I took this as a (vaguely) positive sign (because I don't really care to be judged on a five-second glimpse of my appearance, and if I have some hideously rotten soul, then looking pretty isn't going to do anyone any good, is it?).
And then it started.
He this and his that. When I requested gender-neutral programs he looked at me askance, and when he ordered for me I looked at him askance. He said, "You don't sound gay," which almost gave me an aneurysm because I was torn between replying with "No, I'm not gay, I'm pansexual," or "...tell me, what does a 'native gay' sound like in its habitat?"
He put his hand up on my thigh, I shifted so he'd move it, and he muttered something about "my kind of people not minding that kind of thing." ....what?
His frustration over using gender-neutral pronouns kept growing until he threw down his fork, leaned over, and told me: "I can handle dating someone who looks like a fairy from a book, 'cause that's pretty, but I can't handle dating someone when I can't even tell what they are. You have to pick one, or you're going to be really lonely. Nobody wants in-between."
I threw down the money for my half of the meal, and left. Meh. And it does hurt, because those kind of comments on account of my gender are...well, besides being phenomenally ill-informed and Neanderthal-like in their staggering stupidity, strike at the very core of what makes me me. On the other hand, I suppose I should be grateful I was warned so early of his proclivity for being an idiot, and have been spared from any future interactions.
I refuse to feel ill-tempered about this for very long; I'm going to go play cello until I'm worn out, and then eat sliced apples with caramel. Sleep. And be thankful to the gods and goddesses that I love myself enough not to tolerate people who refuse to understand me.