Last week I made the trek from Denver to Los Angeles, where I will be living for the forseeable future.

After 25 hours in the truck with my roommate, rearranging furniture multiple times, and a mandatory excursion to IKEA, I am finally feeling settled in. Now I'm beginning to think about what comes next.

Ostensibly, what comes next is meeting people; finding new friends who can hopefully come close to the awesomeness of the squad I left back in Colorado. While I'm excited to meet new people and make new friends, there is one part of that process that I'm not so excited about.

When meeting new people, sooner or later, my bisexuality is going to be brought up. It could be during talk of past relationships, celebrity crushes, or when they ask what I do for a living and I tell them I write for PRIDE.

It's a moment that I've come to dread -- when I have to come out to new people. Early after coming out as bisexual to myself and to the world, it was liberating to meet new people and share my identity. There was a certain kind of power and freedom I felt when telling someone about my newfound bisexuality.

Now, several years later, the shine has dimmed.

In my experience over the years, I've found that telling new people I'm bisexual can mean being bombarded with questions and being brought face-to-face with stigma or stereotypes.

After brief mentions of my bisexuality, I've had people throw around questions about my ability to be monogamous. I've had people ask me what bisexuality "even means" and then get into a debate with me about bisexuality vs. pansexuality. I've had people deny my bisexuality and tell me I'm really a lesbian. I've had people scoff at me, and tell me that my bisexuality is a result of my young naivete -- that I'll grow out of it and "come to my senses."

This is not always the case, of course. Plenty of people accept my declaration of bisexuality easily, without first interrogating me. It's just that enough people don't that I've become weary.

I worry that people are going to make snap judgments or assume things about me before we've even had a chance to really get to know each other.

Though, to be fair, I cannot and should not assume that people are going to interrogate me. I should not make assumptions about others if I don't want them to make assumptions about me.

So, really, my goal here is to push the idea that when meeting people and hearing them share their stories and aspects of their identities, we should be accepting first, and ask questions later. Because I don't mind if my good friend interviews me about my bisexuality; I just don't want to dive head-first into it with someone I've only just met.