A Labor-Filled Weekend

Alright, shut up, shut up, you noisy hounds.

I've been moving into my little housie in Chicago and hanging curtains.

But I'm pulling my head out of my nest, and Effing Dykes is back. Yay lesbians!

Y'all can stop sending me angry emails now.

And anyway, don't you all have anything to do?

Yeah, me neither. Heh.

Let's talk laydays.

Tawnya came on the Megabus to visit me this Labor Day weekend. In case you don't know, the Megabus is a glamorous service that allows you to ride from Minneapolis to Chicago for, like, 6 bucks. It has elegant reclining seats, Arctic air-conditioning, and lots of ugly college students clutching pillows. I use the Megabus so often it's like my second home. When it's time to load that bus, boy, bitches better watch out. Me and my elbows are getting a window seat. S'truth.

All you do is pop some herbal sleepy-time pills in your mouth, and then you wake up, bewildered, seven hours later, in the city of your choice. You should try it.
Anyway, Tawnya came because I needed help. I've told you all about my problems figuring out which girls in Chicago are gay. There are so many hipsters here, it would appear (as my friend Alex so eloquently puts it) that they reproduce by spores. It's been a month since I settled here, and I still don't have a fucking clue!

I knew Tawnya would have answers for me. She would know how to tell. She's got great gaydar, and she taught me how to navigate the homo world when I was still underage and using a fake ID to dance at the burlesque club.
We spent all our time at night going to gay bars and demanding to know where the women were.

Tawnya kept bellowing, "But where are the LESBIANS?" to the cute little fags dancing with their shirts off, as if she were on an old-folks bus tour in France and wanted to make "the natives" understand by getting louder and slower.

Like this:

(pulsing techno beat)

"The LESBIANS!"

"Whaaaaaaat?"

"WHERE DO THE DYKES HANG OUT??"

"WHAAAAT? OMIGOD, THIS IS MADONNA'S NEW ONE!"

It was useless. We went to The Closet. We went to T's Bar. We went to a place called Hydrate, where my favorite little piece got eaten alive by the gay boys. They thought she was a teenage boy. And that I was her fucking fag hag.
Every time I turned around, three more shirtless, sweating men were dancing up on her butt in a line. They were licking their lips like in cartoons. (Not that I blame them - CJ really does look like a teenage boy.) The only woman in the room found Tawnya and proceeded to molest her. A Brazilian queen offered me a sniff of something out of a bottle. (I got really excited about that, btw. How 80s is that? Poppers!!) Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the woman had clipped her carabiner keychain to Tawnya's pants.

I hated to ruin everybody's fun.
I sidled up to to first guy mime-thrusting behind CJ on the dance floor.

Like a spy, I whispered in his ear, "That's a girl, you know."

"WHAAAAAT?"

"SHE'S A GIRL! BOOBIES!"

"OMIGOD EW! I MEAN SORRY!"

I did that to all of CJ's admirers. Then I found Tawnya in the corner, mouthing "Helpmehelpmehelpme" and pulled her out of the club.

We walked home in the cool night air. We had seen one lesbian all night.

"Where do you think they are?" Tawnya said mournfully. She was tottering on her heels. An excellent slutty shirt. Extreme eyeliner. All for nothing.

"They're probably all camping. It IS Labor Day weekend. They ARE fucking lesbians. Dykes looooove camping."

Tawnya refused to believe me. In her mind, the Chicago lesbians were all off at some super secret club that had go-go dancers and strippers and really butch bouncers and hot bartenders. I was clearly keeping something from her.We tried to find the girls every day. We walked around, trying to pick them out of the crowd.Is.

Isn't.Is.

Totally isn't!

Yes, too, she is! Look at the hair!

Look at the nails, though.Could be a pillow queen.
Could just be another straight girl. C'mon, she's straight.Isn't.
Is.

Fuck you, I'm going to ask her.

Yeah, do it. I'm so sure you're going to just walk up to her.

Three days of this. Defeated, Tawnya packed her bags. CJ strapped them to the back of my scooter, and we prepared to take her back to Union Station, where the Megabus picks up.

As I turned the ignition, two Jeeps pulled up across the street.
Eight dykes tumbled out. Obvious lesbians. OB.VEE.US. Like, you'd hafta be blind not to know.

They set to work unloading the Jeeps. Coolers. Backpacks. Sleeping bags.

Camping.

I told you fucking so! THE LESBIANS WERE CAMPING!

Effing, effing dykes.