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Being awkward has its perks. People don't ask you to go dancing.
You have a built-in excuse for not attending gallery openings.
Nobody will take you to the poetry reading because they know you'll laugh during the Really Serious Parts.

Being awkward is not, however, an all-season social pass. Sometimes, you have to interact with other humans, and the result is...a hot mess.

Take this morning. So I'm shopping at Savers, the thrift store nearest my house, and I'm in the lingerie section. I don't know how often y'all go thriftin', but I go a lot. I say, if you don't need to wash it in hot hot water before wearing it, you didn't get a good deal.
And I know an eternal truth about thrift stores:

There is always, always a creepy fat guy in the lingerie section buying giant-sized bras and lacy panties "for his wife."

No worries. You just work around him. Unless, of course, he says this:

"Hey baby."

You ignore him.

"You pretty sexy."

Too true.

And then..wait for it...

"What are you, eleven, twelve?"

Ex-CUSE me??? Instantly, I'm in Attack Mode.

I turn slowly around.

"What the fuck did you just ask me? Did you just ask me if I was ELEVEN FUCKING YEARS OLD? You fucking pedophile? Did you? 'Cause, first of all, I am 26 motherfucking years old, and second of all, I do NOT need to be dealing with some creepy-ass sweaty dude in the bra section at 10 IN THE FUCKING MORNING. Get the fuck away from me."

His eyes widen into saucers.

"Miss, I, uh...I'm really sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Oh my God. Honest, I didn't. I mean, yeah, I gave you a compliment and all, but I was asking if you were an eleven or twelve. Like, a size eleven. Cause I got a ladyfriend about your size, I mean you're sexy, but I'm shopping for my ladyfriend's birthday and all, I didn't mean like were you a kid or anything like that. You just look like you're my girl's size and I'm looking for the dress racks. Oh my God."

He scuttles away.

It's good to be me. Sluts, this post doesn't have a lot to do with being a dyke. I just needed to spread the awkwardness around.

Have a lovely morning.

sexy girl girly tattoo

Previously, Tatto is some thing which tabu.Moreover now women.But for the tattoo is of both general women and man.such as the example image below.

sexy girl girly tattoo

angel tattoo sexy

angel tattoo sexy

Sexy tattoo on Flickr

Sexy tattoo on Flickr

Sexy Lizard Tattoo

Sexy Lizard Tattoo

sexy women tattoo

sexy women tattoo

2 Bdrm 1 Bath Pets OK

So, last weekend, I made the move from Minneapolis (where you can't swing a cat without hitting a lesbian) to Chicago, where cab drivers have conversations with you like this:

Cabbie: I don't know where that is. I never heard of Iowa Street.

Me: It's in the Ukrainian Village. Think West Division Street. And West Chicago Avenue.

Cabbie: (Pause) Yep. I've got nothing.

Me: Those are major streets. How about Damen? How about Augusta?

Cabbie: Like Greektown? I know where Greektown is.

Me: No, not Greektown. Ukrainian Village. By Logan Square. West from downtown. How are you a cab driver?

Cabbie: Greektown you could basically walk to from here. I mean, it would be kind of a long walk.

Me: What. the. fuck. Not Greektown. Ukrainian Village. Ukrainian Village!

Cabbie: (turning around) Hey....are you two lesbians? That's hot. Heh.

Me: Pull over. This corner's fine.

Homos, basically I'm worried. I've not spent a great deal of time in Chicago, but now it's my home. And people are staring at me and my favorite lil' piece like they've never seen lesbians before in their lives.
Also, I have a real problem now: I can't be sure who's gay.

Seriously! My gaydar is all turned around! I see cute girls every fucking minute, but they all look like lesbians to me. I need to work on Chicago dykes - are they so integrated that I can't even pick them out of a crowd here??

Every girl seems to be wearing flat shoes. Every girl has a subversive haircut. Everybody rides a bike, everybody has smart-girl glasses, everybody works at a small, indie business, and the tiny coffee shops are full of chicks with ripped tights, ordering cold press with soy milk. Apparently, I have to hit on all women, everywhere, just to even have a fighting chance of making new "friends." Fortunately, I'm up for the challenge.

All the girlies may be hiding, but I have Math on my side. My Scientific Calculations tell me that:

1. The most conservative estimate of the global gay population is 10%.(I would put it at 20% gay at least, and around 55% if you count all the people who would do you in a bathroom stall if they had a few Bacardi-and-Cokes and thought no one would ever know.) But we'll stick with 10%, for simplicity's sake, and also so we don't get our hopes up unduly.

3. Therefore, there are at least 1 million Chicago homosexuals.

4. If half are girls and half are boys, that leaves 500,000 gay women in Chicago.
So where are the 500,000 lesbians?

5. And they all hafta get some at some point.

500,000 women is enough to start our own city. Lesbicago. Chi-Dyke. Sapphicago. It would be fun.

Until we all died out. Then it would be a creepy ghost town.

Seriously, though, where do all these girls hang out? Why don't I see more of them?

2. There are 10 million people living in the Chicago area.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm surrounded by them and I don't even know it.

I must adjust the lenses on my gaydar glasses.

Moving is so exciting, isn't it?