Scope out my Faccbook page and you’ll see that my husband, Artie, and I recently celebrated our first wedding ann iversary. We took a road trip, fed each other cupcakes, and drank champagne straight from the bottle. Keep browsing and you’ll see our vintage-inspired NYC wedding, our candlelit engagement, even a snap from the day we first met in person after months of OkCupid courtship. But way down near the start of my Timeline, you’ll find me partying with my ex-fiancee’s football team after she (yes, she) kicked the winning field goal.
She and I dated for about five years. We loved having parties at our apartment in suburban New Jersey, going out for half-priced apps at Applebee’s, and having overly dramatic fights in public. She wasn’t the only girl I’d been involved withI’ve batted for both
teams (on the DL) since high schoolbut this relationship was the most serious.
There were amazing times, like my 21st birthday, when we literally danced until dawn at an iconic club, or how she inspired me to run (starting with just a few blocks and building up to a five-mile jog). And there were challenging times. A few weeks after we met, I came out to my parents and faced their initial shock and disappointment; we didn’t speak for a while. A closed-minded boss at one of my first jobs called me “gross” to other staffers for “dyking out.” I lost a lot of my straight friends who were too uncomfortable to try to understand me. We’d get dirty looks at the mall, the gym, Disney World, pretty much everywhere that wasn’t clearly designated as gay-friendly whenever showing a smidge of PDA. Worst of all was being told over and over that it was “just a phase,” how I needed to “meet the right guy,” and more disturbingly, “that a real man could fck the gay right out of me.”
My girlfriend s lesbian friends were reluctant about accepting a bi girl into their crew. They worried that I was flaky or confused or I’d run off with the first hot guy who showed me attention. To be honest, I couldn’t blame them, because that’s how society labels bisexual women. But I’m not trying to “double my odds.” I’m not wishy-washy or on the fence. I’m just someone who has been attracted to both men and womenand no, not at the same time. If I’m with a person, I’m just with them. End. Of. Story.
Anyway, my ex and I ended up parting ways. Not because she didn’t have a penis, but because we wanted different things from life. She was all about buying a house in the ’burbs while I was always more of a city girl. About a year later,
I met Artie. We listened to live music, drank too many martinis, and dreamed about moving to Brooklyn and writing screenplays.
About two months in, I felt comfortable enough to have the bi convo. Over an iced-coffee date, he told me he already knew. He had pieced it together from my stories (and non-gendcr-spccific pronouns) and was waiting for me to bring it up when I was ready. He was respectful and unthreatened, and from then on. it was pretty much a nonissue. Being around him made me feel relaxed and excited all at once. I fell hard, and we moved in together (in Brooklyn!) six months later. (No screenplay..yet.)