..especially if you are a dyke.
It's official: kd lang is coming to the Edmonton Folk Fest in July and the Little Hunneydoo and I are going, if we have to sell off our impressive collection of marital aids from Dildo Junction to do it.
There are two reasons for this. One, although my taste typically runs to fembots and lipstick lesbians (or even chapstick lesbians like the delicious Ellen Degeneres--HI, ELLEN! CALL ME!!), and kd is a little handsome for my liking, she nevertheless has a Voice From the Gods. Also, she will just have to say something remotely flirty (i.e. "Good evening, Edmonton,") and flash that lopsided grin and the Little Hunneydoo will bust a rib flinging herself at the stage. And if kd ventures to sing "Hallelujah" or "Constant Craving" or "Miss Chatelaine", then people, just get out of the way, cuz there'll be no stopping her.
The second reason is that, as lesbos, the Missus and I are required to attend, especially as we missed Melissa Etheridge's concert earlier this year. It is time to check in with the Mothership, because if we miss this performance, the Dyke Mafia will come and demand to see our papers. (They don't carry guns, but wield a nasty pool cue).
Naturally, attendance is required for ALL the dykes in the province and that is what concerns me about attending. I don't generally hang out with a lot of my Sapphic sisters, and my fear is that I will get caught on this hill with thousands of stocky, short-haired braless women wearing hemp shirts, wool socks and Birkenstock sandals. I, naturally, will be down in front trying to pry the Little Woman from kd's ankles, but I'm worried that I will glance backward like Lot's wife and turn to salt when I see an entire hillside of mad fanny-bashers practicing their cunning linguistics as Ms. lang takes us to the crescendo of "Two Cigarettes In An Ashtray."
See, that's the thing: boys think girl-on-girl action is hawt, but the girls they're thinking of aren't generally lesbians. Most of the women *I* know who claim to be a dyke don't resemble Samantha Fox or Helen Hunt or even my own Little Chocolate Bunny. Most of them look like Linda Hunt. And no-one wants to see that. Not even Linda Hunt.
Anyway, Teeth was back at the office today, and she wasn't at her desk fifteen minutes before she started moaning about the mess Walter made and what the hell was he doing anyway to make such a mess and blah-blah-blah. She showed me the kleenex she was using to wipe up her desk and all I did was shrug as if to say, "Just quit yer whining and get on with it."
When really what I wanted to say was, "Fer Chrissakes, someone drop an anvil on this bitch!"
It's official: kd lang is coming to the Edmonton Folk Fest in July and the Little Hunneydoo and I are going, if we have to sell off our impressive collection of marital aids from Dildo Junction to do it.
There are two reasons for this. One, although my taste typically runs to fembots and lipstick lesbians (or even chapstick lesbians like the delicious Ellen Degeneres--HI, ELLEN! CALL ME!!), and kd is a little handsome for my liking, she nevertheless has a Voice From the Gods. Also, she will just have to say something remotely flirty (i.e. "Good evening, Edmonton,") and flash that lopsided grin and the Little Hunneydoo will bust a rib flinging herself at the stage. And if kd ventures to sing "Hallelujah" or "Constant Craving" or "Miss Chatelaine", then people, just get out of the way, cuz there'll be no stopping her.
The second reason is that, as lesbos, the Missus and I are required to attend, especially as we missed Melissa Etheridge's concert earlier this year. It is time to check in with the Mothership, because if we miss this performance, the Dyke Mafia will come and demand to see our papers. (They don't carry guns, but wield a nasty pool cue).
Naturally, attendance is required for ALL the dykes in the province and that is what concerns me about attending. I don't generally hang out with a lot of my Sapphic sisters, and my fear is that I will get caught on this hill with thousands of stocky, short-haired braless women wearing hemp shirts, wool socks and Birkenstock sandals. I, naturally, will be down in front trying to pry the Little Woman from kd's ankles, but I'm worried that I will glance backward like Lot's wife and turn to salt when I see an entire hillside of mad fanny-bashers practicing their cunning linguistics as Ms. lang takes us to the crescendo of "Two Cigarettes In An Ashtray."
See, that's the thing: boys think girl-on-girl action is hawt, but the girls they're thinking of aren't generally lesbians. Most of the women *I* know who claim to be a dyke don't resemble Samantha Fox or Helen Hunt or even my own Little Chocolate Bunny. Most of them look like Linda Hunt. And no-one wants to see that. Not even Linda Hunt.
Anyway, Teeth was back at the office today, and she wasn't at her desk fifteen minutes before she started moaning about the mess Walter made and what the hell was he doing anyway to make such a mess and blah-blah-blah. She showed me the kleenex she was using to wipe up her desk and all I did was shrug as if to say, "Just quit yer whining and get on with it."
When really what I wanted to say was, "Fer Chrissakes, someone drop an anvil on this bitch!"
Jemima or Bea Arthur? Surprisingly, most people (regardless of gender and/or sexual preference) went with Aunt Jemima. I found this disturbing on a number of levels, not the least of which was that several of those polled described Aunt Jemima in terms of the bottle of syrup. Also, she was fictional, so what does that say about my friends that they would rather have sexual relations with a bottle of fake maple syrup than a real person?