She Walk Like A Boss

[via cherrylolita]

What's up, queers?

I got a new job.  

Shit.

CJ made me.

She said she was "fairly certain" that I was allllll rested up from my last job (meaning that I've been sleeping approximately 14 hours a day since the end of May), and that now it was time to ease back into the real world.    

[via lesfemmes]

According to CJ, "Splitting the Rent 50/50 Means That You Pay Half the Rent."

She's so selfish and greedy.

My nerves!  Think of my nerves!

Anyway! I started sending out resumes and cover letters.  

I did this for a few weeks from inside the Star Lounge, a cafe near my house. 

 Getting a job is easy when you don't care where you work.

See, sitting for hours at a time, I carefully copy the body of my sister's excellent job-getting cover letter.  

Then I change the title to whatever job I'm applying for, plug in my "skills and qualifications" where hers are, and slip in a paragraph specific enough to make it sound like this is a personal, researched cover letter.

This has worked for me for years.   Thanks, Shelley.

But the job-hunting was mostly a half-hearted effort.

Homos, I don't know about you all, but I've been working since I was 15, and I've had over 30 jobs, and I'm tired now. 

Among the jobs I've had:  


1) Shift leader at a linen-washing factory in Green Bay, WI.  

The company was called Bay Towel, and they washed aprons and rag towels that came from all the slaughterhouses in the city.

   

I had to wear rubber shoe/pants ominously called "muckers."

You can't imagine the flies. 

When I left for college, an employee named Horatio bought me a switchblade as a going-away present. 

"Be careful in Minneapolis," he said. "I know what bad men do to blond girls in big cities, ok?" 

He taught me to use it on our lunch breaks behind the dumpsters.

2) Janitor in my dormitory at the University of Minnesota.  

Nothing like the toilets in the girl's bathroom the morning after Greek Week.

3) Overnight supervisor at a group home for developmentally-disabled men.  

It's true what they say - everyone dies in the middle of the night.  

I once, at 4 a.m., watched an ambulance guy playfully pretend to choke one of my favorite clients, Peter, who had just died, and say, "They should be put out of their misery, anyway - sucking up our tax dollars."  

It was Thanksgiving. 

Peter used to clap his hands in time when I sang Paul Simon songs.

[via lesfemmes]

I've been a salesgirl.  
I was a phone sex operator.  
I've been the editor of an amazingly dull magazine that taught Taiwanese teenagers English, and I've been a waitress, a hostess, and a barista.
I've been a kindergarten teacher and someone who sold cheese.  

I've worked in cubicles.  

I've edited addiction-recovery websites, bank newsletters, and online health-care forums.  

I've worked in formal-ass buildings where I had to wear suits and conservative heels and say things like,"Hi, Susan!  Did you get up to anything fun this weekend?" and contribute to office baby showers.

I've travelled across the country setting up seminars.  
I've been a mystery-shopper.  

I sold encyclopedias, door-to-door, in Midwest City, Oklahoma for one truly ill-planned summer. 

And far from figuring out what I'd like to do for a career, I just keep adding jobs to a massive list.  

The Things I Don't Want to Do list.

It was always my plan that if I crossed off enough job categories, I would come, at the end, to My Perfect Job.   

Like when they asked Michelangelo:  "Hey, how did you sculpt David?" and he said, "That's easy. All I have to do is chip away everything that is not David."

That's how I figured I'd come to my career choice.  You know, chip away everything that is not a good job.

It turns out there are a lot more jobs to chip away than I thought.

[by startingaspeople]

But!  In the meantime, while I'm planning my next step, my new job is really fun.

I managed to convince a bakery that I wanted nothing more than to be a pastry chef, so they took me on, promising to teach me to decorate cakes.

CAKE!!!!  
Buttercream!  Mousse!  Ganache! All day long!  

I'm in heaven.  

Since I'm allergic to everything we make (cake = gluten + dairy = the kind of stomach cramps where you lay on the tile bathroom floor and explain to God that you've lived a full life and are ready to die), I've been having fun experimenting with mind control.

[by carbonblack]

Every time I smell something delicious baking, I try to immediately think, "That's what poison smells like.  Cake equals poison."

It wasn't helping, so at home, I googled the phrase "skin boil" and chose the grossest picture.  

Printed it out, laminated it, and put it in the pocket of my apron at work.

If the mind control is not working, and the cake at the bakery smells so amazing that I must. take. a. bite...

I pull this out of my pocket:

It's totally working.


This morning, I went to the bakery, and there was apricot brioche in the oven.    
The first thing - literally! the first thing - that popped into my head was:  "Poison.  Brioche smells like death."

Awesome.

And guess what else?  
There are dykes at my job.  

[via lesfemmes]

And some of them are Cool Girls - bike-ridin', skinny-jeans-wearing, tattooed, pierced, sarcastic cute ladies.  

[via nomoderngrrrl]

I want to be friends with them.

Which leads me to my really major problem, and the whole reason I'm posting this, because I need your advice:

When you're a lesbian, and you know the girl you want to be friends with is a lesbian ('cause you asked around, real casual-like), how do you ask her out as friends?

You can't just say, "Hey, want to get a drink sometime?  Just-as-friends-though-I'm-totally-not-asking-you-out."

That's lame. 

[via saymmantha]

What do I doooooo?

Sometimes it's tricky being gay. 

This is like being in fucking middle school.
I don't want anyone to think I like like them!

Aggh.  

Starting over is balls.

I'm in a brand-new city!  

And I've never had to try making dyke friends without the help of:

a) another network of homos I already know,

b) a shared thing we hate (i.e. school)

c) my crotch.

[thanks O.Y.!]

Lezzies, I need your advice. 

How do you ask women out as friends?