Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Did You Want to Try That On

[via dirtywhite]
Hiya, fressers!

OMG it's finally Spring.
I haven't been this happy since last September. 

The maple outside our window has buds on it.  

BUDS, you guys.
Life is good. 

I'm sitting at my favorite coffeeshop, Swim, surrounded by queer/queer-looking girls, slurping down my second almond-milk latte and eating a stack of gluten-free cookies. 
[via ohcardigan]
Overnight, Swim decided to make their entire menu gluten-free, and since then I've been steadily handing the cafe all my cash, as if it were a drag queen stripper doing a convincing Gwen Stefani lounge act.

Do you have any idea how many years it's been since I've had dammit snickerdoodles?

A ginger dyke with an overly-styled fauxhawk just sauntered in wearing her teal work scrubs, leaving me to wonder, for the upteenth time:

Is every single person entrusted with poking needles into us gay?
Had I known about this shit, I would have gone to med school, best believe.

Anyway! The Loyola speaking thing went well. 

I think.

If you were there, you probably saw me blush the color of a lobster every time it was my turn to talk.
My only two goals were:

1)  Try very hard not to sound like a dummy, and

2)  Try not to offend everyone all at once.

I think I might have looked like a teenager sitting at the grownups' table for the first time.  
(via 16macarons)
But it's ok! I actually had fun! 
That was the most relaxed I've ever felt in front of a group. 
And maybe I can get better!

Hopefully so, 'cause...what are you doing on April 6th

Because I'm going to be speaking at Yale.

Come! It'll be fun! I'll give you more details as I get 'em!


Now it's time to deal with bigger, gayer issues:

There's a girl in my yoga class who won't shower with me.

[via cmrnmthwmrrs]

Here's the backstory:

This girl is very blonde, very straight-looking, way better than me at yoga, and has always been nice to me. 
She even loaned me her hairdryer once. 

We'll call her Sandra.  
One Saturday morning, about a month ago, I showed up to class dragging CJ - who looks quite a lot like a boy - with me.
Sandra arrived at the same time we did.

We hung up our coats.
Our instructor, Jen, casually asked who my guest was.  
Bikram is like a cult, and Jen smelled new blood.

I said, "Oh, this is my lil' wifey, CJ. My partner," and quickly kissed CJ's cheek.
[via youlovegirls]
Then I waved at Sandra.
Sandra turned quickly away and went to the locker rooms. 

In class, she kept staring at CJ's fuzzy armpits, then staring at me. Then back to the armpits.
[via universology]
Now, Sandra's a notable germ-phobe. 
She always showers after class in her own flip flops and scrubs the hell out of her mat with Purell before she leaves. 

I always shower too, but mostly because it's sad to be the only one nobody will sit next to on the crowded bus.
Inside the locker room, there's only two showers.  
It's communal - there are no stalls. 

If you're taking a shower, you're taking it with another naked girl about three inches from you, like it or not.
[via ohimgay]
Most people just go home, but I need a shower. 

I usually manage to get to the showers first. 
And Sandra used to hop in with me.

But...not since the day she saw CJ.

At first I thought it was just coincidence, but then I started to notice:

If a different girl beats me to the showers, Sandra'll soap up with her, no problem.

I've seen her do it, plenty of times.
But now, if I'm in there...she sits down on the bench to wait.

It couldn't be that, I thought. 

Surely not.
[via gettoknowthelife]
But time and time again, day after day, it happened.  

Sandra would see me in under the nozzle, with an open shower next to me, and sit down on the bench to wait.

[via wallofbooks]
Homos, it was time for a test.

Last Friday, I let Sandra beat me to the showers. 
I gave her a two-minute head start.
Then I oh-so-casually stepped in.
Panic ensued. 
Sandra was sudsing her hair.  She opened her eyes, saw me, and starting rinsing everything with the warp-speed efficiency of an army nurse. 

She dropped her travel-sized shampoo bottle. 

She bent down to pick it up, must have remembered that you don't do that in prison, and fucking left it there. 

Dripping wet, Sandra bolted from the shower.
Slipping and sliding on her special flip-flops.

The lesbian. Saw her naked. 
Oh. My. God.

So ever since then, I've been fucking with Sandra

Taking 10, 15-minute showers.  
Seeing if I can break her. 

Nothing doing.

At first I thought it was funny, and then I pitied her, and now I'm just annoyed. 

And I just have to wonder:
What does this girl think is going to happen?

That is what I want to talk about today, sluts.

I want to talk about bizarre reactions to gayness from otherwise sane, intelligent, and friendly straight girls.

'Cause, omigod.
[via corygibbons]
Is the lesbian going to pounce?

Is the sight of other female boobies going to be...too MUCH for her?

Will she try to kiss me?

What if my natural hotness overcomes her?
[via clapyourhands]
I just wonder what the fuck is going on in Sandra's head.  

What does she think I'm going to do to her? 
Why does she think I might do something to her?

Does she think something's going to happen in the shower? Like, actually, in the shower?
Is this just a knee-jerk reaction to something that makes her feel uncomfortable?

Is she a closet dyke?
Or am I overthinking this? Maybe Sandra dislikes my conditioner that smells like coconuts?

Y'allfags, in these trendy times, it is not. ok. to be openly uncomfortable with gay people.  

When someone tells you "I'm gay," now, the correct response is "cool."
Or you're an asshole hillbilly bigot.

Even if gay people make you so fucking uncomfortable you can't even look them in the eye without thinking "Butt-pirate-fudge-packer-carpet-muncher-wears-strap-ons-GAY"...polite society demands that you pretend.
Which is why Sandra threw me for a loop. 

She's in her 20's. She knows. 

She may be a gigantic, conservative, born-again Christian for all I know, but in big cities, those people are hunted for sport.

She's in the public reaction minority. 

And we were in a yoga studio, for chrissakes. 
Aka Lesbian/Bi Girl/Gay Man Central.

What is this all bullshit about? 

Weird Reaction Story #2:

My friend Cai, who is, admittedly, ridiculously, unfairly, boyishly hot, tells me that sometimes, otherwise-lovely straight women act strangely upon realizing or finding out she's a dyke.
[via lesfemmes]
She calls the way they act "sport fishing," and I've seen this shit in action.

It's weird.
Upon meeting Cai, certain straight girls will suddenly start saying strange, sexual shit in an offhand manner to her, looking sideways at her to see what kind of response they're getting.

For example: "Hey Cai, do you think this shirt shows too much cleavage?"
[via hellogirls]
It's as if they're seeing if they can get a rise out of her, but they do it cutely, so it looks innocent. 

Checking to see what kind of effect their sexual energy has on a lesbian.
[via lesbianswholooklikeumlesbians]
Now, before you attack: I maintain that the women doing this actually are, on some level, interested in Cai, and maybe just testing out another option that they'd never really thought about before.
(by kate moross)
Hell, I would do that.  
Let me re-iterate how hot Cai is.

But Cai (who miiiiight be a little bitter at this point) says that the straight girls are almost never serious, and that most times she's actually showed interest back, the girl backs the fuck away. 

Do you get why Cai calls this sport fishing
Cause you don't actually eat the fish? 

CJ calls this exact same phenomenon - where a straight girl flirts with you, "tries you on", tries to get you to do her little favors, and tests her ability to attract you - a dry run

Nobody gets wet during the dry run.
 [via imjustateenagedirtbag]
The girl who is sport fishing is not interested in dating women. 

Juuuust interested in seeing if she can get the cute lesbian to want her. 
Testing power. 
Do you guys know what I'm talking about? 

Don't get me wrong.  Most straight girls are cool as hell.  Funny, clever, sassy, feminist, and hot as fuck.
[via lookbookdotnu]
But we're not talking about the cool straight girls, here.

We're talking about the random ones. 

The  girls who have thrown you for a fucking loop.
How 'bout it, mos? 
Anybody out there got a Sandra
Or been Cai?

Have you ever gotten an absolutely. weird. reaction from another women about being gay? 

(by jake morgan)
Something you wouldn't expect?

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Les Maisons

Holla, velvet-tippers!

What's going on?

Lots of things are going on around here.  

I'm speaking on a queer panel at Loyola University on Thursday night at 7:30.  
[via ohcardigan]
I'm completely excited!
And...really nervous. 

Past events have proven to me that public speaking is not, um, my forte.  
[by cecart]
How 'bout no.

It's actually kind of odd how nervous I get.
It doesn't make sense.  
For cryin' out loud, I'm an ex-Mormon.

Mormon children are raised speaking in public.  

On the first Sunday of every month, Mormons hold a testimony meeting.  

Anyone can get up and speak, but particular pleasure (and learning from the innocents!)  is taken from watching children still unsteady on their feet toddle up to the microphone to bear their 'testimonies.' 
While all my church friends were standing in front of the entire congregation from the time they could lisp out, "I know thith churth ith true, I love my mom and dad and thitherth and brotherths, I know Josepth Thmith wath a prophet"...

I was never that kid.  I only went up to the pulpit a few times in living memory. 

My mom, encouraging me to bear my testimony more, told me it would be a funny thing to try and picture everybody naked. 
Church seemed a weird place to picture my Sunday School teacher, Sister J,  without her dress on, but... 

Sister J was sitting in the third row back, smiling at me, wearing a floral denim jumper and a turtleneck. 
I was eight.
I had a good imagination.

I could picture her naked easily, looking at her while giving my testimony.

And then I just kind of...trailed off.
[via eyeh8pie]
As I grew older, the public speaking thing grew more pronounced at school.

Never exactly shy, I would still clench my fists, digging my fingernails into my palms, if I needed to get up and write on the chalkboard, explaining how I got the fraction.
[via lesfemmes]
Things came to a head in the 4th grade.
Every week, we had a spelling bee.

I always memorized my spelling word list in preparation. 

As the spelling bee circle commenced, I would furiously calculate which word would be mine to spell when it was my turn.

Waiting for "dandelion" or "rhythm" to land on me wasn't the problem - I knew perfectly well how to spell the words.

It was knowing that I'd have to speak while everyone was watching me.
[via bikinifetish]
To combat anxiety, I would unconsciously clench my ass cheeks together really hard, then relax each buttock - first one, then the other. 
Then clench! 

Then relaaaaax. 
Juuuust waitin' my turn.  

I used to do this in bed all the time, when trying to fall asleep. 

[via r-v-l]
I would marvel at my god-like ability to command my body to do my least bidding, and ponder why I could easily relax my right buttcheek, when my left one seemed more reluctant.

It's actually hard to do it while standing - you have to really focus.
It must have looked hilarious. 

Now: I was still wearing leggings with puffy-painted sweatshirts every day at this point - I hadn't yet reconciled myself to wearing uncomfortable clothes like jeans.

My nervous, twitching buttcheek dance would have been all too visible.
And finally one week, a girl in my class, Jackie, noticed.  

She nudged Kelly, next to her. Kelly nudged Ricky next to her, and pointed. 

Tittering commenced.

Vacation. V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N. Vacation.

Clench! Right cheek, relax.  
Left one....relax.

Product. P-R-O-D-U-C-T. Product.

Pretty soon, the whole class was in hysterical giggles. 

Watching me bob, minutely, up and down, silently mouthing along with the spelling bee in my giant glasses.
Mid-ass squeeze, I glanced around the standing circle of my peers.

All eyes were on my thin cotton leggings.

One of the girls, Jackie, couldn't hold it in anymore, and burst out, "Omigod, what are you doing with your butt?"

[by pastel]
Pandemonium ensued.

I became a 'jeans' girl overnight.

So, public speaking, right? Thursday! 
Should be good.
[via joisnotagirlsname]
Also keeping me busy: CJ and I have been having Living Discussions.

We've been tossing around the idea of getting our own apartments.  
[via lesfemmes]
Staying together, but living separately.  
Hopefully within walking distance.

There are two main reasons:

1)  I've never lived by myself. 
[via lesfemmes]
You guys, I'm 28 years old
And I've never lived by myself. 
Without a roommate. 

Nothing in the house, apart from books and clothes, is mine.
I don't own a single dish, pot, pan, stick of furniture, or piece of art.
I cannot picture how I would decorate a space that is wholly mine, because I have no idea what my taste is when left to my own devices.  

And...I think that's a little odd.

I also cannot imagine what I would do with my time if I came home, every single night, to just myself. 
[by becylouise]
And that's even odder. 

I've always, always had a roommate or a girlfriend for a social crutch. 

What happens when you kick the crutch away?
[by Betty turns blue]
2)  CJ is entering her thesis year at school, and she needs. more. space.  

Her art stuff is taking over everything and making us both crazy.
And she needs more time to do work.

We moved here so she could go to school, and I want to give her license to be as selfish as she wants with her time during her thesis year - free to be in her studio from 6 a.m - midnight, six days a week. 
[via hibutterfly]
And while she's doing schooly things, I want to be selfish with my time.

Get to know myself again.
[via artpixie]
But: that leaves us with moving into separate apartments in the city.

And - who knew? this is a HUGE relationship taboo.  
Friends are creasing their foreheads with concern. 

Apparently, you can move in together, but you cannot move out again without the relationship being over. 

Other faggettes keep telling me that you can't go backwards in a relationship - only forwards.
[via leviconverze]

Do y'allfags think that's true? 
'Cause now I'm worried.
Maybe this isn't such a good idea.
[via gloomy-sunday]
My eloquent friend Nadine and her husband Chris came to stay with us for a night, and we walked to dinner.

Holding onto Nadine's elbow to steady her as she picked her way through the slush in completely inappropriate spike heels, I told her all my troubles.
[Nadine Dubois]
Nadine listened thoughtfully and said, "You know, this is one area in which I think the gays actually have more flexibility than the straights. 
I think that because you already live outside of what society expects you to do, you're more open to exploring alternative living situations."

Alternative living situations.  
I like that. 
[via sapphoria]
In my head, my ideal alternative living situation involves me being very rich, with 2 - 3 face-meltingly hot gay women, all of whom love each other and me equally, with all of us living in a kind of harem in a totally gutted, modern house in San Francisco.  

(It'll look like an issue of Dwell, minus the photos of blond children in stripy tights playing in their Ikea-ed-as-fuck rooms.)

[via sunspot]
If the harem doesn't, for some reason, work out, I want what Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera had: two side-by-side houses, joined by a bridge. 

The Frida situation is kind of what CJ and I are hoping for now.

But - are people right?  

Can you take step back in your relationship?  

Or is this a venture doomed to failure?

I've never talked to any dykes who've done this.  
It would seem that the only thing gayelles are good at is moving in.

Do relationships only have fast forward buttons?
[via wallofbooks]
Has anyone out there ever tried something different?