play with polaroid!

with sanny from " c.o.c.o m.i.l.k ", diana from "call me diyn " and sevvy.
This photo was taken when we're photooshoot :)


with diana from "call me diyn"


with my friend from my college :)


with diana from "call me diyn" .when she was sick and hospitalized in Pluit



I tried to bring my polaroid ,every time i go i always bring it.
actually i was too lazy to bring my Polaroid because it is very heavy, but I'm satisfied with the results so I always carry a camera.
you MUST try to play with polaroid, it's FUN!! :)

Death Becomes Her

[via -infinitemoments] 

Hiya, finger-artists!


I have five days off work, and I'm using them to do important shit.  

[via fuckyeahgreatshit]

Five whole days at home!  
I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish, and it looks like this:


*Find new job
*Clean house
*Laundry (involves laundromat)
*Fix that one fucking dress that's been in my mend-y pile for over a year
*Make Effing Dykes t-shirts
*Call everybody back
*Get CJ to make those muffins again
*See The Kids Are All Right


It's Day 4.

[via wallofbooks]

I've accomplished nothing.
Except!  I finally saw The Kids Are All Right.

Waaaay after everybody else already saw it, and now I want to talk about it.  


Because it scared the bejeezus out of me.

Did you see it?


Mmkay, if you didn't:


1) Not a date movie; and


2) It's about two lesbians, played by Julianne Moore and Annette Bening, who have two teenage kids and are getting ready to send one of them to college.  
One of the lesbians has an affair, it's fucked up, and they all try to sort through their shit.


The teenage daughter is also inappropriately hot.  

But!  That's not what we're talking about. 

Not today, you horndogs.

We're not talking about the plot of the movie, we're not talking about some of the "interesting" choices the director made, and we're not talking about how Julianne Moore had a perfect lesbian ear-cuff or how Annette Bening was wearing dyke jeans like a pro.  (Btw, who are the fagettes behind the scenes of this movie in the costume department??  Nice job, laydayz.)

No.  
We're talking about the really scary part of this movie:


The lesbian couple in The Kids Are All Right was extremely believable.  
They were in their mid-40's.  They were middle-class.  They had kids.   

And they were suffering from Lesbian Bed Death.

Ach du Lieber!!


Q:  But what is Lesbian Bed Death?


A:  Lesbian Bed Death is a jokey/ok-not-always-so-jokey term for a lack of sex happening when two dykes have been together for a long time.  
The term was coined in 1983 by a sociologist named Pepper Schwartz when she wrote a book called American Couples.


Pepper Schwartz is the creator of nightmares.

You guys, I am terrified of Lesbian Bed Death. 

On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being "least scary" and 10 being "It's 2012 and the Mayans were fucking right"...


I rank Lesbian Bed Death as at least a 9.  


Scarier than when I had to give a toast at my sister's wedding.  

Scarier than the Ebola virus.

Scarier, even, than the time I was driving through an endless mountain tunnel at night in the Swiss Alps with my then-boyfriend and he turned to me, smiled weirdly, and said, "You know, baby, no one knows we're here.  How well do you really know me?"

Howwwwleeee sheeeeit.


Lesbian Bed Death, to me, is scarier than all of these things.  


HOW COULD YOU STOP HAVING SEX???


I mean, I get it.  
You get older.  Maybe you have kids.  (Fuckno.)  You both have careers. You're tired as hell.  Sex seems like...something you could do tomorrow.  

Let's put it off.  Maybe we could just snuggle.  
Does snuggling naked count?  

[via auroralice] 

You see?  I get it.  


You don't want to picture your parents having sex. 

Someday, maybe someday soon, you'll be the person a teenager is shuddering about. 

[via mentalstability]

But I'm absolutely paranoid about it happening.


Every time CJ and I are exhausted and just kind of fall asleep;


every time I stay up late reading after she's been sleeping for hours; 


every time it's a Sunday morning and I bolt out of bed at 7 a.m. 
because Sunday means the farmer's market and I want to beat all the Ukrainian housewives...

I worry.

Shouldn't I, a homosexual woman in my prime (and I tend to think of "your prime" as ages 18 - 70ish), with a very hot girlfriend and a work-free Sunday morning be using said Sunday morning to fuck?

[by _amandasmith]

Don't you think?


I get guilty about it.  

[via universalpeace]

Me: (poking CJ at 2 a.m.)  Hey.


CJ:  Mmph.


Me:  Heeeeeey.


CJ:  Baby, I'm sleeping.


Me:  Do you think this is Lesbian Bed Death?


CJ:  You are not doing this now.

Me:  'Cause I just really didn't feel like doin' it before.  


CJ:  That's ok.

Me:  It's not ok!  What if this is the beginning??


CJ:  Do you want to do it right now?


Me:  No.


CJ:  Ok then.  (kisses me, falls asleep instantly)


Cut to me, clutching the covers, staring wild-eyed into the darkness.

This shit actually keeps me awake.


I'm asking y'all, because you seem to have all the answers, and your advice really helps me:


*Is Lesbian Bed Death real?


*If so, is there a cure?


*Should I actually be losing sleep in anticipation of the moment when I no longer want to fuck on a regular basis?


*Has anyone out there experienced it?


*How can we avoid the fate of Annette Bening and Julianne Moore?

And "Lesbo" Was Her Name-O

Ohhhhhh you filthy fuzz-bumpers.

Remind me to elope.  

I mean it. 

My darling, only sister Shelley is getting married today, which means I will soon have my very first brother, ever.  

His name is Wes.  

When Shelley first started dating, I put in my request for The Perfect Brother-In-Law:

1)  He must be named Ben.  (So manly!)

2)  He must be able to pick up a large dog and sling it around his neck like an muscle-y guy in an Abercrombie ad.

3)  He must ruffle my hair.

4)  He must be good at grilling slabs of meat.

When Shelley moved to Australia to get her master's degree, I figured I had this Perfect-Brother-In-Law thing in the bag.  

I mean, c'mon!  How could you not come back from Australia with a muscled man named Ben who likes throwin' meat on the barbie and enjoys wearing Labradors as mufflers??

Shelley arrived back in Minneapolis two years later, newly-degreed...with no Ben in tow.

WHAT.

[Thanks Kara]

I was despondent. 

But then Wes came on the scene.  

Apart from having a name that is tragically not-at-all-"Ben"...he is everything on my request form for The Perfect Brother-In-Law.

He grills. 

He pokes me in the side and gives me noogies.

He throws my 70-pound Lab/Shepherd mix, Charlie, around his neck and walks around the yard with him.

Excellent work, Shelley.

Anyway!  I've spent the last week doing wedding stuff, and haven't had time to write about dykes. 

HOWEVER!  Since it's Saturday night, and I know y'all are going out...I made you a little game.  

And when I say I made it, I mean I got the idea here, found all the pictures, and then hopped energetically around behind Tawnya going, "Make it rainbow-colored!" while she made the graph and did all the hard computer stuff.

Thanks Tawnya.  You're really really smart.

This oughta keep you sluts occupied:

Here's how you play Lesbo Bingo:

1)  Click on the game card and then print it out.  One for each player!

2)  Go out to a place with lots of homogirls.  Like a dyke bar.  The natural foods co-op.  The dog park.  A dance club.   Anywhere with lezzies!

3)  Start playing!  It's not like regular Bingo - in this game, in order to cross off a square, you hafta see the sign-of-a-dyke first.  

Then you need to call it.  (Example:  "Ooh!  Cabbie hat!")  Someone at your table needs to confirm the sighting.  Then you get to cross off the square!  

4)  First player to cross off a row, column, or diagonal-column first shouts "DILDO!!!"  really loud.  

Because it's fun to yell "Dildo!"

Winner gets a prize.  

A drink, a candybar, 7 minutes alone in a closet with their crush...wait, that's a different game.

[via hellogirls]

Ok, awesome.  

Have fun!  Think of me in an inappropriately-tight dress, helping to keep the "unity candle" from blowing out!

Justsayhello!

now, why i wear hat? because i hateee my hair very much!! my hair is very messy! haha and now I've recovered from the accident, soo happy to be able to update my blog :)

-zara top baby blue ,unbranded denim outfit ,belt from singapore, forever21 and online shop rings ,mixmax bangles-

Heads Up 7-Up

Ciao, skirt-chasers!

I dropped a wedding cake at work.

Right in front of the happy couple's parents.  

On the morning of the wedding.

Whee.

I think that might have to rank as one of my Top 5 Worst Moments, ever.

The Top 5 Worst Moments List changes all the time, but includes:

1)  Getting caught by a group of popular girls while picking my nose in the library beanbag chairs at Bay View Middle School.

2)  Sleeping over at my friend Tara's house in high school, waking up in the middle of the night thirsty, going into the kitchen, and seeing Tara's mom buck-naked and smoking.

  

She was pale - so pale.  She had a massive fupa, and a bush that was so huge it looked like a Narnian elf-beard.  

I was frozen to the spot with horror.

She looked over at me (3 a.m., people!), exhaled toward the ceiling, and calmly said "Don't tell Tara." 

3)  Lying to CJ and telling her I loved camping so I could trick her into being my girlfriend and then having to go camping.

[via hipcumon]

4)  Turning the corner to my apartment when I lived in Italy and seeing a boy suddenly crash his Vespa, fly into oncoming traffic, and get run over.   

I heard the crunch.  
He was killed.

5) Realizing there was a camel spider (Google it) in our kitchen in Mexico and he sure as fuck wasn't scared of us.  

I felt worse about dropping the wedding cake than I did the time I  slept over at my friend Gina's house, got food poisoning, and shat her bed in the middle of the night with her lying next to me.

Diarrhea in a girl's bed.  

Wedding cake felt worse.

But!  I'm not fired.  
Not fired, even though I smushed the symbol of two young people's happiness.

Speaking of marriages, homos, my sister is getting married next weekend.  I'm going to be in Minneapolis alllll week long, making myself positively sick as I overdose on lesbians.  Can't wait.  

[via shoopik]

Before I go Minneapolis, though, we need to talk about something.  

Something gay. 

Something that is so gay I never even thought to mention it, assuming that it was obvious.


The Lesbian Backwards-Head-Nod.

You know what I'm talking about.


This is some serious gaydar shit, here.  


We are the Dyke Body Language graduating class of '10.

[via lesfemmes]

The Lesbian Backwards-Head-Nod is known by many other names. 


The Whad-Up.  The Dyke Nod.  The Jaw Jut.  The Chin-Up.  Family Face.  The How-You-Doin'.  The Lesbian Hello.  

I myself call it the Dyke Nod.  Fast and thoroughly descriptive.  

[via hellogirls]

Q:  But what is the Dyke Nod?


A:  The Dyke Nod is a body-language thing that only lesbians do. The Dyke Nod is when a dyke, upon seeing someone she knows, elects to acknowledge that person with her chin.  


Sometimes this greeting is accompanied by a "Hey, what's up," and sometimes it's just the strong and silent way of saying hi. 

[via fyeahtashatilberg]

Mea's gonna show y'all how to do it proper-like! 


Here's how you do the Dyke Nod to another girl:


1) Sight your target.  She could be across the room or across the table.  It doesn't matter. Look her in the eye.

2) Raise both your eyebrows slightly.  

3)  Keeping your mouth shut, arrange your face into:
         a) faint surprise
         b) a slight smile
         c) a "cool" look  (choose between "I'm-a-hardass-and-I-know-you-and-don't-like-you" or "I'm so fucking high right now.") 
Either one is good.

4) Stick your chin out and tilt it up.

5)  Annnnnnnnd bring it back down.

The perfect Dyke Nod!  Appropriate for all social occasions!




The most important thing to remember about the Dyke Nod: 


Only. Dykes. Do. It.


This is a crucial weapon in your gaydar arsenal.
  
Recognizing the Dyke Nod will give you a leg up on all the poor clueless lonely homogirls who don't know about this shit.

[via heyi'msarah]

Situations!


Sometimes a lesbian gives you the Dyke Nod in public because she is recognizing you, a stranger, as another lesbian.  

It's nice. 
Kind of a "hey-you're-in-the-club-I-don't-know-you-but-hey-there-you-are" look.  

Hetty (by Mick)

Sometimes you get the Dyke Nod because the nodder is just too cool for school and working on her mysteriousness.  

This happens a lot in bars.

There are tons of ways to use the Dyke Nod!  


You could be on your phone, distracted, and find yourself meeting a friend of a friend on your way out of a restaurant.

That would be an excellent occasion for the Dyke Nod.

[via lesfemmes]

You could be out dancing, beer in hand, and suddenly see the asshole woman who stole your girlfriend last summer.  

Quick!  Press your lips into a tight line! Jut your chin out! 
You see that motherfucker, you know who she is, but there ain't shit to say.  
Do the Dyke Nod!  Save yourself!

Lesbians across the board do the Dyke Nod.


Femmes do it.  Butches do it.  Bois do it.  Sporty dykes do it like it's their job.  Old dykes and baby dykes - everybody does it.

[via hellogirls]

And if a girl does it to you, she's a homosexual.  

Ta-daaa! The Dyke Nod!
Simple.
Easy.

Just like your mom.