Santa Cruz Trip

I sit on the plane heading into San Francisco and look out at the snow-blessed mountains and think:  am I tainted by now?  Am I still as free from homophobia and prejudice as when I left here?   The physical traces indicate problems.  I shave my legs now, just shaved them last night, at 1:30 in the morning.  My hair was short and cute & dykely when I lived here, now is it Cincinnati-fied?—it’s long and thick and held high and back in a ponytail.  I have spent over a year depressed about that most heterosexual female obsession, weight loss.  Ry has called herself fat many times this year, and Dylan proudly calls herself thin in response.  This despite the most feminist household I can conjure.  And all those sweet kind Waldorf moms, my real and good friends—I just wish there were also dykes there.  I thirst for Santa Cruz and most lesbians I know in Cincinnati don't even know what they are missing.