An Unexpected Bond 

Three Friday nights ago, I received a notification from Twitter that a friend of mine had replied to a tweet I’d sent earlier. I was at a bar with a friend, wasted, and I’d completely forgotten Twitter existed. So naturally, my drunken self scrolled through briefly before coming across a French artist’s tweet about a party in her neighbourhood, which I was in at that time – she’s a “tumblr-famous” artist whom I’d met during Pride – and I decided to mash together words on my keyboard, which translated to asking her to hang out over a couple of beers. I was four shots and four pints and  the concept of a “bad idea” did not compute. I threw my phone number into the twittersphere, and quickly got a text from her suggesting I should probably take it down. And I recall admiring how right and smart she was about that – I was that drunk.

Somehow, I managed to meet up with her after drunkenly skidding around with my friends on our bikes in Kensington Market. After a bit of a kerfuffle as it was post-last call, we ended up chilling at the park. Boy, did we connect. I know I was spewing stories at her, but despite being drunk, I had a pretty good sense of balance when it came to listening vs talking and she gave me her fair share of stories. We ended up staying there til 5am, well after my friends took their leave.

I don’t remember much, but I had fun. I wasn’t sure how she felt about it until a week after when she tweeted at me out of the blue about how we should do it again.


Last Friday night, I drunkenly tweeted at her once again, and she, by whatever miracle, came out once again. As per usual, it was post-last call and we ended up going back to her place and sat on her rooftop drinking her beer and shooting the shit about life. The biggest difference between our initial hangout and this one was that the nondate had happened in between and I’d had time to collect my thoughts. I bounced my ideas off her (or at least I think I did? It got a bit blurry after we sat down) and I also vaguely recall going deeper this time – I recall her telling me her own stories and upbringing, and me elaborating on why I thought she was a good person, my trust issues,  our introversion, and my insatiable desire to not be seen as a “Successful Lesbian“, but rather, a Successful Person who Happens to be a Lesbian. Words make a huge difference – I refuse to be defined by my sexuality. I also told her about my public seating project, wherein my group got tapped by the Mayor of Toronto to work on an upcoming project – she found that impressive and recalled her own experiences with the lack of public seating in this city, compared to that of France.

I also remember emphasizing that I didn’t follow her “tumblr-famous” online group of queer women as closely and fanatically as most people – I was very conscious of not mixing myself in as an obsessive fan. I mean, right off the bat, I did confess to her that I wasn’t a fan of Carmilla (and it appears every lesbian with a Twitter account is obsessed with it). In hindsight, I don’t know why it was so important to me that she knew I wasn’t a tumblr-intensive person. I wanted her to understand where I was coming from – somewhere different, not from the internets, but from the real world. I don’t know.

It’s a bit of a blurred line; On one hand, I feel that I most certainly connected with her – I’m quite good at connecting with fellow introverts and she’s very fun to talk to. On the other, perhaps I also enjoyed her company this much from a combination of 1.) being absolutely wasted and 2.) her knowing the girl I’d asked out and being able to console/understand/validate my hypotheses of July’s occurrences and where I was coming from.

Alcohol blurs my memory but whatever we discussed lasted three hours and the sun was once again rising by the time I entered the door to my own home.

…Regardless, all I know is that she’s a great person to talk to. It’s nice connecting and having an emotionally rich bond with a queer woman over beer. It’s very nice. And it’s not something I take for granted.

So it’s a damn shame that her work visa is expiring and she has to leave the country soon. I’ve been owing her a beer since I met her so I plan on doing this again at least once, before she leaves. Beer is not a currency to fuck wit.

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