I thought y'all were my internet friends.
You act like my friends - you send me great letters, telling me all about where to find the lezzies in every city in America.
by brooze via diviantart
But it turns out you don't actually care about my happiness.
Even a little. Even at all.
I have just one question for you, you secretive whores:
HOW COME NOBODY TOLD ME ABOUT HOME DEPOT???
All this time, I could have been cruising the power-tool-aisles of Home Depot, making significant eye contact with construction butches!
All this time, I could have been pretending to have "a serious crabgrass problem" with the orange-aproned dyke in the landscaping department!
Y'all obviously aren't polite and you like to keep secrets.
Or you're just selfish and greedy - you want to keep the good lesbian haunts for yourself!
I never wanted to go to Home Depot. Understandably.
Here's a list of some things I am not interested in:
2) Building stuff
3) Lighting fixtures
7) Fixing broken shit
9) People who want to use math to help them with any of the above items.
Home Depot, as I know you already know (assholes) stands for all of these things.
Home Depot is a shining beacon for anybody who ever said, "I bet I could make that. And for cheaper, too."
Well, homos, when I finally walked into Home Depot myself, it was only because we were turning the extra bedroom into an enormous walk-in closet, and CJ tricked me by telling me she "needed my input" on how many shoe-shelves we should be putting in.
What did I think? Two, maybe three shelves?
Um. I obviously needed to go with her, because the answer to that question is:
What the eff do you mean, "how many shelves?"
I had clearly stated that the only way our new closet could be awesome would be if it had wrap-around-the-walls, floor-to-ceiling shoe space.
There had already been an elaborate diorama made, involving Midge the bunny, a large shoebox, popsicle sticks, and Gorilla Glue.
Midgie was playing the part of "Delighted Shoe-Owner Inside New Closet." (Sarah Jessica Parker herself couldn't have played it better.)
I couldn't count on CJ to not mess up my dream. This was my shoe vision!
So I went to Home Depot.
We walked in.
And it smelled like sawdust and rubber, and
I was instantly transported back to the Saturdays when my dad and I would get in the truck and go to Fleet Farm, and he would let me buy peanut marshmallow candy (as long as I didn't tell Mom) and I was allowed to run around all by myself and we would synchronize our watches and meet back at the checkout line in exactly 45 minutes.
Old-school butches! Married-with-a-house dykes! Lesbians holding hands in the lumber aisle! A grizzled old butch helping people mix paint!
I turned to CJ.
Me: Why didn't you tell me.
CJ: I tried. They sell hot dogs, too.
You guys, I got so excited about Home Depot that I got a little carried away.
I was suddenly overcome with my first-ever urge to make something.
There were all these cool little metal-y doo-dads in a bin, and I wanted them to make heavy-duty industrial punk jewelry with.
But then I remembered that:
1) Wearing chains and locks and metal washers is so high-school-goth-in-the-late-90s; and
I ended up with a little piece of wood, some tiny metal pieces, and the firm resolve to make a toothbrush rack.
We walked around and around, and I saw more lesbians than I've ever seen in Chicago in one place.
Why didn't you tell me???