Call it confusion, frustration or dismay. Whichever it is, you know the feeling. You’re checking out online profiles and you see a hottie-patottie. But in the section where it asks what type he’s looking for, your eyes glaze over once again as you read: “masculine,” “straight-acting,” “a man’s man” or the ever-inscrutable “normal.”

What do these adjectives really mean, anyway? While I’m no limp-wristed, lisping princess, I wouldn’t call myself “masculine” or “straight-acting” either. I favor beer over cocktails, but I also like wine. Daily gym workouts have put muscles on my bones, but no more hair on my chest. I don’t talk like Michael Jackson, but don’t have Barry White’s foghorn bass either. I’m not a fan of saying “girl,” but I seldom say “dude” either. I don’t play or watch sports, but know most of the major league baseball and football teams. So on the “masculine” Richter scale, am I an earth-shaking 7.8 or a trembling little 5.1?

I really like this guy’s photos, so maybe I can pass for what he’s after. After all, he’s probably not that butch either. Everyone online always exaggerates, right?

He returns my “Hi, nice profile” message with a testosterone-inflected “Dude, your (sic) hot.” I stifle the urge to reply “U too, dude” because I just can’t force myself to fake it too much. Instead I reply: “Thanks. You have nice pics, too. How was your day?” I wait for a reply, hoping my cover isn’t blown by thoughtfulness and proper punctuation.

Our messages go back and forth, until I tell him that I’d like to meet for a drink but have a busy week with the chorus. “Chorus?” he asks as if caught off guard. I point out that my profile says I sing with the Gay Men’s Chorus of San Diego (GMCSD), but apparently he’s too “straight-acting” to recognize the name. I want to explain. “We have a big show coming up that’s a tribute to divas … you know, Bette, Barbra, Madonna, Cher, etc.”

But instead I change the subject, because most past Internet encounters and coffee dates have shown me that when I mention I’m in a gay men’s chorus, I might as well head for the door. After all, it sounds so gay.

Over the years, I’ve thought about countering my chorus time with something “butch” like wrestling, flag football or even softball. But I keep putting it off, and lately I’ve decided that the bonus of getting tackled by hot jocks (both during and after games) is outweighed by the certainty of getting bruises and costly sports injuries.

While it’s true that most of my chorus mates couldn’t pitch a ball or strike out a batter, they can hold a pitch and strike a fierce pose. Maybe that’s why the San Diego Padres chose us to sing the national anthem at a Sunday game earlier this month. There we were, more than 60 out gay men, standing anxiously in the middle of a major league baseball field while the players warmed up, with 40,000 eyes upon us. I tried to look my butchest, while secretly hoping I wouldn’t have to toss back any stray balls that might come our way. When the announcer introduced us, I expected him to muffle or leave out the word “Gay.” But instead he read it clearly and loudly: “… the Gay Men’s Chorus of San Diego!” The few boos we heard were drowned out by very loud cheers, mainly from the thousand-plus GLBT fans in attendance that day. It was a surreal moment, but one I’m proud to have been part of.

Despite the fact that my chorus mates (including myself) have, at one time or another, donned hose or heels for the sake of entertaining our audience, we’re not always snapping our fingers and singing show tunes. No matter what we sing, we’re doing what we love and representing the gay community at the same time. In that way, we’re just like GLBT leagues for bowling, tennis, water polo, rugby, flag football, softball and volleyball – we just don’t play with balls (at least in front of an audience.)

This Pride weekend, you’ll see us and other performing arts groups marching and exhibiting side-by-side with GLBT sports leagues, community groups, dykes on bikes and, of course, drag queens. Together we represent all shades of the GLBT rainbow, from “butch” to “normal” to “effeminate” to “androgynous”… and everything in between. This seems to be the one time when we can all agree to be just one thing: gay and proud of it.