Written by: Radclyffe U. Hall
After complaining about the sickening state of Toronto’s lesbians, I decided to travel abroad to a cultural event, namely, The L Word Convention. (For those of you who don’t know, The L Word is a hugely popular Showtime series about a group of LA lesbians). While gazing out the airplane window, I set goals for my new awakening. One: I would better myself by being courageous and talking to strangers. Two: I would be friendly and treat everyone as if they were attractive. Three: I would lose my virginity to Erin Daniels, the amazing Dana from the show. On that thought, I decided my time would be best spent compiling a list of The World’s 100 Hottest Women, like Jennifer Beals and Zac Efron.

The convention was to be held at the seaside resort town of Blackpool, a few hours out of London and a gay friendly haven. The main landmark, the century old Norbreck Castle, would be where everyone would meet. Upon arriving hours late, in my smelly coach bus, I saw what Blackpool really was; a creepy, abandoned Silent Hill. With more wind, more rain and three story high Alice in Wonderland figures lining the boardwalk. I haven’t even begun on the lesbians.

1. OBSERVATIONS ON BRITISH WOMEN
My first sight of the gay women of Britain was inside the castle, when we were stuffed into a rec hall decorated like my high school prom. I was so overwhelmed by the sheer number of them (1000+), not to mention the ten foot silver streamers dangling from the ceiling that I failed to notice what I had brought upon myself. In better lighting, I was confronted with grunge era clothing, beer guts, thinning hair and polio. This is no exaggeration. Most of the lesbians had crutches, wheelchairs, and motorized carts.

I don’t consider myself to be a saint; I do consume excessive alcohol. But I don’t, however, drink three pitchers before noon. I can control the volume of my voice. And I generally don’t have the urge to bully small people. In these respects, I had nothing in common with the whole of gay England. No matter what I did, I still managed to come across as either prissy or lost.

When I decided to search out the fairer of the bunch, I spotted a six foot tall blonde Amazon in a bustier. But paired with that was the world’s smallest top hat, perched strangely on the side of her head.

2. THE PERILS OF COURAGE
In accordance with my plan to be friendly I sat alone with a beer and gave off my most welcoming smile. Immediately I regretted this. Out of nowhere, a crazed lunatic lurched into my space, carrying with her the sound of clanging pots and pans. On closer inspection (because she literally sat in my lap), she could only be described ad a fatter, more disheveled lesbian version of Keith Richards. She drank my beer, repeatedly muttered “Duuuude!” and awkwardly suggested that we be friends. We are not currently friends.

3. “PLAY WITH MY TEDDY!”
Exciting? Perhaps. These words were spoken by the one true friend I did make. Her name was Tina. She was cute, exotic and had long black hair. She genuinely seemed to like me. We met at her parents’ Chinese take out spot. She was seven. Tina and I played a vigorous game of catch with her stuffed teddy bear. She is currently on my facebook.

4. PENTHOUSE PARTY
In my effort to mingle with international lesbians I accepted an invitation to a sexy all-girl frat party expecting pillow fights and spin the bottle. Instead there were couples holding each other, a lonely Dutch stripper, and a sad game of “Never Have I Ever” (if you don’t know what this is you are lucky as it mainly involves drinking after revealing an embarrassing secret). The highlight of this party was when the host, an obnoxious chubby Texan with a Mohawk, decided to celebrate the seven month anniversary of her coming out with proclamations of her extreme promiscuity. And by ripping off her pants to reveal knee long Lycra bike shorts. Apparently this was attractive to everyone but me.

5. THE DEFINING MOMENT
I might not have articulated this yet but the main reason people came to this convention was to meet the cast, a funny group of hot women. And one man. Kate Moennig (Shane), Leisha Hailey (Alice), Erin Daniels (Dana), Laurel Holloman (Tina) and Eric Mabius (Tim) gave daily Q & As to the hordes of excited lesbians. I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were more like weird high school assemblies rather than the professional industry junkets I expected.

And the reason for this would be that there were no moderators and the unsupervised lesbians were given free reign to go wild with ridiculously stupid questions. Some gems:
– How did you spend Thanksgiving?
– What was the last movie you bought?
– Will you marry me?
– Did your daughter play with that toy I sent you last year?
– Have you had an orgasm?
– Hey, when are you coming out? (To which Kate Moennig replied “I was just out, smoking”)

Then came the moment I had been waiting for: the autograph signing. The only chance I had to tell Erin Daniels how much she’s touched my life with her humour and talents. And here’s how it went:
Erin Daniels: Are you alright?
Me: I’m okay. (10 seconds of silence and my increasingly sweaty hands) How are you?
Erin Daniels: I’m good. Are you sure you’re okay?
Me: I’m fine. (beat) Bye.

I can’t explain my inability to function like a regular person. It must’ve been the water. Oh well. I suppose I failed to accomplish any of my goals, mainly to romance Erin Daniels and have her take my virginity. And I definitely didn’t really make any friends. And I certainly will never recommend Blackpool or its gay women. But without this trip I would’ve never came to this shocking conclusion. I am grateful for the quality of the lesbians in Toronto. And their noticeable lack of polio.