Effing Dykes

Exclusively for Cardmembers

2012-01-31T23:58:00.005-06:00

[thanks Bee]

Hey there, trench-drenchers!

Yes I said it.

Today it managed to stay light outside until 5 p.m.

[by Rian Merrill]

Holy, holy shit.

As I headed toward the bathroom at work, I saw the sun slant onto the office carpet all warm and evening-like for the first time in ages, and it occurred to me that maybe it won't always be freezing forever, with blackened slush and lead-grey skies and heavyass winter boots and fucking puffy coats that always fall off onto the floor when you hang them up.

[thanks needlepointernc.wordpress.com]

Maybe, someday, it won't get dark 'till 9 p.m., and we'll all be laughing somewhere with our bikes in a circle on the street while we eat ice cream, waiting for a band to start their set, wearing tank tops that show off great tattoos and curving collarbones while the balmy breeze gently ruffles our asymmetrical haircuts.

[viarunningdive]

Someday, bitches.

I don't know about you faggettes, but when winter hits, I have the distinct, animal-like tendency to curl up and hibernate.

Put on the red footie pajamas, bake gluten-free chocolate cake, light the balsam-fir-scented candle, get out the shameful Thomas Kinkade (Painter of Light!) 750-piece jigsaw puzzle with the picture of cozy, non-existent English hamlets and spread it alllll out over the floor.

This is what I do if I allow myself to hibernate.

And... once I start hibernating, it gets gradually harder and harder to do anything at all outside of the bare minimum of going to work.

Eventually, as the weeks pass, vital, regular-life things, such as 'going to the grocery store' or 'taking the trash outside' become insurmountable tasks.

[thanks Cara]

Obtaining food (at the grocery store less than 1 block from my house) means taking off my pajamas.

And I am not willing to do that.
For any reason.

[thanks Hannah L.]

I become a living embodiment of the principle of inertia: I resist any change to my state of rest.

Lots of people do this in the wintertime.
Dykes especially.

Why do you think gayelles vanish from the clubs and restaurants and bars and events?

It's too fucking cold and girls are soft and warm to cuddle with.

As my friend Sarah's grandma once said to me: "Honey, it's colder than a nun's cunt out there."

Everyone's at home, wifed up with their girlfriends and roommates, bitching about how no one goes out, Netflixing Bound for the 22nd time in their sweatpants.

So.
This year, knowing my tendencies toward extreme shut-in-like behavior, I decided to perform a Highly Scientific Experiment.

Hypothesis: If inertia works one way for me - i.e. an object at rest wants to stay at rest - then the inverse must be true - i.e. an object in motion wants to stay in motion.

Like I formally declared in my New Year's resolutions: I was going the fuck out.

[thanks Bee]

And now, y'allfags, I'm exhausted.
I've been going out all over the place.
For a hermit like me, it's been fairly intense.

In the last week or so I've: shot pool and darts (yes) at a two different dyke bars, watched a lesbian comedy show, gone to the Chicago League of Lady Arm Wrestlers, gone to see a 90s-sounding garage girlpunky band, and been dancing twice.

And...it's working! The Scientific Experiment is working!

Eureka!

My body in motion wants to maintain its state of motion!

Sluts, I've found the cure for Winter Dyke Drought:

Just go out a few days in a row, and you won't be able to stop after that.
You'll remember that you like to do things not-so-much involving your electric blanket, and inertia will take care of the rest.

When I win the Nobel Prize for discovering this, I expect you all to put on some actual pants and come to the afterparty, btdubbs.

[via untamedgorilla:]

Anyway! Since everyone's been inside so much, have you been watching all these "Shit That ___ Say" YouTube videos lately?

I know, I know.
Everyone's sick of 'em.
Everyone except me.

My god. I can't get enough.

It started with this one:

And morphed into a whole genre of hilarious shit.

We all traded the best videos back and forth among ourselves at work, and I thought that every possible population niche had finally been accounted for....

UNTIL I SAW THIS ONE:

And laughed at my desk until tears streamed down my face.

"Is this gluten-free?" "We met because her ex and my ex are dating now." "Let me just re-blog this post about pronoun usage."

HELP ME JEEBUS I'M A STEREOTYPE.

Bah.

The lesbian in me wants to get offended by this, but there is really no. denying. that I've said "heteronormative" in the last few days.

[thanks http://rachelmaddowheygirl.tumblr.com. just...thanks.]

But really, though - why is this video so funny?

I think it's funny because it's an exaggerated version of the truth.

I see myself in it.
I see ~~everyone I know~~ lots of gay girls I've met in it.

And...how is it possible that so many of us say these exact things?

Where did all this come from? Who started it?

[thanks pillowtalkmpls]

Why do lots of us latch onto the same ideas - so many of us that someone can make a hilarious, total burn of a video and have thousands of queer girls instantly identify with it?

Y'know, going out so much to queer stuff lately has gotten me thinking about gaydar in general.

[thanks Sky]

How are lesbians and queer girls so damn distinctive?

How do entire clutches of girls manage throw off "gay" to onlookers?

How do we glance at a group of women and instantly get a suspicion that peen might not be on the snacktray ?

[thanks! who sent me this? email meee]

Is it a walk? A way of talking? A specific item of clothing?

Is lesbianism a special club you instantly join the moment you admit you're going through more than a 'passing phase' with boobies?

[via planeta-venus]

Clearly these deep issues must be pondered.

Because y'allfags, I've been getting quite a few plaintive letters just like this one lately:

*edited for length*
Hi Krista of effingdykes,

I have a problem. I know this is going to sound weird, but here goes: I finally figured out last year that I'm queer, but I don't think I'm gay enough for the gays, if that makes sense.

I'm not straight and I'm not bi. I'm queer. I guess I would be called a lesbian, 'cos I don't sleep with men, but...I don't know how to "be a lesbian." (Ok this isn't making any sense, I'm sorry.) I just feel like when I'm out with other lesbians, I don't know what to do. The dykes in my town are really cliquey, and it's impossible to break in. I want to be in the club, but I don't know how. I feel like lesbians don't accept me, and straight people don't either. Maybe I act wrong.

Ok thanks for your help if you understood this at all,

K.L.

[thanks Celeste]

Hmm.
Cliquey dykes, eh?

Sounds like every town.

K.L., all dykes in all towns are cliquey, and if you think they're not, that means that you're happily ensconced in a dyke clique of your very own.

[thanks Jennifer B.]

It's really hard to break into new friend circles.
It takes a long time.

A lot of us come out and go "I'M READY NEW GAY FRIENDS COME FIND MEEEE" and then are perplexed when it proves harder than it looks to break into an awesome queer posse.

[thanks Elle R.]

The 'Shit Queer Grrrls Say' video jokes about it, but lots of queers - especially *cough cough* urban, privileged, young queers - share similar ideas.

You know.
Lots of us meet on the internet.
We, as a people, tend to care about where our food comes from.
We all, all, all have crazy exes.

[via thisfemaleform]

But that doesn't mean that's how all queer girls act.
Thank christ.

Not all dykes like cats.
Not all queerelles are boi-ish.
Some lezzers never go out.

[thanks Valerie F.]

Obviously, there's no one way to be gay.

We are all beautiful and unique flowers in the swaying homosexual meadow - delicate, intricate blossoms of color that alone are lovely, but together make up a lush, brilliant meadow of faggotry.

K.L., you "not knowing how to act" around the cliques of dykes in your town just means you don't know how to be yourself around them yet.

Or that they suck and you're hanging around the wrong queers.

[thanks Sof X]

Not being "gay enough for the gays" is their bullshit problem, not yours.

And I have news for you:

You're already in the club.
You're a member just by being queer.

[thanks! drawingpicturesforyou]

While I was talking this over with CJ, she thoughtfully crunched into my last apple and said that she had just read an article that said that:

while social media is breaking boundaries all over the world in unprecedented ways, allowing us immediate access to personal information about each other online... in real life, people are marking their social boundaries more and more definitively.

Claiming exclusive turf where once there was shared turf; pissing on a particular spot of an ever-shrinking patch of land.

I think queers do a lot of this shit.

Watch!

We can't hang out 'cause you're new.

We can't hang out 'cause you usually fuck girls but you sometimes fuck boys.

We can't hang 'cause you're not political enough; 'cause you're a transdyke; 'cause you don't identify the same way we do.

[thanks Andrea B.]

Gaaah.

It's rude! It's no fun! It divides us where we should be backing each other up!

Anybody else feel where K.L. is coming from?

Pay It Homoward

2012-01-11T22:23:00.006-06:00

[thanks Vanessa F.]

Hiya minge-munchers!!

It's a new year! We made it!

[Brian J. Clark of The Virginian-Pilot]

The last year of life on Earth, according to the Mayans and shitty Hollywood summer movies!

Here we are, eleven days into 2012, and I must say that, so far, my New Year's resolutions are going swimmingly.

[thanks Louise M]

Now, c'mon. 'Fess up.

What were yours?

I always have a bazillion (be less selfish, write a journal, volunteer, exercise, learn to cook tasty greens, get over the fact that everyone likes eggs but me and will eat them in front of me), but here are three resolutions I'm taking seriously this year:

Resolution #1: Do. more. gay. shit.

[thanks Rebekah M.]

Because there's always room for more, right?

From now on, it's happening: at least one supergay thing each week.

(And that doesn't count hanging out at a gayelle's house, going to the gay bar, or going dancing. That's cheating.)

I'm talking a gay event.
I'm talking queer poetry readings. Women's music nights. Good drag shows. Lezzer book clubs, queer theater, dykey movie nights, gay homo gay gay.

--------------------------------------------

Resolution #2: No more thrifting until I stop wearing the same four outfits over and over.

[thanks Jennifer F.]

Y'allfags. I watched an episode of Hoarders over Christmas break that scared the shit out of me.

No one has more odd 80's dresses than me.
My closet is packed. There's no more room.

(Current Rule #1 of Thrifting: If it has shoulder pads and would not look out of place on the Golden Girls, throw it in the cart.)

[gimme that sweater, Blanche]

But: do I wear them?
When it's raining on a Tuesday morning at 8 a.m. and I'm staring dead-eyed at my closet, do I reach for cute dresses with giant gold buttons and tight skirts?

No.
No, instead I reach for a strange, depressing grey hoodie bag/dress that CJ refers to as my "chastity dress."

Rude.

--------------------------------------------

Resolution #3: Lastly and most importantly: Think very hard before using a non-makeup item as makeup.

Now, we've been through this.

But I cannot learn.

I need to stop thinking of Michael's craft stores as a poor man's Sephora.

*Backstory!*

A few days before New Year's, I was wandering through an art supply store in downtown Chicago, thinking, as I always privately (and incorrectly) do: "Well. I could totally be an artist too if I just had the right supplies", when my eye landed on a shelf displaying these:

Pigment powder.
For scrapbookers and people who want to emboss shit.

There were about 40 colors.
Hey neat - each vial was big and only cost $5!

So shiny! So many colors!
They looked great! They looked glittery!

They looked...an awful lot like these:

MAC pigment eyeshadow powders.
Which are really tiny and cost $20 a pop.

Hmm. Hmm.
I could feel it: I was on the verge of something big.

I got excited.
Why had no one ever thought of this before???

Soon I would have cheap, amazingly elegant iridescent eyeshadow powder in every color on the planet and exotic, mysterious eyes and everyone would want to know my secret and I would never tell them, never.

But!
Safety first, I thought.

I snagged a passing, bearded salesguy.

Me: 'Scuse me. You know these powders? Are they...non-toxic?

Salesguy: Nope.

Me: Oh. But do you think you could put them on your skin?

Salesguy: Oh, they won't hurt you if you get some on your fingers, it washes right off. Gets everywhere, though. Big mess.

Me: Right...could you have it on your skin for a long time?

Salesguy: I dunno about that. (Pause) Why?

Me: Like, say...could you put it on your eyelids?

Salesguy: Oh, wow. Wow. No. That is a really bad idea.

[thanks Celeste]

So I bought four colors.
Clearly he wasn't interested in pushing the boundaries of eyeshadow sophistication.
There was a beautiful rosy pearly shade; I wanted to wear it for New Year's.

I brought my new 'makeup' home.

I got out my brushes. Opened the pigment powder on the bathroom counter.
Ooh it was so pretty.

Gently, gently, like the sigh of a baby dove dipping its beak into a font of holy water, I dipped my pinkie finger into the powder and streaked it across the back of my hand.

Pure, shimmering color.
A rose-tinged kiss from a cherub's pouty lips. All for me.

Those overly-made up, aproned fuckers at MAC could lick my box.

I dipped the brush in. Shut my left eye. Stroked the brush across my eyelid.

Opened my eye.
It. was. beautiful.

I was a genius.

I did my other eye, then sailed triumphantly into the kitchen, where I made some toast and promptly forgot all about it.

Fast-forward 30 minutes.
I rubbed my eye.

And then basically went blind.

[thanks Beth W.]

Gayelles, make me a promise. Right here, right now.

Swear to me that you will not try to substitute embossing pigment powder for makeup-grade pigment powder.
Mmkay?

Especially do not do this with contacts in.

Anyway! The glorious thing about being human is learning from our mistakes.

[thanks Tessa]

Don't you think?

We never know until we try.

I mean, just think of how we all collectively seem to know that rhubarb leaves and holly berries are poisonous.

Our mothers told us these plants were poisonous.

Our mothers learned it from their mothers.

Their mothers learned it from their mothers, and on and on through the ages until you get to the very first person who ever looked at bright holly berries peeping forth from beneath shiny dark leaves and said, "Say, I wonder if these taste nice."

We are all alive today because someone tested life for us first.

All of our human existence, up until this exact moment, is based on trial and error.

We help the universe - add to its collective knowledge base - when we fuck up.

[thanks Andrea B.]

Isn't that a cheering thought?

That being said, today I'd like to do some learnin'.

2011 was quite a year, and I was thinking what a shame it is to enter a new year without reaping the benefits of some collective lesbiqueer knowledge gained last year.

'Cause, y'know, all of us have made big lezzie mistakes.

[thanks Elka M.]

Lots of us gays have had that moment where we say the worst possible, most mood-killing thing in bed; the moment where we realize that a lie we told to a girlfriend is about to blow up in our faces.

Was 2011 the year when you made the most grievous gaydar mistake ever?

Was this the year you finally learned a damn lesson?

[thanks Anna B.]

Now, because I like stories with morals and dislike intense social embarrassment, I wanted to benefit from newly-acquired lesbian knowledge without having to do the dirty work.

So I sent out a Facebook message asking a buncha queer girls and bois to send me some of their 2011 Dyke Lessons Learned.

And boy, just reading through 'em, I learned so much.

I also learned something really important: My friends are sluts.

[via splicepicturesx]

Here's just a very small sampling of what the queer fishing net brought up:

*In 2011, I learned that - even though he said "girls don't count" - sleeping with your boyfriend's little sister does, indeed, count.

[thanks Beth W.]

*This year, I trusted a well-known player when she told me she was finally single. I tied her to her bed, naked, and got walked in on by her very current girlfriend as I myself was getting naked.

Learn to make knots that are super easy to untie, is what I'm saying. Also, double-check your sources, I guess.

[viastillaf22]

*Drunk, I leaned down on a chair at my friend Mia’s house party. Mia's mom came and put her hand on my back. She helped me stand up, and I looked at her and was like, "Can I kiss you?"

And she said, "Sure." We made out in front of everyone at the party. Afterwards, she turned to this guy standing next to her and was like, "Am I a bad mother?"

I had no idea that that happened, and two days later, I went out to lunch with Mia and the first thing she said to me was, “My mom wants to know why you didn’t send her flowers.” I went, "What?" And she was like “My MOM, Lisa. YOU MADE OUT WITH MY MOM.”

This was the year I learned that I should drink a glass of water between each beer.

[thanks Bonbonbear]

*In 2011, I learned that I could end all of it - the drama and the fighting - by just not texting back.
Your life is yours. 2012 is my year.

*Never bring a cute, bi-curious girl on a two-week RV trip with you and your current girlfriend.
Unless you want to end up in a polyamorous triangle where you spend Sunday nights on the phone navigating "boundaries."

[thanks! pillowtalkmpls]

*The one that sticks out the most is... having a one night stand and - as the girl was passed out in my bed - I drunk messaged the woman I actually liked, telling her what I'd just done.

Admit what you actually feel about someone instead of drunk f*cking someone else to deal with it.

*Alas, this year I learned that a fauxhawk does not actually look good on every dyke :(

[Thanks Elle W.]

*Don't make presents - especially a body pillow with Kaylee from Firefly silkscreened on the cover - for your ex-girlfriend's new 'best friend' in an attempt to get back into the friend circle.
Because they're actually probably dating. And this will look really bad for you.

*In 2011, I was kicking it with so many girls behind my girlfriend's back that I called her from the other room, but accidentally slipped and called her another girl's name - TWICE.
As in, two times in a row before I got the right name.

From then on, whenever I was about to say my girlfriend's name out loud, I would stop and say it in my head three times first.

[thanks Theresa E.]

*Hi Krista! Here's my lesson from 2011: Don't buy a house with your girlfriend of one year. Maybe rent first.

Wow.
These were very, um, specific.

[thanks sugki]

Ahh well.

But aren't you so totally grateful that we now don't have to go through any of these personally?

Because our collective lesbian knowledge has been shared?

Thanks, Gay Universe!

[Thanks Guen M. CJ sez hi.]

And you knew I was gonna ask, so:

What was your lesson from 2011?

Care to add it to the collective queer knowledge pot??

Come Together

2011-12-15T02:24:00.003-06:00

[thanks Naimah M.]

Ciao, dew-lappers!!

Hmph.

Just look at you.

Sitting there, snug in your chair, one hand on a delicious beverage and the other scrolling down this mess.

[thanks Celeste]

A minute ago, you gleefully clicked through your facebook and email and animalstalkinginallcaps and checked Rick Santorum's highly amusing twitter feed.

You think I don't know? I know.

[honey badger video]

You're smug.
Happy.

Blissful in the knowledge that you're up to speed on everything the internet has to offer.

No news headline has gotten past you. No hilarious Rick Perry ad parody has been missed. No movie trailer has gone by unwatched.

[thanks Jessica Z.]

Well, I hope you're mighty pleased with yourself, because:

Almost two years after it came out, I just heard about and watched all three of the Swedish Girl With the Dragon Tattoo movies in the space of one amazing day and freaked the fuck out over how unbelievably fantastic they are.

Seriously, y'allfags??? Seriously?

YOU KNEW THESE MOVIES EXISTED AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME??

Look at her.

What kind of a friend are you??
I'll tell you: you're not.

A real friend would have alerted me to the presence of dykeish spectacularity the instant you knew it was happening.

Gah.
Gaaaaah.

How could you do this to me.

My darling Noomi. I love her.

And it's too late! It's two years too late!

I have no one to gush to about these Swedish movies because everyone's already gushed, and the American version is coming out this next week, and everyone will forget about Noomi Rapace and I'll never love this new Rooney Mara faker more than my sweet Swedish cherub never.

Ahhh god why.

In other news: My grandpa died.
I've been in Arizona, where my parents live these days, for a good long while, having an early Christmas with my tiny and now-dwindling family - just me and my sister and my parents.

[thanks bee]

And if you're ever in the Phoenix area, and you're clutching at your hoodie sleeves in agony, going, "Is there anything to do here that does not involve driving? Why do people move here for the weather and then never go outside? Why the fuck are there lawns here at all, and why does Scottsdale water them to keep them green and put up fountains everywhere when this is a desert and every body of water here is artificial - every wasted drop of water a glinting diamond in a future death-necklace for this city?"...

just take a deep breath, and go here:

[I took dis]

This is why you move to the Phoenix area.

This bar.

Cash Inn Country.
Ridiculous. It was ridiculous.
S'gotta rank up there in my list of top 5 gay bars anywhere.

All I want now is a road trip across America, where we stop in every gay bar we can find. Who's in?

[thanks Deena]

It was Saturday night.

My sister, Shelley, and I drove to Tempe, where a dark, brooding stucco building waited silently in the chill night air.
The street was lined with cars.

We nervously adjusted our outfits, wondering, like one always does when walking into an unknown gay bar in a new town, what the mo dress code was like 'round these parts.

Well, inside, it. was. packed.
A western-themed, dyke-leaning two-steppin' queer bar!

Hole-eeee-sheee-it.

Hot barbacks running around mopping up spilled drinks! Gay boys in cowboy hats! Old dykes with silver belt buckles dancing complicated westerny-dance steps next to 21-year-olds with stretched earlobes and black skinny jeans and Cons!

Everyone knew all the dances.
The walls were wooden and lined with mirrors and tiny twinkle lights, and the bartender was a tough older butch who called me "sweetheart."

All around the dance floor, there was a wooden rail, so you could lean with studied casualness and examine everybody without appearing creepy. Thoughtful!

[thanks! pillowtalkmpls]

After three days being out of contact with all things gay, I was speechlessly grateful to be suddenly surrounded by queers.
Just - so grateful.

It was like a fountain of glitter shooting up in the middle of a gay desert.

[thanks Sarah]

I smiled giddily at every person I saw at the bar - even the two girls having a barf-inducing "serious talk" pressed up against the wall behind me.

They were stroking each others' hair and looking deep into each others' eyes and nodding solemnly and doing that long-lesbian-hug thing - you know the one?

Where a hug turns into something linger-y and one woman(the one who feels it more deeply) closes her eyes and sniffs the other woman's hair in a public place?

[via vild]

I even loved them.

I was just so excited to be with teh gheys.

Two gin and tonics in, as I beamed stupidly at everyone, Shelley observed that I "looked like a shepherd fondly watching over my flock," which I thought was pretty funny, as I had actually been thinking, right that second:

"Aw, look at all these mos. Look at 'em dancing! How do they all know how to dance like this? Where did they learn the steps? Everyone's so friendly. I've never been in such a friendly bar. God I wish I knew every single one of 'em."

Faggettes, there is really nothing I like to see more than queers having a good time.

(I mean, other than boobs. Obvs.)

[via tabbysaurus]

Seeing homos having fun fills me up in the way I think church must fill up other people.

I'm filled with the queerit!

Yes!

Because:

Gathered together in every gay bar is a roomful - an entire roomful - of people who are told daily, in hundreds of spoken and unspoken and written and body langugaey ways, that they are not ok.

[Mars viaswitchteams]

Here's a throbbing, overflowing club full of people that the current government would rather pretend does not exist; a gathering of fags and dykes and transpeople and queers who have been told, since they came out and possibly long before they came out, that it is not ok to love who they love.

[thanks Lindsay P.]

Everyone's together.

They've come together in this bar because:

a) they're queer or queer allies
b) they need other queers to affirm they're not alone
c) almost everyone likes beer
and
d) they have superior taste in pop music.

Ohhh shit, I thought this was gonna be a simple post about the holidays and my 2012 wish list, but...

y'know, it always amazes and surprises me that lots of people think that we queers have no right to our own emotions and feelings and lives.

[thanks Erin and Elizabeth]

It takes away our autonomy to allow courts to decide whether gays and lesbians and trans-identified folks can marry and have kids and partner benefits and not get the living shit kicked out of them in high school while teachers turn a blind eye.

[front.moveon.org]

Like women in the 19th century.
Or toddlers.

We can't make decisions! We can't possibly decide to give our consent to be married, right?
WE'RE GAY.
Duh.

Our moral compasses are clearly all fucked up.
Better let some men in subdued necktie shades sort things out for us.

[Oh look, it's Mitt Romney. Hey girl hey]

Love is a basic human emotion, and by denying someone's most basic emotion - love - we take away someone's humanity.

And yet here, at the gay bar, were all the humans, anyway.

[thanks Cate U.]

Tearing up the dance floor, laughing, lining up for the bathroom, texting and kissing and doing duckface for profile pictures.

Baby dykes. Moms. Studs in spotless white shoes. Androgynous kids. Queens.

[Susan, by Meichelle at outofeve]

So clearly intelligent beings, so clearly worthy of love and able to love and deserving of better laws and better leaders.

I used to think that if everyone in America simply knew - simply had regular contact with - just one out gay person in their everyday lives, then "gay rights" would become a laughable concept - quickly filed under "everybody rights."

Everyone would see that gays are just like everyone else (except with better party theme ideas), and we could all shut up and go home and poster-paint companies would go out of business.

But I know now it's not that simple.

Earlier that day, before the gay bar, someone I love had told me (again) that being a lesbian was my choice, and the wrong one.

I felt my heart huddle miserably into a corner.

[via paintedrain]

Seven years, I've been out.

How could you look at someone you've known your whole life, know she was a good person, meet and like her partner, see the relationship functioning well for years and still think her love not valid?

How can churches that preach about unconditional love simultaneously teach people to close themselves off from it?

Bah.

[Thanks Noor]

How many times can you get beat up emotionally before you lose your ability to forgive someone?
Because I'm getting there.

How many times do you get back up on your feet and try again to help someone understand before saying, "You know what? Fuck it."

[thanks Naimah M.]

You know what I love about queers?
This is maybe cheesy, but it's happening.

I love that we keep getting up again.

And then we go muthafuckin' dancin'.

We try again with people.

[Thanks NatFranzia]

We figure: This time around, we have science on our side.
Everyone will listen.

We have better articles this time; better books, more friends, more allies, more openly queer people than ever in the history of the world ever.

Better, bigger celebrities with each passing year.

*And, btw, how do you love Ellen and watch her religiously and then neatly categorize her rights as a person away in a compartment labeled "This doesn't directly affect me" ? Hmmm women of America? Hmmm?*

Gayelles, it's of course the holiday season.

Some homos have cheerfully accepting families, but lots don't.

[via awkwardfamilyphotos]

What do we do, we queers with tricky family situations, over the holidays?

We have families. We want to keep ties with our families. Because...they're our families.

If they were our friends, we wouldn't put up with this shit.
But they're our families, so we stay and we try and we stay.

But now I need to know: do y'allgays have some secret coping strategies for this time of year?

Snappy comebacks for screwed up seasonal situations?

'Cause I need them.
I really do.

We Made It Through the Wilderness

2011-11-21T23:10:00.004-06:00

[Mariedda by Sarah R. Thanks!]

G'day, bush rangers!

Well, what an exciting morning this has been.

So: Once upon a time, there was an elegant little Italian bakery on my street that sold almond cookies.

They melted on your tongue and were as light as air and were naturally gluten-free, since they were made of nothing but almond flour and sugar and perfection.

Each cookie was shaped like a delicate clamshell and cost like $5.

It was outrageous.
Highway robbery.

They were worth it.

Now: The girl who ran the bakery was really nice.

And she was really, really, unbelievably hot.

[vialesbiansftw]

She had a shaved head, the hint of an accent, a dangling cross earring in just one ear, a husband (lalalaIdon'tseeeeeehim), a beaming white smile, and a tight white apron that showed off her boyish hips.

She looked exactly like Ani Difranco during that period when all dykes everywhere were in love with her.

When you bought a cookie, or, in a fit of extravagance, two of them, she would chat with you for minutes on end about your day, looking deep into your eyes - no matter how long the line was - as she carefully wrapped each almond cloud in whisper-thin gold tissue paper and lovingly tied it with a real satin ribbon.

She would always give every cookie a gentle, final pat when finished and then wink at you as you walked out the door, as if she had just caressed your bottom in a crowded room and no one had noticed.

[via kennabot]

I fucking worshipped her.

So did everyone else in the neighborhood.

She did a brisk business with lesbians who queued up just to look at her and sigh at the damn waste of it all.

[thanks Sburg]

One day, while walking down the street, jingling the quarters in my pocket, I looked in the windows of the Italian bakery...and it was gone.

Gone! The windows were papered up! A hastily scribbled note on the door said, "Thank you to all our wonderful customers!"

NOOOOOO!

My cookies! My crush!

[via rufflemyhair]

I never even knew her name.
Or found out how to make those cookies.

A cold, pastryless month went by.

[thanks Celeste]

And then!

This morning, as I went to get coffee, I saw it:

They had replaced my bakery with an old-fashioned candy store!!

[thanks dani]

The best possible replacement!

Candy buttons! Candy sticks in glass jars! Butterscotch! Rock sugar in rainbow colors!

Thrilled beyond belief, ready to welcome the new candy store with my patronage, I tried to push the door open, but it was stuck.

There were two aproned men inside, behind the register.
They looked at me quizzically.

Thinking that I needed a bit more force to push it open, I flung myself repeatedly against the glass door like a demented seagull, all the while yelling "Candy store! Candy store!"

[by Magnus]

Oh.

Um, no.
The store was just locked.

It wasn't open yet.

'Cause it was 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday.

Inside, the two owners were staring at me with that special expression I used to save, when working at Whole Foods, for women in yoga pants who were freaking the fuck out because they couldn't find their favorite chocolate bar.

[via hungoverowls]

Well! Who cares.
There's a candy store in my neighborhood now, and even though I'll miss the almond cookies, and I'll miss the girl who baked them...somehow, some way, I shall carry on.

That girl, btdubbs, was my first official crush on a known straight girl in years.

I usually can't get a crush on straight girls, no matter how cute.

Maybe it's the pheromones or something.

[via oceantides]

But! there's a first for everything, and astute reader (name has been changed) Ella R. wants to talk about firsts.

She sent me this:

Dear Effing Dykes chica,

I liked the last blog about trying to figure out if you're on a date with a girl. But I need your advice please. Could you maybe talk about what to do when you both already know you're on a date? I'm 18 and I've been out on a couple dates with this girl I like alot, and we've made out and it's been hot and I think I want to sleep with her but I'm a virgin lol. How do I...do that? What was your first time like?

Thanks, Ella

Oh, memories.

[thanks Theresa E.]

I'm happy you asked this, Ella.

We'll do the last blog - How Do You Know If You're On a Date? - and this blog - What To Do With Your Hands After You've Solved That Riddle - as like a two-part miniseries, mmkay?

A very special Dyke Dating episode.

[thanks Lauren]

That's not to say I'm going to be any help.

Ha.

In fact, I'm about the worst person possible to ask about transitioning from "the date" to "more".

This is because:

#1. I have no game.

[thanks Essie and Jules]

You will learn nothing from me here.
It's actually frightening how little game I have.

Example!

"Um. I have hot cider. But...it's at my house."

That, y'allfags, is verbatim what I said when I recently asked a crush to come home with me after a date.

Suave.

I have never successfully had that moment that dykes in movies and TV shows have - you know, that moment when both women just look at each other and suddenly know they're gonna go do it.

I don't know how to do that.
That instant thing.

I would say that it probably just doesn't happen like that in real life, except I personally know several irritating gayelles who can lock eyes with a woman across the room and be fucking in a bathroom stall half an hour later.

[viad3solation]

Hmph.

Since I have a hard time figuring out whether or not I'm on a date in the first place, multiply that uncertainty by, oh, say, A THOUSAND MILLION and you get a good idea of how well I'll be able to tell if someone wants to sleep with me.

I require things to be spelled out.

[thanks Sburg]

I need to know everyone's on board. I could never just go on a date, sense a girl is into me, and grab her face.

WHAT IF I WAS WRONG??

No.
I always ask. Even if it kills the mood.

I need to know.

"Sooo...I like you. Do you like me? Yes? Ok, I'm wondering if you want to maybe, um, come over. Like, later. Not right now. (Pause) Tonight, though."

"Do you want to make out? But maybe not do more than that just yet?"

[thanks Beth]

I have said these things.

I'll take the weird looks I get! I don't mind!

At least then I'm sure that all parties involved really do want to get down.

[via thepicturebook-diaries.tumblr.com]

But really though - it's unnecessary.

Why would anyone stick around longer than they wanted to?

Other people will help you with knowing what to do.

Go with your gut, Ella. You'll know if she wants to sleep with you. You'll know when the time is right.

If you're not sure, you can always ask.

[Thanks Liz S. from zac-e-wannabe]

#2. My first time sleeping with a girl...was terrible.

I can't believe we've never shared our "first time" stories here.

I mean, it was obviously not the worst ever because I was actually having sex with a girl and that was something I was deeply interested in doing, but things could have been better.

My first time should have been amazing.

It should have been all naked boobs and soft skin and omigod and rainbow glitter starbursts all flying around the room and shit.

It should have been like when King Arthur pulls the sword from the stone and realizes he's the boy king and that his whole life has been gearing up to that. exact. moment.

But instead, it was awful - I couldn't enjoy a minute of it.
Couldn't relax.

Because I lied, Ella.

I lied to my first girlfriend. I told her I had "done it before."

I told her this because I was so, so, so ready to sleep with her (dying for it) and I knew she was nervous to have sex with another girl and she wanted someone to "show her the ropes" so she didn't "do it wrong."

[via stinker]

I was terrified that she would change her mind and not sleep with me if she found out I was a virgin, so...
I lied.

I said I had experience.

And I DID have experience!

...with my own hand.

[thanks Annaliese L.]

How different could it be? I reasoned. She's got what I've got.

I know my way around my stuff.

[thanks Amanda W.]

What a shitty thing to do.
How assy can you be.

It could have been beautiful.

[via lesbianswholooklikeumlesbians]

It could have been two girls learning from one another and sharing each other's first time having ladysex.

Instead, I was in a cold sweat and panicking because I couldn't get her bra undone and her clit, mysteriously, seemed to work differently than mine.

[thanks Rae]

I don't really even remember the sex part.

All I remember is worrying about whether or not my girlfriend was buying it, and concentrating very hard on whether or not she was having a good time.

It didn't last very long. It was panicky teenaged groping, it was utterly unromantic and awful, and it was all my fault for being a lying asshole.

[thanks Amy]

Ohhhmigod Ella learn from me. Never lie about sex stuff.

I think your first time is important, and I would do it all over - start from scratch - if I could.

*Navel Gazing!* It's possible that the reason I over-communicate now, when trying to transition from "date" to "bed", is a direct result of my utter lack of communication back in the day.

Like the Ghost of Christmas Past, doomed to wander the earth in penance for his deeds in life.

The only thing I've ever learned about moving from a date to physical stuff is:

You can't intention sex.

You can't control it, either.

Planning to have sex makes things weird. There's another person involved, y'know.

If it's supposed to happen, it'll happen.

And if it doesn't, there's a reason.

[thanks Kelsie and Cam]

Anybody got any advice for Ella and her dating transition problems?

Who has a better "first time" story than me?

Everybody?

Coffee Talk

2011-11-01T02:21:00.011-05:00

[Thanks Autumn]

Hey there, magic fingerers!

What were you for Halloween?

[Thanks! Maisha and her hand-sewn octobeard]

I hope it was something awesome.

I hope you got compliments all night.

I hope it was so spectacular that it could have competed with this little gem:

OMG TIMOTHY MAXWELL THUMPERTON WENT AS HARRY POTTER!!!

Isn't he good?

Christ, the little glasses!

The hand-knitted Gyffindor scarf! The tiny Quidditch broom!

Not a lick of photoshopping!

The Red Door Animal Shelter in Chicago had another "Hoppy Hour" to raise money for their programs, and I had another split-second of is-this-crazy-I-think-this-might-be-crazy decision-making to do about whether or not to go.

Guess what won out.

[thanks Ariel]

I mean, 'cause - remember when Midgeon P. Bundlesworth wore lederhosen last Halloween?

It was so exciting last year that I was all set to take her again on Saturday.

My star!

My ingenue!

I got out the bunny carrier.

I filled it with nice fresh hay and went in search of Migeon P.

She was stretched out on the bathroom floor.

I bent down to her, shaking the bunny carrier enticingly.

Me: Midgie! My bun! Halloween time! Ready to get allll dressed up?

Midgeon P. Bundlesworth:

I could not get Midge excited about getting into her carrier.

I actually couldn't get her into her carrier at all.

Well, whatever.

That's why I have two rabbits.

I went over to Timothy Maxwell Thumperton, who is young and stupid and doesn't know better than to trust me yet.

He hopped into his cage and off we went.

Isn't he glamorous.

A born model.

I'm sure my phone will be ringing off the hook the instant the agencies in New York catch sight of him.

Anyway!

Faggettes, we haven't got time for the pages and pages I could fill with bunny pictures.

(There is a CD with 33 images on it of Timmy's day at Hogwarts. I'm just sayin'.)

Today we have work to do.

[thanks Ari A.]

Now, I know your guard is down.

I know you’re hungover and exhausted from Halloween festivities.

But that’s just where I want you.

Wincing at the florescent lights at work. A little bit tender.

Vulnerable.

Because today we have a….

POP QUIZ!!!

Alright, put your books under your desk and take out a sheet of paper.

No candy on your desk.

Or in your mouth, young lady, don't make me write you up.

This quiz counts as 85% of your Homosexuelle Behaviors 1003 essay grade for this quarter.

You have five minutes.

QUESTION #1: Anna and Lauren.

[viakeeliabuda]

Anna, aged 21, and Lauren, aged 19, met at a their queer student union cosmic bowling night a couple of weeks ago. Each of them came with other friends, but they quickly discovered they both had the same snarky, sarcastic sense of humor and shared a fondness for elaborate dances when they bowled a strike. They exchanged looks, then trash-talk, and, by the end of the night, numbers. Anna and Lauren both admitted they thought the other “was cool” and that “they should hang out sometime.”

Anna texted Lauren the next day. They agreed to meet for coffee.

They are sitting inside a coffeeshop together as we speak, and neither one knows what’s up.

Is this a date-date or is this a friend-date?

Why or why not?

-----------------------------

QUESTION #2: T.K. and Sonja.

[by diana via fuckyeahdykes]

T.K., aged 26, and Sonja, aged 28, met each other at the trendy restaurant where they work. Sonja had her eye on T.K. loooooong before she ever talked to hym, but T.K. always seemed too cool for school and was really quiet. Turned out, hy was just shy as hell.

T.K. thinks Sonja’s fucking gorgeous, and they are just starting to joke around with each other on the job, swatting each other with towels and bitching about their shitty tables. Sonja suspects T.K.’s into her, but she can’t be sure. She friends T.K. on Facebook and discovers something - T.K. has a partner.

Well, shit.

Two weeks later, T.K. asks Sonja if she wants to get drinks on their day off.

Sonja’s standing in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear, ‘cause…

Is this a date-date or is this a friend-date?

Why or why not?

----------------------------

QUESTION #3: Jess and Meghan.

[viaheylk]

Jess, aged 32, and Meghan, aged 40, met each other at their lesbian book club, where they’re re-reading lesbian classics, such as The Well of Loneliness and Stone Butch Blues. Meghan is a lawyer, a prominent LGBTQ organizer in town, and she has trouble finishing the books before the club meets each month. Jess is a vet tech, very laid-back, and she has a huge crush on Meghan (and the way Meghan comes to book club directly from work in her power suits.) Meghan thinks Jess makes fantastically witty comments during the meetings, and wishes she could read more into each book the way Jess does.

She invites Jess to a reading by a local dyke poet.

It’s at 8 p.m. on a Friday.

Jess is excited and takes a shower before the reading.

She shaves her legs, but…should she neaten up everything down there?

Is this a date-date or is this a friend date?

Why or why not?

---------------------------

Pencils down, homos!

Pass your papers forward.

Wasn't this dreadful?

Wasn’t this hard?

Well, this shit is hard.

It's almost impossible.

And it's our topic for today.

How Do You Know When You're on a Date?

[thanks Wade L.]

It's a problem fairly unique to queers, and especially queers who date women.

'Cause women are so gosh-dang friendly!

It's problem so all-encompassing that entire books have been written about the subject.

[I found this on an LGBT bookshelf at a thrift store by my house. It's funny. It never actually answers the question.]

Huh.

Is it a date, or is it just coffee?

Is it a date, or is it getting-to-know-you drinks?

Or: Is this how you meet all your new friends, or do you want to sleep with me?

[viagupp]

Ready for answers to the quiz?

Let's wade through this manky, fetid puddle of confusion.

Question #1: Anna and Lauren.

Anna and Lauren are on a date.

They're on a date because...

a) they met at a queer social activity and hit it off.

b) they were exchanging looks and flirting.

c) after the phone number exchange, Anna texted Lauren right away and asked her to go out.

d) both of them are hoping it's a date.

Letter 'd' is crucial.

Both parties hoping it's a date can only mean one thing - they're on an effing date.

Eventually, Anna and Lauren will figure it out.

[viakukla164]

*Dyke Folklore Time!*

Lesbians are famous for asking one another out for coffee.

It's incredibly confusing, as said coffee often happens at night or after sustained, heavy flirting for weeks on end.

No one knows why this is.

[via thenewquintwinism]

The only reasons for this coffee business that I can think of are:

1. No one likes rejection and coffee sounds casual.

2. Homos are treating 'coffee' like a no-strings-attached pre-screen for all potential dates, thus allowing them to assure themselves that the potential date actually is likable, cute, and able to hold a conversation before they move into truly committed territory, i.e. a real date.

It's a helluva lot easier to blow someone off later if you "just went for coffee."

[thanks drawingpicturesforyou]

Wheeee.

Question #2: T.K and Sonja.

TRICK QUESTION!!

The answer to this is: FuckifIknow.

T.K. and Sonja both like each other, or at least find each other attractive.

They've been flirting. They're friends on Facebook.

T.K. knows hys status says "In a relationship," and Sonja now knows T.K. is in a relationship.

And yet...T.K. wants to get drinks. At night.

Alone with Sonja.

MY GOD WHAT COULD IT ALL MEAN??!!??

[thanks Hannah M.]

Well.

-It's entirely possible that T.K. is in an open relationship.

-It's entirely possible that T.K.'s lover is in grad school in Argentina for the next two years and T.K. is single 'till she comes back.

-It's entirely possible that T.K. thinks Sonja is attractive, but is only really looking to further their friendship.

Sonja will have to go out with T.K. and ask hym to find out.

But I would dress like it's a date, if I were her.

Just in case.

Boobs are appropriate for all occasions.

[thanks Morgan]

Question #3: Jess and Meghan.

Jess and Meghan are (probably) not going on a date.

I don't think.

Jess and Meghan are probably not going on a date because:

a) they only vaguely know each other and haven't spent any one-on-one time away from their book club.

b) Meghan is an LGBTQ leader in the community, and, like many good leaders, may invite folks to do things at a drop of a hat.

She's a people organizer. People organizers are awesome.

But you know what people organizers do?

They organize groups of people.

It's entirely likely that Jess will get to the reading to discover not just Meghan, but the nine other queers Meghan has also invited.

[thanks Wendy M.]

I'm leaning towards "this isn't a date", but y'know, dykes are tricky.

It's possible that Meghan really did ask Jess out on a date-date. Jess really won't know till she gets there.

I wouldn't shave my chocha for it, but that's just because I am an elegant and sophisticated lady.

[via girlswholikegirls]

Y'allfags.

It. is. hard. to. tell.

When a straight man asks a straight woman to do almost any activity alone together, unless it’s work-related, it’s usually a fair assumption that it’s a date.

Same thing if the woman asks the man.

They’re going to be alone together.

Society calls that a date.

Case closed.

But what if you’re a queer?

And what if most of your friends are the same gender as you, as well?

It's hard to make friends when you're finished with school!

We have to reach out to one another to get anywhere!

[thanks Kristen]

Telling a date-date from a friend date, while a highly entertaining, scientific art, is sometimes just a matter of asking the other person what they have in mind, no matter how excruciating that may be.

Or you could try leaning over to kiss them and losing your balance and falling off your bar stool because they're pulling back and staring at you.

Totally hypothetical.

So how did you do on the quiz?

The answers are obvs a lil' hazy, I'm by no means an expert on this one.

Anybody else had problems distinguishing between romantic dates and friend dates?

Shake That

2011-10-13T03:47:00.003-05:00

[thanks! drawingpicturesforyou]

Hola, velvet tunnelers!

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

[thanks Dylan]

I know, I know.

Questions like that are a cheap way of getting to know someone.

Questions like that come printed in brochures called "Connecting With Your Teen."

But seriously.

Assuming we all love ourselves unconditionally and we were only just tweaking something - what would be the one thing you changed about yourself?

Because I would change myself into someone who can dance.

[via robotsnhearts]

I'm not kidding.

I wouldn't change how much money I make.

I wouldn't change my tendency to stammer at really key moments, such as when you meet Alison Bechdel one-on-one and have 30 seconds of her undivided attention and you only manage, "I- I- I....I just love you. You have amazing hands."

Mortified.

I wouldn't eliminate the almost-unreal cowlick on my head that has plagued me since childhood.

No.

All I want, homos - all I've ever wanted - is to be able to dance.

To surrender to the music.

To set my limbs free, like graceful and sophisticated willow branches, allowing them to move, carelessly, to a beat pounding in time with my own heartbeat.

To be it on the floor.

That's all I want.
'Cause...

Everybody loves dancing.

All my friends are good dancers.
They get genuinely excited about going out to dance clubs on Saturday nights.

They can't wait to show their moves - all eyes on them.

[thanks mea]

Dancing is important.

Shay and Lisa, who are now married, began dating when Shay noticed a girl in giant plastic Chanel earrings throwing it down on the floor in San Francisco.

And one time, I was out for coffee at the Mayday Cafe in Minneapolis, and I heard a dyke say to her friend, "If you suck at dancing, you suck at sex."

Her friend laughed and agreed.

I have been lying awake at night ever since.

I can't dance.
My friends have worked with me.

I've taken professional lessons.
I've taken professional private lessons.

Ballet. Jazz. Modern. Hip-hop.
Swing, tango, salsa, merengue.

Fuck.

And the worst part?
My favorite music, for real, is trashy hip-hop.

I'm gay! It's in the genes!

I am programmed to love dance music and I know every word to every pop song ever and...

I can't get down.

It's the arms.

What are you supposed to do with the arms?

The feet, no one really notices.

You can shuffle along to the beat, and if it's crowded, so much the better.
You can put a drink in one hand and vaguely wave the other.
Not so bad.

But when it's not crowded?

Oh shit.

How do you get low? How do you know when to come back up? Why don't other people lose their balance?
How do you initiate dancing with a woman without being creepy? How do you think of new things you haven't done yet?
How do you know what speed the total stranger grinding behind you wants to grind to?

I'm a mess.
I would give almost anything to be a good dancer, I really would.

It may never happen for me.

[thanks Jes B.]

But! We're not here to dwell on the gnawing, horribly aching, raw pain that is my deepest, most unfulfilled wish.

I only bring all this up because I've spent an inordinate amount of time in the last two weeks dancing in bars with lesbians.

Along with attending several queer dance nights in Chicago, I also just got back from doing a reading at Brown.

Fuck, it was fun.
There are shit tons of gayelles at Brown, and they. are. friendly.

[thanks Lindsay!]

Hmph.

Why didn't I try harder in high school?
Why didn't I know about universities with extremely hot populations of artsy-type girls?

My career counselor left out the bit about "looking at colleges with awesome queers."

[thanks Sarah R. R.]

I applied to one college, got in, and went there.

It could have been Brown.

I could have spent my days talking to brilliant, fun neuroscience and Russian literature students who know what both "synesthesia" and "teach me how to dougie" means.

[thanks khia! risd is next door, but still.]

Lindsay, the girl who organized the reading, emailed me beforehand to warn me:

The gayelles at Brown wished to go out afterwards.
A place called Club X in Providence.

There would be dancing.

Tricks, I panicked.

[thanks Sarah G.]

Me? Dancing with a big group of women I don't know?

Worst nightmare.

They would discover my flailing arms.
They would see my not-quite-rhythmic feet.

There would be scorn.

But it ended up being fine! It was really crowded! I had rum!

After admiring Sandra, Khia, and Daniela's effortless moves on the dance floor, I wobbled outside to get some air.

I leaned on the metal railing outside the club, relieved to be away from Ke$ha's caterwauling.

A boy approached me.

He was good-looking - clearly a college student, and he was drunk.

[he looked shaggy, like Ashton Kutcher]

He gestured that he wanted a hug.

I backed away from him.

Strange Guy: Hey, c'mon, don't be like that.

Me: Leave me alone.

Strange Guy: What? A nice guy like me (I mean, I'm a little intoxicated) and you're running? Man, I need a hug. I'm strikin' out tonight. Girls are mean here.

Me: Um. (pause) That's because this a dyke bar.

Strange Guy: What? Serious?

Me: (collapsing into giggles)

Strange Guy: This explains a lot. A dyke bar, huh? Man, I knew the girls in there were dancing funny.

Me: Like...lesbians?

Strange Guy: Yeah! Lesbians dance funny. Hey, thanks for the heads up. I'm gonna go find my buddy. Hey, wait, are you a lesbian?

Me: Yup.

Strange Guy: Man. Ok. Well, have a good night.

The college guy left, an ocean of Acqua di Gio cologne wafting in his wake.

I stood outside in the cool night air, pondering his words.
"Lesbians dance funny."

[via rookiemag]

He had a point.

It had been years since I'd thought about it, but...lesbians do have a distinctive way of dancing.

I mean, when they're dancing with each other.

It's like...stand-up scissoring.

[via pinktacolovers]

Do y'allfags know what I'm talking about?

The first few times I set foot in a gay dance club, I remember being shocked.

Lesbians didn't dance like straight people did.

[thanks pillowtalkmpls]

Straight boys and girls dance dirty, but in a different way.

Lesbians slid a thigh in between my legs.
And then danced.

I'm used to it now, but I distinctly remember thinking, "Excuse me???"

[Thanks Kelly B.]

It was, at the time, the naughtiest thing that had ever happened to me in public.

The first time this dance-y leg action happened, I was so shocked that I pulled away and stared at the girl.

She had been humping my leg! What the fuck!

[thanks Heron]

She smiled serenely, confident in her superior knowledge of lesbian customs, and pulled me back towards her, pressing her leg between my legs once more and continuing to move.

It felt...nice.

[thanks Jamie & Dot]

As we danced, I furtively looked around the room, checking to see if my friends were seeing this shit.

But as I looked around, I saw it:

Everyone else was dancing like that, too!

[thanks Nikki and Kat]

Well then.
I continued to go out. I continued to dance with strange women.

I continued to have my crotch rubbed by stray legs.

This must be how lesbians dance, I concluded.

[thanks Nikki A]

And I guess it makes sense.

In every club I've ever been to - gay or straight - all dancers with close partners were intent, in one form or another, on only one thing:

as much clothing-on genital rubbing as possible.

Lesbians, as I'm sure you've realized, are fabulously dirty dancers.

[thanks Jennifer F.]

They have this crotch-rubbing thing down.

They'll dance behind a girl, pressing themselves against her ass, while grabbing her belt buckle in front and guiding her hips to the rhythm they want.

Bossiness!

They'll pull a girl in by the small of her back, put their leg between her legs, and grind in slow-motion.

[viahellagay]

It's great.
It's sexy.

It's uniquely lesbionic.

Now if only I knew what to do with the rogue leg.

[via better-call-saul]

Should I offer it a smoke?
Wait three days, then call it? What?

Have you experienced the special lesbian dance?