Shacked Up For Serious

Hi ladyfags!


Don't you just fucking love this weather?  


The leaves.  
The acrid burning smell in the air.  

Melancholy and plaid.
Honking geese.  
The bittersweet tweed of it all.

I live near an elementary school, and nothing gives me greater pleasure than to bike by the first-floor windows, where all the kids are trapped inside their classrooms.   

I like to circle slowly on the sidewalk and wave at the children. 

Then I mouth "SUCKERS!!!" and gesture at the brilliant blue sky outside. 


Laughing wildly, I pedal off into the golden morning.

[by Chloe McLennan]

There is nothing better than being done with school.


But! the best part about this time of year is the resurgence of scarves.  


YES!

One minute, it's summer and it's so fucking hot that, as you get ready to go out, you're thinking: "Accessories...hmmm...accessories...you know what?  I think skin is a good accessory"  and the next minute, it's autumn, and you go:  "This outfit sucks...but what if I add a scarf???"  

BOOM!  
Instant mystery!  
Instant "I-go-to-art-school"!

Scarves.  
Hells yes. 


Tomorrow, CJ and I are driving to Madison, WI for a little weekend trip.  
We're celebrating our five year anniversary.  


FIVE YEARS, you guys.  


If our relationship was a baby, it would have already outgrown regular Dora the Explorer and moved onto Slutty Dora.

Five years!  I've kind of been freaking out about it.

A little bit.

This is a milestone.  Five years is a big deal.


This is a bigger deal than when I turned 25 and realized that every day was another day closer to death and started asking Dee, my hairdresser, if she could see any bald spots.


Me:  No?  No thinning?  Tell me if there's any thinning, right along the crown.  I definitely thought I saw a thin patch up there the other day.


Dee:  No.


Me:  You would tell me, though, right?


Dee:  There's not.


Me:  I swear to god it's getting thinner. I'll probably go bald.  I don't mind, really.  Wigs would be ok.  Itchy, though.  Hot.


Dee:  Would you shut the fuck up.

Five years with CJ.
This is my longest romantic relationship.  By a long shot.  

And while CJ is totally fine, all breezing along and shit, I am consumed with sudden questions.

(by lesliee!!)

*What if this is it?


*What if this isn't it?


*If this isn't it, shouldn't we break up NOW?  Avoiding further time wasted?  While everyone still looks good in jeggings?


*If this is it, shouldn't I be sure?  And shouldn't something major happen, like a house or a dog or a wedding or a joint cell phone plan?  


*What if we stay together for 20 years and then break up?  Who will I date then?  Everybody good might already be taken!

Jesus. 


CJ says it's fine - everything I'm feeling is fine, and we should just take our relationship as it goes, and we don't need to make any huge decisions right this second, and nobody is breaking up with anybody in 20 years just yet, and maybe I shouldn't drink any more espresso drinks after 5 p.m.

[via pissangel]

But.  But.

Everyone I know is breaking up with each other.  

(by dusdincondren)

What I need are some fucking role models.


I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized something: 
I don't know any settled dyke couples.  

I don't know anybody who's been in a basically happy lesbian relationship for longer than 10 years.  


Anybody.

[via crowcrow]

I know settled gay boy couples.  That doesn't help.   
They're gay, but not gay ladies.

I know settled straight couples.  
That reeeeeeally doesn't help. 

But I don't know any dyke couples in their 40's or 50's or 60's.


Why is that?  Why don't I know any?  
Or even know of any lesbians in really long-term relationships?

Where are they?  
Prop 8 makes us furious, so a bunch of us must be in it for the long haul.


So why don't I ever see them?  The settled lesbians?

Are they lost in the black hole of having children? (You know.  Your friends have a baby and then the next time you see them, the kid is working on his fractions homework.) 

Do they live in small towns and spend their time with large gardens and a multitude of dogs? 

Or are they just so over going out that I never see them ever? 


It's possible that settled lesbian couples are all around me and I simply don't see them.  

But I want to see them!  I want to talk with them!  
Go out for beers!  


I'd love just one example of what it's like to be with another woman for a long-ass time.  

I know they're out there.


So where are they?  


Where are the dyke-y role models? 


Anybody know what it's like long-term?

[via candywarhol] 

I think I need a little inspiration.

blue blue little blue

Today I tried to wear denim, from pants to outfit. This photo was taken, when I would go to pondok indah mall. don't know why, I want to wear denim today.
so I tried to wearing a denim outfit and harem pants :)

Never A Love Like This Before

[via mymuffinroared]

How's it going, lezzers?

Ever since we moved into our apartment in Chicago, there's been all sorts of new noises to get used to.  

We had noises in Minneapolis, but it was nothing like here.  

Wailing sirens.  Car alarms.  Ukrainian church festivals having karaoke contests.  The kid downstairs screaming his 2-year-old head off in Yiddish.  ("Abba? Abba! ABBA!! AHHHHHH-BAAAAAA!!!!")  

Reggaeton blasting from cars with flapping Puerto Rican flags.  

The ice cream truck, which does a slow circle around the three bars on our block starting at 11 p.m. every night.  (It's actually awesome - the ice cream man, Ricky, will put whatever you're drinking into a milkshake on the spot.)

The junkman's truck rattles with a thousand glass bottles and broken bikes.  The baby next door cries.  All the dogs start barking and another police siren starts.

We've gotten used to it.

And underneath it all, at all times and at all hours of the night, there's always been a gentle, resonant sort of bell sound.

A quiet, calm sound.  It puts me to sleep.

I've always drifted off picturing large wooden ships pulling into harbor, a low bell clanging mournfully into the mist. 

I snuggle, safe and warm in my bed, wishing those sailors a safe journey home and godspeed.

Never mind that I live nowhere near water; that fact doesn't figure into my falling-asleep fantasy.  

I loved the bell noise.

You can imagine, then, how surprised I was to find a hidden train station four blocks from my house while taking a different route home on Tuesday.

Not a safe harbor. Not a peaceful lighthouse.

A Metra stop.

Full of Gatorade vending machines and men pissing onto the tracks.

Hmph.

Last week, I took the Metra up to Joliet, IL, and I brought a book along that I hadn't read for a really long time - The Sun Also Rises.

And whoa - sitting on the train in the sunlight with my feet slung over the armrests and the buildings and trees flashing by, reading The Sun Also Rises...suddenly it was like it was 6 years ago, and I was 21, riding the train in Italy to see my girlfriend. 

Lord god, did I have it bad.

I had just had lesbian sex for the first time, and I was faaaaairly sure I had invented it.  

I was travelling, I had nothing really whatsoever to do, I was reading too much Hemingway, spending too much time in cafes, and doing irritating "romantic" things like taking walks in the rain and feeling sorry for myself.  

[via hellogirls]

I was one of the Lost Generation.
Yeah.  
Discovering myself.  
I was in love, really in love with a girl and there had never been a love like this and it was pure and holy and not-at-all-about-me.  



[via tastelessnudes]

 I was obsessed.  OBSESSED.  

This girl was all I thought about.  All I wanted.  

I could have done without eating and friends and sleeping.  All I wanted was to be naked in bed with her and have her love me and we wouldn't need anything ever - it would be just the two of us and no one would understand or have ever loved the way we loved.

[via hipcumon]

Our own private little club. 

I loved her obsessively.  

[via implode]

And that's what I want to talk about today, homos.

The sliiiiiight tendency, in lesbians, towards obsession.  

Don't act like it's just me!

Haven't you ever been obsessed with a girl?  

Not just in love with her, but obsessed to the point where Garbage's "I Would Die For You" is a song you can identify with?

I guess it could just be me, but...I know enough dykes to think obsession is pretty common among our kind. 

I think it happens more often when we're very young.  
You meet a girl and lose yourself in her.  
Every. single. thing she does is beautiful.  
You're a little confused.
  
You're not sure if you want to fuck her or be her or just watch her from a distance.

(by Martijn S.)

You want to watch her hold a cigarette.  You want to stare at her mouth when she talks.  You love the way she dresses. 
You love having sex with her but you know your love is purer than sex.  

[via annacarli]

You constantly think about what she's thinking about.  You're certain there is no way she could ever love you the way you love her.

And she feels the same way.

[via thedepravity]

And you become obsessed with one another.

And it gets...icky.

Later, when you get a few years older, you look at that period of your life and go, "Ew."

Seriously, ew.  

I have whole journals full of incredibly shitty poems about my first girlfriend.

*NERD ALERT!* Here's the key to my diary.  Let's flip to a random page from 2004, shall we?

Holy fuck.  


I was a lesbian, and I was in love. 

Obsession ain't pretty.  
Here's another.  Jesus.
Do you like the jagged edges?  
Jagged like my heart.

Whole years of my life were given over to the worship of a hot piece.  

Did you guys go through this?  Tell me you went through this. Otherwise I am going to be seriously humiliated.  

Most of my lesbian friends have been obsessed with a woman at some point in their careers as carpet-munchers.

[via hipcumon]

But I dunno.  Maybe obsession isn't all bad and vomit-inducing.  Maybe it's an important step on the ladder of being a self-sufficient young dyke.  

Maybe obsession teaches us about ourselves.  Maybe you don't have boundaries with certain girlfriends so you can learn where your boundaries actually are.

The dark side, of course, being...what if you never learn to have good boundaries?  What if that all-engrossing obsessive tendency of your youth turns ugly?

It could lead to being an actual, grown-up lesbian, driving past the object of your obsession's house at 3 in the morning.  Or calling her just to hear her voice on the message.  Staring creepily at your crush in the coffee shop.  

[via thebeautifulyouth]

Or stalking her on Facebook.  

Lesbians, I'm a little embarrassed that I'm writing about this at all, and not all queergirls have been through this, so I just want to know...


Have you been obsessed?


How old were you?

Did you write atrocious poetry and then cry when you read it over, alone in your room?  'Cause I totally didn't.

How did it end?  Did you consume each other in the fiery flames of your obsessive love?  Or did you just...fizzle out?

Tell me about your obsession, tricks.  


I showed you my diary.