Gay Neighbor Stories: Lesbians Stole my Bike

One of the original Churning Loyalists is hooking us up today. Sar invited me to be a guest writer for Belle of the Brawl. Check out her site and leave a comment. Sar LOVES comments. In addition to sending us a few new visitors, my post also led to an idea for a new series: "Gay Neighbor Stories." Here's the first installment.

I've lived in a lot of different cities over the years, and for some reason, my neighbors are gay more often than straight. I'll give you an example. The first gay neighbors I remember were in Gainesville FL during college. I lived a few blocks from campus in a small apartment complex upstairs from a gruff lesbian couple. Yes I said "gruff." I can't remember exactly what they looked like, but imagine "mean" and "lesbian" and you'll probably come close.

Now before I get too far, I want to say I've got nothing against lesbians or gay neighbors in general. In fact, some of my coolest neighbors ever have been lesbians. But these two particular women turned out to be real ballbags.

See, I lived far enough from campus that I couldn't walk to school. But I was too close to drive. I knew I'd be biking to class for at least a year, so I figured I should get a decent bike. I saved up for months working overnight security on campus and finally made enough to get the bike I wanted - a badass aluminum mountain bike. I spent $700 which was a LOT for a bike in 1995. I mean, it's a lot for a bike now, but back then, that shit was top of the fucking line. I thought I'd have it for years.

My neighbors were also into mountain biking. I know that because I saw them wheeling their bikes into their apartment just like they saw me wheel my bike into my apartment.  See where I'm going with this?

One day I came home from Momo's place (yes, we've been together for more than a decade), and my front door had been kicked in.  I peeked through the windows to see if there was anyone inside, and when I knew the coast was clear, I went in and called the cops.  As I waited for the cops to show up, I took a quick inventory.  That's actually really easy for a college kid.  Stereo,  Check.  Walkman.  Check.  TV.  Check.  Mountain bike.  Nope.

Out of all the things the thieves could have stolen, they only took my badass bike.  Why not pocket the walkman and take the bike?  Or why not take everything?

The cops later told me they spoke to my lesbian neighbors.  The girls told them they saw a couple of black guys snooping around the place.  The cops never did find my bike or the mysterious cliché "black guys."

Now either my neighbors were quiet crime-watching types who happened to see a couple of suspicious looking black dudes and decided to call the cops only after my shit was stolen.  Or - they knew where they could unload a mountain bike for a decent price, could care less about a walkman, and knew they could pin the crime on a fictitious pair of black criminals in a small southern town.  I still don't know what really happened; it just sounds more interesting to say that a couple of lesbians stole my bike.