Let's be a Lesbian Thanksgiving

I'm the fact that it will be a POT LUCK.

I’ll be the pile of flannel and fleece barn jackets in the bedroom.

I'm the rescued pit bull, hiding under the table, waiting for a scrap of turkey or a baby to drop on the floor.

I'm the very pregnant Lesbian here with my partner Mindy. I look like I could give birth at any moment. I'm seated near the pit bull, who seems to be eyeing me hungrily.

I'm the area reserved for CPAP machines.

I'm the Nutloaf. Only one serving of me was taken.

Is anna kendrick gay?

I'll be all of them tipsy, irritable, and hungry as they cry "WHERE THE HELL IS MARGE?" while one of them looking out the window replies excitedly "she just pulled up, but she's having trouble parking her 18 wheeler"

I am the songs of Taylor Swift playing in the background while some of the guests help stuff the turkey.

I'm the Melissa Etheridge Pandora channel playing in the background.

We're Barb and Sue. Deb and Nan, meet Sis and Pat.

Marge got the truck parked.

But did Marge remember to bring the vegan dinner rolls?

I'm the wispy facial hair.

Is the Nutloaf 100% vegan and free of gluten, dairy, nuts, and soy? There needs to be a version that's safe for people with serious allergies to any of those ingredients!

I'm Jan, and like R4, I'm pregnant, but because my fetus is male I'm spending Thanksgiving at home.

We brought kale.

I’m the mismatched but rustic seats and china.

I'm the UHaul parked outside. It's loaded with all my stuff, in case I meet someone interesting at dinner.

I’m the obligatory rounds of Annie Lennox’s “Why?” and K.D. Lang’s “Lady Chatelaine”

I'm the inevitable fibromyalgia flare up that's used as an excuse to go home early.

I'm the lonely queen taken in by the lesbians. After a wonderful dinner I'll come back to DL and trash them.

I’m the towering phallic candles filling the room with light & cheer, without which everything would be dark & drab!

I'm the short, layered haircut with a quiff. I'm on EVERYONE.

I'm dessert

I'm the menstrual cup, waiting patiently, in Casey's backpack. I'm here if she needs me.

^ that is so gross lol

I’m the endless stories about last summer’s softball season, and how the leagues just aren’t the same anymore.

I'm Denise, looking for donations to get my van home, maybe a passenger or two.

I'm the one not on speaking terms with my mother.

I'm Brittany, but my friends call me "Tank"

I'm the driveway full of Subaru Foresters with dreamcatchers hanging from the rear view mirror.

I’m the cheap booze.

I’m the Hostess/my house - I make sure we dont invite the actual partner of one of our guests. I am in unrequited love with an attendee and the presence of the one that is “livin the lovin” reminds me too much how of how my friend played me for a fool. We all know just how petty our community is.

I'm the row of Doc Martins and Clark's Desert Boots (and one pair of Birkenstocks for Kate, who's a holdout even in winter) lined up at the door. No shoes in the house, please.

I'm, Molly. I wish there was sausage in the stuffing. I don't dare say this out loud.

I'm one of the many SUVs, crossovers and Jeep crowding the cul-de-sac or driveway.

I'm the one who's been in a relationship with at least three of the others but we're OK about it now. Those passive-aggressive comments were purely coincidental.

I'm the cat hair hiding in the pumpkin pie. Marge will find it & make several hair pie jokes.

I'm the vag cape, hanging on the coat rack. I'm wet.

I'm the slide show of the very last MichFest.

I’m the lesbian thinking about undergoing conversion therapy.

I'm football.

I'm the constant reference to bodily functions best not mentioned at the dinner table.

I am the lone trans women who identifies as a lesbian. Most of the women don't really think I am a woman, and are suspicious about my sexual motives, but they are forced to tolerate me otherwise they may lose their job as a Professor of (Formerly ) women's studies- now gender studies.

I'm Peg, who has been locked in the upstairs bathroom for the past hour, because Annie cooked the stuffing in the bird to an insufficient temperature and now I have explosive diarrhea.

I'm the organic scented soy candles bought at the farmer's market for mood lighting

R47: Please pass those soy candles to Peg at R46.

I'm a cane. My owner may also require assistance with other mobility needs.

Hey, what’s up, I’m Jody. Wanna see my new Harley?

I’m the ex-husband of one of the party-gatherers, stopping by to exchange custody of our daughter, Chloe.

I'm half baked political opinions that would destroy civilization if they were ever enacted.

I'm that one ethnic dish on the table; lesbians are undeniably culture don't you know?

I'm Midge, serving up tuna pasta salad without washing my hands despite spending the morning gardening and scratching my pubes.

I'm the suspicious curly hair found in the tuna salad by Peg.

I am all the Timberlands, Birkenstocks and Dansk clogs lined up just inside the hallway, cause no one is allowed to wear shoes in the house. Hope you brought your slippers!

I’m boundaries, clearly stated.

I'm the track pants. I'm everywhere!

R54 - You are grotesque. Leave the party immediately.

I’m Annie, telling you NOW, so I don’t have to tell you THEN.

I’m also the designated chef and I’ve undercooked everything! Oooops!

I'd rather have R54 at the party than R45.

I’m an Indigo Girls concert, attended by most of the dinner guests last summer. There’s not much to say, really. Do those ever change?!

I'm the loud fight in the 97 Honda Civic parked two houses down. The owners are wasted and thinking no one can hear the screaming and swearing at the top of their lungs. The couple will be back inside by dessert.

I'm "the Flower of Womanhood", Tracey's art piece of a vagina painted in menstrual blood. Out of politeness, all of the guests have said how much they liked it, even they secretly realise that all she did was piss on a cavass while she was on the rag. They have no idea why it needs to be hung in full view of the food.

I'm visceral fat. I'm going to kill this party, but not for 10 years.

I'm the pre-pubescent male offspring of Peg and Lindsay-Kate, questioning my own sexuality in the face of so many unappealing women. Oh wait! Here comes the pre-pubescent male offspring of Rachelynn and Myra! I'm so relieved to not feel so alone here anymore....

Why are lesbians, especially lipstick lesbians, so enticing? Is it because they have no need or interest in us men, which triggers 'the Chase' mode in some of us?

We're Kathy and Pat. We're not sure why we were invited -- we're image consultants, not lesbians.

I'm lady ham. Most of the guests wish I were on the menu instead of turkey.

It's because they behave like aliens, r67.

This is so great! How did we not do this before? Never mind, who the fuck cares. MORE, MORE!

My day sucked until this thread.

I’m June Pointer’s unruly early 80s bush, recently discovered on full view in an music video, excitedly shared and admired.

I'm Joonie, and I'd like to sing a song of gratitude and thanks before we sit down to eat this beautiful meal.

I’m the early 90s Toyota or Nissan pickup with a canopy in the driveway. I’ve got two cattle/shepherd type dogs in the back.

I'm Tami-Lyn, but I look more like I should be called Olaf.

I’m the organic vegan pie Leslie picked up at the alternative foods co-op.

I’m the silence that will ensue between the host couple after the guests leave. Neither one of them will say what offence was committed during dinner. The other one is expected to know.

R1 Pot out of luck probably more like it.

I'm Shrek. I'm the father of most of these gals.

So far R77 wins this thread. Gay, lez, bi or straight. This is painfully familiar. But let's get back to the fun. Sorry.

I am the hushed discussion on the outbreak of violence against lesbians at the hands of women-with-penises. We are speaking quietly so the woman-with penis invited to our gathering doesn't hear and start threatening us

I'm a group of strong, fascinating, cultured women gathered together out of fellowship to enjoy a lovely meal and each other's company...with sex possibly to follow.

Oh shit, sorry, I thought this was "Let's be the dinner scene in the new version of Suspiria".

We're boundaries, and we need to be stated early on.

I am the hostess who stated her boundaries two months prior, only to have my boundaries questioned for three hours in a process meeting with her fellow sisters once they arrived. After, I gracefully serve them a starter of romaine salad.

There’s plenty of room on the futons! Just nudge the dogs, cats, babies, children, and ferrets out of the way and balance your plate on your knees.

I'm the never used bra sitting at home alone.

Along with the high heels my mother forced on me years ago.

I'm the one who fantasizes about the young Hollywood starlets who describe themselves as "fluid" in order to jump on the coming-out bandwagon without actually calling themselves gay.

And be careful when you open the refrigerator!

"We're here!!"

I'm already so tipsy I misspelled my own last name!!!

I'm here in spirit.

Im the adopted Asian twins Lily and Daisy...nice to meet you

I’m the music for the party. Well, OK, I’m a stack of cassettes on an unpainted wood shelf in the living room. Take your pick! Ferron. Sweet Honey in the Rock. Holly Near. Nothing produced after 1986.

Oh! Oh! Oh! There’s also Cris Williamson. And there’s a Joan Armatrading cassette but it got played so much it started unraveling.

But the guests could just sing Me Myself I acapella from memory.

I'm the grey walls with maroon accents all over the place.

I'm the labia ceviche appetizer.

I’m the stash of Stouffer’s Lean Cuisine in the freezer none of the guests can find out about because the host marches against big agro.

I'm "Liz" and I'm on my 23rd shot of straight vodka telling you how "queer" this home is.

R95 gurl stop.... LOL

I’m the museum gift store Georgia O’Keeffe print hanging above the toilet.

I'm the quaint 3 inch pile of dog hair along the baseboards.

I'm the patchwork quilt hand-made of recycled team sweatshirts from Julie's Alma-Mater's football games. I'm normally on a chair in the bedroom, but Julie has draped me over the sofa in the living room in the hopes people will notice me and praise her handiwork.

I’m the cracked tail light on Kim’s 1997 Subaru

R102 LMAO

I’m the mole on the side of Jo’s nose. It sprouts two hairs.

We’re the scents of men’s cologne and Bengay wafting through the air basically as densely as oxygen.

Anna Kendrick is lesbian?

I'm the missing side mirror on Kim's 1997 Subaru.

I'm Louise. I'm Jan's mom, visiting from Arizona. Just tagged along for the evening.

I’m the roommate chore schedule posted on the refrigerator.

I'm Leonard, Maddie's 8 year old basset hound. I have no idea why this bitch takes my old ass everywhere.

I'm the cluttered bathroom with rust stains in the toilet that look like poo and used musty towels left out for guest use.

I'm the talking stick.

I'm the Suze Orman Will and Trust kit accidentally left on the living room coffee table.

I'm this #36 cd in the Sony Compact Disc Multi Player 300 CD holding Carousel Mega Storage unit.

I'm r23. I accepted the last-minute invite to this shitshow, and decided to bring a lovely fall - themed floral arrangement.

And I put it in a mason jar.

That'll show 'em.

I'm the Marlboro Lights that are smoked on the deck after the argument in front of all the guests.

I'm the tear stained "I'm With Her" Hillary Clinton t shirts in the cedar chest in the guest room.

I'm Krista, Molly's date and new to the group. I recently divorced my husband and feel that I need to just explore my options for the moment.

OMG, I want to buy all the posters on this thread a drink.

I’m bread pudding.....

We're Sue and Darcy. We met at Pat and Barb's Halloween party (Sue was Xena and Darcy was a pumpkin). Since then, we've gotten married and adopted two children.

I am the ghost of a TRUE Lez Icon, happily peddling up the drive and joining the festivities, sincerely thrilled that all these young gals are keepin' our traditions alive!

(After a few shots I regale the enraptured girls with sizzling anecdotes about all the hot film Goddesses I made it with back in the 1930s *coughMarlenecough*)

I'm the CPAP machine for Leonard R110

I'm the neighbor across the street. Constantly looking through the blinds at each new arrival.

You HAVE a John Deere ??

R119 Make mine a cold Coors 16 ouncer sweetie.

I'll just have a white wine spritzer and pray Reno doesn't notice I'm here.

I'm the 108 piece tool kit in the hall closet.

I'm the relationship drama building between Sue and Darcy. I will become a MAJOR thing before pie is served.

Ahem R122. Would they let a "lez" on the Dating Game? I think not. I just never found the right man!!!!!

I'm Dani, whose constant puns and wisecracks aren't nearly as funny as she thinks they are.

I'm the CD of Tracy Chapman's debut album, which Midge has just started to play on the Bose from 1998. A conversation follows about what a classic it is, and how all of them nearly lived the lyrics to "For My Lover."

"It almost got that bad with me! Luckily I was able to break it off at the last minute."

I'm Carol. After a few drinks I'll be walking around, teary-eyed, reminding everyone to be mindful.

Yes, I have arrived. My constant self-righteous indignation, , my love for attention and my gift for always playing the victim card will surely ruin this get together. You all might as well leave now and just let me have at all this food by myself. Toodles!

I'm Dani, whose constant puns and wisecracks aren't nearly as funny as she thinks they are.

I'm Kim's DUI and suspended license, which is why Darlene is driving Kim's 1997 Subaru today.

I'm the 3 cans of Tab cola rolling around in the back of Kim's 1997 Subaru.

I'm the American Spirit butts in the ashtray of Kim's 1997 Subaru.

I'm here too.

I'm still sad that no one really understands my music.

Here's my new CD. "My Baby Died of an Opiate Overdose and I Will Quit School to Take Care Her Daddy Who Has a Problem With the Bottle Soon As I am Out Of Jail After Being Beaten and Wrongfully Accused By White Male Cop Who Also Hates Proud Gay Women Who Are of African Descent."

This will be my comeback. Comeback. What a sad and lonely word.

I’m Carol and Joanna. We share a obgyn practice and own houses next door to each other and haven’t dated anyone in 30 years and go everywhere, including cruises and lesbian potlucks together. But we aren’t out. We don’t do labels.

I'm a lipstick lesbian....wondering if I should go in. Seems to be a lot of "John Deere" types in there.

I'm Kim's ankle bracelet.

^^ Rachel?

R140, we understand.

I'm the untouched pumpkin spice bars sitting out on the sideboard. My secret ingredient is sweetened condensed milk. Terry from Accounts Receivable made me. I'm an inanimate object but even I can feel her rage at my untouched state.

I have arrived. Please paint all of the walls white. Ceiling too. Remove current furniture and bring in all white furniture. Someone find me a single symbolic red apple to place on this white table. I'm avant garde, doncha know? No. I'm not talentless. I'm avant garde!

I knew!!!

I'm Aiza Gho(née Andrea Clark). I'll be wearing my new Thanksgiving themed hijab. I will not be discussing female genitalia mutilation. A little respect please.

I'm the screeching argument that erupted in the 1997 Subaru when Darlene told Kim she'd better not be drinking today. It lasted all the way up I-95.

I had nowhere else to go today.

Oh crap. A clique of 20-something SJWs just walked in! I'm outta here!

Knock knock.....are you all still with me?

I'm this in a double mat {cream and gold } in a 1 inch frame in the hallway.

I'm the boxes of Yellow Tail wine on the kitchen counter.

I'm the cat high as fuck off catnip in the back bathroom. I'm also a big Trump supporter. Ssshhh! Don't tell the ladies.

Hey, Leslie, pass the pussy!

***Rosie O'D screwing her face up into glaring snarl and looking suspiciously at the cat***

Blaine and Antoine. This party? Hate it!!

I'm Jeannie, and I'm late getting here for having dinner with my kids and husband. After dropping the kids at Grandma's, hubby said he'd go hang with his buddy, Steve.

r7

HI EVERYBODY! I BROUGHT ALL MY JANEANE GAROFALO DVDS!

I'm the pleasure rod (8" clitoral-crimson steel vibrator) shattering the bedroom window & landing in the vegetable garden sometime after midnight. Lucy, their frazzled Lab, bolts out the doggie door to run for the woods behind the house.

I'm a DVD of CAROL. I've been inside the DVD player for two years. Help me.

I'm the dungarees hanging in the closet.

I am Wangero X. Kwashiorkor, formerly Gloria Henderson. I love y'all dearly, although some of you did get on my nerves at the farewell Michfest Breast Casting for Womyn of Color workshop when you claimed to have been WOC in another lifetime.

We're bras... we weren't invited...

I'm Madeline's vinegary kombucha. Noone will finish their glass of me.

I'm "witchcraft" mentioned in OP's linked article but not yet on this thread. I'm also "coven."

I’m the tofurkey.

I'm the lentil salads. There are four of us, and 3 varieties of hummus.

[quote]I'm the CD of Tracy Chapman's debut album, which Midge has just started to play on the Bose from 1998.

You mean 1988? And what is "the Bose"?

Bose is a brand of speakers and what in 1998 was considered very compact stereo systems, so I think there was no typo in that post.

Get to know your prepositional phrases and modifiers, r171. The post was referring to “the Bose from 1998,” not the CD.

Bose CD player from 1998. I assume the joke was about the lesbians being hopelessly behind the times, r171, by playing, first of all CD’s!, secondly, one hit wonder Tracy Chapman, and thirdly, on a Bose CD player, which to millenials is like generation x making fun of 8-tracks.

I have never referred to speakers as being from a particular year. Sorry, r172.

R171

[quote]I assume the joke was about the lesbians being hopelessly behind the times

Which is completely, perfectly implicit in "Tracy Chapman's debut album."

[quote]I have never referred to speakers as being from a particular year. Sorry, [R172].

OK but it only takes basic knowledge of English to know that the prepositional phrase “from 1998” is modifying the object next to it “the Bose”, then you go oh, haha. And move on.

Alright, r177. You are hilarious. I am a dunderhead. Can we stop now? PLEASE?

I am the couch. If the right, nice fair minded ladies come the hostess will be flopped on me pleasantly drunk maybe snoring after desert. Her beloved buddies will be joshing and cleaning up after she had done everything else. She will rise and fix them all BIG gladware containers of deliciousness to carry home.

She will say goodbye, return to my over stuffed cushions. It will have been a splendid success, with all the smart, funny kind lesbians.

I wasn’t the original poster of the Tracy Chapman post, r178, I’m just one of many who got the lame joke.

Yet for some reason, r180, you're the one who can't let it go.

For the record, Tracey Chapman was a TWO hit wonder with "Fast Car" and "Call Me Anytime"

Can we please move on? Y'all sound like a bunch of lesbians.

Everybody talks about pussy.

And the cute habits of their.cats.

Lol r183 😁

I am the kitchen , the most neglected room decor/design wise in the lesbian household

I am Lavern an "ElderLesbie" I drink too much Yellow Tail and grab my guitar !!! I forget to change the pronouns in the song ....

I’m the ghost of Marie Dressler. This brings back fond memories of Thanksgiving 1927, when I tried to put the moves on Spring Byington. Damn that stupid Garbo bitch for pussy blocking me!

I'm the floorboards creaking and straining under the combined weight of all the lesbians.

I’m Rhonda. And I’m smiling through gritted teeth to hide how TRIGGERED I am by R187’s flagrant misuse of pronouns!

I’m Harmony, and I’m sorry I’m late. The traffic getting out of the local turkey trot 5K race is always a bitch.

Whoops, was that my finisher’s medal that just dropped into the mashed potatoes? Sorry!

I am the spoons, which are almost used up.

We’re Christy and Stacy. We recorded our own self-financed album in 1990 while we went to Texas A&M University.

Of course, we brought our guitars as we will be “coaxed” into performing after the meal. We’ll perform classics from our 28 year old album as well as music from Christy’s solo album.

We will also sing a few covers like the Indigo Girls’ “Closer To Fine” and Stevie Nicks’ “Landslide,” which always get the girls crying.

We’re in Austin, of course.

I'm the expired tags on Kim's '97 Subaru, which is why she reverse parked me into the driveway.

I'm the comfy Bernie Sanders 2016 Sweatshirts over half the flannel in the room.

I am the bumper sticker on half of the attendees' cars.

I am the Blue Moon pottery that graces the dining table. I am made by a lesbian collective in Vermont.

I am the scent of 15 unwashed vaginas. I am serving as a magnet for every stray Cat in a 1.5 mile radius.

I’m the Zippo lighter Sara has had since college. She’s using me to light her Marlboros she needs to calm her down after she was called ‘sir’ earlier today.

I’m the CD collection gathering dust that we can’t bring ourselves to throw away including Wendy & Lisa, Sinead O’Connor (first album only) and Michelle Shocked.

I ‘m Gloria. I am on my fifth Miller Genuine Draft Light. I still feel betrayed by Holly Near and Michelle Shocked turning straight.

Im the hairy nipple that was not plucked.

I'm Joe-Dee. I'm a cutter. I will wear short sleeved shirts today to make you a little sick as you view my physical side effects of my pain. I feel the scars are a work of art.

I'm the gastric band in one of the guests. I have eroded, causing her stomach to explode.

I'm the grease and grime under the bitten fingernails of Val. In addition to a love of carpentry, power tools, and mud play, she also works on her Harley constantly. The other girls never believe her when she insists that she actually HAS washed her hands before dinner.

I'm the side-eye that Darlene is giving Kim every time she gets a little too close to the boxed Yellow Tail on the kitchen counter. If she starts drinking today there is going to be hell to pay on the ride home!

I'm the Dreamcatcher keychains hanging off the belt loops.

I am the lack of references to Barbra Streisand, Liza Minnelli, or Cher.

I’m Gloria, drunk and fascinated by Jo-Dee’s pain. She really gets me!

(I hope she doesn’t turn straight, too, like Holly and Michelle!)

^That's actually an interesting point. Do lesbians have male celebrities which they idolize?

Hi I'm PJ and this is TJ. We'll just put this cooler of Coors Light on the back deck, everybody help yourselves! Oh, we parked our truck on the front lawn because the driveway's full, is that ok?

Hi, I'm Nat and I can't wait to gobble, gobble, gobble!

I’m little Chloë from R51’s post. Mommy has forbidden me to bring my princess dolls from daddy’s house because she says they reinforce negative stereotypes.

Since I have no interest in the gender neutral toys mom and her wife got me, I put on mommy’s old pink pussy hat and go outside to play among the Subarus.

I’m the dirty rear quarter panel of Kim’s 1997 Subaru. It seems like it’s coming from the emissions but replacing the exhaust system is too much money. It’s a shame though, because the dirty exhaust is soiling Kim’s vintage Lilith Fair bumper sticker, the one next to her 12-step ‘One Day at a Time’ sticker.

I love r191.

I am the pagan prayer said before we dig in.

I'm Kim and I swear to God if Darlene gives the the side-eye one more fucking time when I'm near the Yellow Tail I'm just going to pour myself a glass. Fuck it. Fuck her. Everybody else is drinking, why can't I? Ok, maybe I'll just go out on the deck for an American Spirit and chug down one of those Coors Lights so nobody will see me.

I’m an acoustic guitar, I’m going to make my entrance soon for a Lilith Fair sing-a-long

I’m a lightbulb 💡. One lesbian will screw me in while two more will write a meaningful folk song about it.

Where's Nan with her nutloaf bread pudding?

I'm the survey of who is going to Dinah Shore and who wants to ride with whom and who wants to room with whom.

We are the collection of peppermint patty and Marcy figurines sitting in the curio.

I'm the impromptu yoga class in the den, in silent protest of the acoustic sing-along in the living room.

I'm the intense discussion about locally sourced, organic food.

I'm every queef.

I’m the iutz cheese balls horrified that I’m going to be stuck under flapjack titties and gunts for a cheese ball contest.

I am the angry penised lesbian, seething with rage for the snub.

I'm wondering which poster is going to start a Let's be Kim's 1997 Subaru thread

I'm a wallet chain, I average about one for every two guests.

Here I am!

I'm the phrase, 'How dare you?' I'm never far from the lips of every single person in the room.

I’m the Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy action figures posed in a provocative way on the mantle.

Hi. I'm Kit, Jo's ex. Sorry I'm late. My Wrangler's been giving me trouble. Nice Subi in the drive. '97 was a great model year. I may need a jump later. Anyone got cables?

We're Chris and Sam. We smoked a big fat bowl of weed in our Jeep Wrangler on the way over. Is the food almost ready? We're STARVING!

I'm the land line phone. Because you never know when you will need one in an emergency.

I'm a toast to the Goddess, for all the things we're thankful for this year.

I’m the belt hook that Kim’s still-functional Motorola flip phone is worn on. I’ve seen a lot of action today because it’s ringing constantly from a parade of her exes wishing her a happy Thanksgiving. That’s my way of saying there is a steady stream of bitches taking today as the opportunity to play mind games with her. Kim will be hitting the Yellowtail soon enough. For now, everyone has to listen to her funny ring tone (theme from Cagney and Lacey)

Hi, I'm here. Am I welcome?

I'm the L Chat banner flickering on the Acer desk top computer in the guest room.

I'm Patty. I'm that small town gal who looks & dresses exactly like Dwight Schrute.

I'm the driveway and the front yard, which looks like a Subaru dealership right now.

I’m the pepperoni pizza that no-frills Marty will order as soon as she gets home after a day of putting up with all this quinoa and lentil shit.

I’m the basketball hoop above the garage door at Kelly’s home next door. Attendees at regular heterosexual Thanksgiving dinners may engage in a quick game of flag football before the eating begins, but Carol, Dotty, Crowley, Mo, BJ, Lakisha, D’Joan, Playmaker, Jett, and The Blaze were all NCAA Hoops All-Stars back in the 80’s (the first Title 9 babies) and they still feel they got it and up for a quick half-court 20-point fest. There will be a few pulled shoulders and sore thighs afterwards but it will all have been worth it.

Poor R243, having to live next door to basketball active.

I'm Miriam. Patty's mother. I decided to come and support her in a non traditional Thanksgiving this year. I'll be showing the sonogram pictures on my phone, all day, that my other daughter sent me. You know. The other daughter. THE ONE WHO CAN GIVE ME GRANDCHILDREN! After a few drinks I'll be asking Joe-Dee and her wife Angela which one is the man.

We're the uptight fundamentalist Christian neighbors who live across the street, glaring disapprovingly out their windows at their lesbian neighbors. After PJ finishes her fifth Coors Light, she'll go out on the front lawn and flash her tits at them.

I'll be the one shouting "WORLDSTAR" by the end of the day.

I'm the multiple pine tree air fresheners hanging from the rearview mirror in Marge's Outback, in a vain attempt to try and cover up the smell of weed and Marlboro Reds.

I’m the bar of Irish Spring for guests to wash their hands.

I’m the cherry pie that Romy tried to bake. She’s never baked one before and the Comstock preserves turned her frozen pastry into gummy mush. She’s now serving it up in bowls with a spoon and calling it a cobbler. The womyn there, in politeness, declare it the best they’ve ever eaten.

Ding-dong, I'm the doorbell. Oh, Deb and Fran are here! Did they bring their rescue dogs this time?

I’m the game of Scrabble that triggers Bev.

I'm the dust-covered VHS tapes of [italic]The L Word: the Complete Series[/italic] and [Queer as Folk[/italic] the American Version, that have sat on a shelf unwatched since the 90's. Maybe we'll have a little movie time in the greenhouse where we keep the television, following the acoustic guitar sing-a-long and impromptu yoga class of course.

Deb and Fran are going to talk endlessly about the squirrel rehabilitation center they work at aren't they?

We are the neighbors that live down the street and stopped by. All this eating caused us to feel lethargic so we took a break outside to imbibe the cocktails from our happy thermo.

R243, I’ll pass on the basketball today. I just ran the Turkey Trot. Did you see my finisher’s medal?

I'm MoJo's modified mullet wig bought at Walmart, on account of losing her hair from chemo treatments.

I'm the carelessly prepared stuffing that's going to give everybody the explosive shits in a few hours.

[quote] I'm the fact that it will be a POT LUCK.

It’s a soupluck not a potluck.

Oooh, I’m that one person on every “Let’s Be” thread who takes it a little too far.

[quote] I'm the wispy facial hair.

So apt.

I’m the green bean casserole 🥘 made with the secret ingredient: Jack Daniels.

I'm the six pack of Bud Light that's missing from the fridge. Hey, has anyone seen Kim?

I'm Sal and I'm wearing my orange Home Depot vest bc they scheduled me to work today at 5pm bc that's when they open for Black "Friday".

I'm the cranberry sauce, brought by Dallas. Dallas is in IT.

WTF was Edith thinking? Who invited her anyway? Isn't she a friend of Dallas?

I’m the canned yams with marshmallow and brown sugar. No one is eating me. Nobody ever eats me.

Oh Lord, and look what they brought for the kids! Frozen pork, beans, and ketchup pops. Get me some wine, fast!

Ketchup pops?!

I'm the box of sugar cookies in the cupboard. I was stolen from the last AA meeting.

I'm a sense of humor. I'm nowhere near this dinner.

I'm the calm and insightful political discourse.

I'm the Bernie vs. Hillary vs. Jill debate discussed over whiskey,Bud Light and some kush in the backyard by the fire pit. I end friendships and cause 3 people inside to relapse.

I'm the Mrs Kravitz-like frau next door looking through her window into theirs while while saying over her shoulder to husband "Something's just not right in that house. Do you suppose they could be L.E.S.B.I.A.N.S?" The husband just looks at her like she's retarded.

I’m the bread pudding stolen from ruth’s Chris

FEED MY BEAST BITCHES! No one cares about your stupid dinner or digestion, I need some action on this thread.

257 doesn't show up. Is it the menstrual painting person?

R277 You must have them blocked. You aren't missing anything:

I'm MoJo's modified mullet wig bought at Walmart, on account of losing her hair from chemo treatments.

R277, it’s not the same poster, but he is a shit-stirrer who tries to divide gay Democrats.

R279 posting at the dinner.

I'm a soft and gently wrinkled slightly fuzzy face with no make-up, topped by short curly blondish salt and pepper hair.

Wow, that is rather lovely and I could picture it perfectly r281!

I'm Kim's waistline, screaming after she decided to go for a third helping of sweet potato poon.

I'm the warm plastic bag of Franzia being chugged in the shed (easier to hide that way) by Kim, Kath, and Alex. Eventually we'll be snorting lines of Percocet, stolen from the host.

I'm the bottle of hand sanitizer hidden in Thora's pocket. She'll discreetly use me to clean her hands & the cutlery before eating.

I'm the videos neatly stacked next to the VCR - GO FISH, IF THESE WALLS COULD TALK 2, BOUND, FUCKING AMAL, HIGH ART, BUT I'M A CHEERLEADER, HEAVENLY CREATURES, FOXFIRE, GIA,GIRL INTERRUPTED, TOMB RAIDER and TOMB RAIDER 2.

You forgot DESERT HEARTS and BAGHDAD CAFE.

R271 just pointed out why gay men are more likeable than gay women.

I'm the outline of the nipple ring underneath the Carhartt sweatshirt.

I’m the old scores that WILL be settled

I'm the steel toed boots.

I'm the velour hoodie that's worn for special occasions.

We're the matching Kirkland Signature coats.

We're the breasts. And we're SO CLOSE to finally touching the waist.

I'm the cat, "Kitty." After the first couple people arrived, I decide to get while the gettin's good and make a run for it, darting through the dining room, making myself as flat as possible in the hopes of being invisible. I won't be seen again till tomorrow morning. I want no part of this shitshow.

I’m the overhead lighting.

I’m the toilet seat that stays DOWN throughout the festivities. Or at least until Kim, Kath and Alex get sick from their Franzia and Percs.

I love my lesbian sisters. Happy Thanksgiving!

R298 Oh look! A MAN is telling us how we are supposed to feel on Thanksgiving! So typical....

FUCKING AMAL, HIGH ART, BUT I'M A CHEERLEADER . . . I've never heard of those movies. Are they GP or X rated?

I'm the straight girl that doesn't belong on this thread but was oh so curious.

I'm Dar (Darlene) who wants to play a new composition on the piano I wrote for this occasion, but I can't get everyone to shut up at the same time.

I'm the pool table that doesn't have balls.

I'm the tortoiseshell cat looking down with disdain on the group from a bookshelf.

I'm the bottle opener Pat has on her belt loop, popping off the tops of Coors Light and Miller Genuine Draft for all the other gals.

I'm the discussion about where to hang Barb's newly purchased painting of a bouquet of tulips that look like giant red vulvas. Front hall or living room?

I'M the painting Nan made by slathering tempera paint on her genitals and rocking back and forth on a canvas. I look like a pudgy butterfly with a stray pube stuck to one wing. Nan has signed me and hopes to sell me on her Etsy shop as a way to supplement her income from the feminist bookstore where she works part-time. All the girls pretend to love me except Kim, who has passed out next to the fake palm tree in the corner.

Are the taintings in R306 and R54 similar?

Are the taintings in R306 and R64 similar?

[quote] Are they GP or X rated?

PG

R307 if that was intentional, bravo!

[quote] if that was intentional, bravo!

It was but I wish I’d but the correct post number at R307.

🙄🙄

We’re the shoes at R36 and R56 arguing over who should’ve posted first and whether the Birkenstocks should lose their posting privileges.

Someone here is into gross lesbian hygiene

Meant to say a particular gross lesbian’s hygiene, not imply that all lesbian hygiene is gross (not true)

I'm the chainsaw that the host will use to carve the turkey.

I'm the print over the sofa.

[quote] Do lesbians have male celebrities which they idolize?

Viggo Mortensen

[quote]Do lesbians have male celebrities which they idolize?

KD Lang

Chaz

[quote] I'm wondering which poster is going to start a Let's be Kim's 1997 Subaru thread —I kind of want this to happen...

It’s all for you, R228.

We shall marry R320

If only Subaru wasn't misspelled in the initial post!

R52 I am still up at 5 am reading in the dark, and your post caused me to laugh out loud and wake my houseguest in the next room.

I chuckle silently at most of these clever comments, but for some reason yours really hit my funny bone. It is SO true.

We're the strap-on didos hidden at the back of the wardrobe in case we trigger anyone.

I'm the bookshelf, I contain Radclyffe Hall, the poems of Sappho and a photo book about Drag Kings.

R165, Some believe that when 100% of the Earth has had an offer to accept Christ as their personal savior, He will soon return. The Christian martyr was so naive he didn't realize that there are still dozens of tribal groups all over the world that are still relatively untouched by modern civilization.

I'm 326 sorry for gatecrashing ladies!

Tuna casserole with extra salt.

R426, did you take a wrong turn at Vulva Way?

Meant for r326

R329, R330, R326 was designed for the thread on the Christian adventurer/missionary who died breaking Indian laws. I'm sure if he broke social protocol and showed up at the all-womyn Friendsgiving feast he would still be breathing.

I'm the six pack of local craft beer that Ronnie brought, not because she loves it like she claims, but because it was on sale at the liquor store.

I'm the pilled, russet-hued poly-blend throw draped over the seat cushions of the worn hand-me-down IKEA sofa. I hide the dark and multifarious piss stains left there by Millie, the large shelter mutt who had some continence issues in her later years. Millie died in 2014.

Millie was of course, a very good girl.

I'm the adolescent brother of the pre-pubescent male offspring of Peg and Lindsay-Kate at R66. I'm 17 and I know I'm straight. What I [italic]don't[/italic] know is why all these women keep bitching about this being a male-dominated world when my world has always been so painfully female dominated.

I am the harbinger of disaster: the words, "What's that supposed to mean?"

GROSS

r337 Eeeww

Hi I'm Krys and I'm not going to eat anything until we hold hands in silent remembrance of the slaughter of our brave indigenous sisters.

I don't get much action round here.

I'm Jewell (legal name: Tiffany) and I would like to request that we use another word for nutloaf. As you all know, I am a survivor of sexual assault and the word "nut" is very triggering for me.

Will labia-loaf do for you Jewell?

By the way, one of your 15 earrings just fell into the pumpkin soup. I hope 'pump' doesn't trigger you or make you thinking of huge swinging testes pumping their nut juice all over you.

I’m the soy not-turkey. I taste just like the real thing!

Hi I'm gingham - I'm THE look at this Thanksgiving!

I'm Barb, wondering if the glazed frosting on my dessert will trigger Jewell's memories of her sexual assault. Dottie told me he finished all over her face.

I'm the pair of John Lennon-esque spectacles that let me admire my fellow diner's tits.

I’m 1/128th Native American so I’m boycotting the meal and will be sending all attendees scoldy texts about how your holiday is a celebration of your ancestors exterminating mine.

I'm righteous indignation, if anything's spilling out of the horn o' plenty at this dinner, it's me!

I'm Dottie and I want to hold a healing circle to help Jewell overcome the memories of her sexual assault.

I'll also be holding a pierce your own clit workshop afterwards.

I'm the host's yellowed, dusty paperback copy of "The Female Eunuch" by Germaine Greer, which catches Viv's eye as she looks for the "Prisoner: Cell Block H" DVD box set. I lead to a loud, disingenuously offhand comment about whether Greer should be considered "problematic" that escalates into a drunken shouting match over whether a rape apologist Islamophobe's book should even be allowed under this roof. A shoving match looms, but fortunately Viv and Jewell opt instead to angrily stalk out the back door and smoke sullenly in the cold.

bunch of losers with nothing to do but sit around criticizing lesbians. I'm the wealthy lesbian living in california that wouldn't invite a gay man to my wonderful full thanksgiving dinner.

Oh R351 - we didn't invite the sense of humour, did you forget? This is for LEZZERS only.

I'm all the cucumbers which will disappear after lights out.

What's THAT supposed to mean, r351??

R351 declared her indignation with such force she dropped some nutloaf on her flannel shirt!

I'm a police officer ringing the doorbell...looking for a 1997 Subaru involved in a "smash n' grab" at a Walmart earlier in the day....

I'm Midge, peeling an orange with her pocket knight and looking sideways at Kim.

Pocket KNIFE!

I'm the wealthy Lesbian from r351 who has dropped by late to the event with my womynservant Pol and an opened bottle of Yellowtail wine. I enter the house imperiously, glance at the pedestrian furnishings, and allow the slightest disgusted curl of my lip to show, causing Nan to burst into tears and lock herself in the bathroom. I was once like them, you see, working at the feminist bookstore with Kim, but my tinkerings led to a line of vaginal rejuvenator devices that have made me very successful. Little do I know that the devices have a fatal flaw that causes Rotting Labia Syndrome, and a class action suit is being prepared that will drive me to the poorhouse. For now, though, I enjoy basking in the admiration and obsequiousness of my leaders.

^ that should be Lessers. Pol has been severely admonished for her typing incompetence and has now joined Nan weeping in the bathroom.

I'm the bookshelf containing the collected works of Patricia Cornwell.

Jewell again. I'm also feeling very unsafe after watching Al Roker put sticky white goo on top of all of that sweet poon.

I felt hurt.

I felt violated.

I'm the transwoman lesbian the others keep making snide remarks about under their breath, like "Please pee INSIDE the toilet, girls"; "Man on land" and "Snip-snip..."

I'm Shawna, and I'm peeling an apple with a machete and looking sideways at Midge peel an orange.

I'm PJ, looking at the 1/2 empty cooler of Coors Light and wondering if I need to make another packie run.

It's me again. The old paperback of "The Female Eunuch." I was part of the required reading in the host's Women's Studies curriculum at Bennington all those years ago. But she barely even glanced at me, as she was too busy macking on girls, heartlessly teasing boys, and getting stoned at Lilith Fair. Now I meet the most ignominious of ends as, 10 minutes after Jewell and Viv stalked out back to smoke, awaiting the rapprochement that never came, I am, without comment, violently and unceremoniously hurled out the back door and into the dark back yard, fluttering my pages desperately in a final protest. I land in a dirty pile of melted snow next to a rusted rake. I will never be touched or spoken of again. Within a month, I will return to the earth whence I came.

I am the "Shorpy" photo of the 1925 General Electric Christmas Party.

In the past I have generated many wonderful comments about Svetlana, the guy with the black eye, the barely suppressed rage of the "girl with the handkerchief" and "what the hell is an oil can doing on the floor"?

I am patiently waiting my turn at DL. I am also wondering if my time has passed.

I'm Brenda's pet llamas, Dolly and Fernando- part of the petting zoo she runs out on highway 9 (camping facilities available).

R358, is it an evil petting zoo? Did she buy the zoo?

"Lesbian! Lesbian!

Living in a No Man's Land!

Lesbian! Lesbian!

ANY WOMAN CAN BE A LESBIAN!"

I'm Lavender Jane Loves Women and drunk Kim is blaring me on speakers of her Subaru outside, wailing along with me!

Now Kim is playing me, Jill Sobule from 1995, remembering when life was good and no one bitched at her for drinking and seducing straight women.

I'm the baster for the tofu-turkey. You REALLY don't want to know where I was last weekend when Larry and Greg popped over with a 'donation'.

I'm a Phranc CD playing in the den. I've been in my owner's possession since her college days back in 1989.

'm a bitter, passive aggressive sense of resentment felt all around the room after Kelly's boundaries were stated but not complied with.

Post -prandial activity

It might look more like this, r375

I'm Kel, seething at 375's post, redolent of the male gaze. It is literal violence!

We're the massages offered in the laundry room after 90% of the guests have left.

I'm Iva's former partner Bell. We've recently broken-up and I've moved my lover Heather into my rooms.

We communicate now only through refrigerator notes.

I'm the three year old carton of frogurt in the freezer.

r379 Did some queen actually go to the trouble of writing all that out?

It’s me again, the paperback copy of “The Female Eunuch,” with a fresh update. When Bev threw me, she was aiming for the compost heap. Her aim is usually unerring due to all those years of playing softball, but this time she was so full of righteous indignation that she overshot. I flew over the fence and bonked a startled next-door neighbor right upside his head.

I'm a dusty and disheveled pile of ignored mail on the small table by the front door. I include numerous fruitless fundraising mailings from Hillary Clinton, Planned Parenthood, RAINN, the Sierra Club, Lambda Legal, SPLC, "Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi," NARAL, the Human Rights Commission, Greenpeace, NOW and the National Disability Rights Network. Nan is big on signing petitions but not so big on making contributions.

I'm Leezah-Irene, and although I'm actually 100% white (50% Irish, 40% German, 10% Romanian), in deference to my Pakistani sisters, I am triggered by R365's use of the word "Packie." I don't care that she's referring to beer. My righteous indignation has been kicked into gear, along with my last remaining menstrual period.

I am a framed copy of Lena Waithe Vanity Fair cover hanging in the kitchen. I was a Valentine Day gift.

I'm Rhiannon, the cat watching everything.

I am the Darkness.

I rule my life like a fine skylark and when the sky is starless.

I'm the stress relieving adult coloring books.

I'm the Beginner's Guide to Origami underneath a stack of colored square paper on the reclaimed elm side table in the living room. A lone paper swan watches over me, the only attempt at the ancient art, before Nan got bored and forgot I was there.

I'm the Duluth Trading Co. catalog on the toilet tank. I'm dogeared on the page with the gusseted lined canvas carpenter's pants.

I'm the belt taken to one of the adopted children when she mentions that this time of year reminds her of her now suicided other Mom.

I'm the casual sexual abuse of the adopted daughter taking place in the upstairs bedroom while guests nibble on chips below.

I'm the creamed corn.

I’m the Chex mix.

[quote] I'm the bookshelf containing the collected works of Patricia Cornwell.

I'm surprised that one isn't already more a meme, like flannel and Subarus. Lesbians love Patricia Cornwell books.

I am the allergies, sensitivities, ethical stances, fibromyalgia triggers, dietary regimens, and food intolerances of the various guests. If you made a Venn diagram of the foods each guest will eat, the only overlap would be water. Triple-distilled alkaline water.

I'm the Malboros all the health conscious ladies smoke. I'm also wondering why, with all their dietary requirements and smoking, they're so fat.

I'm "that's not funny" said any time someone tries to make a joke, even a tired old Paula Poundstone one.

I'm the smell of smoking and day old fish. I'm still only just about managing to drown out the smell of artificial pumpkin spice from the frau next door's Thanksgiving.

Maxine has also decided to get into the TP fray

I'm Nan's reading glasses. She should be wearing 2.0 magnification, but the house is strewn with 1.25, 1.5, and 1.75 pairs. Not a single one is intact or clean. Most have been sat or stepped on at least once. All were bought during sales at Rite Aid.

I'm a very battered vintage copy of "Our Bodies, Ourselves." If the stains on me could talk, oh the tales they'd tell.

Terrifying tales.

"I won't sip my wine from a paper cup!"

I'm the DELICIOUS SURPRISE from Jo Dee Messina waiting for the gals!

"A girl trying to find herself a perfect man

Is like trying to find Atlantis!"

"I'm Sue Bob White, and I've always been the sexiest one in the family" she said with a voice like a tuba.

FF r391.

I'm Penny Marshall. Skype-ing with Joe-Dee. Begging her not to self harm.

I'm the Lowes vs. Home Depot debate.

I'm Bell, who just wiped my ass with Iva's hand towels. Fuck you Iva, you cunt. I hope Heather gives you herpes.

I'm Pam, stating my boundaries: I will NOT support corporate worker-rapers and exploitative capitalist corporations like Lowe's OR Home Depot. I buy my tools and supplies at the local hardware store, like anyone with a conscience!

(I won't be looking too carefully into where and how and by whom those tools and supplies are made.)

I'm Susan, they call me "Roger" at the refinery. I haven't been the same since the big explosion back in 87.

I'm the clit hood lemon tarragon soup. Delish!

I'm Pam's silent scream when she sees all the empty Amazon boxes in the upstairs hallway.

I'm the nutloaf in the shape of a vulva with cranberry sauce in the middle, dripping down the sides.

I'm a copy of "Rubyfruit Jungle" which everyone pretends to have read.

I'm the sausage which causes a massive triggering event and a need for a safe space.

I'm the heated discussion of the Hart Family murder-suicide. Some think it was an accident, most believe it was intentional. Sadly, Tank and Dottie almost came to blows over it and left others distraught that rarely seen Lesbian Violence reared it's ugly head.

I’m the football games. Plural.

I'm the fear of flying.

I’m the jokes told after dinner. How many gay men does it take to screw in a lightbulb? One, but it takes half the ER staff to get it out! How do you fit 3 gay men on a barstool? Turn it over! What did one gay sperm say to another? How do we find an egg in all this shit! What did the moose say after leaving the gay bar? Man, I blew like 50 bucks in there! How does a gay guy fake an orgasm? He spits on his back!

r415, get bulk.

This is not no regular Thanksgiving Day gathering, it's a fucking CONVENTION! Just take a look at whose here!

A Janeane Garofol fan

A Lonely Queen

A Pregnant Lez

Adolescent brother of the other adolescent

Aiza Gho

Alex

An Ex Husband

Annie

Asian twins Lily and Daisy

Barb

Bel

Bell

Bev

Blaine

Brenda

Brittany AKA Tank

Caitlyn

Carol

Casey

Chloe, until her Dad picks her up

Chris

Christy

Dallas

Dany

Dar

Darlene

Deb

Denise

Dottie

Down the street neighbors

Edith

Ellen Degeneres

Fran

Ghost of Marie Dressler

Ghost of some 30s lez

Gloria

Harmony

Hillary Clinton

Iva

Jan

Jane Lynch

Jeanne

Jewell

Jill

Jo

Joanie

Joanna

Jody

Joe-Dee

Kathy

Kath

Kel

Kim - several

Kit

Krista

Krys

Lavern

Leeza-Irene

Lindsay-Kate

Lipstick Lez

Liz

Lone Trans Woman

Louise

Madeline

Marge

Maxine

Melissa Ethridge

Midge

Mindy

Miriam

Molly

Nan – several

Pam – several

Pat – several

Patty

Peg

Penised lesbian

Penny Marshall

PJ

Portia DeRossi

Rhonda

Rosie O’Donald Sal

Sam

Shawna

Shrek

Sid

Spirit of Lesley Gore

Stacy

Sue

Sue Bob

Susan

Tami-Lyn

The 1/128 Native American Lez

The Hostess

The Slut in 3 Relationships

TJ

Val

Wangero X. Kwashorker

Wealthy Lez from CA and servant Pol

Woman with gastric band

Woman with unplucked hairy nipples

Yoko Ono

In all fairness Penny Marshall was only on Skype

R421, you forgot Sal, but that's bc she left for her Black Friday shift at home depot

Miriam is the most real.

I'm the sudden tense silence when Nan announces that dinner is served and Kat loudly says, "Let's all bow our heads for grace." As shocked, angry looks shoot around the table, Kat begins, "Goddess, we thank thee for this, the bounty of our mother Gaia...", and a collective sigh of relief is released.

R423, Sal is there but I forgot to double enter after Rosie O'Donald. Good catch though. I'm sure I missed more.

Dear Grammar Police,

Please forgive me the typos in R421. They were unintentional errors. So sorrowy.

R421

I'm the smudging that's done to cleanse the room after the triggering events of the sausage incident.

I'm the plywood work table in the unheated garage. Over me is a nearly empty pegboard with a Georgia O'Keeffe calendar displaying the month July 2016. On me is an assortment of boxes of plasticene, pearlescent paint, glitter, a tin can with the label peeled off full of clay-shaping tools, quartz beads, and various craftsy accoutrements, all covered with dust. I am the remnants of an aborted Etsy store, YoniGoddess, which briefly and unprofitably sold handmade Yoni pendants. Nan indulged Peg for a while, but after a few months a Yellowtail-fueled argument, followed by a week of frosty silence, brought an end to Peg's passion project.

Yellowtail is for trash. I’m a Barefoot girl.

I am the icy silence that descends upon the room when someone suggests “Let’s do this again for Christmas!”

I am finally broken when someone else retorts “Of all the religions observed across the planet, how arrogant of you to assume everyone celebrates YOUR holiday!”

I am the tart rejoinder, "What's THAT supposed to mean? MY holiday?"

I am the wild-eyed lecture about how Christmas is a patriarchal construct and has been used as a tool for oppression. Colonialism will somehow be worked in there, too.

I am the bitter retort that the Christians stole the pagan Yule festival in the first place, and don't you DARE suggest that celebrating the winter solstice is somehow related to middle eastern Abrahamic religions!

I’m the word “problematic.” I will be used multiple times today.

I am the crabwalk that Dottie does in the living room because Tank won't stop flirting with Kat

I'm the pepper grinder that Midge is discreetly hiding under the kitchen sink, fearing that it will give Jewell another triggering episode and cause her to re-live her sexual assault. Once is QUITE enough for one day!

I'm the turquoise Native American Reparations awareness ribbon worn by Cyn's new girlfriend KJ in silent protest of being dragged to this celebration of genocide. All hell will break loose when Shawna mistakes me for an Addiction Recovery ribbon, even though KJ is in recovery.

Well, she was until Shawna opened her big mouth.

I am the words "othering," "marginalization," and "intersectional," and I will emerge with just enough alcohol. Then a bit more alcohol will send me back into quiescence, and I will be replaced with a spontaneous singalong (and, for those with remaining spoons, a dancealong) to k.d. lang's "Big-Boned Gal."

R436 I cannot figure out the visual on that one

I am the framed photo of the field hockey team from college in 1989. Can you spot Pat?

I'm the rescued pit bull, RBG, and I've been hanging out near the table in the hopes of being offered a few scraps or finding a few dropped bites. But the loud voices and alcohol smell, which reminds me of my former abusive alcoholic owner, forces me to move away to the sofa, where I settle with a sigh on the peed-on spot of the late Millie. But when the "Big-Boned Gal" singalong starts, the stomping drives me to reluctantly abandon my spot and retire upstairs. Unfortunately, Jewell is in the master bedroom, reeking of wine, weeping, and hoping someone comes in to ask about her "migraine," which was triggered by the sight of the plump, thick, pink, glistening sausage. I go back downstairs and settle uneasily by the front door with one weary ear cocked for trouble.

[quote] I go back downstairs and settle uneasily by the front door with one weary ear cocked for trouble.

The use of that c-word is triggering as well!

I am the 2 empty tubes of Monistat 7 in the guest bathroom trashcan

I'm Midge with her thumb in her belt loop and a Miller Genuine Draft in her other hand, telling Kath all about the forklift accident at work this past summer.

I'm the turmoil that suddenly erupts in the living room where some younger sisters were just examining the Bose from 1998: "Is she!?!" , "Is she!?!?!?!?!?!?!?" - the breaking news of Anna Kendrick's super-hot lesbian-only Thanksgiving is making the rounds! The elderlezzers acknowledge me with stoic silence, annoyed glances and two loud farts in perfect unison (PJ and TJ of course!)

I love that we’re all buying into the name ‘Kim’ as one of the unintentionally dykiest names ever.

We're Kim and Peg. We went into the freezing garage "to look at Peg's Etsy art" and came back in a much, much better mood. Peg keeps a little stash of weed and vodka out there for emergencies. There would be hell to pay if Nan ever found out.

I'm Christine. I still use a flip phone. Privacy issues thank you.

We're Pat and Barb telling the story of how we saw Melissa Etheridge play in a tiny club in the mid-80s, before she was famous, and how we both knew that she was going to be a big deal.

Black night tit. Livestream of the caravan on her Asus. She wears gender like a sweater, pangender, pansex. A bumper sticker for every trendy moment. No disease passes her by. She actually strives to be deaf and autism sprectrumed. Fybromyalgic. Her chronic fatigue has morphed into a Lyme diagnosis. She shits in the men’s room. Tears of fear as a group of men pounds on the stall door. Dark lesbians.

I'm Mo's sock monkey. After her 11th Tecate Light kicks in, we'll recreate [italic]My Birth[/italic] right on the kitchen floor. Just a cursory glance at the photo below tells you all you need to know — we're the life of every party!

R441: Which ONE is Pat? They all are!

I'm Peg's emotional support pig.

How did our lesbian friends spend Black Friday?

I'm the dishwasher, not properly loaded until the gay guy down the street drops by and fixes things .... again ....

I'm Carol. Taking the broken vacuum cleaner apart in the driveway. I'll fix it by golly

R455, Hopefully, they're still enjoying the poon.

I'm the tofu and mung bean casserole. Topped with cheese made from my own breast milk.

R455, Black Friday? Well, most of our systers boycott so-called "Black Friday" because it pushes materialism and exploits low-wage-earning retail-working womyn. However, the frozen foods sale at the local Whole Foods was hard to pass up. Viv stocked up on some Amy's organic vegetarian meals. Viv can't eat gluten, and it's easier just to buy pre-prepared gluten-free foods. Cooking makes her fibro flare up.

I'm Midge, craving a bacon cheeseburger and fries after all this gluten-free, dairy-free vegan shit. I'm hitting the drive-thru on my way home.

We're Janie and Tonya Rae and we're showin' off our two-steppin' prowess on the deck out back.

We're Maybelline, Cover Girl, Revlon, L'Oreal, and Estée Lauder. Not one of us was anywhere in sight at the party.

I'm the frau next door (a Ree Drummond lookalike) who has decided to snoop on those two surly assumed 'sisters' by going over with an extra pie. However, I quickly try to get away once I walk in and suddenly realize (from the '90s Southwestern interior design as much all butch female kennel of two dozen women) that they are, in fact, lesbians.

I'm the never-fail rule that the more jolly a lesbian's sober, public personality is, the nastier her drunk, private personality is.

I'm the guacamole that somehow managed to fall on the Marlene Dietrich in tuxedos coffee table book. I lead to a very passive aggressive evening.

R316 wins.

I'm the B.O. coming from the Jill Stein voting 'Syster'.

I'm popping this into the 48-disc CD player.

I'm the accusation of self-loathing when someone suggests the bread pudding served for dessert is soggy.

I'm the dinnertime discussion of their plans for white-flight: "I would love to move to Maine or Vermont or Idaho or Montana. No, race has nothing to do with it. I voted Hillary. I'm a womyn."

I'm the usual boring unoriginal queen who lives for these lesbian-bashing threads. I love these tired stereotypes but scream like a little bitch if someone dares mock lisping, mincing, limp-wristed fairies who own little poodles and flutter around antique stores that specialize in ugly French furniture.

F&F R472.

I'm the bread sauce that no one touches.

I am Rosie O'Donnell serving Hasselback Potatoes and thinking of Elisabeth Hasselback as I run my knife through them.

I'm R472 sternly saying "that's not funny" every time someone tries to make a joke.

I'm the Timberland booted feet that are put up against the side of the table as the dinner draws on and the arguments intensify.

It's interesting that most gay men can and do joke about gayness. There are plenty of "Let's be Fire Island", "Let's Be a Cher concert", "Let's be Lindsay Graham" threads. And NOBODY objects.

I swear the lesbians have no sense of humor stereotype just keeps out-proving itself.

But R472 is just a nasty homophobe. Not making jokes like this thread, just being hateful.

I'm this item, purchased to cater for the many expected guests.

I’m the toothpicks.

[quote]I’m the toothpicks.

What's THAT supposed to mean??

R468 to R480 are the same hateful dyke.

I have sufficient.

I'm the monocle popping out of the right eye of the elder butch in indignation at the thought that womyn have no sense of humour or irony.

I’m the moment of silence in the evening when we express or heartfelt gratitude to our fore mother who paved the way.

OUR heartfelt gratitude to our FOREMOTHERS who paved the way.

I'm the jar of applesauce they can't get open. My tightness will be blamed on teh patriarchy not taking considerations for women's lesser strength hands.

I'm Midge, who is TRIGGERED by the suggestion that women are weaker in any way than men.

I'm wondering how they manage to maintain the cognitive dissonance that women and men are physical equals yet all transwomen are capable of overpowering and crushing them to death or whatever.

I will try to think about it during the silent ride home in my 4x4.

I’m the tiny diamond studs some of the womyn wear, their one concession to femininity.

R467 You don't get to close the thread dear. Your opinion isn't that valuable. Trust me.

I'm the large ring in the septum piercing Viv got last month, her last gasp at being a cute baby dyke, a role she has already outgrown at the age of 29. Kitty the longhaired adopted stray cat has hidden herself away, but months' worth of her hair and dander coats nearly every surface in the house. Viv is having a hell of a time managing her allergies, sneezing, incessant sniffling, and nose blowing with the nose ring.

I'm the annoyed/disgusted looks most of the guests are throwing Viv's way as she struggles with the allergic noseblowing and sneezing, despite the fact that her cat allergy is the only actual, valid, medically diagnosed allergy in a whole house full of "allergies," "intolerances," and "sensitivities."

That depilatory that is seldom used apparently applies to eyebrows as well.

I'm r494 who claims to suffer from a cat allergy and is triggered by the suggestion it's not all in her head.

R472 LOL for the win!

R472 = r497

R497 is R472.

R480 I’m the numerous mobility devices that bump and knock me over.

I am the brand of ready-made stuffing boycotted not because the company is bigoted or mistreats animals, the environment, or workers; but because they had a trans actress in their TV commercial.

"I am late because of black man wouldn't get out of my way!"

I’m the ‘Personal Best’ DVD, always fast-forwarded to the scene where you get to see full bush and boobies.

I'm the Baby Dyke with the gluten allergy who was caught eating the left over bread pudding in the kitchen.

I'm Tank's Ford Bronco.

I’m the rotting hemp cord on Meg’s neck. I hold a lapis bead that her ex Kim gave her at Michfest in 1992. Meg wears me just to fuck with Kim’s four other exes who are all are attending the Thanksgiving party too.

I'm the very fleeting, offhand mention by Ruby that the toddler son of her friend Soph in Saugerties is in the PICU with whooping cough, and may not pull through. She does not mention vaccines. Within 30 seconds, I have provoked a sharp rebuke from Viv that the pertussis vaccine has killed more kids than whooping cough ever did. Within 90 seconds Meg has caught wind of this. Her teenage daughter is autistic, which makes her an expert on vaccines and autism. Within 2 minutes there is rageful shouting. Within 3 minutes Ruby is crying. Within 6 minutes she has grabbed her coat and left.

[QUOTE] Within 6 minutes she has grabbed her LL Bean fleece anorak and left.

Fixed that for you.

We're Deb and Fran, perusing the Land's End catalog until the anti-vax argument dies down, if you'll pardon the pun.

I'm the scuff marks on the new gray, simulated wood grain, kitchen floor. All because Joe-Dee couldn't bother to take off her biker boots.

I'm Cyn's new girlfriend KJ, having a very dramatic reaction to the toxins being released by the soy candles from R47. This reaction oddly happens just at the moment that Cyn and Midge are having a bonding moment over their mutual Susan Sontag fandom. KJ is 21 and has never read Sontag and finds all that political stuff boring.

I'm the back support that was just dragged in by Sojourner. For a moment, everything stops as each guest wonders how a thirteen-year-old, three-legged, blind rescue pit bull managed to get into the back of her Outback.

The owner will never be found and the mystery will never be solved.

I'm the words: "This gravy is heavenly. Sar, you are a goddess."

I'm the water served in a mug not a glass.

I'm:

I'm the statement "We chose our own family," is proves awkward when one considers that this large gathering is entirely white.

I'm the heavy fleece that is worn throughout dinner.

I’m the short no-nonsense haircuts favored by 90% of the womyn.

I'm the slow-draining bathroom sink, clogged by hair from many self-buzz-cuts with the Oster trimmer.

I'm that time of the evening when the girls are settling into abbiocco (before the drunken violence that will come later) and the conversation moves onto their dream women... Kate Jackson and Teri Hatcher being among the most popular.

I'm the heavy sighing by the butch partner of the hosting couple. No one knows what caused me -- was it the overcooked potatoes? -- but everyone knows I will ruin the evening.

Only a lesbian can sigh and be heard in the next room.

I'm Bev's brief obligatory Thanksgiving phone call with her mother in Cincinnati. She walks into the other room but overheard snippets suggest she STILL hasn't come out to her mother. Disapproving, knowing looks are exchanged around the table. She returns to awkward silence, eventually broken by Nan's, "Okay, who needs another Miller?"

R472 your self loathing is shining bright for all to see hon. Tone it down.

I'm the ex-husband and son having dinner in a crummy apartment across town, while our eponymous lesbian and their daughter/sister have dinner back in the comfortably affluent suburban house with Car, Sharon's new girlfriend after "finding herself after forty and deciding to live life for ME".

I am the guests spying the Val McDermid novels on unit in the living room. I am to the BritLez what Patricia Cornwell is to American lesbians.

I am the granola the BritLez has someone managed to work into the dessert.

I'm the casually blurted out ,"Yeah, I've thought of Hillary when I've got my vibrator." I could go either way.

I'm the "Log Cabin" motif in the master bedroom.

I'm the guests ability to hear from the dining table that the butch half of hosting couple did not wash her hands after using the bathroom.

I'm the seltzer water.

I'm the dining room that, though hopelessly unstylish, will never have to worry about moths.

I'm the discussion of the second home by the lake. I will lead to jealousy.

I'm the local independent and syster-run bakery that these desserts were picked up at.

I am this oversized statuette on the sideboard and NO, IT CAN NOT BE MOVED TO MAKE WAY FOR DIP.

I’m the semi finished Basementschwitz where Bev will send her 8 year old son to play when her ex-husband inadvertently returns him home earlier than expected. Four hours later Meg and Kim suggest maybe Bev go check on him.

I'm the board games that Joo-Dee brought. Everybody loves a good game of Scrabble.

I'm the guitar that Bree brought with her. She brings it out and starts to sing some folk songs. Torrey takes out her zither and Amee interrupts and asks if anyone would like another coffee and a piece of pie. Everyone says yes.

I'm "Constant Craving." Everyone knows the words and jumps in when Bree starts to play it. Fortunately, everyone is too drunk to realize how horrible they sound.

I'm the dog next door that starts howling when the cacaphony of "Constant Craving" begins to pierce the otherwise calm night. Later, I will jump the fence and savagely eat a squirrel.

I'm the mullets and armpit hair.

Deb’s denim vest with the floral lining here. I get brought out on special occasions such as this. I go with all the slacks. Deb just noticed the nutloaf stain but knows it’ll come out in the wash. We’ve got baby Linda’s christening next weekend. Then the office Christmas party that will see me decorated with a Santa broach for a bit of fun. I’d like to be teamed with a reindeer tie but Deb will likely just decorate her clipboard and leave it at that.

I’m the screams of righteous anger induced by fermented yeast. No not bread yeast.

I’m the lesbian Thanksgiving clickbait. The butch partner of this hosting couple’s stated boundaries were crossed one time too many. You won’t BELIEVE what happens next!!

I'm the lack of interest in the Black Friday sale at Victoria's Secret.

^ Not sure they carry the relevant sizes R545

I'm Ace, a total tech nerd and gamer. I can't wait to get home, pop a beer, turn on the tube, and watch the games. I'll be rootin' for the Cowboys and the Saints.

[bold]CONTENT WARNING: PHOTOGRAPHIC DEPICTION OF PUFF PASTRY CONTAINING GLUTEN; CONFRONTATIONAL LANGUAGE; BULLYING; HYPOTHETICAL DESERT-ISLAND STRANDING; VIOLENCE AGAINST CARROTS; PHOTOGRAPHIC DEPICTION OF AN EXPLICITLY PH*LLIC GOURD[/bold]

I'm the gourd-headed, pastry-wrapped nut roast that Liv spent hours on, hoping it would add a much-needed touch of whimsy the dour affair. It was going well until Midge, Shawna, and Butch Hosting Partner teamed up to recite their greatest hits:

Midge: But bacon.

BHP: Hey Liv, I'm a member of PETA. People Eating Tasty Animals!

Shawna: If Goddess didn't want us to eat turkeys, why did she make them out of meat?

Midge: Gobble, gobble, gobble, gobb....ARRRRRGGGHHHHHH! Bacon.

BHP: Liv, if you were trapped on a desert island with a cow, a chicken, an elderly nun, and a turkey....

Shawna: Did you know that carrots scream when you pull them out of the ground?

BHP: It's true. I read on Reddit that carrots' central nervous systems are more advanced than pigs'.

Midge: Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon. Bacon.

I am the XXL ‘Don’t Grab My Pussy’ t-shirt, worn since it’s a special occasion and the wearer knows its sentiment is bound to go down well.

Disregard the fact that the wearer hasn’t been able to see her pussy in years.

I am the cop who breaks up thr brawl among the child-bearing aged lesbians, fighting over who gets to take home the turkey baster.

I’m Rache, got stuck at work and just got here. Did I miss anything?

I am a brand-new copy of Michele Obama's new autobiography. I'm left on the side table where all can see me. "Oh, yeah," says Nan disingenuously, as if surprised anyone noticed me, "That was a gift from Krys." Several times during the evening, someone picks me up and remarks on me -- always the same comments, about how beautiful, how intelligent, how inspirational my author is. How we need more people like her in the world. One person turns me over to read the back cover blurb, then opens me and flips to the photos, then puts me down. I will be handled once more a week later, to be put onto the shelf, and never touched again.

I'm the vague plans the systers make for a European vacation next year, including of course a pilgrimage to the island of Lesbos.

I’m the Isle of Lesbos. I’m sick of these lesbian tourists coming to visit me, there’s NOTHING to see here. Forget your schoolgirl visions of Sappho’s sacred cove.

I'm the child that was recently taken by CPS. This incident and everyone's knowledge of it should mar the evening, but it is quickly dismissed by all present by attributing it to 'hatred of gay women'.

I am Kar's mother. I will be visited early in the day and will roll my eyes at and later feel queasy during dinner when I think of the vagina-shaped meatloaf with ketchup Kar said she will have as the centerpiece of her dinner.

I am Lis, the gender-studies professor. I will be bringing a student half my age as date. I am blithely unaware that she is only dating me for the grades. She will soon marry a man. She will this evening be wearing a choker.

I am the purse that was bought at a stall in a market in Dusseldorf. I am worn around the neck at all times and I will get doused in cranberry sauce throughout dinner as Min eats leaning forward.

I'm the food poisoning contracted by several guests as our hostHer does not wash her hands because hygiene is an unnatural patriarchal concept used to control women and force them to buy soap.

I am the crispy fire started outside. I provide an excuse to see just how many bodies one of these oversized blankets can cover.

I'm the vegan burritos Molly and Denise brought to tide them over before the big meal.

I'm Audrey's mobility scooter that she has to park near the storage shed because it's too wide to fit through Eileen and Paula's entryway.

Have mobility scooters replaced canes for lesbians?

R563 No, but in cases where the mobility scooter can't have full access, the canes come out.

I'm the case of Hillary's opus "What Happened?" You'll all be getting a copy this Christmas. These are the special ones. The come from the lot she was selling at her Costco visit.

I'm Ronnie, the single opinionated attorney who nobody really likes, but who gets invited every year because she and Lil have been friends forever, and everybody likes no-nonsense Lil and her homemade earrings.

I’m “All Of Me”, Anne Murray’s biography, sadly co-written by a man, patriarchy be damned. I’ve been sitting on the shelf since 2009, and will soon be joined by Michelle, and later Hillary.

We're the invitations that were declined when it was learned there would be no DART tent in the yard.

Can someone please start a Lesbian Bookshelf thread.

Meh, go to Amazon and search for "Lesbian interest"

I'm the jar of Ipecac syrup in the medicine cabinet.

I'm the soft-butch sous chef. I prepared the mirepoix for the nutloaf.

I'm Joe-Dee getting stuck in a tree while trying to rescue a cat three days after Thanksgiving.

I'm the word 'vegmix' our syster uses to refer to the mirepoix.

I'm the menstrual cup left in the guest bathroom.

I'm the kitchen cabinet. When KJ asks for some herbal tea to settle her sick stomach from the toxins in the soy candles, Nan directs her to me to find the ancient box of Celestial Seasonings Red Zinger. I am Home Depot oak with thin oak-colored vinyl veneer, circa 1983. I am greasy and dirty and leave smudges on any finger that touches me. I contain obvious mouse droppings (and hidden ones). Nobody seems to notice.

I'm the pictures Cynthia brought with her to share after her three months on the kibbutz in Israel.

I'm the just released Blu-Ray of "Personal Best" that we're all going to watch after dinner.

I'm the very bitter and very fragile Corinne, still reeling after my life partner of 2 1/2 years, Julia, went back to her ex-husband. I'll be hitting the Jack and Coke pretty hard starting in the early afternoon and railing about toppling the patriarchy by 6:00.

I’m the contents of the top shelf of the refrigerator door...

A jar of what used to be barley miso but is now just a few millimeters of dried crust stuck to the glass.

Two dozen moldy tea bags in a sealed Ziplock bag, because the butch hosting partner flies into a rage when her better half throws out a tea bag after only one use. It’s easier to just go through the motions and pretend to save them for next time.

BHP’s eleven bottles of hot sauce with names like “White-Hot Flamin’ Pussy Juice” and “Nuclear Clit Meltdown Sauce.”

A plastic “The Big One” mug (Dunkin Donuts, c. 1987) filled with standing half-squeezed tubes of various anti-fungal creams.

[quote]Two dozen moldy tea bags in a sealed Ziplock bag, because the butch hosting partner flies into a rage when her better half throws out a tea bag after only one use. It’s easier to just go through the motions and pretend to save them for next time.

Yes! This thread hasn't featured nearly enough lesbian penny-pinching.

I'm Trish, who will NOT be attending this year's dinner, because I have yet to get a "thank you" from Carla for coming over and hanging her macramé wall tapestry last month.

I'm Mobility Mary, can you please please move your trucks? It's illegal to block the sidewalks with your vehicles.

This thread makes me want to go back on another Olivia vacation. Thanks for the laughs.

I am Simply Sara! unable to believe and very thankful that I managed to land a husband so I didn't have to settle for eating Mitch's pussy.

I’m the group text that Kar sends out during dinner...

ATTENTION!

I’m calling an emergency egalitarian discourse to dialogue solutions to R581’s unwarranted use of violent language and imagery.

Sistyrs, the penny is the most marginalized of coins with some in the patriarchy going as far as proposing genocide to eradicate it. They seek to snuff out its very life! It can’t be stated strongly enough that the penny is the ONLY coin to bear a womyn’s name. Coincidence?

I demand reparative justice! No pies, hair or otherwise, will be served until R581’s problematic behavior has been subject to formal group review and action.

All plates will be removed from the table in precisely ten minutes to facilitate The Blessing of the Talking Stick. Eat accordingly.

I'm the glances around the room when Trace turns on the TV and it's set to Fox News.

I'm hoping the last post in this thread is by a lesbian saying 'that's not funny'.

Kar could never send out a text that short.

I am an ancient Co-Op shift schedule and a slightly less ancient CSA pick-up schedule held on the fridge door by an assortment of magnets -- a giveaway shaped like a van, from the plumber; a raw magnet disk salvaged from a broken clip magnet; and a freebie from a savings bank in Brattleboro, VT.

The Co-Op membership was dropped 8 years ago over a dispute over hummus (because stocking hummus from an Israeli company is supporting genocide) and the CSA membership was dropped 3 years ago over an excess of rutabaga, celeriac, and turnips, none of which anyone has any idea how to cook.

I am Nan, defensively roaring, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT! TURN THAT OFF!" when she catches a glimpse of Fox. She claims she must left it on after the Hillary interview a week ago.

I'm the twin babies Tempest and Rayne

I'm a fun discussion between Bev and Meg about Thelma and Louise. Viv chimes in to single out Susan Sarandon's excellent performance. KJ overhears and sticks her oar in, dripping with contempt: "Too bad she's not as good at picking Presidential candidates as she is at ACTING." Kim unwisely responds, "What's THAT supposed to mean? Jill Stein was the only candidate with a real record of supporting LGBT issues." An all-out brawl ensues, resulting in Bev being knocked to the floor and kicked once, ineffectually, before Kat and Barb manage to pull a very drunk Ronnie off her.

I am the post-dinner process meeting. I am here to cover anything that didn't get covered during the pre-dinner process meeting, as well as to process anything that came up in the interim. I will appear again before the guests leave, only under disguise as a "final check-in".

I'm the drunken confusion near the front door as several departing systers try to sort their canes out from the other, near-identical canes in the dim light. "I know mine had a scratch right near the front of the handle," Cyn slurs.

Before this thread closes, I genuinely want to thank the OP for starting it. This will go down as one of the best of the "Let's be a..." threads in DL history. Sorry, herstory...whatever, you get it. Well done everyone!

Thank you, OP.

You're all invited to my Winter Solstice party.

I assume we will be having a triple Goddess ritual for Maiden, Mother, and Crone? I call Crone!

R598 You were the Crone last year, the year before that and the year before THAT, shouldn't you be dead yet?

I speak for all systers when I say this hurtful, hateful thread is nothing but a pile of sexist, ageist, misogynist, gynophobic, transphobic, looksist, sizeist ableist claptrap from a gaggle of resentful, pathetic f*ggots seething with jealousy over our solidarity, systerhood, and sexiness. Joking about canes and Jill Stein? THAT’S NOT FUNNY!

That wasn't funny.