The Great Lesbian Vibrator Gift Exchange

Nothing says holiday cheer like a new vibrator for Christmas.

I'll get back to that in a moment.

But first, I have to tell two funny vibrator stories. Almost every lesbian I know has a good vibrator story...you know,,,the funny time you tried to go through airport security with it packed in your carry on...or the time the neighbor kid found it and thought it was a microphone...

If it didn't happen directly to you, it has happened to one of your friends.

In my case, both of these unfortunate incidents happened to my ex-girlfriend. Poor thing....bless her heart.

In the first, she was helping to move her best friend into a new apartment, and they were wrestling her queen size mattress towards the truck (of course it was a truck) where it would be loaded. My exe's best friend (I will refer to her here as Suzanne, mostly because her name is Suzanne) had been in a hurry, and hadn't even bothered to remove the fitted sheet from the mattress. With my ex on one side, and Suzanne on the other, they made their way onto the busy Anchorage street where the truck was parked.

They both froze when they heard the, "clunk!" followed by the "roll, roll, roll" sound. My ex looked at Suzanne, and said, "Is that what I think it is?" To which Suzanne simply responded, "Yep."

The thing (proudly and dramatically) rolled into the middle of the intersection. It may have been fluorescent pink, but that ultimately didn't save it from being struck by a car. I think both of them refused to retrieve it...and I think Suzanne may have the rest of her furniture inside and just called it good. Lord only knows what she had hidden in her box spring.

In the second incident, my ex (I will refer to her here as Jackie, mostly because her name is Jackie) had borrowed a vehicle to run some errands. She could not understand why people kept giving her disapproving looks at red lights. A few gave her "thumbs up" signs. A few more honked at her, and nearly every car that passed her had occupants straining to get a look at who was driving. She saw one family car pass with a mother covering her children's eyes.

When she finally got to where she was going, she quizzically walked around the vehicle to identify what all the fuss was about. There she found, firmly pressed up against the rear window glass and held in position by piles of clothing, a rather large, anatomically representative (and eerily lifelike) prosthetic type device-complete with painfully visible harness and extra shiny buckles. I believe the harness was studded in a rather ornamental fashion, and affixed with rhinestones.

Needless to say, Jackie had concealed the device for the trip home, and never borrowed her friend's car again.

I've never been to a "white elephant" gift exchange hosted by lesbians that didn't have a vibrator (or three) included as part of the gift menagerie. People usually include them to elicit giggles, but the competition over the "Super Rhino 3-speed beaded, rotator model with sonic, oscillating action and pull-start feature" model could get pretty fierce.

You would think the women were competing over a power tool.

Maybe they were.

I've always preferred the "kick start" models, but they require a forklift to move, and really aren't practical for potluck, gift exchange parties.

Anyway, Merry Christmas.

Batteries not included.

"Spooged" and other lesbian nightmares before Christmas..

This post doesnt actually have anything really to do with Christmas.

No.

 It's actually about the unfortunate shared lesbian experience of falling for women who are not lesbians...but given that Christmas is less than two weeks away and I am being assaulted by Christmas carols everywhere I go, AND given the fact that I'm probably never going to have another inspiration that includes discussing male genitalia in this particularly lesbian blog...I really ouldn't resist combining the two.

I've made myself giggle in a jolly manner several times as I mutilated Christmas carol titles in extremely inappropriate ways...I'm sure you can imagine..."Silver Balls,"..."Jingle Balls,"..."Let it Blow, Let it Blow, Let it Blow," "D*ck the Halls" (or "Deck the Balls" if you are an angry person)...I had one for "Jingle Bell Rock," but I think you get the idea.

I stopped with "O' Come all Ye Faithful" because I didn't want to get zapped in a freak winter lightning storm.

Anyway, after careful consideration...and after years of witnessing many heartbroken sisters drying their tears after facing the "battle of the banana"...I have to say, if you are a lesbian you will save yourself a LOT of emotionally wrenching moments if you stick to dating...uh....OTHER LESBIANS.

Really.

People gotta be WHO they are, and as surely as you aren't magically going to decide to drive a stick shift...a woman who isn't really a lesbian will eventually bypass your taco shack in search of a hot dog stand.

I remember falling in love with a gradeschool classmate who only had eyes for the boys. Oh, how i wished at the time that I could wake up and be an Oscar Meyer Wiener...that is truly what I really wanted to be...for if I were an Oscar Meyer Wiener...Mary Clark would fall in love with me.

That was until I discovered that there were other women just like me...and that I was destined to find complete bliss in the arms (and other important areas) of women who hungered only for other women...

I've been very lucky...something in me just has never led me astray...and I've managed to never fall in love with a woman who wasn't lesbian. If I know that in advance, I absolutely don't let my mind or heart go there. I think the only way that could actually happen to me is if someone presented themselves to be lesbian, but actually wasn't. Fortunately, you don't have to contend with too many "imposter lesbians"...quite the opposite, I would think.

"Yes, Marcie...you did an excellent job of using your new Acme nail driver to hang the Christmas decorations while your husband drank beer and watched the game...and I love your flannel print tree ornaments...you can come out of the closet now..."

Oh, who am I kidding? If Marcie were REALLY a lesbian she would have been on the couch with him, drinking beer and watching the game.

Anyway, my advice is to avoid falling for a woman who isn't a lesbian unless you want your heart to become more hopelessly tangled than that gigantic ball of Christmas lights you pull out of storage every year.

I realize that it is a bit confusing now in the days of Katy Perry's celebrated cherry chapstick diversions...the young'uns may not be familiar with the breed of lesbians ("super lesbians" I came to call them) who were so separatist that they even removed the word "men" from their own vocabulary of identity...

They referred to themselves as "womyn," danced naked around fires, beating drums, saving mentrual blood in mason jars...elevating all things feminine to a place of spiritual transcendence...Katy Perry probably never visited one of these communal living "womyn safe" spaces. Too bad, because they're a fun group! So fun, I'm going to give them their own blog entry someday.

In the meantime, I'm going to be thankful that I don't fall for "straight" girls...or "bi-curious" girls...

I'm dreaming of a dyke Christmas...

..and now I'm going to go sing a few bars of "Chester's Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire" in deference to all of my sisters who have ever had their Christmas ruined by testicles.

That's a sentence I never thought I would say....

 

The Great Lesbian Facebook Relationship Puke-a-thon

It starts out normally enough.

You are single...have been single...after a painfully damaging and messy break-up where you lost most of your pride, your dignity, your trust, and ALL of your Melissa Etheridge CD's.

But, you've grown. You've gotten stronger. You've learned to like your own company...and you've finally came to a place of peace, calm and forgiveness...of finally forgiving that stupid, lying cow who will never find anybody who loved her as much as YOU did, and is OBVIOUSLY totally blind and ignorant to how awesome you are, as IF she is really going to go out and just replace you, oh she will certainly get what she deserves when KARMA FINALLY CATCHES UP WITH HER DUMB ASS AND HER LIES, LIES, LIES...YEAH...YOU KEEP LYING TO YOURSELF YOU CHEAP DIME STORE FLOOZY...

Wow, Oops...

I digress...

Anyway, your proudly "single" status on Facebook is accompanied by that awesome (super cute, perfect hair day) profile picture of you happily posing with ALL of the waitresses from Hooters...and your status updates read like a chapter from "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade"....you're skydiving, and line dancing, kickboxing and cave spelunking...sometimes all on the same day...at the same time...while on horseback...

And every once in a while you post a "sure wish I had someone to snuggle with at these 87th Annual Academy Awards..." or "it's sort of lonely here in Acapulco...NOT...lol..."

And then, IT happens...and SHE walks into your life.

First there is this:

And then there is this:

And you are off careening at full speed down the "new lesbian relationship highway"...pretty sure that the sun rises and sets in her eyes. And in her pants...

Finally, after getting to know her across space and time, and across many different contexts...after carefully considering the dynamic between the two of you...after exhaustively soul searching, and after all of the intense emotional exchanges...after intimacy so powerful and so connected that you have been tearfully brought to the most real and honest place that you have EVER been to in your whole life...you are FINALLY ready to announce to the entire world that you have found that special someone...

So, on that third day you change your relationship status to "in a relationship."

This is rapidly followed by the customary 'changing of the profile picture.' You change it to what will become the first in an endless cascade of "couples" photos...of two smiling faces photographed from up above...where once there had been only one.

You update your status when you go out to dinner with her, when you go to the movies with her, when you are shopping for curtains with her, when you are hanging curtains with her, when you are getting your oil changed with her, when you are in line at the bank with her, when you are waiting in traffic with her, when you brush your cat with her, when you vacuum the sofa where you brushed your cat with her, when you brush your teeth with her, when you vacuum the sofa where you brushed your teeth with her (after the night out at the bar with her....which you also posted)...

A veritable avalanche continues...of cutesy pictures, touching song dedications, love mush memes, adorable love notes, nauseating pet names...leading your friends to be pretty sure you have been abducted by aliens...and leading several of them to take you off notifications (or to just 'un-friend' you entirely) because you are making them physically ill...

 
And then suddenly after a few months of this "deliriously happy blizzard of togetherness" there is a sudden radio silence...followed by the ominous and cryptic status update that reads only:

"Up my ass with a fuc**ng microscope."

 And that is all.

Followed by more silence...

...and then a relationship status change to "it's complicated."

And...IT begins.

The thinly veiled meme attack...the cryptic status update tsunami...the precisely placed character attacks (in comments sections) that are just vague enough so that they can be both made and denied at the same time...

And you hope SHE sees them, even though you have blocked each other and unblocked each other 437 times...and broken up and reconciled so frequently that even YOU can't remember where your relationship status stands...

You finally settle on single, after that whole "mutual restraining order" incident...and also settle on the pretty consistent belief that your ex is Satan. The 'melodic snoring windchimes' turn into:

...and the same girl who once made the birds sing turns into:

Fortunately, you are doing OK, as evidenced by the new profile pic of you licking whipped cream off of someone's face at the local club...

Welcome back, Indiana Jones. A few of your friends probably held on...and will probably keep on holding on until IT happens again...until, out of the blue, SHE walks in...

The next girl who will sit on your Facebook, and tell you that she loves you.

Hey, My Rainbow Pookie Bear! Get Your Cleats On!

So, I went to go take a shower (or perhaps a nice long, hot, lavender scented bubble bath-because I'm stone cold butch like that) and I found this wonderfully expressive note perched on the faucet handle.

The thing I had to ask myself, besides, "I'm hungry. I wonder if we have any buttery toast bacon crackers?" was, "How did our humble beginnings of 'baby' and 'honey' evolve into such an exhaustively thorough and mouth-watering terms of endearment exchange?"

Some might even argue that my girlfriend and I have become a little competitive with our pet names for each other.

Almost as if it were some kind of....contest...

Why do I say, "contest" might you ask?

Because...not that I want to generalize (yes I do), but as a group, lesbians seem to have a few 'issues' with competitiveness. At our Super Bowl parties we often have more gear on than the players do-to protect ourselves from each other. Things can abruptly spin out of control, and we (as a people) are aware of the potential for rapid escalation.

In this case, things had started sweetly and innocently enough.

You know, I was her "little love chops," or her "cookie pie," or "kitten toes." I was even her, "squiggly love cakes." And, in turn, she was my "little snuggly bear," or my "fluff muffin," or "nectar niblets." At the VERY most she was my, "soft skinned huggy bunches."

Before long, "kitten toes" turned into "pumpkin slippers." And then, all hell broke loose.

Before long, I got THIS:

"Good morning, puppy whiskers! You're beautiful when you sleep..and when you're awake, and when you're a little tired but not yet ready to sleep, and you're also beautiful when you're waking up but not yet wide awake...I just love you my sexy skittle knees."

So she got THIS:

"Thank you my little honey shorts hamster dumpling. I can't wait to achieve new heights of co-dependence with you. The future is our to bake together, you hot basket of syrup socks."

And it was ON...like an affectionately impaired psychotic Donkey Kong.

At this point, I have been:

Dimple waffle sugar knickers.
Tootsie sprinkle shoulders.
Silly monkfruit cuttlefish.
Sponge pudding baby turtle monkey.
Fuzzy doodle drumstick butter opossum.

I called her out on the opossum one.

"You probably say that to all the girls, my creamy dollop of fluff munchies." (The 'fuzzy doodle drumstick butter opossum' term of endearment is SO overused).

"My creamy dollop is for you only, my teensy, wombat, pancake cricket...and I'd never share my fluff munchies with anyone, lemon pie honey squares! Never!!"

I must admit, I was nearly rendered speechless with that last one.

I managed to refer to her as my "amorous agave ankles," and my, "stevia snuggly squirrel shins" before I ran out of cute animals, sweeteners, and body parts.

Fortunately, my friend (I will refer to him here is Duane, mostly because his name is Duane) tried an intervention...

"Couldn't you PLEASE put some healthier food references in with the 'snicker doodle lemon honey fluffy truffle' stuff? I'm gaining weight and you're making me hungrier. Maybe some, 'basil pepper stuffed snapper?'"

Well, my girlfriend totally suited up for THIS suggestion:

"My dearest savory hummus bundle, let's take a long and exhilarating walk to Trader Joe's, hand in hand my little carrot crunch bits, where we will purchase organic love morsels and other foods that are healthy and less fattening, and also gluten-free...ooh yeah, my sexy svelte buff jungle...ooh, yeah..."

I've been severely constrained by the healthier parameters.

It's very hard to make the word "legume" sound romantic. She's my "lovely love lentil." But, that's all I've got.

I feel defeated. Deflated. Struggling with existential angst, and a mild headache. Plus, I'm having vivid dreams about gerbils and cilantro-lime brown rice.

So, yeah...I'm thinking this all might have a slight element of competitiveness to it.

She just referred to me yesterday as her, "baby cactus smooshy stop sign frog legs."

Granted, my girlfriend would be the first to characterize her inner-most nature as one of cooperation and peace-loving pacifism. I mean, she used to be an activist, for goodness sakes.

"My anti-war peace sign placard is bigger than your anti-war peace sign placard."

"Shut up, or I will cut you."

Hahaha! Just kidding, honey! Don't hurt me!

My itsy bitsy, sweet, yummy, ferret-nose, wispy nipple curd lips!

The "Straight Agenda" is ruining my banana...

It's all part of their diabolical plan...

So, depending on which studies you consult, somewhere between 85-95% of the population is "straight." I guess this means that the "straights" aren't going to be going anywhere anytime soon, and that we gays are just going to have to learn to live with them. I had kind of been hoping they would all just move to Branson, Missouri...and be happy there with their big belt buckles, neatly coiffed hair, and matching polyester leisure suits.

Since it appears that isn't going to happen, I'm going to choose tolerance.

I've heard about the so called "straight agenda," and I always thought it was some kind of deliberate attempt to make my consumption of bananas awkward. As you can see from the above picture, their plan has been pretty effective. At least in my case. Still, I decided that I could live with the inconvenience...maybe even use it to my advantage to work through some deep-seated emotional issues I have with patriarchy...

But, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately (UH OH). I think there is more to it than just bananas. And cucumbers. And some varieties of squash. And hot dogs. And corn, if you are really freaky.

It occurs to me that the straights are EVERYWHERE, and they have been pushing their lifestyle on me since the day I was born...trying to make their personal, private choices appear to be the only option around...infiltrating Toys R Us pushing their baby dolls and E-Z Bake ovens on me before I even knew what was happening to me...steering me into clothing store sections dominated by frilly, delicate, fragile, pink things that constricted my movements and ability to climb trees.

I don't even LIKE pink (except under some very specific circumstances which I won't cover here).

It has dawned on me that they have been DELIBERATELY working to influence my choice of life partners with the strange and repetitive message that, "someday my Prince will come."

Ewwww!!! No!

Don't threaten me!

Even worse, THEY have totally positioned themselves in the political arena...and not only were our gay marriages demeaned and belittled...apparently they were even ILLEGAL!!! Fortunately, that's almost and finally becoming just a silly part of our country's past...although from time to time I really worry that the hetero handling of marriage (cheating, dysfunction, divorcing at really high rates, remarrying over and over again, having horrid bridemaid dresses) is going to cheapen the meaning of marriage in general...but, again...I'll be tolerant, because I apparently have to be.

Look, I don't care what the straights do in the privacy of their own homes...but I don't appreciate their whole lifestyle being constantly rammed down my throat (so to speak). Consenting adults can do what they want to behind closed doors...but it's almost as if the straights FLAUNT their sexuality...kissing each other in public, holding hands...using their sexuality to sell beer, and cars. And Yoplait yogurt.

I honesty don't care if they are straight, as long as they ACT gay in public...or at least keep their affections to themselves.

Not long ago you couldn't even turn on the TV or go to a movie without seeing heterosexuals doing sex stuff to each other. Thank goodness gay people in the entertainment industry started speaking up, and coming out in droves. I mean, we are kind of over-represented in the entertainment industry due to the fact that we have a disproportionate level of talent and fabulousness amongst our people.

Discriminatory actions and offensive/insulting language are now considered unacceptable in a pretty big way...and often result in consequences for the people who are doing it. I guess in Hollywood that can include "blacklisting"...and be a real career killer (kind of like being "outed" as a gay person USED to be).

Gee, that's too bad! It's sad that the homophobic people are being forced into a closet through the mechanisms of ostracizing and social disapproval. I'll bet it's dark and claustrophobic in there.

I think the response of accusing gay people of having a "gay mafia" to enforce this stuff is kind of silly. It reminds me of someone asking, "Do these pants make my butt look big?" Well, no. It's your large butt that makes your butt look big.

"Do these offensive statements make me look like a homophobic idiot?"

Well, actually, yes. But, it's also your homophobic idiocy that makes you look like a homophobic idiot.

It doesn't matter what pants you wear. At least large butts can be attractive.

There is a concept in sociology called, "relative deprivation." In this context, a person in a previously privileged position will possibly find themselves feeling deprived, threatened, or angry when those who had previously been oppressed start gaining EQUAL standing. Equality itself can seem like an intrusion.

Gay people pointing out the obvious, making noise about it, refusing to hide any longer (in fact, making visibility a protest tool), turning the tables, exposing discriminatory elements in our culture, confronting someone when they offend, and YES...using their positions of power and authority to enforce the point...these are elements of a social change movement. Not a "mafia." That's funny.

If we DID have a mafia, we would somehow have to advance beyond straight men (such as Tom Hanks or Robin Williams) playing gay characters in the movies. We would even need to advance beyond GAY men playing gay characters in the movies. What we would need is some kind of secret super weapon to REALLY blow the presumption of heterosexuality out of the water.

Boom! Take THAT!

I'm going to go eat a banana...wherever and however I want to.

This frog is female, blue, and totally subversive.

Lesbian Gang Signs: A Tutorial

"Hello. I am a lesbian. Are you also a lesbian? Can I meet your dog?"

There are a few "insider" things that we card carrying lesbians usually keep under wraps. Our "industry secrets" if you will.

I've decided to share some of our lesbian gang signs with you.

I could get in a lot of trouble with the National Association of Secret Lesbian Stuff (NASLS). Most people don't even know that our organization exists...so for now we'll just pretend that I...uh... made it up.

I share all of this with you because I think there has been a lot of misinformation and confusion out there. I also think that it is important that straight people be properly equipped if they find themselves in one of the inner city lesbian ghettos...or Home Depot on a Saturday afternoon.

You want to be able to meaningfully communicate with the lesbians. It is also important for both comfort and safety that you know how to both read and interpret  lesbian hand gestures. Failure to understand could be costly, or at the very least, awkward.

The sign at the top is just a simple Identity-fier. It can be deployed by lesbians in most situations...it should not be confused with the "loser" sign, which is positioned directly in front of the forehead. This particular identifying sign was more popular back in the 60's before advances in 'gaydar technology' rendered it nearly obsolete. (There was also some confusion created by the 70's sitcom "Laverne and Shirley")...this sign seems to be making a bit of a comeback now that changing social norms in fashion and hairstyles (and people like Katy Perry) have made instant visual recognition much more difficult.

"Would you like to rent a U-Haul together?"

The "U-Haul" sign was taken directly from the American Sign Language alphabet, and deploys both the "U" and the "H" simultaneously. Be VERY careful in the use of this one, unless you want to end up living with a lesbian of your very own.

"Hey girl, would you like to 'scissor' with me?"

It is extremely important that you avoid this sign at all costs if you are a "straight" person. In fact, if a lesbian deploys this sign at you, try to avoid making direct eye contact, and leave the area immediately. I cannot stress this enough. Just trust me.

There are a few more signs, but I really can't bring myself to model them.

Damn you, 'Thelma and Louise' truck driver

The above photo was an attempt of mine to model what used to be a perfectly acceptable and frequently used sign for a common lesbian activity. Unfortunately, Ridley Scott ruined it by having the truck driver in 'Thelma and Louise' use it improperly. Our collective mental retinas have all been scarred, and it has been appropriated by straight males as part of their poorly executed mating ritual.

Also, be aware that these gang signs probably do not translate cross culturally. In Australia, for example, the above gesture means, "Up yours twice, mate."

I hope this has been helpful...and that NASLS will take into account that I did NOT share the secret handshake. I really want to keep my membership card.

The Care and Feeding of Your Thanksgiving Lesbian...

Don't panic

That time of year is once again upon us when we will gather our family and friends around us, to celebrate and to give thanks for all of the wonderful blessings that have been bestowed in our general directions.

If you are like most American households, you will probably have to deal with the care and feeding of your family lesbian (we ALL have an aunt who is a lesbian-or perhaps a daughter who is experimenting if she is in college). If your lesbian has a partner or a wife, you may even have more than one to tend to. There is no need to panic. I'm here to help.

The first thing to know is that it is very possible that your family lesbian(s) cannot eat anything that you have in your refrigerator, your cupboards, or even at your local Albertsons. If you don't want your family lesbian(s) to show up and only be able to eat the low sodium chick peas (out of a can) that have been hiding in the back of your pantry for several years, you will probably need to make a trip to Trader Joe's (Whole Foods or Sprouts can also help you).

Trader Joe's doesn't actually have a "lesbian section," because the whole store is a lesbian section. The lesbians share it with the hippies, social workers, liberal activists, nutritionists, 'law of attraction' life coaches...and also with a guy named Fred who is trying to cope with a spiritual awakening following his near-death experience.

Remember to avoid anything with meat, animal by-products, processed sugars, or dairy. Make sure that it is organic, free range, has no artificial preservatives or synthetic colors, and is gluten-free. Foods should have an exotic sounding name (tibouli, chimichurri rice, jadida cakes), or maybe just be impossible to pronounce correctly (quinoa). It should have no flavor, and a texture similar to shag carpeting.

I know what you are thinking. You're thinking about buying some more chick peas, aren't you? Well, you can do that if you are planning to make hummus from scratch. Lesbians LOVE hummus. Especially Jill...if she's invited, make a lot (WTF Jill?).

But you really CAN diversify your menu.

Here is an example of what I often purchase in anticipation of my annual lesbian "Second Harvest Potluck," which I mostly hold just to make Pat Robertson nervous because it sounds super Wiccany (I made that word up):

I generally start by getting some Haricot verts to go with the grilled eggplant and zucchini melange. I then pick up some organic, steel-cut quinoa branberry muesli clusters with carob flaxseed sprinkles in a light pomegranate cous cous fig sauce with roasted and salted pepitas on the side.

For dessert we have some dried Chilean mango flakes with re hydrated sea salt.

OK. I have NO idea what I am talking about. I don't even know what a "vert" is, and how the hell are you supposed to rehydrate sea salt? I don't even think branberries exist. As if I know how to cook. OMG.

At Trader Joe's just find Ashley, and tell her you have lesbians coming for dinner. She'll set you up.

Or even better, just ask the lesbians themselves. While it does seem to be true that there are a higher than average number of socially aware and nutritionally deliberate, vegan lesbians out there-they do make tofurkey...so still, no need to panic. Nothing says "Second Harvest" like a soybean curd bird...

 Lesbian potluck leftovers are really the only area in which lesbian's pets (fur babies) might occasionally feel a little deprived...but they are compensated with doggie therapists, pet psychics, play dates, and massages...

And, you know, there is a very good chance that your family lesbian(s) also have no idea what a "vert" is, and really just want to kick back and watch the game with a beer and some nachos.

Organic stone-ground blue corn chips only, please.

The Cornwell Bitch-Slap (and other lesbian literary adventures)...

So, my friend (I will refer to her here as Debbie, mostly because her name is Debbie) has apparently had this photo banned in her house. This is a promotional photo for the new book, "Flesh and Blood" by Patricia Cornwell. I mention this because I took the photo directly from her Facebook page, and figure if I plug the book she won't sue me for using the image.

Actually, it would be ok if she sued me for using the image.

I can hear myself in court now.

"Ms. Nicholson, is it true that you posted this image on your blog without permission and in direct contradiction with United States copyright laws?"

"Yes, your Honor, and that's not all I did with this image..."

Patricia Cornwell is a 57 year-old author of the best selling "Kay Scarpetti" crime mystery series. She is also a lesbian.

She is insanely hot, and makes me want to do ab crunches until I pass out. I mean, 57!!!

I can see how this picture could end up banned in a lesbian household. As my friend stated in the following exchange:

DS: My girlfriend told me I'm not allowed to look at this picture. Spoilsport.

DT (the girlfriend): Cornwell is banned!

DS: Rut Roh. I'm in trouble.

JN: Hubba. Repetitively.

DS: That's what I said, but mysteriously I got slapped and I have no idea why!

JN: It's the famous "Cornwell Bitch-Slap"...don't ever leave one of the books face-side down on the coffee table. Be prepared.

DS: LMFAO! The Cornwell Bitch-Slap is a thing? Who knew?

JN: Right? And it's much more dangerous than the "Rita Mae Brown Headlock."

Or the "Fannie Flagg Chokehold" which first gained notoriety in South Carolina.

I may have made that up. I may have made all of this up.

Anyway, this picture gives me hope that I may still be able to become a hot writer and be banned in lesbian households across America!

We all have to dream.

I'm going to go do some crunches and work on my memoirs.

Lesbian Sexual Role Playing: Forbidden Swatches and Aching Squirrel Chiclets...

OK, so maybe this has less to do with being a lesbian. and more to do either with mental illness, or a lack of imagination...but I found myself in a funny conversation the other night.

I may or may not have been discussing sexual role playing...and whether or not that "works" for me.

I suppose given the right scenario, that could be kind of hot. I had a few questions, and then a few suggestions.

I know several of my "straight" friends who have told me a few stories...you know...

"Ok...I'm a hitchhiker, and you pick me up along a dark road..." or "I'm a housewife, and you're the cable guy who shows up during the available blocks of time between 9-11am, or 1-3pm sometime in March.."

I have a friend who is a nurse, and her boyfriend is a doctor. Apparently, they play...uh...a doctor and a nurse.

That's cray cray. That must be a huge acting stretch.

"I'm not a doctor, but I play one on T.V. No wait, I AM a doctor..."

So, anyway, I got to thinking about two women-and how you might have to be a bit more creative-given that the roles aren't just instantly gender specified.

I asked my...uh..."special friend"..if we were allowed to have costumes or props.

"Well, I don't see why not." she said.

I thought about it for a while, while eyeballing the ceramic squirrel in my room.

"Ok, I got one..." I said breathily.

"What is it?" she asked with smoldering anticipation.

"I'm a veterinary lab technician, and you're a dental hygienist assistant. I'm bringing in a rescue squirrel who has a toothache."

She blinked at me.

I grabbed my squirrel off my nightstand, and continued my creative elaborations...

"He's going to need some kind of teeth to make this work. Do you have any chiclets?"

She gently told me (after informing me that, no, she she didn't have any chiclets), that she didn't really see how that scenario could develop into something sexy...even though I had offered to forget the squirrel prop. I told her we could just imagine maybe a gerbil, or a turtle, or something...and she suggested I try another scenario ENTIRELY, even though I had kind of liked that one.

Whatever.

So, I tried again.

"Ok...I'm the Wal-Mart greeter, and you're the fry girl at the in-store McDonald's."

She again looked at me blankly, with just a hint of concern.

So, I went on...

"Welcome to Wal-Mart, you beautiful and smoking hot McDonald's employee whom I have never in my life met before..."

I waited, but she was silent. So, I tried to help.

"Now, you tell me to be careful, because the fries are hot...oh, so....hot..."

She shook her head.

'No? Ok, you make one up. Show me how it's done, smarty pants."

I think at this point she was just kind of stunned (perhaps a little frightened), and our conversation wandered to considering some actual jobs we had had in our lives. She told me how she had worked at some fancy interior design studio as a "Fabric Librarian" (No, REALLY), and I told her how I had worked at Subway during my undergrad years, back when they used to slice the tops off of the loaves of bread like a boat-which you would fill with sandwich makings and then replace the top. We referred to ourselves as, "Sandwich Artists."

So, we considered the possibilities.

"How do you propose that these two might come together?" she asked tentatively, "I mean, somehow they have to end up in the same room for this to work."

"Well," I repled, "I could come into your studio to deliver a sandwich and ask to see your swatches."

Silence again.

"You know...I could walk in and say, 'Hello, there...I have your 6-inch tuna on wheat. Can you show me your swatches? Do you have anything in a....Seafoam Green?'" I was trying to use my best sexy voice, emphasizing the word 'seafoam'.

I could see she was trying really hard to get on board with this (bless her heart).

"Only interior designers are allowed to see my swatches..." she said slowly. "I could take you in the back...but, I could get...fired."

"Oh, you are such a bad, bad girl."

After a moment, she just shook her head again, but I kept going.

"Ok...so maybe instead you could come into Subway on your lunch break."

I think here is where she just started messing with me.

"Hi! Welcome to subway! What can I get you, you beautiful and smoking hot customer whom I have never, ever seen before in my whole life?"

Her voice had decidedly lost it's breathy tone as she placed her imaginary order.

"Yeah, um, I'll take a six inch BMT with everything on it."

I could tell she was losing her enthusiasm, but I wasn't going to be deterred.

"Are you sure you wouldn't be interested in a....footlong...they are only five dollars...for a limited time..."

I think she rolled her eyes at that one.

"Yeah, Ok. Fine. Whatever."

"And what kind of bread would you like your footlong on?"

She just looked at me, totally amused and finally replied, "I don't know. Why don't you tell me about the kinds of breads that you have?"

 I jumped on the chance to elaborate, because I am all about detail.

"I'm so glad you are interested in my bread complexities. Perhaps I can utilize my keenly developed sense of sandwich artistry and make a well-informed and highly trained suggestion for you..." I could see she was about to laugh, but I continued on. "You look like an Italian Herb and Spices kind of girl...I could...toast it for you..."

"Look, I only have 45 minutes for lunch. I really don't think this is going to work...I don't think I'm ever going to get a sandwich at this pace..."

Yeah. I could totally see her point. Maybe role-playing just isn't my strong suit. Ultimately, we just decided to be ourselves, which totally works for me...maybe it's just easier for the heterosexuals.

I think my ceramic squirrel is so relieved.

Lesbian Exes: Detached Garages and the Eukanuba Agreement...

So, my friend (I will refer to her here as Jessica, mostly because her name is Angela) suggested I write a post on lesbians and their exes. I had to think about this one for a while. I mean, what's so different about lesbians and their exes? Everyone has exes.

Then it came to me.

While most straight people have exes who live in Texas (I know this, because they write songs about it), many lesbian women have exes who live down the block and with whom they share joint custody of some furry creature.

Sometimes, they also share custody of a dog or cat.

Ba dump bump! I'll be here all week!

Anyway...back to my keen observations...

Granted, this idea PARTIALLY occurred to me because Jessica/Angela specifically suggested this exact, identical, nearly verbatim idea to me.

Our exchange went something (exactly) like this:

J/A: You should blog about lesbians who are still attached to and like their exes. I hate that!

JO: That is an AWESOME blog topic!!! I'm already getting ideas. I can totally work with that.

JO: Hi. I'm Jo. I'm hoping my ex gets eaten by an alligator.

J/A: I would LOVE it if a girl told me that! Instead I get...my ex is my best friend, or my ex and I still take turns with the dog or...my ex lives 3 houses down.

J/A; ...or...my ex still eats dinner at my mom's because she was a big part of the family for 7 years etc.

J/A: Straight girls cut their exes wieners off with dull knives.

JO: HAHAHAHA...oh...the ideas...I put mine on my blog with a mustache...not in any way equivalent to a dull knife, but I certainly did laugh a little too loudly...

NOTE: To see my ex with a mustache, please refer to the posting dated 10/3/14 and titled "Lesbian Relationships and Exploding Emotional Petrie Dishes." My ex would be the blond woman with the rather large mustache, sunglasses, giant red bow, chin whiskers, and a cigarillo dangling out of her mouth. Please refer your friends.

Anyway, I really think she is onto something. This 'friends with the exes' thing does seem to be a regular phenomenon in the lesbian community. It's strange. Even Melissa Etheridge ended up getting two separate houses with a shared backyard when she split with her ex-wife Julie Cypher. Supposedly it was to facilitate shared parenting of their human children...but I'll bet there were a few dogs and cats involved too.

Again, like the U-Haul phenomenon, I can't imagine the same scenarios going over as well in the heterosexual community. I mean, really.

I would forecast some troubles...and maybe a guest shot on Maury Povich.

I have to admit, I have been (and still am) touched by this phenomenon. I am friends with a few of my exes, and I have certainly had my fair share of girlfriends who also have ongoing entanglements with former domestic partners. I can't even tell you how many intense phone conversations I have witnessed as a result.

"Becky, you PROMISED you wouldn't let Figaro get attached to Miranda."

"Yes, and YOU promised that you wouldn't deviate from Eukanuba. That doesn't exactly explain what I discovered in his litter box this morning."

"Whatever. I'll see you at the dog park at 4:45 sharp...and this time please bring Cheeto's special bowl and squeaky Armadillo. He shouldn't be without them all week."

"Fine. Hey, there's a college production of 'Vagina Monologues'...you wanna go? Miranda hates that stuff."

"Absolutely! I found a rare live recording of Ani DiFranco reading Andrea Gibson. I wanted you to hear it."

Etc. Etc. Etc.

It can certainly be a challenge to deal with that stuff.

If it weren't for my exes with detached garages, I would never have been able to pursue music or writing. I'm pretty sure there are some current girlfriends who would love to kill me.

Especially when I deviate from the Eukanuba agreement.

Lesbians and Power Tools: Snap On, Snap Off

So, my 'loaner cats' knocked a plastic cup full of iced coffee onto the floor (because cats are a**holes), and it required some clean-up. It was the perfect opportunity for me to pull out the Craftsmane wet/dry shop vac, followed by the Bissell Green Machine Spot Remover, followed by the Dyson Steam Cleaner/Electric Floor Buffer. That, of course, led to the tiniest bit of floor varnish being removed...and so I had no choice but to bring out the sanders, drills, saws, presses, clamps, levels, brushes, sponges, safety harness, goggles, gloves, wrenches, socket set, air compressor, staple gun, hydraulic lift, tack hammer, phillips screwdriver and stud finder necessary to do the job right.

Turns out I totally didn't need the stud-finder.

Lesbians will find any excuse to play with tools...especially POWER TOOLS. I am no exception. What IS exceptional about me is that I have NO idea what I am doing...

But, I don't let little things like a lack of knowledge, or awareness of important safety precautions, get in my way. This often leads to interventions...friends trying to help me (or prevent a fire)...I am blessed with friends who are concerned for my (or their own) well-being.

Many of my friends are lesbians, so most of them know how to use power tools. In fact, many of them have collections of power tools that would make most men envious.

Many lesbians go to Home Depot like straight women go to Neiman Marcus...just to peruse the aisles and "window-shop." A lot of lesbians will go there and actually get the idea to PUT IN a window. Again, any excuse to purchase or break out the tools...

I go to Home Depot to pick up chicks. On a Saturday afternoon, it's second only to a local softball tournament for a high concentration of lesbians in any singular location.

But that's for another entry.

What's really fun is when you get two women with dueling toolboxes. It can get competitve. The old, "my toolbox is bigger than your toolbox" syndrome. We lesbians have to be careful not to leave our partner's feeling...uh...inadequate. It can get scary when the toilet backs up...having nothing to do with the toilet itself.

Lesbians can be sort of competitive. I know some who wear cleats while playing Pictionary.

Anyway, I'm headed out to my backyard with my impact wrench, hydraulic hole press, gutter nail driver, and my new Graco Fusion AP Gunround Adhesive Spatter Gun.

I have a birdfeeder to put up.

Should'a put a ring on It...:)

No, this post isn't about losing your cell phone when it's on silent mode. Or on vibrate....that's a whole other blog post.

This post is about gay marriage.

Sh*t just got real in Arizona!

I stole the above avatar meme from my friend (I will refer to her here as Cheryl, mostly because her name is Cheryl). I woke up this morning to find this on one of my 4, 957 social media sites, and I got very excited! Not only because my cat was standing uncomfortably on my left breast, with her butt directly in my face...but also because I was VERY happy for Cheryl and her girlfriend! I mean, look at the SIZE of that rock! I'm pretty sure it's either a diamond, or Cheryl was playing some kind of practical joke on her girlfriend with a ring box and a flash camera (SNAP! 'Ha! I got your picture! You should see the look on your face!').

I think my friends are engaged to be married!

Like, REAL married! Not that "separate but equal" civil union archaic bullcrap...but actual 'institutionally validated, whether you like it or not' MARRIED! Cheryl (if that's even her real name) had BETTER invite me!

Of course we have a mutual straight male friend (I will refer to him here as Dick, mostly because his name is Keith) who had a few questions. This is reasonable...I mean, this a a rapidly occurring social change, and it is bound to create some questions as it unfolds.

Dick's questions was, "How do you decide who does the proposing?" That's a valid question, given that all of the previously taken-for-granted gender dictated roles have to be re-negotiated.

He then wondered (OUT LOUD, no less) if Cheryl's proposal was partially determined by the fact that she is 'vertically conservative,' and therefore closer to the ground for that whole "down on one knee" tradition.

Excellent question, Dick! I hope I get to visit with you again before Cheryl kills you!

Anyway, as I said-things just got real in Arizona...and a lot of other states recently. Circuit court decisions are declaring any definitions of marriage that specifically excludes gay and lesbian people to be unconstitutional...I mean, duh! So now, if you have some kind of problem with gay marriage, my biggest recommendation to you would be to NOT marry a gay person!

A few days ago, it happened in Alaska. I'm from Alaska, and I NEVER thought that could happen in my lifetime. The six gay people (and four gay moose) up there are thrilled!

I'm kidding! There are LOTS of gay people up in Alaska! So many people are lining up outside of City Hall in Anchorage to get their licenses that there is almost nowhere left to park the rainbow clad dogsleds! It's chaos. Big, gay chaos!

I would love to see it.

As a lesbian and a sociologist, I'm just blown away. I'm humbled by the many who went before us, risking everything to challenge the system. They paid the price for this, which is what activists do. Dominance and oppression can only function in silence, so to those who made the noise...YOU ARE BRAVE AND AMAZING! THANK YOU!

As for you, Dick? I would try to hide from Cheryl before she hits you with one of her gorgeous, spike-heeled, fancy, ornamental, stunt shoes. I wouldn't try hiding in one of the few states left that still outlaws gay marriage...

Discriminatory laws...they are toppling like dominoes. Black and white dominoes.

Lesbians and gender neutral electrical fires...

One of the things that heterosexual couples have is a sort of pre-existing template for how stuff is going to get done around the house. In social research, we liked to talk about the "household division of labor"...which is just fancy sociological talk for...uh....the household division of labor.

Anyway, a lot of it was traditionally divided along gender lines. Women would plan for, prepare and cook meals, vacuum, dust, sweep, mop, make beds, clean windows, shop, handle correspondence, care for the children, handle family activity scheduling, handle interior decoration, do the laundry, iron, care for anyone who was sick, sew, clean and disinfect the bathrooms, care for pets, plan and execute holidays and family celebrations, and be solely responsible for acquiring the vast collection of attractive but useless little throw pillows that accumulate randomly throughout the house.

In all fairness, men also had a lot of household stuff to do. I mean, they were soley responsible for starting all the indoor and outdoor fires and floods associated with plumbing, electrical repair, car maintenance, lawn care, and operating the BBQ. They also had to take out the trash, and remember to lose the television remote EVERY night.

That's a lot of stuff that has to get done to keep a household running...and at one time the household division of labor decisions were closely associated with the fact that men were the ones out there in the labor market.

Now that women are equally present in the labor market, there have (thankfully) been some changes made in gendered expectations to better reflect this reality. For example, since women are out there working for a paycheck too, NOW when they come home after working 8-10 hours at a job, all they have to do is plan for, prepare and cook meals, vacuum, dust, sweep, mop, make beds, clean windows, shop, handle correspondence, care for the children, handle family activity scheduling, decorate the house, do the laundry, iron, care for anyone sick, sew, clean and disinfect the bathrooms, care for the pets, plan and execute holidays and family celebrations, and be solely responsible for acquiring the vast collection of attractive but useless little throw pillows that accumulate randomly throughout the house.

Sociologists needed some fancy terminology for this phenomenon, so they called it the "Second Shift." Work all day at your job so you can come home, and go to work at the second job.

But, I'm a lesbian. I don't have to worry about that crap.

Lesbians seem to make their decisions about the division of household labor based on who can do what, and who has the time. It has very little to do with who has a vagina. Most lesbians have vaginas. I have a vagina. I still can't cook. At all. Anyone who knows me, knows this (about the cooking, not the vagina thing). My ex-wife used to physically remove me from "HER" kitchen.

You burn poptarts ONE time, and people never let you forget it. It's not like I'm psychic, and just magically KNEW you had to take them out of the foil before putting them in the toaster.

Whatever.

Come to think of it, my vagina hasn't helped me much with sewing, either. Or with changing the oil in the car. Or decorating. Or ironing. My ex-wife wouldn't let me do the laundry anymore after I shrunk one of her sweaters so small that it fit the cat.

It's true that if neither person knows how to do something that needs done, you have to resort to asking for outside help. My last relationship, neither of us knew how to do ANYTHING with the vehicles, so we bothered our neighbor a lot. Just to ask stupid questions, like where the oil went, or how long you had to blow into the nozzle thingies to get the tires to inflate...

It occurs to me that vagina or no vagina (I'm saying vagina a lot in this post, and I'm enjoying it), I don't seem to be very helpful around the house, I mean, there is some stuff I can do. Once I learned to never mix Mr. Clean with Lysol toilet bowl cleaner (unless you are fumigating for people), I got pretty good at cleaning things.

Vagina, vagina, vagina.

Oops.

I also can balance plates on my boobs when watching TV, so I'm not completely useless. And...I can start a toaster fire just as good as anyone who has a penis.

OMG. Where's the remote?

Lesbians: We are HUMPR's, and we like to truck...

There is a time and place for the lesbian U-Haul phenomenon, and it usually involves the immediate and cosmic collision of two incredibly impulsive and lovestruck women into an instant, morphed, domestic conglomeration of assorted dogs, cats, boots, bras, Sarah McLachlan CD's, yoga mats, and  an arsenal of hair care products (for the animals, mostly).

For any other moving activity, lesbians know they can activate the Homegirl Urgent Moving Protocol Response (HUMPR) system, which I may, or may not have, just now, right this very second, made up.  

But, if I did just make up something, it is in name only...because in spirit, this thing actually exists. A few well placed phone calls, and any lesbian can count on an army of lesbians with trucks showing up when and where she needs them.

U-Haul may be the appropriate "move in" method...but when Courtney discovers that Brooke told Pinecone her secret about that night following the potluck when she did that one thing with Amber behind Kelly's back, and Pinecone never shared this fact with Courtney thereby allowing Jill to eat all of the hummus again (WTF JIll?)....a lesbian can count on her homegirls to show up for the rapid response "move out."

Not that EVERY lesbian drives a pickup truck. I mean, that would be a stereotypical, sweeping over-generalization. I would never do THAT. Making insulting, inaccurate, stereotypical statements could result in a bunch of women with mullets descending to stomp on me with their giant boots.

Haha. Just kidding. Mullets were so 1985.

I actually had one. But, I digress.

As I was saying, not every lesbian drives a pick-up truck. Some ride motorcycles.

Haha! Just kidding again! How are you going to help somebody move their cat tree on a motorcycle? That's just silly!

You know, my housemate just had an awesome idea. She said we should all get HUMPRstickers for easy identification purposes. I told her to be quiet, because I'm the funny one in this household.

Anyway, I'm totally ripping off her HUMPRsticker idea, and I'm going to put one on my Vulva...because that's what I drive. Yeah, baby.

There. I think I have equally offended everybody. My work is done here.

I Got the Lesbola...

I remember when I was first wrestling with the self realization that I might not be like the other girls....wrestling with the realization that I might be a lesbian.

I was three years old.

Boy, that was a rough year.

OK. Not really....at three the only thing I was wrestling with was how to get my Chatty Kathy doll to shut the hell up (turns out that leaving her in the driveway to be run over is pretty effective).

Actually, it was more like when I was about twelve, and developing my first
crushes. While the other girls were fussing over the boys in 'Tiger Beat' magazine, I just wanted to impress Jo, from 'Facts of Life,' with my hamster.

In all fairness, my hamster, Gumby, was really cool and could do tricks.

But I'm not here to write about my amazing, stunt hamster.

I'm here to write about how I might have contracted lesbianism.

I've really wracked my brains over this one...(not as much as my poor mother did, bless her heart)...but I have certainly put a lot of thought into it. It had to have happened sometime before I was eight years old, because by that age I was already firmly resistant to all things pink, delicate, and frilly...and I wanted to push boys into mud puddles...I was clearly demonstrating the signs and symptoms of early infection.

I'm still not sure if I was contagious during this time...and I'm still totally mystified about WHERE I could have POSSIBLY picked it up. It remains a mystery to this day.

Although, I do remember that one time I ate bad cheese. Could that be it?

It would be so much easier to narrow down if there was more accurate information about how it's spread. I mean, when I caught mononucleosis it was totally clear that I got THAT from kissing Marcus Ritchie behind the hockey rink (it was his idea, and I didn't like it). But THIS thing...I have no idea.

Anyway, when I first came out to my mom (bless her heart) I think she was very hopeful that it was just a "phase"...like the phases I went through with doing John Wayne impersonations, or collecting lizards. But, this 'lesbian thing' hasn't spontaneously resolved. I think it might be terminal. Most of the people I know who caught the lesbianism and later passed away did, indeed, die still having the condition.

To be truthful, though...I don't expect that the lesbianism will kill me. Well, unless I encounter another one like my ex. Then, it might.

Fortunately, I wouldn't be interested in a "cure," even if there was one. What a way to go! I think it MIGHT be possible that I was born this way. I think it MIGHT be possible that that is totally awesome!

I try to imagine a modern (western) world where being "gay" was still considered something you could "transfer" to others...where planes coming in from San Francisco were quarantined while straight healthcare workers, dressed in protective clothing modeled after 1950's sitcom characters, observed passengers for signs of fabulousness.

"Bob, I've got one here with errant glitter, and an encyclopedic knowledge of  showtunes...."

"Put him in with the female pro-golfer. Let's see how they respond to the fruit basket test..."

Lesbians would be expected to eat the fruit in the basket, slightly hesitating with the bananas. Gay men would be expected to try to incorporate the fruit basket  (especially the bananas), into a design for a giant hat.

Anyway...I actually feel fortunate that I am one of the 4-15% of the general population (depending on which studies you consult) lucky enough to be gay.

And proud. :)

The Lesbian U-Haul Olympics

We lesbians are pretty good at laughing at ourselves (and each other), especially when we notice that there seem to be some universal 'themes' in our community...It could be our love of softball, trucks, and Melissa Etheridge...

Or it could be our tendency to show up for our second dates with a U-Haul...because after that first INCREDIBLE night out (for dinner and roller derby), we KNOW that we have found THE ONE,

Again.

This is one of our hilarious community characteristics...one of those little inside jokes...one of the psychological ties that binds us (or moves us in) together.

I think it's that relationship intensity thing I wrote about earlier...perhaps a natural dynamic of two women being together. We are so aware of it in our community that we sometimes even use it to communicate with each other...to help clarify our dating styles, and our relationship boundaries. Or our fears...

"You're not a U-Haul lesbian, are you?"

 "Oh, HELL no! Are you?"

"No WAY! Those women are ridiculous!"

And, the next day they are calling their friends to help them go pick up the U-Haul...and to assist them with loading up the Foosball table.

It's a funny thing. I try to imagine the same phenomenon playing out repeatedly in the heterosexual dating world.

It probably wouldn't go over so smoothly.

I'm a musician, and I was trying to find somebody to perform with. I was asking my friend (I will again call her 'Cheryl' , mostly because her name is Cheryl) if she would be interested in harmonizing with me, and maybe performing at one of our local lesbian bars. She was very enthusiastic about it, and it wasn't long before we were coming up with potential band names.

She had the awesome idea of calling ourselves, "Bit**es with Hitches." We were going to wear pink t-shirts with pictures of a U-Haul on them. Everyone would totally get it! She was genius! I was so excited!

Then the next day she met her girlfriend and immediately moved out of town.

In all fairness, they just celebrated their first year anniversary-and they are very happy together. So, we may be quick, but we're not always wrong.

OK...one more...

AAAAAAH!!!