The Telltale Heart

(by danx2)

Hey there, vagitarians!


Guess what?

I've been keeping something from y'allfags.

[by CHUNKS!]

It was really hard. 
But it was something I badly wanted, so I couldn't tell you about it.


Are you like that?  Able to talk at length about any old thing...but if you truly want something, you keep it a secret?


That's the way I've handled things since I was 9 and I tried out for the Green Bay community theater's production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. 

At the time, I was under the impression that I was a uniquely gifted child - I had the best voice in the entire world, and playing Cosette in Les Miserables on Broadway was my destiny.  (Never mind that I was already too old.) 

Bewailing the fact that I lived in Wisconsin to all my friends, I spent enormous amounts of time singing Jasmine's part of "A Whole New World" by myself, in our empty garage, when no one was home. 
(The acoustics were vibrant in there.)


Anyway! The first step towards Broadway was clearly becoming a member of the children's chorus in Jospeh and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.  


I chose that song from The Little Mermaid - you know, "Look at this stuff, isn't it neat" as my audition song. 

As the final note of my song pealed out onstage, I knew I had nailed it.  


I smiled, thanked the casting directors, and went off to the dance portion of the audition, where I completely screwed up and ended on one knee with jazz hands when we were supposed to end up standing with jazz hands.

But my gut told me it didn't matter. My gut told me I was a star, and that the only thing the directors were going to care about was sheer vocal ability.  
And I had that in spades.  


Dance steps.
Like I couldn't pick those up later.

At dinner that night, when Dad asked me how my tryouts went, I said, "Fine" and tried to look humble. 
I wondered what it would be like for him a few months from now, when he'd be sitting across from a child star. 
Would he be nervous?


Sifting through my puddle of ketchup with a fork for any meatloaf bits left behind, I silently plotted how I'd kick my legs precociously against the bottom of the armchair during my first interview with Letterman.

I had told all my friends about Joseph.  Every girl in the 4th grade knew I had tried out for the musical.


And so I waited.
I waited for days and days.  
They had said they would let me know. 
But I never heard back.

[by sally mann]

I assumed my phone number had been misplaced.  
I looked up the casting director's name and called her at her house, slowly and carefully enunciating the digits of my phone number.

I remember I spelled out my first, middle, and last name. 
In each of the four messages I left.

[via cuteoverload]

Eventually, I learned that all children cast in Joseph were called within 48 hours of the audition.

I had been waiting to hear for over two weeks.  

(by Benoit Paillé)

To say that I sobbed until I choked would be an understatement.


Then I had to face all my friends.  It was awful.  


In retrospect, it's obvious that they couldn't have cared less.  
For me, though, it was the Ultimate in Shame.  

I had publicly, openly wanted something.
And I had failed.


Mom had warned me not to count my chickens before they hatched.
And she was right!

Ever since then, I've maintained this mandate:


Never tell people what you really want - that way, if you fail, no one knows.


It is only later in life that I'm realizing how fucked up that is.

[via nikolai-wolf]

Here's what I've been keeping a secret from even my family, homos:


I quit the bakery three months ago.
For the last three months, I've been auditioning to be a writer at Groupon.  


Big whoop, right? Not so hard to admit that.
Now, before you say anything:


1) I wanted to be a staff writer (one of the people that writes the deals and the funny shit) really, really bad. That's why I hid it - I wanted it so bad. 
Can you imagine getting paid - salaried - to write jokes?


2) The Superbowl ads.  I know.  


I've spent the last three months learning to write in Groupon-style - staying up into the wee hours of the night reading old copy, freaking out, and telling no one.  

As each day passed, and I made office friends, and the editors treated me like a human being, and there was no dress code, and I could come in whenever I pleased and leave whenever I wanted, and I found I enjoyed thinking of creative new ways to talk about mani-pedis and Indian restaurants...I wanted to work there more and more. 

So bad it hurt.  I'd never had a job I liked. 
Never.


Lemme tell you: I covered all my bases.
I put $50 under my Ganesha statue (it has to be more than you can afford or it won't work), kissed his trunk, and promised him more if I got hired.

I swore to Our Lady of Guadalupe that I would wear the necklace with her icon on it throughout the entire last two weeks of hiring decisions.

A candle got burned for the Virgin Mary, and I solemnly promised Jesus that, if he didn't make me go back into the service industry, I would not make any blasphemous baby jesus remarks for fourteen days- which is a lifetime.

Well, on Friday, I was hired on as a full-time Staff Writer. 
Hooray!!!


People are giving me money to type out thoughts.  
Ridiculous.

This is the first time in my entire life that I've gotten excited to go to work.


And then Effing Dykes was nominated for two Bloggie Awards:  Best LGBT Weblog and BEST WEBLOG OF THE YEAR!!  

Holy, holy crap. 
It's been a good week. 


Btdubbs, will you vote for me, gayelles? 
With all five of your email accounts?
Click here to vote for the promotion of sacred lesbian values. 
Yay for gay!

And now: let's talk us some dykes.

(via kimberlygillett)

Today we're keeping it simple. 


Actual letter from an actual reader: 


Hi effingdykes writer,


i know your name is krista but i feel weird calling you by you're name cos i don't know you for real.  sorry i'm weird haha. i have a problem i thought you could maybe talk about in your blog: I like this girl at my college and i know she's a lesbian for sure.


i've had a crush on her for a long time, but i don't know what to do about it cos i act like an idiot when i'm around her! she knows who i am, but she must think i'm an asshole cos i say stupid shit to try to be funny and then its not funny. i'm kind of a chicken, so i guess my question is how do i tell this girl i like her without walking up to her and saying that? pls help she's really hot.


-E.L.

[via scatterhearted]

E.L.? I'm no advice columnist. But since you asked...


#1. It makes people's brains bleed when you don't capitalize "i." STOPPIT.


#2. If every lesbian hides behind being "kind of a chicken", then no lesbian gets laid.  
Take an awkward stand.


#3. Your crush probably already knows you like her.

[via eyeh8pie]

And that's what I want to talk about today, sluts. 
A seriously basic, back-to-gradeschool topic.


How can you tell if a woman likes you?

[pinktaclovers]

Or, conversely and more importantly: How do you act when you like somebody?


I've gotta tell ya, I've got nothing. 
The day I'm able to tell if a woman likes me is the day I shut this mess down for good.

And when I like a girl, there are only two clear behavior options:


1) Silently stalk her.

 (by sannah kvist)

Casually-but-totally-obviously try to find out everything there is to know about her. Facebook is utilized. (Not that that helps much anymore, thanks to Yahoo!News blaring headlines about securing your facebook privacy). 


Those who know her are questioned. I'll tell everyone within hearing distance about having a crush on her, and then, upon coming face to face with her in an elevator, clam the hell up. 


Totally ignore her. 
Act too cool to even look at her.  

[via jpegdump]

I pull this shit all the time - in bars, at work, at parties, you name it. 
I like to think that the sheer force of my laser-like thoughts will beam into the girl's brain and spur her into asking me out.


You can guess how well this works.

via vinylsnotdead

2) Gabble like gregarious turkey when she's anywhere near me. 


Even though I am never impressive when faced with a woman I think is cute, I will invent reasons to be in her area juuust to torture myself.


Join a bookclub I'm not interested in, protest at a rally for a political reason I don't understand, go daily to the tea shop where she works and pretend I enjoy drinks like yerba mate and rooibos.  


It always ends in me trying to be witty and appear as if I didn't plan on seeing her.
This = FAIL. 

[via floatinggoat]

I'll then spend the rest of the day recreating the interaction in my head, mentally banishing my actual, uttered phrases, like:


 "That hat looks just like the one my friend knitted for me. When she was alive."

Eventually, months later, I usually somehow find the courage to tell my crush, "I, um, think you're really cute."

[via girlcrushing]

And then sometimes it all works out.




But it's not like I'm surprising anyone. 
My crushes are invariably aware that I like them. 
They apparently just want to watch the awkward show.

Like a cat toying with a beetle before cracking its exoskeleton. 


So who are we fooling, with our little games? 
Are some of you more suave than me?


Good god, I hope so.

[via lezbhonest]

I clearly have no answers, so I'm opening this up for discussion.  


Two reasons: 


1) I need help in this area. I cannot act normally around other cute lesbians, nor can I distinguish between a lesbian who's hitting on me and a lesbian-who's-just-talking-to-me-because-she's-a-normal-person-and-normal-people-are-polite.


2) If enough dykes write in about how they act when they have a crush, we can study the list for patterns and then use our secret compiled knowledge for evil slutty purposes.

[via sirchiefsalot]

So how 'bout it, tramps?


What are the telltale signs when you like somebody?