What Exactly Were the Secrets?

They were out of 30 Rock at the video store.

Out of 30 Rock.

There was no more 30 Rock. Nobody else could rent it.

Would I like to rent The Office, instead, maybe?

NO I WOULD NOT LIKE TO RENT THE FUCKING OFFICE!!!!
I WANT TINA FEY AND I WANT HER NOW!!! FUUCKKKKKKKmywholenightwasleadinguptothisfuuuuck!!

Shit.

I settled for what looked like a promising lesbian movie.

It was called The Secrets and it was about a young, sheltered Orthodox Jewish girl who asks her father if she can postpone her upcoming wedding (to a man she, she...does not love) so she can go to a women's seminary (hehehehe) in Israel. There she meets another young (hot) girl who is also chafing under the strict rules of her religion. This girl is a badass, though- she smokes cigarettes and starts arguments and has wild, unruly hair. They become fast friends and "discover" things about themselves.

Sounds good, right? All-girl boarding school, religious-boundary-breaking, uniforms, shared rooms, best friends and hidden passions....

Three-and-a-half hours later, my favorite little piece had fallen asleep with her mouth open and I was alone in the dark, determined to finish out this goddamned god-awful fucking lesbian movie where there had only been one sort-of-erotic scene the whole time.
So picture this, if you will:

2:34 a.m. - CJ is sleeping angelically, naked and adorable. I am sitting in my underpants on a futon with no lights on, arms crossed and lips pressed together in a white line, furiously composing a letter in my head to the director of The Secrets.

The honey-mustard gluten-free pretzels crunch angrily.

The letter went like this:

Dear Director of The Secrets,

This was supposed to be a lesbian movie. It was patently not a lesbian movie.

I'm having a hard time understanding how you did this. You had every advantage in the world to work with. You had a script that called for two young girls on the brink of adulthood to fall in love. You had a boarding school. You had two fucking gorgeous actresses willing to make out onscreen. (And, incidentally, where did you get these actresses? Both girls had to be fluent in Hebrew and French, be hot, be under 20, and be willing to do full-frontal in a blasphemous/sacreligious Jewish-homo movie. That must have been a very specific casting call.)

Time and time again, you let opportunities slip through your fingers. The girls could have made out when one woke up with nightmares and the other rubbed lotion onto her back. Did they make out then? They did not.

They could have had good times when they were naked in the water and first looked at each other's lithe young bodies. Did they have good times? NO. They did not. They dried off, put their clothes back on, and went back inside.

They kissed once. Once in a 3.5-hour-long-film. They came tantalizingly close thousands of times, but they actually only kissed one time. The rest was mind-fucks. However close this may have been to my first girl-on-girl experience, I hate you, as the director, for not making it better. Why didn't you take your plot and run with it? Honestly:

Everyone knows the equation for winning at the Cannes Film Festival:

Add a girl-on-girl sex scene and speak a language other than English.

You had a movie with French! It was about hot gay girls! YOU COULD HAVE SWEPT CANNES and you didn't even try. You threw your opportunity away. That's why your stupid movie didn't hit theaters. That's why you went straight to DVD. I hold you personally responsible.

I could have directed a better ending underwater with my eyes closed. And there would have boobs. Lots more boobs. You selfish dumbass.

Love,
Krista

CJ eventually opened one eye and asked why I was still awake.

Because the movie was supposed to be a lesbian movie and we were tricked! Tricked!!! Teased and tormented by hundreds of near-miss chances for gratuitous girlsex! Why can't we ever rent a dyke movie that has a predicable outcome??? All I want is to watch a good sex scene! I don't need a dramatic plot! Why don't they ever, ever make good lesbian movies??

She rolled over and slung an arm over her eyes.

"Maybe we should just rent a porn, baby," she mumbled. "Those are pretty predictable."

She was asleep again in seconds.

Oh.

Um, right.

That's what I'll do, then.

Next time they run out of 30 Rock.

You Should See the Other Guy

So last night, I'm sitting on Chinda's couch watching Norbit for the 80th time, when her dog, Blu, jumps in my lap. Blu's a skinny little pit/lab, and while I was scratching his ears, he tossed his head back and whacked his forehead against my eye, so hard that I saw stars. And when I said, "Oww, Blu, you asshole!" he didn't even look sorry.

I now have a black eye. From a dog.

It would be cool if it was from a dirty girl fight, though, right? This is only my second black eye, ever. The first happened when I was in college and living in my first apartment. My roommate, Sara, was out in the hammock, and I was in the bathroom, plucking stuff. Sara called my name suddenly - "KRISTA!"

Thinking there was an emergency, I dropped the tweezers and bolted out of the bathroom.

I misjudged where the doorframe was, though, and ran full-speed into it.

There was a horrible cracking noise, and instantly, blood started POURING out of both my nostrils, like a faucet. Stunned, I looked down, and my shirt was sopping wet - blood was pooling warmly around my bare feet. It was slow motion.

I sank to the (white-carpeted) floor.

"Sara," I croaked.

"Dude, you've got to come see this, there's some girl out here with, like, no pants on or something," she crowed from the deck .

"Sara," I whispered, crawling towards her on my hands and knees, leaving a thick blood trail.

"For real, it's like, did you forget your pants? Or is that a shirt you thought could pass for a dress? What is the issue, here?"

"SARA! FUCKING HELP ME!" I bellowed, summoning up the last of my strength.
Curling into a helpless ball, staining the carpet so badly we would later throw it away, I waited to die.

Sara came ambling in from the back deck. She took one look at me and started screaming her head off.

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! YOU'VE BEEN STABBED!!!! CALL 911! CALL 911!! JESUS CHRIST!!!"

I opened one eye. After feebly explaining that I had not, in fact, been stabbed, and only had a very bad nosebleed, Sara calmed down and led me to the bathroom, where she (very lovingly) sponged the crusted rivers of blood off my face. We looked in the mirror. I had two gorgeous black eyes.

Four months later, during a routine physical, I found out that my nose had been shattered; was, actually, still broken, and would probably never heal. I had no idea. I thought I just got headaches a lot.

(To this day, if you hit me in the nose exactly right, I crumple to the floor in a heap, sobbing. Btw, that's where you would aim if I was a superhero and you wanted to "take my power.")

My current black eye and the gore-fest from a college are my only experiences with what it must feel like to get in a fight. I only wish someone would try to fight with me. It's been a life-long dream.

Now, don't get me wrong. While people don't actively try to fight me, I am clumsy as fuck, and that's damaging enough. In my 26 years, I've broken:

a) 6 ribs

b) 9 toes
c) 4 fingers (the right pinkie twice, goddammit)

d) my nose
e) my right shoulder (and dislocated it, too!)
f) my arms 4 times (that's twice on the left and twice on the right)

but all through my own disregard for things like "wristguards" and "shoes with toes."

It's all so unfair. Getting in a fight should be a piece of cake for me - lesbians looooove to be in fights. They fucking love it. They look for excuses to start 'em when things are too quiet at the girlie bars. Here's the recipe for a good Dyke Fight, in case you can't find it in your copy of The Joy of Cooking:

Ingredients:

1 "ladies' night" at any club
1 new girlfriend

1 ex-girlfriend

6 sporty dykes (fresh from a game)
15 cases of Michelob Golden Light

Mix all ingredients onto a tightly-packed dance floor, adjust temperature to mid-90s, add:

1 secret affair

Tbsp. unresolved drama

Sprinkling of girls who like to fight (i.e. thugs and bike punks, but use whatever type angry girl you have on hand)

Bake (thoroughly saturated with alcohol) for 2 - 3 hours, until "Bitch, you better back the fuck off" is heard.

Enjoy your delicious Dyke Fight.

I wanna real black eye. One that didn't come from an excited puppy. If you see me, will you please chest-bump me or something?

Dental Dammit

Guess what time it is!

Um, Kelly Has A Question.Q: "Kris, okay actually I have two questions for you. First, what do you do with dental dams? 'Cause I got a bunch at Pride, but I opened them, and they're just, like, floppy squares of latex. And second, how do lesbians have 'safe sex'? What does that even mean?"


A: Wow, Kell, those are both really good questions. For reals. I'm not even making fun of you here. Those aren't totally backwater-ignunt.

So first: What do you do with dental dams?
Ha. What don't you do with dental dams?

Dental dams are great for:

1)Putting on your face and sucking in air and looking like a scary monster
2)Cleaning mirrors

3)Rubbing on your legs to give shins a quick shine


4)Impromptu hair ties


5)Tourniquets


6)Chewing - nothing better than a wad of rubbery, fruit-flavored gum (don't swallow, kids)

7)Naked flinging wars. You get naked, set a timer, and see how many you can unwrap and fling on your partner in the time allotted. Only dental dams that stick count.

8)Sealing holes in your bike tire tube - get a lighter and melt to cover hole


9)Rain boots for your dog

10)Hilarious Kleenex when somebody is crying


11)Trashy 80s bikinis
What aren't dental dams good for? How about...sex with lesbians?
Let me be honest here, homos - I never fucking use 'em. I know they're for my own good, but I'm a dyke. I like...you know...being down there. And stuff.
You might as well put Saran-Wrap on an ice cream cone.
And it's not just me, Kelly. No dyke I've slept with has ever even offered to use a dental dam.

Or, for that matter - any kind of protection.

Hmms. Perhaps everyone I've slept with is a selfish whore.

Which leads us to your second question, Kells. How do lesbians have safe sex?

Ummm, they use gloves when they're gonna be finger-banging. They cut open a condom and spread that on a girl's crotch. They lick through plastic wrap. They make sure they don't have any open sores or hangnails on their fingers before fucking. They, ummm....they.....
they don't really do any of those things. Whoopsie.You've stumbled upon one of the major dirty secrets of the lesbian world. Some girls are having safe sex, with dental dams and gloves, but the vast fuckin' majority...aren't.

There are reasons for this. Here:

a) Girls aren't dirty like boys. Google it. It's a fact.

b) Dykes don't really suffer any consequences, besides STDs, when they have sex. We can't get pregnant, no matter how diligently we try. Sex for lesbians is not the inherently dangerous act it is for straight girls, so we tend to treat it more like what it used to be in 1969 - fun.

c) Gloves look super creepy when your partner is nekkid. Especially if they're blue or, God forbid, black.
d) We are fucking stupid.


Just because most girls aren't having safe sex doesn't mean that we shouldn't be. "Nobody does that" is a pretty shitty excuse. I myself have made a commitment to have safe sex this year with any hos I happen to pick up. A COMMITMENT, goddammit.

It's pretty sad when your New Year's resolutions get that detailed.

Mmkay, Kelly?