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
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