That Lovely British Girl... The one who pees on herself!

It's funny how nicknames and sayings come into being, its almost like they have a life of their own. I am and will be forever know as "That lovely British girl, who pees on herself".

I have a few peeing stories, which I was so sweetly reminded of today by someone who knows every nook and cranny of my closet. Why would I share this information publicly? Well, it completely ties into my self depreciating sense of humor. I have always said…. "If it's funny it's fair game" and that my lovelies applies to me first and to you second.

So to share my humiliation, here goes nothing.

I once dated a girl named Little Lynne, we were together on and off for about a year. Both in our late teens we were still young British renegades with no real direction in life.

I have a million stories about this girl, she was trouble. Capital T trouble! I seem to go for that sort whenever the opportunity arises. (I think Slam would have been the troubled sort too).

Among other things, Lynne was obsessed with the idea of golden showers. She would constantly beg me to pee on her. I must have been destined to become an American citizen because I just couldn't get my head around the eroticism in the act of peeing on ones lover. My thoughts would always, without fail, go to the practicalities of such tomfoolery. The bed… the sheets…pee smell… the hygiene…you get the idea.

There's not much I would say no to if the gal I was sleeping with was really into it… but I have to say that on a scale of ONE to DID HELL FREEZE OVER? That really was a… did hell freeze over? Hmmmm…..No!

We were in the throws of sexual experimentation. We were young and thought we invented half of the stuff we came up with, which is quite amusing to think back on now.

At Lynne's request we had a threesome with our roommate, Debbie (not to be confused with Dumb Debbie – Thank You!). Yes…even in England dykes move in together on the 2nd date. We couldn't afford a u-haul which at the time really was fine… since all of our (combined) worldly possessions fit nicely into three Asda shopping bags. The move was smooth sailing as we boarded the number 58 bus and headed to our new home in Chorlton-cum-Hardy (you couldn't make this shit up if you tried). Three packed plastic grocery bags, she carried two of them and I begrudgingly carried the third. Oh – the good times…. Anyway, back to this threesome thingy…

Lynne apparently really dug Debbie therefore seizing the opportunity to cash in on the fact that Deb and her girlfriend Cheryl were in a humongous fight … I didn't care much either way, I mean the girl was nice enough…but not nice enough for me to wipe away her tears and then offer to fuck her.

I do hope Lynne became a Multi-Bagillionaire – because she was one hell of a sales person… I mean think of this…. "Come on honey, forget the Kleenex and the ice-cream, me and my girlfriend will have sex with you, that'll really give you something to cry about"… sadly, I'd wager, she isn't making six figures selling honest goods to a customer base…she's probably selling crack to junior high school kids in the bowels of Manchester…I have such great taste in women!!

Meanwhile back at the relationship ranch… the sales pitch was more along the lines of "You won't do the golden shower thing for me so at the very least you could do this… I mean, you like Debbie… you guys get along". Yeah … when we borrowed each others clothes!!

I considered it and since I had turned down repeated requests to convert our bedroom into a urinal (which I know really was quite selfish of me)… I agreed. The event didn't pan out exactly as Lynne had envisioned. The encounter turned primarily into a two-some with an audience of one. It seemed our "roomie" dug me a little more than she dug Lynne. I believe Lynne's statement to me the next day was "Let's not do that again", I'm guessing she didn't appreciate being the third wheel. That's the problem with threesomes… one person always gets left out.

Cheryl and Debbie made up and shortly thereafter Lynne and I moved to Hanbury Street in Miles Platting. The golden showers request remained in play. Because the threesome hadn't worked out "exactly" in her favor, Lynne used it as a negotiation tool… I finally buckled…

"Fine! Fine… Bloody Fine! But… there is no way I'm peeing on you in my bed"

A bizarre conversation to be having, at best.

"I'll do it in the bathtub"

She was over-fucking-joyed! I directed her to lay down in the tub and I would pee on her. Oh my God… why am I even writing this? The memory is excruciatingly humiliating and yet the image – which thankfully you don't have access to…. is hysterical!!

So there she is, this little "5 foot' nothing" Napoleon, lying in an empty tub… with me, the naked 5'9 Amazon, crouching over her trying to pee. I couldn't pee. I couldn't do it to save my life; I had gone completely pee shy. I ran the water in the sink… that wasn't working so I leant over and put my fingers in the stream of water to see if that would help… nothing… nada! I had her making those pee pee noises; you know what I'm talking about, the ones mothers make when their children have the same problem with a dammed up aqueduct. How sexy does this montage sound? Trust me, it felt about as sexy as it sounds…


I managed one tiny un-sexy dribble and I had had enough…. This show was over. The golden shower was attempted, failed and put to bed – forever!

She didn't ask me again – yet another thing that didn't live up to the fantasy in her head…. (Please refer to Lesbian Sex… it's called a "fantasy" for a reason).

Surely amidst my humiliation I have to get SOME props for even trying??? No? Sigh…. OH WELL! I must move on to my second peeing episode.

Less than five years later I was a resident in the States and no American girl I knew was asking me to even pee in front of her – so I figured I was safe, for now…


It was Easter of 1992, Big Bell had just gotten a fire engine red Kawasaki Vulcan, sport motorcycle. It was all cranked up – chrome, sport seats … Unfortunately, I have an aversion to motorcycles; I lost my cousin to bike accident in 1991 – needless to say – not my family's favorite mode of transportation. The loss was still so new and raw it was a huge deal for me to be around these steel ponies, let alone have someone I loved riding around on one.

The plan was to spend Easter Sunday with BB and family where I would meet BB's Mom for the first time. Momma B was making the family a ham dinner with all the fixings and maybe a little egg painting activity thrown in for fun. BB begged me to ride bitch over to Momma B's house… Bell was so excited and so proud of the new power toy that I didn't have it in me to rain all over the macho parade as it gathered speed.

There are only two people on the planet, as I live and breathe , that I trust enough to get on the back of one of those two wheel monsters. I just rode with Dykes on Bikes for Pride 2008 and what a bloody fiasco that was … let me tell you! Well, maybe another time…

Subsequently, Easter of 1992, I let go of my fear and saddled up for the short ride across town.

BB was in heaven!!

It was my summer of mini skirts and cowboy boots… quite the look!!

I had been shopping especially for the occasion and had discovered an amazing invention called a skort. I am a hater of shorts but sometimes skirts truly are just impractical, especially if you are engaged in any kind of physical activity that requires you to bend over. The SKORT is an amazing tool in a girl's wardrobe….. It looks like a skirt but in actual fact is really shorts with a skirt façade!! Genius!!!

Definitely not a motorcycle outfit – but apropos for Easter Dinner!

Macho Bell is driving the Vulcan mean machine wearing jeans, motorcycle boots and a black leather jacket, I am riding bitch in a blue skort, tank top and cowboy boots. We got the response Bell was looking for as we whipped through the outskirts of Boston. I was happy to oblige Bell's ever increasing testosterone filled ego….

We arrived at our destination in one piece. I loved Momma B on sight… we just bonded there and then for no particular reason and yet every one I can think of. The Ham was fabulous… The family was less than creative in their attempts at egg painting and I am putting myself at the front of the line for the least amount of skill and artistic talent…

Momma B did what mothers all over the world do…. She broke out the family photo albums to show off her babies! From dirty faced toddlers to prom pictures… we went through them all and there are some doozies in there let me tell you… I'm pretty sure BB would kill me if I described the prom outfit!!! LOL!!!

Well fed and well entertained I excused myself to go to the ladies room.

Women's clothing occasionally requires a physics degree to figure out exactly how certain pieces "work". I have many things in my closet that to the naked eye – you would be wondering… "What the Hell do you do with THAT?" – Forgive me, but… well, I was new to the "skort" world and I didn't fully understand it myself. In order to pee in a skirt you pull it up, now shorts… you pull them down…. So what, pray tell do you do with a skort which is neither a skirt nor a short?

It took me a minute but I finally figured it out… you pull it down like shorts…. though I didn't happen to account for all the excess flowy 'skirt" material. Yep…This genius somehow landed all the excess fabric into the toilet bowl and pee'ed all over it. As I stood up to flush I realized that the back of me was completely soaked.

So now what do you do? You're in someone's Mothers bathroom (who you've just met) and you are soaked through, covered in your own pee! I was horrified! I took the damn thing off and washed it in the sink… but now I was left with a sodden skort and nothing to put on…. I did the best job I could to wring it out and donned the now "not so great looking" wet rag.

The person that I am today… I would just own the situation and have a good laugh at myself – the younger version of me cared way too much about what others thought. I fought it but I eventually had to extract myself from the bathroom when even I, could no longer justify the time I had spent locked away agonizing over my wardrobe malfunction.

Fortunately BB was sitting on the couch by the door. I walked up behind the couch and tried out my sweetest quietest indoor voice, I half whispered…
"Bee, Come have a cigarette with me?"
"In a minute, come look at these pictures, Mom wanted you to see this.."

BB was engrossed in the family pictorial history. I upped my volume a little…

"BB, come have a cigarette, we'll look at those in a minute"
Bell can get really stubborn and single minded every once in a while… and picked that moment to make a stand for the family history.

"Come on Nik, Mom just got these out"
"I know, but I really want to go outside"
"We were just outside ten minutes ago, it won't kill you, I really want you to see these"

BB was not picking up what I was laying down. I put my hands on BB's shoulders and dug my nails into the flesh… I half hissed through clenched teeth and (what I was praying looked like) a very sweet smile to the rest of the family…

"NOW, BB…NOW!… come outside and have a cigarette with ME, NOW"

I spoke very slowly and articulated every word… stressing my point with a glare and raised eyebrows.

BB finally got the hint..

"OK! OK! We'll go have a cigarette, what's all the fuss about?"

I used Bells body as shield to get from behind the couch and out the door…. Bell took one look at me…

"What the HELL happened to you? What did you do?"

I regaled my bathroom woes, BB was in hysterics before I could even finish… sensitivity and discretion does not run in Bell's family.

The front door flew open – Oh the horror… Momma B…

"What is all the ruckus about? What's so funny?"

"It's Nik…"

BB spits out, pointing in my direction….

"She peed all over herself!"

In that moment… I became….

"That Lovely British Girl…. The one who pees on herself"

16 years later…. Momma B still refers to me in that manner … "And how is Nik, That lovely British girl that pees on herself?"

Like I said…. These things have a life of their own

Group Sex Etiquette is as follows:
A Threesome / Ménage is just a convenient term to use for having sex with multiple people. If you really want to engage in such skirmishes I find, even numbers work out much better for everyone involved.

Common Sense Rule 5.
When faced with a fashion choice…. Wash and Wear is ALWAYS the way to go

Christmas Shopping Tip
If in doubt….. Buy the girl a sweater

Currently listening : Sexy Pee Story Release date: 1995-11-21

Betty Blue meets Dumb Debbie

Since I am selling a car and in the market to buy a new one – the process sets my mind back to all the other cars I have owned since the day the British Government gave me a driver's license and sent me on my merry way to get completely lost at any and all opportunities. My new swanky GPS helps, but she seems to like the scenic route too.

I was once the proud owner of a dark blue Honda Accord. Her name was "Betty Blue". For those who don't know… Betty Blue gouged her own eye out of its socket with a spoon… all in the name of love. My "Betty Blue" alas, also came to a tragic end.

Betty was souped up – she had all the trimmings – the only thing she didn't have were leather seats. All of her accoutrements whizzed and hummed – she was the one car in which I, yes the grandma driver, actually got speeding tickets!

I was working for a technology company and handled all of the Government accounts in Austin Texas….Yeehaw! Therefore it was required that I travel once per quarter to my 2nd favorite City in the USA… Anywhere there is a lesbian bar that promotes a "Bring Your Own Meat Night" has to be in the top three – right?

And so it was…. my quarterly trip to the music and crawfish capitol!

Flying out of Boston's Logan airport, I decided to drive in the night before and have my best friend (who luckily lived in vicinity) drive me to the airport and keep my car for the week – since, at that juncture she was without a vehicle.

My week went great! I landed some deals and signed a couple of new contracts that would bring the company a couple of million in revenue, Sweet!! My Government clients threw the biggest Bar-B-Q (I had ever seen) in Zilker Park. They hitched a smoker to the back of a truck and drove it on in… it was crazy!! Everything really is BIGGER in Texas.

One of my clients was an ex-rodeo clown. He took me to an event that everyone should see once in a lifetime… Rodeo clowns are not to be messed with. Those guys are tough… Shit… there aren't words to describe them – they are the ultimate cowboys…. When their bodies give out I guess they become purchasing agents or something similar. It's a sad end for these macho studs… but hey, we all gotta pay the bills somehow.

I hit the "Bring Your Own Meat Night" and watched with awe at the big old dykes two stepping around the dance floor… I still wish I could do that! I strolled up and down 6th Street – I sunbathed naked at Hippie Hollow and bargained with myself about whether or not to move there. The ultimate deciding factor was the fact that my hair just refused to behave in the heat – so fuck that… at least in New England – it's only unruly for 2 months or so….

I was sad to leave but happy to be coming home….

Safely back on the ground in Boston, I walked through the double doors and spied my beloved Betty Blue parked by the curb… Life was good!
Leaning against her shining drivers' side door was someone I will love till the end of time….

I'm not sure what to call her – since "she" is now a "he" and my gender references are all fucked up… Ah, the joy of having a best friend who is Transgendered!!!! It's a whole other story and one I will eventually get to – but in the interim… my memories are split…. There are those where I think "she" and those where I think "he"…. It can get confusing – especially when telling stories from the past!

For the sake of this story – I will call her BB, Big Bell…. Since it's a combo of two nicknames and will work for my purpose… (it seems only right that the car and Big Belle have the same initials). I guess I will come to a better description when I finally get to "his' story… anyway, I digress…..

BB is leaning up against the drivers side of Betty Blue… she (weird to even type that)…. She, lights up when she sees me and immediately takes my bags and fusses over me. The car is immaculate... she points out that Betty has had an oil change and has been cleaned inside and out! I am totally impressed… gotta love the butch girls for taking care of these mechanical things!

I am oohing and ahhing over how great Betty looks…. The sun is shining so Betty's windows and sunroof are open to the world – we take off with the wind whipping through the car and the country channel playing on the highest volume setting it will go.

Me and Big Bell tear up Boston. Of course I have a million Tex Ass stories to share with her…

Finally, I begin my trek home to Lil Rhody. It's after dark and the New England chill is setting in… I close up Betty Blue and hit the heat. That's when it strikes me….. I was psyched and grateful that Big Bell had cleaned my car , yet at the same time it was a little odd – since she wouldn't usually go to all that trouble…. Hmmmmmm, something was fishy and speaking of fish…..

"What the Fuck is that SMELL???"

Betty Blue had a definite odor. It was weird, one you couldn't really put your finger on. The smell was mixed in with the pine tree air freshener hanging from my rearview mirror, so that was the first thing to get hocked ….. I spent a week spraying the car with aerosols of any description….. Finally I broke down and called the third in our trio… SueBee….

"Hey, I have a question for ya"
"Shoot"
"It's a weird one"
"OK"
"You know BB had my car last week"
"Yeah"
"Well, it smells funny"

SueBee – managed to keep her composure but I could hear the suppressed laughter in the voice.

"It does?"
"Did BB have sex in my car?"
"Um, huh… I um, don't know"
"Yes you do! I think BB had sex in my car with Dumb Debbie"
"You think there was room… I mean Dumb Debbie is a big girl"
"Don't get funny with me! They did, didn't they? I know you know, so you may as well just tell me"
"Well, what does it smell like?"
"You want me to be technical?"
"Not really but I confess to being a little curious…"
"It smells like old ladies stale pantyhose"
"Ewwwww"
"Ewww is fucking right and nothing is killing the damn smell"
"I thought she cleaned it for you"
"SUUEEEEE…. I knew it! They did didn't they?"
"Um, I um… I really don't know. I think you should just call Bell and ask her"
"You chicken shit! You better answer your phone, I'll call you back"

The next call was to Big Bell

"Hey"
"Hey"
"What's up?"
"Not much, just got this funny smell in my car I can't get rid of"

Long pause

"You do?"
"Did you have sex in my car with Dumb Debbie?"

BB buys time with expletive outbursts as she tries to gather her game plan.

"What? Are you crazy? You have a smell and you want to know if I had sex with Debbie"
"I see you're not answering my question"
"I did not have sex with that woman in your car"
"Yes you did"
"No I didn't"
"Yes you did"
"I can't believe you, you've gone stark raving mad. What does it smell like?"
"BB, it smells like old ladies stale pantyhose"
"Ewwwww"

The call waiting beeps in, BB says...

"It's SueBee, lemme call you back"
"Don't you dare answer that call… I know why she's calling you – you guys are in this together"
"I did not have sex with Dumb Debbie in your car!"
"BB, why did you clean my car within an inch of it's life?"
"Um, um… um… because I, um, thought it would be a nice thing to do?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
"I cleaned it Nik. There's no way it smells"
"You SON OF A BITCH! You did!"
"We fooled around a little, we didn't technically have sex"
"AAARRRGGGHHHH…….. BB, my car stinks! It's got Dumb Debbie juice in the upholstery and it won't come out!"

There's no talking to her since she sounds like she is having an asthma attack and can't breathe…. Apparently she thought it a whole lot funnier than I did in that moment.

Her disjointed responses were

"I swear I…" laughing "tried to" trying to catch her breath "clean" laughing some more "I thought" wheezing "it would come out" hysteria….

"BB, I'll call you back"

I hang up and call SueBee. She answers on the first ring, apparently anxious to know how it's going down...

"Hi"
"You knew she did"
"Well, I didn't wanna be the one to…"
"I'm gonna kill you guys! Sue… it stinks"
"It is kind of funny though…"
"Why does it smell so bad?"
"That I can't help you with – the girl is nasty"
"That's reassuring, thanks"
"I didn't mean…"
"Never mind, never mind… I'll call you back"

I call BB back, she has regained a little composure…

"Dude, I'm sorry"
"BB, I don't want to know the details but where was Debbie sitting in the car… Passenger seat? Back seat? Where?"
"You really wanna know? I don't think you wanna know…."
"Ugh, you are so nasty!"

With that I gave up on the details. I really didn't want to know the exact location, positions or activities of Dumb Debbie in my car.

Betty Blue was cleaned so many times and no matter what… the instant you put on the heat… there she was… Dumb Debbie in all her finery… by the end of the ordeal I felt like I had dated Dumb Debbie too!!

Betty Blue had to go. It really was that bad! She was sold at auction and some poor soul is out there, right now, driving her around asking themselves……

"What is that SMELL?"



BB loves to tell this story!! Every time, without fail he… I mean she… says "I'll explain why she was dumb in a moment". To which my retort is always…. "No explanation necessary. I mean, she was dating you wasn't she? Enough said!"


BB…. You set yourself up for it, I don't feel bad, not even a little… the whole damn affair cost me a car….. and Dumb Debbie wasn't even good in bed!!


I would please like a moment of silence for Betty Blue. She was a good girl until she was mercilessly violated against her will!!


Car Borrowing Etiquette is as follows:If you are going to have sex in a friend's car make sure the basic rules of hygiene are followed and if that seems like too much trouble at the very least put down a towel.


Common Sense Rule 4.
Know when you are flat busted and just come clean…. So to speak!

Christmas Shopping Tip
$100.00 for a car detailing gift certificate goes further than you could ever imagine.

Currently listening : Return of the Pantyhose By Beyond Lickin' Release date: 2004-09-01

Voicemails for Lesbians from Straight Girls (2008)

Top three straight girl voice mails of 2008….

I have stellar reputation for not answering the phone or listening to voicemails.
99% of my voicemails begin like this:

"I know you're probably not going to listen to this …."

I'm usually in the persons company by the time I actually check my messages or I have either bumped into them at the grocery store or the bar where they are more than happy to fill me in on the highlights of why they called in the first place.

Gay chicks don't seem to care so much – but STRAIGHT GIRLS…. OMG!! Now those chicks care on a grand scale. They hate it when you don't listen to the "OH", so important shit they have to say. I have finally come to the conclusion that there is a creativity happening out there in the world and these chicks falsely believe if they make the voicemails bizarre or kooky enough – I will actually depress the number 1 key on my phone just to hear the nutty things they leave in the recording land of telephony.

My top three straight girl voicemails so far of 2008 – pretty much went like this:

1. BURGER QUEEN… Have It Your Way


"Here's my advice – never date a man with a dead wife in the ground after 16 years of marriage – I don't even think she's in the ground – I think she's in the fucking attic… a lot can happen in 6 months – apparently you can go from loving someone to wishing they were dead…call me if you're single – I need to get out of this fucking condo"

Burger Queen leaves the best verbal recordings. My favorites are when she gets tired of being witty halfway through and announces:

"Ok I'm bored with this message – goodbye"

Literally middle of a sentence….

The BQ voicemail of 2008 is the update she left about the guy she'd been dating for 6 months. A widower with 3 children and a house furnished like a shrine to his late wife… Last time I talked to BQ all was well and they were cruising along the dating game – I had no idea they had broken up…. The voicemail above is pretty much verbatim!


2. SOUTHERN BELLE

"Hey Nik, I'm freaking out! I had unprotected sex last night and I think I'm pregnant. I know, I know….I'm going crazy but I can't get anybody to give me the morning after pill and I'm Super, SUPER Fly… TNT… going crazy and I thought you might be able to answer some questions, I don't know why… But I'm freaking, so talk to you later –Bye!"

My ex's sister – is a pseudo straight version of yours truly. Well… kinda… we have some personality traits that overlap. I get one or two voicemails a year – usually when she is in a desperate situation and wants to talk to someone who "gets" it and won't blink an eye at the bizarre crap she's done, said or gotten herself into….. or when her sister is drunk and convinces her it would be fun to call and harass me. That's when I get voted ON the Island!

This one almost got me in trouble…. (Tip: never drink fluids hot or otherwise – but especially hot liquids – whilst checking messages). Picture me in a professional environment… I'm standing in the middle of a training room – with my fellow trainees and our instructor – having just been dismissed for lunch – I think it's a good time to depress and hold the number 1 key and take a quick listen to see who loves me on this particular day.

The 1st message was 2 days old – and knowing who the caller was I probably should have waited before I took a big slug of my steaming hot cup of coffee….

Imagine the prettiest southern drawl – every word has at least six vowels to our one, despite the drawl – the message was quick and to the point. It sure as shit grabbed my attention along with the coffee I was now choking on!

The first voicemail was followed up by a message the next day (which of course, I listened to at the same time). It was a twofold effort to gain an immediate call back.

"Hey Nik, I solved my problem from last night – but I do have a question about a mortgage – and I need your professional opinion – if you could call me back I would really appreciate it. Talk you later – Bye!"

Now try the art of NOT explaining why you spit coffee all over the training room and laughed so loud - that everyone is looking at you. "Um, it's my ex-sister in law... she's calling a big dyke about women stuff - I wouldn't know anything about... Oh and the spitting - um yeah, the coffee really was THAT bad..." - It was far easier to just say sorry and walk away as I was praying they didn't hear any of the message .... sometimes it's hard to maintain professionalism!!

3. THE BOSTONIAN…Pahk the Cah in Hahvad Yahd

"Hmmm! Huh! Hmmm! Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah!.... Blah Blah! Blahblahblahblahblah….. Blah Blah Blah Blah! BLAH! BLAH! Blah? Blah? Blahblahblahblah blah blah….Fucking Blaaaaaah Blah Blaaaaaah blah blah blah? Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah!.... Blah Blah! BLAH? It's me, CALL ME!"

This chick is hysterical and I have loved her since she pointed her finger at me on the street and yelled "You! Yes, You! You are having dinner with me even if I'm paying… I wanna talk to you". No need for clarification, that is exactly who she is (and if she's paying for food, I'm eating).

"Bostonian", thought she could break me of my terrible phone skills. Coming from a large family with many sisters, they practically live on the phone with each other. The day we cemented our friendship – I confessed my phone problem. She promised to stalk me until I answered or returned her calls. It worked for a couple of months, she would redial so many times that eventually I would have to answer and I loved it! It was hysterical. Alas, I finally broke her… I mean you can only keep up that persistent intensity for so long before it just becomes more effort than it is truly worth! Sadly, she now leaves voicemails and waits for days until she calls back. Methinks I am a lost cause!!

Her voicemails are terrific! Funny, witty – taunting or guilting me into calling her back. I confess that when I look down and see I have a voicemail from Bostonian – I do call in quicker to see what recorded gift she has left for me.

I listened to the blah voicemail and of course got it immediately. She is compelled to leave a message knowing full well I won't check it in a timely manner – therefore her taunt for the day is blah blah blah. Saying something current will simply date itself, guilt trips won't make me call you back either – BUT…. If you can make me laugh or mock me enough…That is sure to get a return call!

Yes, each of these lovely ladies had their calls returned as soon as I hung up from the voicemails. Straights girls, got it going on… they know the game and they play it better than the rest of us!

BONUS VOICEMAIL NUMBER 4.

I know I said three and all from straight girls – but there is this one straight guy I have been friends with since my early twenties and since he is more butch lesbian girl than straight white guy…I just have to include my 4 am voicemail from last night – since I just listened to it and it set my day off with a chuckle….. Apparently the voicemail followed a text message that simply said "wake up" (at 4am – when I would usually still be conscious and doing shit).

His message was short, sweet and simple – and of course got the call back to say; What the fuck was that?

With his classic male sense of humor after listening to my voicemail asking callers to leave a message re: Home Equity Lines and Mortgages – his went like this, exactly!

"Yeah well, No I don't have a fucking mortgage question…. I have a COCK question"



Tip of the day

If you want to get my attention… TEXT me… and if you would rather leave a voicemail message make sure it's truly pee in your pants funny…. You can then expect an immediate response!

Divine Intervention

Current mood: hungry

Clicking my ruby red heels together – my minds mirror throwing me an image of Dorothy, Toto and a Bicycle……. Dammit, I have a South Beach attitude, I do, I do I do!!

It was a surreal moment: SueBee and I walking the shore line in South Beach, FL after getting naked full body massages on the beach from big buff handsome gay men… We weren't just people watching, we were scrutinizing the beach natives.

Approaching a volleyball game – we spy two teams comprised of the "plastic fantastics"… thong wearing, collagen injected blondes. Just one of many images that has been reluctantly burned into the sensory neurons of my brain.

A teammate was loudly harassing a fellow Barbie athlete, "Cindy, that's just NOT a South Beach Attitude".

Sue and I were in wholehearted agreement – Cindy was definitely not displaying a South Beach Attitude!! (It is possible that Cindy may have been overdue for a botox injection, which, as we all know… will never do!).

We looked at each other, we looked at them… we looked back at each other…. Each with our own version of the quizzical questioning expression, palms and shoulders shrugging upwards…. We dissolved into laughter at the pretentiousness and thus another catchphrase was born!!

THAT IS JUST NOT A SOUTH BEACH ATTITUDE

(Put the punctuation anywhere – the catchphrase works – trust me!)

I have struggled with weight issues, like so many women. Estrogen and hormones are not always kind. I feel guilty putting anything in mouth… (well almost anything). If I fall off the gym wagon – I mentally berate myself. Please God, why can't I just be naturally skinny?? I love the T-Shirt I saw recently in P-Town, "Dear God… If you can't make me skinny – please make my friends fat".

It feels like I haven't been to the gym in years – at the most it has been three weeks, realistically it's probably only two! And that is just NOT a South Beach Attitude! So this weekend I hit the gym with a vengeance. Back to back workouts – cardio, weights, stretching exercises… anything to quiet the guilt of the massive fault line below the equator.

Now, when I get on this OMG… 40 is gonna come knocking at my door and I don't know where my boobs are… moment, I get really, really hungry. I'm working out like a madwoman and my body is screaming feed me – meanwhile I'm convincing myself celery looks really, really good!!

Last night, I'm at the gym… texting like it's 2008 – between sets of 10/12 and kill me now. My wonderful text buddy is trying to entice me with pot-roast. It's 10pm, I have to get up at 5am to make my god-awful 2 ½ hour commute – but I'm starving.

Text: My pot-roast is really good, u sure u don't want any?
Text: U know I do. I can't. I'm at the gym and I have to get up at the crack ass
Text: I'm just putting the potatoes in now
Text: It's too late to eat, I can't
Text: I can leave my house in 20 minutes and do a drive by – drop off
Text: I'm a fat fuck and ur killing me
Text: U can eat it tomorrow. It's not fattening it's homemade and healthy
Text: AAArrrgggghhhhhh….. ok, u got me… see you at mine in a few

Now bear in mind that I live in bum fuck nowhere, so it is with pure dedication that anyone would make food for me and bring it over. It's 11pm by the time we're in the kitchen with Tupperware containers filled with pot-roast and hot bread!! For the love of god… why me??

I'm shuffling mail as I am inhaling the best meal I've eaten in a week. Mid forkful I am stopped by what can only be described as divine intervention.

Apparently someone notified "The Big Guy Upstairs" – that I had fallen off the diet wagon… he in turn notified Weight Watchers – who had sent me a piece of mail … stamped across the front of the envelope in big black bold letters was the phrase "LOSE WEIGHT FOR GOD".

I was incensed – surely there were bigger tragedy's going on in the world other than my participation in the remake of Baby got Back??

"What the hell??? Lose weight for GOD?? Have you ever heard anything so ridiculous? What kind of sales pitch is that? Has the world gone completely mad… really… you gotta look at this – like women don't feel bad enough, now we gotta throw religion into it?"

I threw the envelope at my friend in utter disgust….. she picks it up…

"Um, Nik…"
"Yeah?"
"It says, Lose weight for GOOD"

At which point she is keeled over on the floor – laughing her little size zero socks off!

I think my south beach attitude is finally getting to me…. Because even though I went on a mini rant… I confess the little voice in my head was wondering which religion was promoting weight loss. Despite my outward disgust I had mentally signed up to wearing black and spending some time on my knees… not much different than any other Saturday night, right?

I realize I have gone completely mad – so I do the only reasonable thing I can think of to do….

"Fuck it, wanna let off some fireworks??"

And with that…. The evening was alight with sparks – bangs and more screaming laughter…..

Thanks for the Pot-Roast, Babe, it was amazing!!!

Personal Tips for Healthy Eating

If someone else is prepared to make it … I'm prepared to eat it

If the big guy is sending me mail insinuating I could loose a few – I'm concluding the pearly gates gourmet doesn't carry my favorite food groups. Therefore, I'm keeping my pact with Beezlebub – I know he has molten chocolate cake – for sure.


Cheers! Here's to head and fireworks!!!



Currently listening : Melting POT Roast By The New Black Release date: 2003-09-16

Lesbian Dating 103

There are many fictional characters walking among us… perhaps I should first explain the term so fondly adopted many moons ago. Just so we are queer and clear.

You all have that one friend who is a little “kooky”, the whack job, the one where the craziest weirdest shit happens to them right? You know that one friend you always tell stories about as you are sitting around your local softball diamond… coffee shop… poetry reading…Local Home Depot…Cat rescue league – wherever it is you go for fun…

It usually goes along these lines:

“What did she do this time?”
“Can you believe she…”
“I have tell you something totally bizarre”
“This shit only happens to her”
“It’s so random you couldn’t even make it up”
“How does she get into these situations?”
“She’s like a daytime mini series”
“She should write a movie”
“If I didn’t know her, I wouldn’t believe it myself”

That, my friends is a fictional character.

I am here to report that in my social group there isn’t just one fictional character. We are a self professed band of fictional characters. Drawn together possibly because like seeks like and birds of a feather make each other sneeze or some such shit…. Even though there are many of us, we definitely have two individuals that stand head and shoulders above the rest. For every crazy story and weird encounter our group may have, these two have us beat – just by walking to the mailbox.

One of the dynamic duo rented a third floor from me, we shared a kitchen and a stairwell. Our second heroine may as well have lived with us – since these compadres went almost everywhere together.

You have to first understand that these two individuals are card carrying members of the boy club. One of whom professes to have been raised by wolves. The other: Captain of one of the first women’s professional football teams. It was near impossible to lose a game with her on the defense line… (No idea if my terminology is correct – but hell I gave it a shot). You get the idea… to look at them you’re not thinking… pansy girls.

Note: I am not an athlete – nor an athletic supporter.

Our Captain Character, CC, hadn’t had a date in almost two years. Needless to say her pent up energy was driving everybody nuts…. The story varies – It is said that at CC’s request, I pulled a lovely, petite, dark haired Spanish beauty off the dance floor and forcibly struck some kind of date bargain on my friends’ behalf. It’s not completely out of the realm of possibility. However, my version is that I have no recollection of this happening and I had nothing to do with it. It’s an old argument at this point with no possible outcome other than heated debate… so there, now you’re a part of it.

The long and short of it is that CC got a date.

We were all thrilled, probably more so than CC and the Spanish lovely she had the date with. They had agreed to go out to lunch. Many agonizing hours of counsel went into choosing the lunch restaurant; it was a group effort – that’s for sure. We bestowed our blessing on CC and sent her off – hoping and praying she would at least get laid.

The age of cell phones was upon us – thank god I had a friend at the phone company because there were no roll-over minutes yet to be had. The game of telephone began after lunch and a few cocktails.

CC calls to give me the update:

“Lunch was great! We’re gonna go down to the ocean and hang out for the afternoon”
“That’s awesome hun, I’m so proud of you”
“I think she likes me”
“Well call me later and give me the update, ok?”
“Ok!”

A few hours go by and I’m up to my ears in paperwork at the office.

CC, calls while her date is in a store:

“You’re gonna be so proud of me”
“It’s going well then?”
“She’s really cool; we’ve just been hanging out, down the beach”
“See, I told you it would be a piece of cake”
“She’s coming back, I’ll call you later”
“Ok”

I’m just getting ready to head home when I get the third phone call. They are both giggly from a combination of the afternoon beverages and salty beach air. CC, informs me they are off to buy champagne and strawberries and are planning on continuing their date into the evening… To which, I am thanking the stars and proclaiming that there is a God! First dates can be tricky, they really could go either way – but so far this one seemed to have the makings of a really good first date! I make all the right noises and assure CC that she is making the right moves and she should just go with it. We hang up – they head for the strawberries/champagne fast track, I head home.

I’m having dinner with my girlfriend when the next call comes in…. I look at my gf apologetically…. “I have to take it, you know how she is” (high maintenance, needy pillow fluff – butch girls, lol – I had to work it in somewhere).

“Hey! You have to go to your front window”
“What?””Go to your window”
“Honey, I’m eating dinner”
“Please?”
“Aargh, Ok”

I walk to the front room

“Go all the way to the right”

So, there I am – like a fool peering at the empty street outside my house. CC bursts into peels of laughter.

“What is this all about, CC? I don’t see anything!”
“Look up”
“I don’t see anything”

She squeals like a little kid

“I can see you”
“Where”
“In your window, stupid”

I’m so gonna kill her at this point and my gf doesn’t look too happy either.

“Where are you?”
“We’re across the street, walk down to the corner”

So, of course I do because I’m that kind of friend. I walk out of my house, still on the cell phone, and make it to the corner. The street is deserted.

“Look up! Look up! See me waving?”

Then I see her. She is standing on a balcony kitty corner from my house on the cross street, waving like a mad woman.
“What the hell? Why are you up there?”
“She lives here”
“What?”
“I swear to god, she lives here. What are the chances?”
“That’s crazy!”
“I know, yoohooo! Do you see me?”
“I see you. Well, that’s bloody convenient; you can just come over here and tell me all about your date when you leave…. You won’t need to CALL me…”
“How funny is this?”
“It’s funny… now go back to your date and for gods sake – get laid!”
“Call you later”
“OK”

I return to dinner laughing and shaking my head. We settle in for the evening… well, ok not so exactly because the damn phone rings again…

“I kissed her”
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah”
“Where is she?”
“Oh, she’s right here, you wanna say Hi?”
‘Noooooooooooo, CC, stop calling me and get on with it”
“OK”

This whole date has somehow turned into a sport and of course I’m the team mascot. I have a very unhappy girlfriend on my hands. “Is this gonna go on all night?” I assure her that it’s not.

The phone rings

“I unbuttoned her shirt”
“Why in god's name are you calling me to tell me that?”
“I thought you wanted to know”
“I do, when it’s all over… I don’t need a play by play as it’s going down… um, you know what I mean”
“We have the new Madonna CD, I’m gonna pop the Moet and crank the volume”
“Good for you hun, get on with it… I’m not answering any more calls”

Then I whisper : ”You’re getting me in trouble”

“I thought you wanted me to get laid?”
“I do! You can’t do that when you are on the phone with me every 2 seconds”
“Good point, Ok – I’ll stop calling”
“Ok, have fun”

My girlfriend is not appreciating the crazy humor of the situation and couldn’t care less whether CC gets laid or not. I point out that if CC starts dating this girl she won’t be over my house as much… I try to play the angle that I’m really doing it so we can have more “alone” time…. It almost works….

The phone rings

The glare is intimidating, even to me.

“You told her you wouldn’t answer anymore calls”

I shut off the ringer. The house phone rings…

“Can we just go to bed? Maybe I want to get laid”

Her tone doesn’t sound like she wants to ravish me – lovingly or not. We go through our evening routine, contact lenses out, pj’s on, we get into bed. I double check that the ringers are off on both the house phone and my cell phone.

We are just relaxing when we hear urgent running footsteps. It sounds like a herd of elephants are coming down the stairs from the third floor. My upstairs roommate (the other fictional character) unceremoniously busts in arm outstretched with something in her hand. Yup, it’s a phone!

In a rush of breath she is pushing the phone at me. Standing there in white boxer shorts and a wife beater she is nervously shuffling from foot to foot. She looks like the world is ending. My girlfriend is furious…. “What the #$!%#”

“It’s CC, you have to talk to her. Something happened”

I take the phone

“This better be good CC!”
“You have to come over here!”
“Are you kidding me? For what?”
“Theres a girl outside with a gun”
“WHAT?”
“A chick WITH A GUN!”
“Who the hell is it”
“Apparently it’s her girlfriend!”
“I’m calling the cops”
“You can’t”
“WHAT?”
“She is a cop”
“Are you fucking kidding me?? I’ll be right there”

“Can you hurry up because she’s kicking the door in”

I put the phone down and calmly explain the situation to the two butch girls who look like deer in headlights. I instruct them to go over to the house immediately. I, take a couple of minutes… put in contact lenses, throw on some clothes and I may have run a brush through my hair. I don’t know why this part is always such a big deal in the re-telling… it’s not like I showered!

C’mon… I didn’t know if I was gonna end up on channel 10 or having to pose for my first mug shot ever… every girl has her standards…. contact lenses are mine.

I then march across the street of course it’s raining like a bitch and I have the two occupants of my house, both barefoot, both in boxer shorts, standing way back from the chick who is going nuts trying to kick in the front door. Neither knows what the hell to do and they are completely useless. I throw them a rhetorical question on my way past…

“I assume we have the right house, then?”

They both nod.

Without hesitation I walk right up to the crazy lady and I point at her in no uncertain terms I say:

“You, get out of my way, NOW!”

And I fix her with a look which pretty much said … what are you gonna shoot me? I could kill you with a look and back up…

And, back up she did. She wasn’t sure what to make of me – since I didn’t appear to have any fear of her at all. I walked right by her and yelled up to CC…

“It’s me, let me in… NOW!”

“Now” is such a great word in a crisis, it gets everyone’s attention… that and “STOP”. I have used them with success many times.

CC lets me in the house. I walk in on quite the scene. CC is as mad as a pissed off tiger that just lost its last prey to a bigger animal in the food chain. She is pacing and raving that the girl lied to her and she didn’t know she had a girlfriend meanwhile the poor girl is crying and is obviously freaking out about the whole situation. Right about then – the off-duty cop manages to get through the door. Good Times!!

CC throws her hands up in disgust declaring

“That’s it. I’m out”

With that, she walks right out of the house and heads to my house… leaving me with her now crying, date and a crazy woman with a gun!

Believe it or not…it gets better still!!

Crazy woman is screaming at CC’s date, I am in the middle of this somehow and I ask the girl if she wants to stay where she is or if she wants to come with us. She opts for the latter and I send her to get some clothes from her bedroom…. Flash back…. She and CC were in quite the compromising situation when all hell broke loose; subsequently she was in need of more clothing than she currently had on.

Crazy chick doesn’t like this idea and grabs the girl by the waist. Gotta give the girl props…she was a tough cookie; she grabbed onto the door frame and sunk her nails in and would not let go. The gun toting crazy lady picked CC’s date up off the ground and was pulling her – trying to make her let go of the doorframe.

I tried my tone again and commanded that she put the girl down “NOW”. It didn’t work the second time… in my defense crazy chick had police training and she probably recognized the tactic second time around.

I didn’t have much else to use so I did the only thing I could think off. I grabbed the other end of CC’s date and a tug of war match ensued.

This is where it gets good…

We are pulling the girl back and forth and I am yelling at crazy cop chick to put her down, she is yelling obscenities back at me obviously she has no intention of letting the girl go.

While we are in the midst of this display, CC returns to the house.

She must have come back to help, right? No, not at all… CC comes waltzing in still raving on about being lied to and now wants to know where her bottle of champagne is.

“Where’s my Moet? I’m not leaving my friggin Moet here – do you know how much that shit costs? I’m not paying for her and her fucking girlfriend to sit around and drink my champagne, Fuck That!”

She pays no attention to my plight or the plight of her date… she is fully lost in the world of Moet Chandon. CC locates the bottle and wields it proudly above her head as she turns and walks out of the door for the second time. Everything happened so fast I didn’t notice if she managed to grab her strawberries.

At some point my girlfriend stepped in and we managed to get the girl out of there unscathed, leaving crazy lady to have fun trashing the apartment. Eventually we all congregate safe and sound in my kitchen where CC is merrily swigging her Moet out of the bottle.

I had to persuade CC to let the girl stay the night with her – which she did. She drove her home the next day once the situation had blown over.

I lived in that house for seven years. I had never seen her before the date episode and I never saw her there again, in fact none of us saw her anywhere until almost ten years later when she was spotted on the dance floor by CC who proceeded to buy them both shots as they relieved their first date from a decade earlier and decided it would be a good idea to try it again!!



First date etiquette is as follows:

Don't spend your entire date updating your friends via phone, text messaging or smoke signals, spend some time with your date asking helpful questions like… Do you have a girlfriend? Does she own a gun?

Common Sense Rule 3.

Don’t drop big bucks on bottles of champagne until you know your date well enough to know you won’t have to leave it behind


Christmas Shopping Tip

Consider Kevlar for any of your newly single friends that may be considering re-entering the dating market

Pillow Fluff

You wanted it reposted - you got it... purely for your entertainment only.....




I recently met a friend of a friend in a gay bar… always a good place to make a first impression! I was actually looking forward to meeting this person; we had exchanged a few e-mails on myspace etc…

She seemed nice, a lot quieter than I had expected – but still, sweet enough. We were hanging out having a good old time – the crew – as usual getting rowdy, dancing, singing and busting balls… a typical evening in the life of crazy friends.

A fun night until someone made a remark about the fact that I was a “Diva”. At which point the new chick “Butchy McButchy” points out that she doesn’t understand the term. In her day – we were referred to as lipstick lesbians.

I can live with that. I don’t wanna compete for lipstick – I have no desire to date someone who wears miniskirts and open toed shoes – It doesn’t do it for me.

So ok, lipstick lesbian, not insulting so far, right? It was the diatribe that followed….

Femme’s (lipstick lesbians) apparently are nothing more than high maintenance, needy pieces of pillow fluff.

Pillow Fluff?

Needy?

High Maintenance – for sure…. but needy pillow fluff???

Those within earshot, laughed at the analogy being thrown my way. I did too; it was a great set up for some good old fashioned banter.

There were some comments thrown jokingly back and forth – but truly, Butchy McButchy was resolute that there was no way in hell I could ever be anything but needy, pillow fluff. I really did think we were joking and busting balls…. But no… it didn’t exactly go that way. Pillow Fluff is a GREAT term… However, one I took major offense to after hearing it for the 6th or 7th time.

I truly do believe it was the delivery. I don’t think anyone has ever offended me so deeply in such a short period of time. The smug insistence and demeaning attitude enraged me to the point of which my only response was to be completely silent. Yours truly, silent? It’s akin to the eye of a storm… if I look pissed off to you – I’m probably not. If I am silent and calm – chances are I am seething with a white hot anger. Trust me, I was.

Feeling overwhelmed, like I had walked into a redneck bar in Tennessee. An old gf and I once stopped and ordered sandwiches in TN, the entire place went silent to see what the Yankee dykes were gonna eat… sorry guys – pussy wasn’t on the menu and neither was cock.. A simple turkey on wheat was highly disappointing to the gun rack toting dudes.

It was the same feeling except I felt like this redneck was an extra in the movie Accused and women fit into two categories…

1. Subservient wenches, whose one role in life was to cook, clean and care for the men in their lives.

2. Sex symbols, who treasure dudes pawing advances and welcome being objectified on a completely physical level… with no more depth or competences other than their skills in the bedroom.

It’s the age old Madonna/Whore, “The girls you fuck versus the Girls you marry” stereo type.


We went back and forth a little bit and then I just let her speak. I clasped my hands together, so I didn’t clock her in the head (accidentally of course). I delicately disengaged to resume my evening. The rest of us had a great time – I pointedly ignored old redneck butchy – I was all set, thank you.

Ooohhh but was I pissed? For sure this chick had stepped on a live nerve. That can be kinda hard to do – I don’t show my hand of live nerves too often.

I came out at 15 years of age in a very political landscape. The fight against Section 28 was raging through the UK. Lesbian feminist separatists were EVERYWHERE … they exhausted me with their politics but still, it had an impact. Throughout my teenage years as a young lesbian - I did not act on my desire to feel girly or sexy and went the route of everyone else with a shaved head, doc martin boots - jeans and T-shirts... I was already very conscious of being a baby dyke and I guess I wanted the older crowd to take me seriously and not dismiss me as some air-head bimbo. As I got older and became more confident I realized I could do whatever the hell I wanted to. I was so over the ridiculous stereo types and I was definitely not a fan of bringing politics into the bedroom.

I’m guessing Butchy McButchy stepped on the nerve created in 1986, not her fault entirely – I can appreciate that.

The next day I received an apology by e-mail. I took it, I responded, I accepted it.

I’m not gonna hang onto being mad at some chick I don’t know – she probably didn’t mean any of it anyway. I made a joke that at least we would have something to laugh at the next time we met… and ended with a throwaway comment that it would be I laughing at her…. It was supposed to be a cute icebreaking wrap-up to the whole mess….. To which my, less than chivalrous, new friend responded and offered me “one free ticket”, one night to laugh at her, anything after that and payback would be a bitch.

Huh?

One free ticket?

One free pass?

One night to laugh at her and then she would resume her antagonistic stature?

Sorry, I think not. I know I said consider the matter over and dropped, let’s start again on a new footing…. But when I said that – what I really meant was …. Go fuck yourself… one night? One free ticket?? Really?

Have you fucking met me?

The last time I completely offended someone – I don’t believe my response was – ok you have one night to be mad at me after that – all bets are off and I am going rip all over you, but this time worse than before…..

Consider this my pre-emptive strike… Yes, I said I wouldn’t blog it… but we high maintenance, needy pieces of pillow fluff… we change our minds… constantly.

The one free pass- put me over the edge… I changed my mind.

High Maintenance, Needy, Pillow Fluff???

Surely there are some femme lesbians out there that have SOMETHING to say about this???

If this is a butchy way to flirt – I want to hear all about it…..

I call out to the butch chicks everywhere…. Is this the conversation you are having when we take each other and our purses to the bathroom??

I really need to know – because I am questioning my future sexuality – if this is true… for fucks sake – I may as well move back to Tennessee where I can fuck Dawg and his brother Digger.

I await your responses – it may change my life!


Thanks Baby dolls,

xoxoxo

Pillow Fluff - Part 2

Ok.... I posted pillow fluff in a fit. I re-read it the next day and in all fairness to the person I wrote it about - I took it down. Truly I'm sure we will end up being friends someday!

For those of you who didn't get to read it... I got into an interaction with someone who referred to femme's... lesbian diva's as nothing more than lipstick lesbians...high maintenance needy pieces of pillow fluff.

It was supposed to be a busting balls moment that went too far and I'm pretty sure at this point the person who said it - didn't mean it.

Your responses to my piece were hysterical - indignant and a little too harsh to post (I think we are more than even and I owe you a beer or maybe a six pack).

Landing Boeing 747's as usual... healing my tank girl wounds and much much more.... the reason I will probably be single for the rest of my days... because really who can live up to Foxy Brown?

Yes I will drive the boat, the car, the tractor... don't forget the ATV... I will save you from gasoline explosions around the fire-pit and put together your flat packed ikea furniture... I will fix your broken appliance and put in wood floors or tile your bathroom... I'd like to have someone's children - but I'll pass on the taxes....

Holding the purse, finding the favorite lipstick and plugging in the curling iron does not take anything away from you. It definitely does not make you Pussy whipped or pussy poisoned.... It makes you the last standing chivalrous, lesbian boy that "Get's It"!

The next HM, N piece of PF - to come along will be the luckiest girl in the world.

Now if I could just find that one remaining boy in the lesbian world that wears the same "nik - colored" glasses as this Southern Bell... sigh... that my friends would be a superb day!

I post her response because it's a fabulous world view.....

"Fine! If no other formers are going to step up to the plate here…I will.As much as it pains me to do so, (I prefer to be the silent spectator from far away) this I can not stand!

First. The answer to your question is AH NO! Most of us wonderfully butch (and I would beg to guess in awe of the feminine) do not stand around and complain about the high maintenance gorgeous thing that has just left our sight. (Holding the purse) If memory serves me correctly, the conversation usually goes something like..."Dude, how did you land that?" A quick look at the ground and a swig of a beverage. "Hell if I know. I should get her another drink while she's gone." We all know we are on borrowed time here.

I am sure that there are some high maintenance feminine pillow fluff's out there. Thank God biblically I only have to experience that interaction once and then I got to run kicking and screaming. But after being around a group of feminine women for one evening will tell you..Most of the pillow fluffs come in flannel shirts and baseball hats.

Of course I am insulted for all of the girls. But just as importantly I am insulted for ME and all my boys. F&^% that if this idiot is just going to give us a bad name! F(*&^ that if miss butch did not just tell us all that we have wasted YEARS of our life chasing pillow fluff? Take off the baseball cap and smell the hair care products dude! Women have not been referred to as goddesses since the beginning of time for nothin'!

If you are lucky she will drive the boat, the car and the tractor. She will have your kids and do your taxes. She will rock your world and leave you with bruises. She will look so great that others will shake your hand. And then you will say Thank you. But only if you are lucky.

I'm guessing miss butch is not.

This particular feminine, lipstick wearing, high heel strutting, HM non PF will tell you that none of these opinions make me a p(^$$Y or a push over. Rather, a healthy respect for the girl will make u awesome".



Currently listening : Antifluff Superstar By Antifluff Superstar Release date: 2000-12-24