Last week was gay and lesbian ski week in Aspen, which included an all-week GBLT film festival at the Wheeler. Yesterday was lesbian film night and Chris and Heather took Aaron, Elly and me up there in the suburban to see the double header. I was excited about this. Since Thursday, when the list of weekend activities went up and this was an option, I've been bugging Chris about it. Partly because I wanted to see the movies, partly because I wanted to see the lesbians, partly because I wanted to be a "real" lesbian, to participate in the community and all that lovely nonsense, for just one Saturday night in what has been more than two years of just happening to be one in small-town Colorado. Such is boarding school as I know it. Lots of nature, not much alternative culture. And, really, I suppose I was having delusions of a swirling lobby packed to the gills with lesbians.
Hmm, how many times in one dland entry can I say the word lesbian... Moving along. With the lesbians. (I'm in a bit of a mood today, dear readers, pardon the utter lack of serious)
The end of the story is, there were probably twenty women who showed up, which is still more than the "one" lesbian Cesca had said live in Aspen, but all the same. Mostly older, mostly in pairs. Interesting dynamics - lots of butch-femme stuff. The only other people in the balcony with us was a couple, one of whom looked like your everyday trophy bride - long, carefully messed-up honey-brown hair, a wispy designer peasant skirt (hello, winter?) topped with a well-groomed fur coat the exact same color as her hair. She was a lesbian, said with a haughty arch of the eyebrow at a very expensive cocktail party. (Pussytail party?) Her partner looked like she'd picked her idea of "dyke" out of an alternative fashion magazine and had followed the instructions to the letter. All sniping aside, they were a cute couple, but they left not even halfway through the first movie.
As should we have - they were both absolutely atrocious. Heather and Chris ended up crawling around behind the back rows of seats through most of them out of sheer inability to deal with them, Frances and I kept making really bad jokes about the utter lack of plot, editing, scripting, sound and image quality, characterization, and anything else that one could want in a film that existed in the two we saw.
They were awful, but they were the kind of awful that will make me remember the night with fondness because we all did so much laughing. I got to be completely and totally queer and obnoxious with people I consider friends, we laughed at bad movies, and I got to make snarky internal observations about rich small-town lesbians. All in all, a good night.
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