Bi At The Party

Happy Bi Visibility!

I’m at a cool queer event party thing that’s promoting some cool queer creative thing in cool queer Brooklyn. There are cool queer art things on the walls, a cool queer DJ playing cool queer music, and I’m talking to a very cute girl with a cool queer haircut. I’m queer and really cool-literally- because I’m standing under the air conditioning vent.

I tell a hackneyed womb/room pun joke and she laughs. My serotonin pump, pumps.

She mentions her friend just joined Tinder. I tell her I just joined Friendster. Another bad joke, but it’s a way to gage age. She laughs again. Score.
We talk about online dating. She mentions her best friend Jennifer’s ex girlfriend now has a boyfriend. I say, cool. She says, it’s annoying. I could never date a bisexual. You know what I mean.

I respond, how thoroughly intolerant of you. She laughs. I don’t. 
She adds, I’d just always be afraid that she’d cheat on me because I feel like she’d always want both at the same time.

Dichotomies are problematic.
At lesbian parties do I need to be visible as bi?
Sometimes it makes sense to be queer.
I guess I’m pan.
Can you be pan and bi?
I’m smile-sexual, just be kind to me.

She’s still talking to me. Bisexuals are just so, you know, agnostic.

I stand up straight. Well, not straight. You know what I mean. I square my shoulders.

I say, what? She says, bisexuals, they’re just so agnostic. 
I say, I don’t think you’re using that word right. Bisexuals are not agnostic. I’m bisexual and I am not agnos — Wait actually I am agnostic. But about god, you know what I mean. I’m not agnostic about my sexuality. I’m certain. Or at least I’m certain I know who I am right now. I have knowledge. I’m fluid and flowing, but full of proof.
The proof is-
The proof is-
The proof is in the pudding.
The pudding being my- (I point toward my crotch).
I’m pointing to my crotch and calling my vagina ‘pudding’ at a cool queer party in Brooklyn.
Life is pretty great sometimes.

Now we’re both looking down at my crotch.

I tell her, I don’t usually call my vagina my pudding. That would be weird. Or cool, I guess. Whatever someone wants to call it is fine with me. If you wanted me to call your vagina your pudding, I would support you. I wouldn’t judge you, Judy.

Let’s pretend her name was Judy.

Now I’m gesticulating and nodding at Judy about her vagina-pudding like I’m giving a Ted Talk.

If you wanted me to call your vagina your pudding, I would. I would lie across the bed, smile at you and say, hey Judy, it’s pudding time. I’d support you and your words if we got together, Judy.

This is me screaming PUDDING at a party. Except it’s not really, and I don’t usually wear this dress to parties, but I think I really should. Photo by Mindy Tucker

Judy smiles like she’s considering it, (me calling her vagina pudding) and the reasons why I am-but not-agnostic.

I ask her if she wants another drink? She tells me she does, she’s going out for a cigarette, and she’ll be right back.

Judy does not come back to the party.

So please invite me to your parties. I’ll be the one shouting pudding and clearing out the room one confused Judy at a time.