Time to pull you out of the land of crazy ice fairies. I showed you "Pondwater," and without further adieu is the series of vignettes that ruined my life last night. Tell me which style is better. Enjoy.
P.S. I have gone completely insane.
8 Reasons You Should Not Be a Lesbian
She stole my heart and mycat? Mike Myers, So I married an Axe Murderer
This is a Lesbian Judgment Aptitude Test (LJAT). When I make the signal, pick up your pen and begin reading. Circle the names of the women in the vignettes you believe to be real, do not circle the names of the women in the vignettes you believe to be fiction.
Go.
Sherry was the first girl Id dated and she wouldnt wash her hands after going to the bathroom. She insisted that she was touching paper which in turn touched her personal areas, and that didnt have enough merit for soap. For our first date, she took me to Castro street and forced me to go into porn shops, where shed run around the store chasing me with silicone dildos. When she wasnt doing that, she would exacerbate the fact that she was a biochemistry major by talking for 45 minutes about cell mutations, without pausing. She made me want to evolve into an asexual being.
Sandra was not even attracted to women. She approached me at a club and bought me a drink. Afterwards, she slipped me a piece of paper with her number and the words, Call Me written in ironically rainbow ink and ellipses. I did what the ellipses told me to, and I did call her. We went to the movies and she paid for me, we watched a heterosexual love story. Afterwards, we had a coffee. She asked me if I was gay, after all, we met at a gay bar. She told me she did not like women at all but she was flattered that I hit on her. At this point, I did not ask questions. I thought the best thing to do would be to get up and walk away.
Michelle was the first girl Id ever kissed and I didnt know that she was a chupacabra. She approached me on the dance floor at the discotech of hell and shoved her sweaty body up against me, kissing my neck and asking me why I was so uptight. Id told her that Id never kissed a girl before and she told me I wasnt an actual lesbian. She threw me against the metal railing surrounding the clubs stage and gnawed at my neck so hard that I felt all the blood swimming under the surface of my skin, clawing just beneath the thin veneer of my flesh. After leaving a glorious purple declaration just above my shirt collar, she gave me her number and told me to call her. Four times I called her, four times she hung up the phone. Dejected, I stopped calling, disappointed that my first woman-kiss would be with such an asshole. For the next month and a half at the club, she proceeded to stalk me, often waiting in front of the club until she saw me arrive. No matter where I went, she would glare at me about five feet away, until she got a girlfriend of her own and I became fairly reassured that she would not kill me.
Nancy was an alluring Black fashion model who told me she wanted to take me out to dinner. She bought me dinner and told me all about her dreams of modeling stardom, how nobody understood the burden of beauty, how she did not have an addiction to cocaine, but saw no reason to stop snorting it. She informed me that she was not a feminist, but a Nancyist and only practiced Nancyism. In the taxi ride home, she told the cab driver a horrendous lie and said I was her lover, returning from being stationed on a military base far away for months. She claimed to be pornographically hungry for my love and I turned so that I faced the window, asking God why he was cruel enough to provide me with a pretentious addict who compulsively lied to strangers. She grabbed me and kissed me artificially, which confused me. The next day, she called me up and said she wasnt really bisexual or a lesbian for that matter, she just liked making out with women in front of men.
Natalie was Satan and she damned me five thousand times over. I encountered her in the discotech of Hell, like the chupacabra. We laughed, we cried, we played at an actual relationship for four months. I wanted her because she pretended to be a girlfriend and she wanted me because Id never had sex with anyone before. Four months and 8,000 negative comments later, I was staggering into classes with dark circles under my eyes from crying over things she said like, Dont ever talk to me about your feelings, just get me off in bed. My friends told me I was an emotionally battered woman and I refused to be a victim, so I left her, even when she said, You cant leave me. Nobody else will ever fall in love with you. Not long after that, the suspicious phone calls at my work started, beginning with the harassment of my co-workers. We fought viciously online and she told me she would cut me, that squirming maggots dwelled inside my body and they would continue to feed off of me after I died. If that wasnt enough, she told me she never loved me for anything but my body, she just wanted to fuck me. I chuckled and crawled into bed, shutting all of the blinds in my room and disconnecting my phone. I didnt emerge for a very, very long time.
Rizzo, the bisexual actress, could not believably play the role of a decent human being. She was flamboyant and flirtatious, singing show tunes every Wednesday for a classy bar swimming in 1920s dcor. I was fond of her until she informed me that she only liked using people for sex and she wasnt sure if it made her a bad person. Shed made several people cry and felt nothing; she asked me if I knew what it meant. It meant that it was time for me to leap off of that burning bridge and plummet 30,000 feet to safety.
Adrienne wrote poetry and was kind to me. We laughed at German techno music and pretended we were Pokemon animals. Suddenly, her uncle died and we had to stop dating because she felt like grieving, which required isolation. Shortly after that I saw her at the club holding hands with a girl that looked identical to me and I wondered just how dead her uncle really was.
Stacey perpetually smelled of cigarettes and beer. She had a sadistic form of Tourettes syndrom and called me cockface whenever I told her she looked nice or tried to kiss her on the cheek. I dont want to talk about it anymore.
The time is up. Put your pencils down. Which names did you circle? Which names and stories did you find most attractive and believable? Your grade and your life are both dependent upon this.
The truth is that all of them were real. All of them. If you didnt circle any of the names, congratulations! You are a bitter skeptic who will make it out of the realm of dating alive. If you circled half of the names, you are destined to be that hurt wounded rebel at bars that gazes out of the window with half lidded, artistic eyes breathing, Im not ready for a relationship, Ive been so hurt, I dont think I can learn to love again, but I can learn to fuck you.
If you happened to circle all of the names then you completely flunked the test, the same way I did. And you'll probably keep on flunking it for the rest of your life.
P.S. I have gone completely insane.
8 Reasons You Should Not Be a Lesbian
She stole my heart and mycat? Mike Myers, So I married an Axe Murderer
This is a Lesbian Judgment Aptitude Test (LJAT). When I make the signal, pick up your pen and begin reading. Circle the names of the women in the vignettes you believe to be real, do not circle the names of the women in the vignettes you believe to be fiction.
Go.
Sherry was the first girl Id dated and she wouldnt wash her hands after going to the bathroom. She insisted that she was touching paper which in turn touched her personal areas, and that didnt have enough merit for soap. For our first date, she took me to Castro street and forced me to go into porn shops, where shed run around the store chasing me with silicone dildos. When she wasnt doing that, she would exacerbate the fact that she was a biochemistry major by talking for 45 minutes about cell mutations, without pausing. She made me want to evolve into an asexual being.
Sandra was not even attracted to women. She approached me at a club and bought me a drink. Afterwards, she slipped me a piece of paper with her number and the words, Call Me written in ironically rainbow ink and ellipses. I did what the ellipses told me to, and I did call her. We went to the movies and she paid for me, we watched a heterosexual love story. Afterwards, we had a coffee. She asked me if I was gay, after all, we met at a gay bar. She told me she did not like women at all but she was flattered that I hit on her. At this point, I did not ask questions. I thought the best thing to do would be to get up and walk away.
Michelle was the first girl Id ever kissed and I didnt know that she was a chupacabra. She approached me on the dance floor at the discotech of hell and shoved her sweaty body up against me, kissing my neck and asking me why I was so uptight. Id told her that Id never kissed a girl before and she told me I wasnt an actual lesbian. She threw me against the metal railing surrounding the clubs stage and gnawed at my neck so hard that I felt all the blood swimming under the surface of my skin, clawing just beneath the thin veneer of my flesh. After leaving a glorious purple declaration just above my shirt collar, she gave me her number and told me to call her. Four times I called her, four times she hung up the phone. Dejected, I stopped calling, disappointed that my first woman-kiss would be with such an asshole. For the next month and a half at the club, she proceeded to stalk me, often waiting in front of the club until she saw me arrive. No matter where I went, she would glare at me about five feet away, until she got a girlfriend of her own and I became fairly reassured that she would not kill me.
Nancy was an alluring Black fashion model who told me she wanted to take me out to dinner. She bought me dinner and told me all about her dreams of modeling stardom, how nobody understood the burden of beauty, how she did not have an addiction to cocaine, but saw no reason to stop snorting it. She informed me that she was not a feminist, but a Nancyist and only practiced Nancyism. In the taxi ride home, she told the cab driver a horrendous lie and said I was her lover, returning from being stationed on a military base far away for months. She claimed to be pornographically hungry for my love and I turned so that I faced the window, asking God why he was cruel enough to provide me with a pretentious addict who compulsively lied to strangers. She grabbed me and kissed me artificially, which confused me. The next day, she called me up and said she wasnt really bisexual or a lesbian for that matter, she just liked making out with women in front of men.
Natalie was Satan and she damned me five thousand times over. I encountered her in the discotech of Hell, like the chupacabra. We laughed, we cried, we played at an actual relationship for four months. I wanted her because she pretended to be a girlfriend and she wanted me because Id never had sex with anyone before. Four months and 8,000 negative comments later, I was staggering into classes with dark circles under my eyes from crying over things she said like, Dont ever talk to me about your feelings, just get me off in bed. My friends told me I was an emotionally battered woman and I refused to be a victim, so I left her, even when she said, You cant leave me. Nobody else will ever fall in love with you. Not long after that, the suspicious phone calls at my work started, beginning with the harassment of my co-workers. We fought viciously online and she told me she would cut me, that squirming maggots dwelled inside my body and they would continue to feed off of me after I died. If that wasnt enough, she told me she never loved me for anything but my body, she just wanted to fuck me. I chuckled and crawled into bed, shutting all of the blinds in my room and disconnecting my phone. I didnt emerge for a very, very long time.
Rizzo, the bisexual actress, could not believably play the role of a decent human being. She was flamboyant and flirtatious, singing show tunes every Wednesday for a classy bar swimming in 1920s dcor. I was fond of her until she informed me that she only liked using people for sex and she wasnt sure if it made her a bad person. Shed made several people cry and felt nothing; she asked me if I knew what it meant. It meant that it was time for me to leap off of that burning bridge and plummet 30,000 feet to safety.
Adrienne wrote poetry and was kind to me. We laughed at German techno music and pretended we were Pokemon animals. Suddenly, her uncle died and we had to stop dating because she felt like grieving, which required isolation. Shortly after that I saw her at the club holding hands with a girl that looked identical to me and I wondered just how dead her uncle really was.
Stacey perpetually smelled of cigarettes and beer. She had a sadistic form of Tourettes syndrom and called me cockface whenever I told her she looked nice or tried to kiss her on the cheek. I dont want to talk about it anymore.
The time is up. Put your pencils down. Which names did you circle? Which names and stories did you find most attractive and believable? Your grade and your life are both dependent upon this.
The truth is that all of them were real. All of them. If you didnt circle any of the names, congratulations! You are a bitter skeptic who will make it out of the realm of dating alive. If you circled half of the names, you are destined to be that hurt wounded rebel at bars that gazes out of the window with half lidded, artistic eyes breathing, Im not ready for a relationship, Ive been so hurt, I dont think I can learn to love again, but I can learn to fuck you.
If you happened to circle all of the names then you completely flunked the test, the same way I did. And you'll probably keep on flunking it for the rest of your life.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
best journal entry i've read in a very long time.
I'm not a real person though. I want to take you out to a platonic dinner and talk about how real people that are lesbians are tied to a life of tragedy and the only happy ones are the fakes ones playing by whichever archetype the decided on and they are only happy on the inside.
uhm... i suck at sympathy.
*wishes of happiness and love*
Hans