OMG, You're Not On It Yet?

You know how, when someone has a baby, everyone goes, "Oh, was it a boy or a girl?" right away?

Paul Reiser from Mad About You says that's because everybody has an instinctive need to keep a running tally on the world population. Like, how many boys and how many girls do we have now?Well, I have an instinctive need to keep a running tally of homosexuals. I. Must. Label. Everyone. When introduced to someone cute, I am mentally going through my Checklist of Gay Behaviors clipboard.

I then decide on the spot if the girl is queer or not, and subsequently refuse to alter my judgement about her for the rest of my life, even if told otherwise or absolutely proven wrong. (I've decided to go ahead and label this trait of mine "charming.")

Logic, you whores! I have near-perfect gaydar. If I decide a girl is a mo, then she's a mo, and there's nothing (including getting married, becoming a born-again Christian, having fuckloads of babies, or being a politician) that can be done to change my mind. Someone has to be the truth-teller! This is why Pink doesn't fool me for one second, btw.

First impressions matter.

But sometimes, I'm not 100% sure. I need more information than what I'm getting up front from a new girl.

I need Facebook.

Facebook will supply me with all the data about a woman that I could ever want. Facebook will give me the final word. Sometimes a girl isn't out publicly, but she leaves behind elephant-turd-sized clues on her page.

Q: But how do you know if a girl is a lesbian by looking at her Facebook?

A: I'm so glad you asked! It's easy.
There are three simple things to remember when stalking a woman on Facebook to find out if she's gay:

1) Look at her pictures. ALL her pictures. Don't skip a single album - even if they're titled "Chrissy's Wedding in Cancun!!" Pictures can say waaaaay more than a silly ol' promise ring ever could.

That being said...Do her friends look like big dykes? Does she hang out with any females who wear visors or men's jeans? What is she drinking in all her party pictures? (Hint: long-necked-beer = dyke. Appletini = straight girl.)

Has she ever had really short hair? Is there a recurring "best friend" who she always seems to be "jokingly" making out with? Is she sitting in an awful lot of laps?
2) Read her wall.The whole wall. Read her status updates. Look for the comments left by her friends. Dykes tend to leave short messages on wall posts, like "LOL last night was fun. When do I see u again? Tequila!" and "What doin' la8r? Im @ dogpark 6 p.m." These are secret encrypted lesbian booty calls. Pretend you're a spy during the Cold War and crack the code!

3) Overanalyze her "Info" page. Sometimes the most visible hints are...invisible. She might list herself as "In a Relationship", but does she list the person? No? A good sign. Did she skip the option to list which gender she's interested in? 'Cause look at any straight girl's page - a straight girl doesn't even think twice about writing that she's "Interested In: Men".

A hidden dyke might think she's being crafty by leaving the option off her page, but true psychotic stalkers can see right through that.

Wanna be Facebook friends?

Bush-Whacking

WAAAAAAHHGGHHHHHH!

Are you having the worst moment of your life looking at this picture I found?

I'm gonna tack it up on your ceiling, over your bed.

Today we're talking about pubes. Puuuuuubes. Bush. Carpet 'n' drapes.

I'd like to open with a story that was told to me on three separate occasions by the same person - my friend A.J. She was so traumatized that - now and forever more -when she has had even a hint of tequila, she pulls you close to her, stares hypnotically into your eyes, and whispers, "Do you wanna hear something really horrifying?"

Even though I know where the conversation is heading at that point, I never hesitate. My answer is always an unequivocal "Yes."
Because the story is that good. Here it is, in A.J.'s own words:
"So I was on a date with this cute little hippie chick. She was tiny and didn't even smell bad, and I swear to God she was actually cute, otherwise you know my rule about dating hippies. Anyway, we had a good night, we were back at her place and kind of messing around. I liked her, and we weren't playing anymore - she pulled off her shirt, and I pushed her on the bed and was unbuttoning her jeans. She kicked them off. I yank her underwear down, and - POOOF!!!! this HUGE ball of hair EXPLODES out of her panties, like a fucking airbag in a car! It literally went KA-BOOM all over my face! I swear to God my head snapped back, I should sue for fucking whiplash."
A.J. will tell you this story with slightly misty eyes, as if she's still back in that chamber of horrors....and always will be.
I want to help her but I don't know how.
My point is - pubic hair can be a real issue. If you are a carpet-muncher, it naturally makes sense that you want quality carpet.
Now, there are several looks you can sport, so let's discuss. There will be no illustrations, because you would not believe what an innocent Google search for "pubic hair fashion" pulls up.
1) The Bearcub. Often spotted on nude beaches in France and in the women's locker room of the YWCA, the Bearcub is the totally natural, black, spread-all-across-your-thighs look that women over 45 favor almost exclusively. This is terrifying, and I'm not sure what to do about it, except throw a razor at them and run screaming. The Bearcub is also seen on pregnant women (they can't reach down there to do maintenance and don't want to ask their husbands), all Germans, and featured heavily in vintage Playboy magazines from 1967-1986. I only read them for the articles.
2) The Trim-V. This is exactly what it sounds like - a thing that straight girls do that involves tiny scissors. Women who sport this look - a sort of short pubic haircut that still maintains the natural hairline - are good girls. They read Cosmo. They know they're supposed to "trim the hedges." They might even -*gasp*- shave their thighs a bit, so nothing is hanging out of their bikini. But these girls don't go any further. No experimenting for them. They've done the same thing down there since they heard that people trim pubic hair. And they'll keep it up until they die. (Possibly of boredom.)
3) The Shape. The Shape happens when a girl discovers that she can use her razor to have a little fun with her pubes. Maybe a friend tells her that she should try "The Landing Strip," a look characterized by a stripe down the middle and nothing else. Maybe her waxer (Shape girls get waxed for special occasions) gives her a heart down there, or waxes her lover's initials into the hair for Valentine's day. At home, though, this type of girl usually uses her razor, and specializes in one particular shape. My friend April has perfected the art of "The Star," and will sometimes use Manic Panic hair dye on it if she's single and has too much time on her hands.
4) Hardwood Floors. Hardwood Floors means absolutely. nothing. there. It means you either get Brazilians on a regular basis or are fucking militant with your razor. A look favored by sex addicts and strippers, Hardwood Floors = high-maintenance pornstar. Men seem to love this look, but I dunno - it kinda creeps me out.
Because who are the people who don't have pubic hair? Um, little kids.

5) The VaMullet. You know - business in the front, party down the crack. This is a look that a lot of dykes prefer. It's a cross between a Trim-V and Hardwood Floors. The VaMullet girl keeps some hair, tightly cropped, in the front, and shaves or waxes only the lips of her vadge. This is because it feels good to have it bare there, but you don't look like a little girl when you take your skivvies off. The VaMullet is my favorite look, as I don't like feeling like a pedophile, but also dislike trying to find my way through a vast meadow of pubic hair.

Why do we talk about this on Effing Dykes?
Because I want the Bearcub to stop its reign of terror. Because I wanted to tell you A.J.'s amazing story. And because I shaved this morning with a dull razor, have an alarming burn, and can think of nothing else.

Swine Flu = Cheap Hotel Rooms

I'm like an effing absentee father.
I post regularly, I'm in your life, and then - *POOF* - I just vanish for a month. It's as if I went out to get cigarettes in the middle of a conversation about dental dams and never came back.

Well, I've been busy, bitches. I finished my job. All finished with traveling all over the country every damn day. I now hate planes. And hotels. And America.

I spent a week securing a new fake job where I "edit" stuff in an office in St. Paul. I'm "editing marketing materials" as I write this. I spent a week wearing fake eyelashes in Las Vegas at the Miss Exotic World pageant. (That's like the Miss America pageant for burlesque dancers.) And I spent a week in Mexico, buying every single thing I could find that either had Jesus being gorily crucified in great detail (chunky plastic blood!) or with the Virgin of Guadalupe on it - stickers, belt buckles, t-shirts, candles, mini plastic crucifixes, and one electrifyingly elegant Guadalupe lamp made out of seashells, glass, glitter, and red whore light bulbs. It got placed in my bathroom, where it scares the shit out of me nightly. Our Lady has glowing eyes.Anyhoo.

The topic today is something I feel passionately about: Dykes who don't go out.

We're talking about this today because Pride is next week, and all the homos I haven't seen all year come out to frolic and drink and get sunburned on their tender parts. Every year, I look around in amazement at Pride and say, "Are you KIDDING me? All of these dykes live here? HERE? Well, where the FUCK have y'all been?" Because, seriously, I see the same 30 girls out at the bars and clubs. This suggests either one of two things:

1) All the lesbians are hanging out in a Secret Dyke Hangout that I haven't been invited to, or

2) they are partnered-up and curled-up on the couch all year long, trying on each other's sweatpants and Netflixing Better Than Chocolate for the 23rd time.

I'm pretty sure it's #2.

LEZFACT: When lesbians find a girlfriend, they stop going out and you never see them again.

I'm guilty, too. Just yesterday, I was crouched on the living room floor, protecting my soft organs and screaming with laughter while CJ (my favorite lil' piece) pretended to be a mosquito - jabbing me with her "finger proboscis" and demanding in a shrill, nasal voice, "Where's the sweet meat? Where's the sweet meat?"

Fucked up.

In the midst of begging the mosquito for mercy, I thought, "I've got to get out more."

It's true! Only single dykes go out, and they're only going out so they can be not-single. The bars are full of girls who just turned 21 and women who just finalized their divorce. Everybody else is at home, impregnating each other with their gay-friend-Robbie's sperm.

The sad truth is, as we all get a few years older, the pool of people who think it would be funny to stick mini firecracker rockets in your ass and then hang it out the window and light 'em is...dwindling. It's fucking boring.

But once a year, every year, all the gays in the entire city get together to wear assless chaps and get floppy and bare-titted for Dykes on Bikes. The city throbs with "I'm gay! I'm gay! There are so many of us! Isn't it wonderful? Tra la!!" for three days, and then everybody goes into hiding again. Lesbians, once more, become like endangered gazelles - such a rare sight that straight couples grip each other's arms and stage-whisper, "I think they're together, Mike."

I want to know why. Surely there must be other benefits to leaving the house. Is poontang the only reason anyone goes anywhere?

I mean, for other people, besides me?