Last weekend I went to the Dinah, as we lesbians call it. For those of you who don't know, the Dinah Shore Weekend in Palm Springs is the biggest lesbian party of the year -- our spring break, if you will. It started around the Dinah Shore LPGA Golf Tournament (lesbians, LPGA... you get it) but morphed over the years, and now I'd bet that maybe 5 percent of the women there even know about the golf connection.
I'd been to the Dinah a bunch, but always for the golf and never for the parties (cough, loser, cough). Well, this year I'm single, so I thought, "What the hell?" I packed two butch bathing suits (board shorts and matching muscle tanks), two pairs of flip-flops and two hats and headed out to stay with friends. Here are my highlights, in no particular order:
- Having a poolside "Harlem Shake" moment with a hottie who can actually shake, unlike me. Gulp.
Being surrounded by more lesbians at the pool than I ever was at the LPGA tournament. DJ Amara spinning with a live drummer on stage. Not being called "sir" the entire weekend. Hallelujah! Bikinis everywhere, or in many instances just bikini bottoms. Hello! Poolside arm-wrestling contests. Yes, I won. Left-handed. Having so much fun with friends at their compound that I skipped some of the official parties. Watching gobs of lesbians dance with gobs of over-70-year-old straights at dinner. The incredible energy on the dance floor Saturday night. Wow. All the rad butches who represented with sick butch fashion. No cargo shorts anywhere. Yes! Those girls who were ridiculous in tiny dresses and huge heels. In a good way. A very good way. Occasional fist bumps and high fives from butch bros. Respect. Hanging with old friends that I randomly ran into at the pool party. Being as distracted by the hot butches as I was by the femmes hanging on their well-tatted arms. A random-ass squeeze from that cute bodybuilder at the pool. My sunburn hid my blushing. Not going in the pool because I couldn't find a full-body dental dam to ensure safe swimming. One too many Obey caps. I swore I was going to snatch the next one I saw off a 21-year-old's head. Butch fashion fail. Ink and skin. Everywhere. Not feeling as old as I thought I would. I was, I just didn't feel it. Dancing till I couldn't anymore, then going home and drinking in the safe-swimming pool. Watching the cops try to keep straight faces as we paraded back and forth in front of them. LMAO. Breasts. Always a fan favorite. Waiting in line for drinks and getting to know the lesbian couple behind me. Hello! Connectedness and community. I felt a part of the huge lesbian web and family. You don't get that in your everyday life. Thank you, Club Skirts, for giving me and 2,000 others that amazing feeling.It's butch to try new things. Show up and be butch.
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