I am the words "feelings," "boundaries," and "behavior" that quickly give way to "bitch," "whore," and "cunt."
I'm the bowl of bread pudding, waiting to be flung at femme partner in rage!
My cane! Or you'll get no nut loaf!
I'm the Subaru Forrester, being backed out of the garage so angrily that the chassis scrapes the driveway and a Tracy Chapman CD falls out of the passenger visor.
hey sugar tits let's sizzor all night long
I'm the brooding Frida Kahlo print hanging on the wall of the stainless steel kitchen in Park Slope.
I'm the lawyer dealing with the custody battle over the cats
I'm the cats resting on the furniture who all scatter for the hills when said bowl of bread pudding flies across the room and smash into the framed Georgia O'Keefe print.
What a clever idea for a thread. I wonder why we haven't thought of it before.
I'm the jewelry box full of chunky sterling silver jewelry being contested. They are fighting over a Labrys, interlocking Venus symbols, and silver rolling three-band thumb rings. There are rainbow colored freedom rings tucked in there too, but no one is claiming them.
Wow, can we get more ludicrous when starting threads?
I'm both partners' exes, each named Kelly. One of the Kellys has another ex named Kelly as well.
I am the shattered breast casting.
I am the Holly Near CD, playing in the background as the femme's face is being punched into a slab of hamburger.
I am the lesbians complaining in this very thread. I'm completely unaware of how humorless I come off, or how seriously I take myself. I'll leave an angry post after the sting of recognition hits me, before going to my thread watcher to find the "Rumored Lesbian Romances in History" thread.
I am the bottle of Coca-Cola poured all over the floor.
I am the crab-walk down the stairs.
I am the vibrant creativity of the participants in this thread. Who would think of anes, bread pudding, nut loaves (!), cats and boundaries. Where do you guys come up with this stuff? I'm laughing so hard coffee just came out of my nose.
Sorry, the original thread will never be topped.
I am the coffee flying out of r18's nose.
What original thread? I wasn't here for that.
I am the straight friend of the lesbian couple, collaborating on a book with one of the wymyn. That is until she can't seem to keep her dildo in her pants, steals my material and turns it into a lesbian Hardy Boys freakfest.
I'm the Budweiser bottle that was hidden by the secret drinker in the laundry hamper. I cause a homicide.
I'm the work colleague who is forced to listen the phone calls to your friends as you endlessly discuss your partner's behavior and seek validation for your reaction. Shut up!!!
I'm the homophobic Christian neighbor next door, waiting for one of the children to scream or cry so I can call CPS on you vile people.
I'll be the old softball jersey with a history, used to mop up tears as one of the partners curls up in bed sobbing in the middle of the afternoon while two puzzled cats look on.
Well, if you were the Original OP R19, pat yourself on the back (with a cane). That thread was hysterical!
Two I remember with fondness:
I am the pinball machine at the local lesbian bar and grill, being slammed, shook, and shoved with ever increasing amounts of force as the invectives about "Cuddles" and "Babs" reach fever pitch. It won't be long until I am broken. Again.
I am the all-natural, biodegradable menstrual sea sponge hurled with unerring accuracy by the best pitching arm in the tri-state all womyn softball league right at the lying, cheating head of my "lover" who was just caught "being coached" by Delia Moonblossom.
I am middle aged homely ex-home maker and straight, who came out late and now run a cosy tea room for endless arguments about feelings, only for women.
I am the previously uninterested heterosexual creep that starts touching you inmapropriafely at work when he finds out you are a lesbian.
I'm the U-Haul secretly parked in my sisters driveway. I will wait here until cane face goes to work then I will be dragged from my hiding space to be stuffed to the gills with worldly possessions and driven like a bat out of hell three states over.
I am the parents of either partner, tired of being blamed for every failed relationship.
Seriously, sisters: most childhoods are imperfect. Parents disappoint, or disappear. Let. It. Go. Own your life. Own your choices.
Which is not to say that therapy is a bad idea....
I am the ex-girlfriend that has been relabeled as her "best friend".
I'm the Blogspot blog that has gone untouched since 2010, but is now suddenly active again with long passive-aggressive essays that start "I don't know if anybody is even reading this, but I just have to put it down somewhere..."
I wear the pants in the family!!
I am the bag of sex toys hidden in the night stand. Dusty. Forlorn. In need of batteries.
I'm any lesbian on any committee.
We must have meetings.
We must have meetings about the meetings.
We must have debriefings, and comment periods, and time to voice our disapprovals, and then we must lather, rinse and repeat 500 times.
We must PROCESS.
Lesbians could put together a house in a day if it was on sheer ingenuity alone. But it would take us a decade to process and reprocess and re-re-process to decide who does what and how everyone's talents will be best used.
I find R38 linear and phallocentric, and I feel oppressed by that.
I just need to be heard.
Then you can't borrow my dolphin dildo, R39.
I am the ROAR. I am screamed with ANGRY POWER.
I'm the gay male pal, sipping chamomile and secretly siding with each one as they run through the house slamming doors.
I'm the morbidly obese partner late thirty-something partner dresses like Poochie from "Itchy & Scrtatchy" holding hands with the slimmer femme who has ruined her looks with more bad piercings that a dollar store plastic statue of St. Sebastian.
I'm the very, very ugly lesbian who nevertheless has a babelicious little dyke who want to eat my pussy and be my girlfriend.
This thread is one of the funniest I've read here in a while. Brava!
I am a pair of birkenstocks that the soft-butch lesbian will put on just before storming out of the house.
I am the tube of "Pink Champagne" lip color that the lipstick lesbian will use once she stops crying.
I am the bound editions of MS magazine that take up space in the bookcases
I am the casserole for the potluck hat burned in the oven. When the argument broke out, no one heard the timer go off
I am the tickets for the Tammy Baldwin fundraiser that neither will use. The tickets are on the refrigerator door under a Hillary in '16 magnet
I am Tammy, the "psycho" ex-girlfriend who always get brought up.
("She still has my automatic hedge trimmer!")
This thread isn't as good as "Dark Lesbians", sorry!
I'm the sleepy cat who wishes these heifers would take it outside (and plotting to get some post-breakup pampering).
I am the rainbow-colored dolphin vibrator that will not be taken out of the nightstand drawer tonight.
I am the Ani DiFranco song on the iPod, the crumpled PBR cans, the hidden pack of Marlboro Reds, and a river of tears.
I am the sound of heaving sobs coming out from under the bathroom door, along with the smoke from a Marlboro Light.
I'm the cats, again, who've come out of hiding to meow at said bathroom door because we're damn hungry!
I'm the signed Alison Bechdel novel, and during the breakup I will be more of a bone of contention than even the car.
I'm Ellen on the TV in the background, dancing with Bethany Frankel- as Mojo chokes Dana to death on the floor.
I am the handful of flax seeds thrown into a deeply lined, tear stained face
LOL....this is great stuff. There must be something different about me though...I can't relate to any of it!
I am the back-up hostess of the pot-luck birthday party my roommate is having for her ex-girlfriend, who is bringing her girlfriend who is my ex-girlfriend, and joining us is my girlfriend who just told me she has been getting together with my roommate but it's just because she has a crush on my roommate's ex-girlfriend, but it may be because she's jealous because the roommate's ex-girlfriend's girlfriend is her ex-girlfriend, but I don't really mind because I invited my neighbor because I've never really gotten over her but we couldn't get together before because she was my ex-girlfriend's ex-girlfriend and I didn't want things to get weird.
And we're all going out to Sunday brunch the morning after, like we always do. We meet some friends there and then get together after for some drinks. Just the 40 of us, like family.
I'm the sound of chewing during a tense dinner after suspicions of cheating were raised the previous day.
I'm interrupted by "Is this sauce gluten free? Because I thought it-" immediately cut off by "OF COURSE it's gluten-free. I told you that when I found the recipe on pinterest."
"Oh, right. Pinterest is such a great site."
*sounds of more chewing*
I'm boundaries. I'm clearly stated over and over, then and now, until they are understood and respected. I'm crossed at every opportunity, I think those passive aggressive bitches do it on purpose.
I am the: and WE, and WE,and WE, that has now become: and SHE,and SHE, and SHE!!!!
Marry me, R38.
I am the food sensitivites that are tearing this relationship apart.
I am Carol, completely terrified, again, because I just got a call from the clinic and have to break the news to Dottie that the embryo didn't take... She will blame me... again.
I can't believe anyone would participate in these insipid, tasteless and endless "Let's Pretend..." threads.
Is it the same 2 or 3 hamburger flippers in flyover states responsible for this shit?
I am r66, telling you NOW so she won't have to tell you THEN.
R66 is Julie... What a cunt!
I'm the plastic bag that somehow ended up in th recycling container, shivering in fear of being discovered.
I am the bag of cocaine that goes missing early on Friday evening out with the girls.
You're looking for the "Let's pretend we're really tired, obtuse DL-NY queens" thread, r66.
I am the masculine baritone voice in the bull dyke in the tuxedo smoking a Muriel cigar at the grand opening of the Gay and Lesbian Center bellowing I WANT WOMYN!!! Yet, I am also the requisite Memorial Day bar-b-que where said bull dyke holds court over her cute model babes, some of whom broadcast the weather on local TV stations and picks names out of her top hat for who gets cunnilingus from her next except for Bonnie, her one true love. All she needs to bellow is BONNIE, BOX!!! and bonny appears in a flash, ready and waiting............
I am the table at a titty bar at which sit several female taxi drivers in men's pants and flannel shirts. As the boobalicious babe begins her pole dance they all take turns shouting, "TAKE 'EM PANTIES OFF!!!"
I'm the water bong that is currently in use on the back deck after the latest screeching argument.
I am the 98 year old African-American lesbian,who is tired of being the featured speaker at every dyke event." I was born by the river in a little tent, and like the river,I've been a dyke ever since"
They Call Me Sammie
I am "woo." Whatever that is.
R63 Only if you bake the nutloaf.
I am part of a butch/lipstick lesbian couple.
More specifically, I am the phone number of the hot, tall guy, that old college friend, that's been sitting in the Facebook message inbox of the lipstick lesbian for months.
The phone number of the guy she occasionally thinks of as Butchie drives that dildo into her wet zone......
I am the lipstick of the lipstick lesbian and my color is bubbly pink.
I'm the "Marriage Equality Now!" bumpersticker formerly on the back of the Chevy Tracker but now in a crumpled back on the garage floor.
I am Lesbian Bed Death. I invade your sacred sanctuary. I am silent yet recognized.
I'm the hot make-up sex after watching Diana Nyad finish her Cuba-to-Florida swim on CNN.