Two of a Kind

[via stingslikeabee]

Hiya, pearl divers!


The end of January fast approacheth.  
I'm so relieved.


January is my least favorite month.  

[via womenreading]

It's still winter, but Christmas is over. 


Before Christmas, when it snows, I go, "oh isn't this magical" and hum Carol of the Bells to myself and re-read The Dark Is Rising and think about the delicious, slightly creepy magic of the holidays, especially as portrayed in English movies where there's a boys' choir making wispy "ahhhh" noises in the background while snow settles on thatched cottages.

After Christmas, I go, "look at all this fucking slush" and spend time locked in a bathroom stall at work, furiously rubbing the salt stains off my boots using spit and wadded up, greyish toilet paper. 


Then I go home, run a hot bath, put on woolly socks, burrow under my blankets, and refuse to move.

 (by Ignacio Dansilio)

There are no fun holidays in January. 
The gym is always packed. 



And Chicago is mysteriously unorganized - they have no snow system. 


Unlike civilized villages, such as Minneapolis, there are no laws in Chicago about everybody having to shovel the part of the sidewalk that lies in front of their houses.
  
Nobody shovels, so the snow packs down, freezes, and turns to a thick, bumpy layer of ice.

And so you fall down a lot. 


In the grey dawn, silent Ukrainian men stand in their doorways, smoking, and watch you pick yourself up from the pavement, studying your ripped tights with cold appraisal.

January is not even close to spring and it's an extra long month, just for spite.

'Cause February is the winter turning point - it brings Valentine's Day and my birthday and only has 28 days and therefore isn't really even a month at all, and March is the light at the end of the tunnel, when you sniff the air hopefully and think that maybe it's warm enough today so you don't have to wear your hat. 


April is spring, and spring means the start of scooter season, which means you officially don't have to get on a bus for half a year.

So fuck January. I'm so glad it's almost over.


But you know what? 
There is something to celebrate in January. There is!


Effing Dykes is TWO YEARS OLD!!! 
HOOORAAAAY!!!

Two whole years of talking about lesbians! 
And instead of becoming bored by the subject matter, the obsession has only, um, grown.

[via hellogirls]

Like the many-headed Hydra monster, who sprouts hundreds of new heads every time you hack one off...the more dyke-specific topics we tackle, the more crop up.

D'youknow, when this mess got started, I actually worried about running out of stuff to talk about?


Hilarious.
That's like entering a cake-eating contest and worrying you might not place.

Anyway! Because being two years old means you can finally eat solid food, CJ and I decided to celebrate by going out for brunch at the Longman Eagle. (Now I know that sounds like a leather bar, you dirty slags, but it's not.  The Longman Eagle is one of my favorite restaurants in Chicago.  Lots of lesbians eat brunch there, and the chef has his priorities in order - he worships at the shrine of local pork belly.)


As we were getting ready to leave for the restaurant, I noticed that CJ was wearing a bright red shirt.  
Now, that would ordinarily be fine, but...

I was wearing a bright red dress.  

UNACCEPTABLE!


I stood in the bathroom door.


Me:  Hey. We're both wearing red.

CJ:  (grabbing keys) Ha, yep.  Ready?  Got your phone?


Me: You have to change.


CJ: (pulling on boots) Baby, who cares.

Me: I'm wearing red.


CJ: Well, I am, too.  Deal.


Me: No. I got dressed first. That's the rule. You have to change.  

CJ: (zipping up coat) Who. Cares.  We're already late.

Me: We can't be those lesbians!  Hold on, I hafta change.

CJ: (shouting down the hall) Baby, no one will even notice! It's already 11!


Me: I just need two minutes!


Homos, while being a lesbian is the greatest and best thing ever because you get to date other women and see what their boobs are like and have bathroom sinks free of stubble-hair-dust and never deal with penises, ever...


there are a few things about being a lesbian that still scare the bejezus out of me.  

One of those things is Lesbian Bed Death.  We've talked about this.

But there's more than one nightmare out there, tricks.


And this one's called The Merge.

[via peachtree]

In the comments from last week, someone wrote in and said we should talk about The Merge, and I've been thinking about it ever since. 


In light of this morning's lil' incident, it's become patently clear that this issue needs to be addressed.

[via iloveyousew]

Avoiding The Merge is habit at this point - so much a part of my daily routine that it's like brushing my teeth. I never even thought of discussing it.


Q: But what is The Merge?


A: I'm so glad you asked!
You already know what The Merge is.  You've seen it. 


The Merge is when two romantically involved lesbians suddenly start to look like one lesbian. 

You know what I'm talking about.
You see them everywhere. 


Dykes - about the same height, usually about the same body type- who slept together last night, then got up, put on jeans, a button-down shirt, a black North Face fleece jacket, and went to breakfast.

[via jelly]

Both of them.

They didn't mean to do it, but they're dressed the same. 
They look like one another.  A lot like one another.

[via fuckyeahboysunderwear]

So much so, that, if seen from the back, it miiiiiiight be difficult for someone to tell them apart.

The Merge.

Half urban myth, half gayass truth.
It's so common among gayelles that we joke about it. 


Ew, you match!


Um, did you guys plan that?


Do you know that you're wearing the same outfit, just different colors?


Ha ha, you guys are twins. 


HOLY FUCKING SHIT.  It scares me to death. 

I mean, I get why it happens.
Your girlfriend is adorable.
She looks great in those skinny jeans.
You've never tried a pair, but hey...you guys are about the same size...

[via kikicube]

Cripes.  It's a slippery slope, sluts.
One day, you're throwing on your girlfriend's pajama pants to go let the dog out, and the next day, it's 15 years later and you both have matching bowl haircuts and Tevas on your Alaskan whale-watching cruise.

[via crooksandqueens]

To be fair: the straights are guilty, too. 
You know, those weird couples in identical windpants with their matching Cubs hats (except hers is pink, 'cause girls can totally like sports, but only if they're feminized!), jogging along with their fucking chocolate lab.

And gay boys do it as well - you see them walking, hand in hand, in the Castro, wearing tight white t-shirts and matching leather jackets, oblivious to anything but how fierce they both look since they've been working out.

But gay girls are the most guilty, and I'm not sure why.

[via julyshewillfly]

It's always creepy. 


I always picture two dykes holding up mirrors to one another before they leave the house, going:
"You're hot."  
"No, you're hot."  
"Gawd we turn ourselves on."

[via whatifpunkneverhappened]

Let's cut ourselves a little slack, though. 


We're girls.  


We all went to middle school.  


We all know the best way to form a little special club all our own and make other people feel weird is to privately decide on a specific thing to wear and bond with each other through the fact that we are excluding everybody else by wearing it.

Women copy one another. 
When they're 12.


It's like what your mom told you:  Flattery's the best compliment, a.k.a. if Jenny Verhaugh is copying you, it's because you are rocking the hell out of that side ponytail.

Too bad it's horrifying when you grow up. 

[via venuslacy]

The Merge breeds stories.  
Bring 'em.

Forever Back To School

Hiya, nellies!


Had a rough week, have you? 
I know I have.

[via hellogirls]

You see what I mean about anal sex being a controversial topic amongst lezzers?  


Geez.  


All you have to do is say "bumfuck" and a horde of furious lesbians will email you to tell you how disgusting that is and how you can die from playing with the bacteria down there didyouknowthat??? and how offended they are that you even wrote about anal sex and then another set of lesbians send you letters that wax poetic about the pleasures of the derrière and urge you to open yourself to the mystical vibrations of the ass.

I wasn't hatin' on anal sex.  I just don't like it, and I wanted to know where other lesbians stand on the issue, 'cause I'd never dated anybody who was really into it.


But does it really matter?  'Cause...


OMFG it's time for a

POP GAYDAR QUIZ!!!!

Let's play Who's the Gay?

Scenario #1: Ada, age 34. 

[via hellogirls]

Ada's a nurse. She has shoulder-length blonde hair. While on the job, she wears blue scrubs and clogs like the rest of the nursing population, but you see Ada on her days off because you work at the bar near her house. 

Ada wears: a snowboarding jacket, skinny jeans, Puma sneakers, a men's ribbed tank top under a plaid flannel shirt, and a very ugly winter hat with "cute" bear ears on it. She always orders a beer and sits at the bar. Sometimes her friends come in.

You get weak in the knees when she signals for another round. 

Using only what we see here, should we ask Ada out?

-----------------------------

Scenario #2: Gina, age 22. 

[via theyearwas91]

Gina works at the snotty coffee shop in town, the one that acts like the Baby Jesus hand-roasted each individual fair-trade, shade-grown bean by touching them with His finger before brewing it in holy water at the perfect temperature.  


Gina has: short brown hair, a few tattoos, and wears skinny jeans, ribbed men's tank tops (the kind that come in a 6-pack), a ruffly plaid shirt, one of those saggy knitted sock hats, and more eyeliner than Cleopatra. She rolls her eyes a lot, giggles, and has been seen swatting female coworkers' rear ends on more than one occasion.


Omigod, here she comes! 


Using only what we see here, should we ask Gina out?
-----------------------------
Scenario #3: Salima, age 28.

[via fuckyeahdangerouscurves]

Salima works in the university's theater department, where she does set design. 


Salima has: long black hair, no visible tattoos or piercings, and a lot of gold rings. She seems to be one of those people with a sort of daily uniform - she's constantly wearing skinny black jeans or leggings (often paint-spattered), paint-splotched men's ribbed tank tops (usually ripped), and some kind of dark plaid flannel shirt, also with paint drippings, open over the top.  Salima's a vegan, interrupts everyone, and has been known to listen to Enya while sawing wood for backdrops. 

Salima is amazingly hot, and you always see her around.  


Using only what we see here, should we ask Salima out?
-----------------------------
Time's up! 


Hand your papers forward.  
I sincerely hope you all did well, as this counts as 100% of this week's grade.


ANSWERS 


Scenario #1: Ada.

March right up to Ada and ask. her. out.  
Do it now, before anyone else notices how cute she is.

Ada is likely gay, and here's why:

1)  Do you tricks have any idea how many dykes work in healthcare?

2)  Ignore everything else, look at that plaid flannel shirt!

Might as well be wearing a shirt that says "I like to fingerbang."

[ciarra and max]

And that's our gaydar focus today, sluts.

The plaid shirt.

Forget every other detail you see on a girl, if there's plaid happening, it's time to take a second look.
--------------------------------------------------


Scenario #2: Gina

Christ almighty.  We would NOT ask Gina out, we would never ask Gina out, never in a million years.  


Gina is giving off teh straight in waves, and here's a couple of reasons why: 


1)  She's swatting her female coworkers on the ass. 
Were Gina actually gay, she would likely avoid doing funny shit like that in her workplace, even if she was comfortable with her sexuality, because that can get read wrong, even by friends.


2) that plaid shirt is ruffled.
More on this later.
---------------------------------------------------
Scenario #3: Salima.


*Trick question!* 

We would NOT ask Salima out.  
Not yet.  


Salima is...someone who needs more gaydar evidence-gathering.

She is a vegan who builds shit in a college theater department, and she is wearing a plaid men's shirt, but that's her work uniform. 


Salima's plaid shirt is her ok-to-get-stains-on-it shirt.  
It makes all the difference. 


We must reserve judgement.

[via skylarxx]

But heywaitnofair! 
All three women were wearing a plaid shirt! 


Deep breaths, homos. 
Let's talk plaid.


Lesbians have always loved plaid.  

[via Butch-Femme Couples by Kristin Kurzawa]

When the first lesbian opened her eyes on the first morning of the dawn of the world, she put on a plaid shirt and walked to the first co-op, where the cute cashier promptly hit on her. They were fruitful and multiplied, and that's where baby dykes come from.

[via liquorinthefront]

Dykes have been into plaid since the beginning.  


We, as a people, are irresistibly drawn to plaid.  We can't help it.  It's in our genetic makeup.

[via girlswholikegirls]

People joke about lesbians and their plaid shirts, and it's the damn truth.


Workshirts, farm shirts, sensible cotton buttondowns, cute little hoodies - plaid fits the bill for everything dykes like.

[via silentclamour]

I can hear you saying "bah" from here.


What's that?  Everyone wears plaid because plaid's in right now? 

You're right.  Everyone does wear plaid. 
Every year, riiiight around September, designers do "warm tones" in their fashion shows, which, in turn, always, always involve models stomping down the runways wearing plaid.  

The world loves plaid in the fall.  
It makes us instantly want to buy new packs of pens and fresh notebooks.

But! The straights and the gays wear plaid in different ways.


Lucky, Vogue, Cosmo, and Elle tell straight women to "feminize" plaid, and then showcase lots of "girly" shirts.  

You know: Ooh, a masculine plaid tunic with a row of delicate lace. 


Ohhhh, a plaid buttondown with ruffles.  Aren't we borrowing from the boys now.

Eventually the plaid trend trickles down to Target and falls apart in the first wash.


Now, gay girls wear plaid like they've always worn plaid: 
no frilly shit. 

Real-ass plaid shirts, and usually flannel to boot. 
Open or closed.  


Femmes wear them when they're butching it up a little. 

[via viceslikevipers]

Butches and bois wear plaid shirts when they're being ironic, working outside, or really just are gay as fuck.

[via nutellabella]

Studs only wear brand-name plaid.

[thanks S.M.]

Sporty dykes wear plaid if it's happening on a Burton snowboard jacket.

We all wear plaid! And - unfortunately for our 2011 resolutions for more sex - plaid is trendy right now.


So how do we tell the difference between hipster girls and girls that might go down on us?

(by ezgi.polat)

Hmms.


Well, straight-girl plaid has: ruffles, lace, weird dangly parts, any kind of back-tie that "nips in the waist", a lot of pink, and/or is usually worn in conjuction with other I-swear-to-god-I-have-ladybits accessories, like long necklaces/hairbows/cute shit. 

Do you know why that is?  Why straight girls accessorize the hell out of plaid when they wear it?


Because deep down in their souls, they know: 
Plaid is strong. 
Plaid is tough.  
Plaid is...a lil' dyke-y.

Gay girl plaid: looks like it came from either your dad's closet or Fleet Farm.  
Period.

[via court]

In conclusion:
I am not saying that any girl wearing a non-frilly plaid shirt is a lesbian.  


Fuckno. The world's population would die off in one generation if that were the case, judging from the windows at Urban Outfitters.

But plaid has always figured heavily into gay women's wardrobes, and if you see a cute-ass woman sauntering down the street in her grandpa's old plaid, it's worth closer inspection.


Don't you think?

[via titsandtattoos]

How did you do on the quiz?