I Came Out for This? by Lisa Gitlin Page A

into continuing this.” And then she left. Fortunately, Terri was in the bathroom at that moment and was not a witness to my rejection by BonBon.
    When I was getting ready to go home, I said to Terri, “So how is that— uh— person you were going out with?” Terri smirked and said, “If you’re talking about Sandra, we’re going to a movie on Sunday.” I said, “Oh, how nice,” and Terri said reassuringly, “I haven’t slept with her yet.” But then, when I tried to kiss her good-bye on the lips, she turned her lips away and gave me her cheek. Fuck her.
    I was so distraught after I left that I started to walk home before remembering that I had taken my car. The evening started so nicely and ended up with a big thud. She hasn’t slept with her “yet”? That’s a big fat comfort. I love the bitch but I really have to start meeting other women. The message of this evening is clear, even to me.

    Jerome lit a match under me today. I was lying in bed this afternoon, staring at the ceiling, and he strolled into my room, asking to borrow ten bucks and a winter scarf. (The sky dumped a couple feet of snow on the city over the weekend.) I told him to stay awhile and he lounged across my little bed with his big back against the wall and his big feet on the floor and I told him about my aggravating night with Terri, and he said, “I keep tellin’ you, she’s a player. It’s time to toss this one out and shop for a fresh head of cabbage.” I burst out laughing and said, “I wouldn’t even know what to do with a fresh head of cabbage,” and Jerome replied in his Barry White baritone, “I’ll tell you what you do with it. You nibble it leaf by leaf until you get to the meat and then you plunge in for the kill.”
    After Jerome left with my scarf and 10 bucks (neither of which I will get back), I snatched the Washington Blade up off the floor and started looking through the personal ads. Lesbian personal ads infuriate me. I wish that just one of these bitches would run an ad that says, “Come with your drama,” “Baggage welcome,” and “Me:a fucked-up neurotic mess. You: Not ready for relationship because you’re still all hung-up on your last one.” Instead they all say, “No drama,” “No baggage,” and that kind of stuff. It’s okay for them to have baggage and drama, but you can’t. Fortunately there were a few ads that sounded okay, and I answered them using the 900 number.
    I don’t know if I’m ready to go out with other women. I’ll probably just end up being friends with them. It’s typical of me, to end up as everyone’s good buddy. That’s even what Terri wants me to be. Fuck all that. I’m sick and tired of being everyone’s buddy and having nobody to rock my boat at night. What do I look like, one of those Sesame Street fuzzballs? I have a libido too, for God’s sake. Friends are not the staples of your life, like meat and potatoes and vegetables. They’re more like cereal. If you try to subsist on Cheerios and Raisin Bran and Special K all day long, year after year, eventually you start to feel hollow and empty, and everyone keeps telling you how lucky you are to have all these different cereals, and how good you are at keeping yourself stocked in cereals, and one day you realize that you’re completely malnourished while they’re sitting around fat and happy from dining on prime rib every night or, as Jerome would have it, stuffed cabbage.
    But it was my fault. I took the path of least resistance. I’m good with friendships. My favorite thing to do is get together with my friends and talk for hours. I always want to know what’s going on with them and I’m a fantastic listener. On the other hand, I was never able to succeed at romance, for obvious reasons. I went on all these dateswith men and I