Let's Be a Lesbian Solstice Party

I'm the patch covering a gnawed hole in the pocket of Bar's Pendleton Pinetop shirt. When the shirt and I are doffed for the skyclad part of the evening the prolifically incontinent Sojourner will take a nap on us.

But what's a little elderdog urine to a vet tech of 35 years?

R1, I sure do love a good gnawed hole.

Please enlighten me: Lesbians have solstice parties instead of celebrating Christmas?

I'm the calendar, Winter Solstice isn't until December 21st. Isn't this party a bit early?

What's THAT supposed to mean?? We need to start the planning NOW!

Don we now our lesbian apparel... Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la...

At least this year we won't have to see that goddam MichFest slide show that Bekka used to do every year. And that damned soundtrack with screeching wimmin.

I am the non existent Christmas tree. Because if ripping a carrot out of the ground is traumatic, I can't imagine the shriekfest CHOPPING DOWN A TREE would create...

Will the hefty gal who brought the bread pudding, please leave your cane in the hallway.

Early? Our Thanksgiving dinner just ended a couple of hours ago. As all we all know, rigidity in scheduling is a weapon of the patriarchy. Wise womyn flow with tides of our internal oceans.

We have altars to build, clutter to clear out, cloaks to mend, autoharp songs to compose, wassail recipes to bicker over, and we need to find the perfect Yule log. It’s never too early to begin our preparations as we ready ourselves to honor She Who Cuts the Thread.

Blessed be.

Here comes Hillary, Here comes Hillary, right down I'mWithHer lane....

I've arrived again. Not that anyone cares. Or truly understands my music. Bitch! Get that pine needle tea sh*t away from me!

I’m Lyle. That’s me on the right. Krys had a sudden fibro flare brought on by the hefty gal’s gluten pudding and can’t perform. My beautiful ex-wife Cath (it still hurts my heart to write “ex”) called and demanded that I drop everything to fill in for Krys. I jumped at the chance, just to see Cath again. Plus, I already knew the choreography.

She told me it was a casual gathering of her new girlfriend’s neighbors and I’d never have to see them again, but I don’t know. Something feels off. I don’t feel welcome here.

Silence!

I blow on this hollow pipe, as the shadows of Sister Moon grace us.

Hollow, like my soul.

Like the darkness that envelopes us.

Hollow like my ladynest after Epiphany took the cats and the Winnebago and hit the road.

Hollow, I say.

HOLLOW!

hollow?

R6 shouldn't that be Fla-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-nel?

Brilliant R16!

I'm the unison nodding in agreement hive mindedness. About as close to merriment as it's gonna get and will last for one hour.

As a womon of size, can I be on garbage detail?

The Unburdening Chest is now open! Please leave your suggestions, complaints, and reports of what is being said about me and by whom. I guarantee your anonymity.

I'll go first...

It has been brought to my attention by some of the womyn that Kel's annual interpretive dance of [italic]The Little Match Girl[/italic] has triggered their PTSD on several fronts including but not limited to:

Child labor

Child abuse

Cold

Fire

Lost shoes

Poverty tourism

Goose-eating

Hallucinations

Ghosts

Death

And most important of all: Kel's use of actual wooden matches during her performance. The lighting of long, hard, stiff matches led directly to the hospitalization of one womyn last year as the wooden matchstick is widely known to symbolize the wounding ph*llus of the patriarchy. Since this is anonymous, I trust you have forgotten all about the ambulance and fire trucks, yes? In any case, the womyn who was dragged out by stretcher is the most vocal proponent of issuing Kel a lifetime ban. I can't say that I blame her.

A consensus is needed before I can act, of course.

And whatever you do, do NOT mention this to Kel!

I'm thankful there are still some old timer lesbians out there. Now every lesbian is turned into a fucking heterosexual trans man. I miss the days of seeing groups of good old fashioned lesbians at various bars or at GAY pride. Now it's "Pride" and full of queer non binary trans shit.

Hi, I'm either nice but mean or mean but nice.

These are real antique lesbians, man. The last time a DL gay man must have interacted with them was 1975.

[quote]Lesbian Solstice Party

lol

Most lesbians have man names like Chris

Hi - I'm the sense of humour failure checking in from the Thanksgiving thread. I'll be here all the time watching over y'all.

That's not funny.

We will not hang stockings! Phallic nails wound, and a stocking symbolizes the ways in which the patriarchy sees our uteri as sacks to hold things, not as precious living beings!

I am telling you NOW so I do not need to tell you THEN.

I'm the hidden pocket inside Kim's ritual cloak.

Sorry. I flatter myself. I'm actually just a leg from an old pair of Kim's boxers, stapled shut across the bottom and hot-glued into the lining of the cloak. I usually hold a small bottle of Everclear but sometimes I serve as a warming pouch for the sick animals Kim brings home from the wildlife rehab where she's performing community service.

I am the truly transcendent moment that will be felt when this is played.

I'm the gluten-free, palm-oil-free, fair-trade, vegan chocolate cake that Liv spent hours on, hoping it would add a much-needed touch of whimsy to the dour affair. It was going well until Midge, Shawna, and Butch Thanksgiving Hosting Partner came to look at it:

Midge: I like bacon.

BTHP: Are those silk flowers? Silk isn't vegan.

Shawna: Yeah, isn't that kind of hypocritical, Liv? Ohhh, they're polyester? That's even worse.

Midge: Bacon.

BTHP: I saw on Reddit that the off-gassing from one yard of polyester contains more radiation than 8 chest x-rays.

Shawna: Hold up. Liv, did I just hear you call those red things LADYbugs? Tell me you didn't just toss out the most wounding slur of the patriarchy. Tell me right now that I didn't hear what I just heard, because I'm about to lose my shit.

I am dressed for the cold, not because I feel in any way ashamed of my body.

r13 what the hell is that? I thought it was 3 women til I saw the goatee. Why is he fat for a man but still slimmer than the gals???? I ponder...

I'm the world famous Hollywood actress in a black Armani suit and 5 inch heels who suddenly storms in, leaving all the systers in awe-stricken silence. I fling my arms around Cath's turkey neck and sigh: "Baby, it's there in the air between us, that electricity. It's palpable. I can almost taste it, pulsing between us, drawing us together." I pull my head back as Cath kisses me, her tongue urgent, relentless, needy. "Look at me," Cath breathes, and I stare up into her smouldering grey gaze. It is her Dom gaze - cold, hard and sexy as hell, seven shades of sin in one enticing look as my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba...

Oh, I'm a daydream btw

Menu includes Tuna Tacos and Cream pies.

Now take it away, r14! And bring me another lover.

See the photo at R13. I'm the lint in Cath's belly button. I won't be washed out for weeks.

Have yourself a merry Winter Solstice, Make the yule-tide lesbian, From now on our sex lives Will feel very pedestrian.

I'm the cauldron on the sideboard "altar." I'm filled with symbolic green, black and white candles, and surrounded by holly, ivy, and mistletoe. I was brought by Kat, who's been practicing a vague form of Wicca for many years. Beth notices me and sharply points out my connection to Odinism and Germanic history, and asks Kat if she really, truly thinks it's appropriate to bring phallocentric, Nazi imagery into a Solstice celebration. Shawna, who allegedly has a black great-grandmother, can't resist chiming in that all these rituals are northern European in origin, gee, how interesting that Kat feels only northern European religions are worthwhile -- isn't that typical? Things get heated from there, and all my greenery ends up on the floor, stepped on, and my candles broken.

These bitches will be sorry they pissed off Odin.

I'm one of the unsupervised 9-year-olds watching The Babadook in the guest bedroom.

Im the slightly faded scent of patchouli wafting from the coat pile.

I'm the non binary, queer, elderly service honey badger that helps relieve the stress of the fibro that my owner gets when around gluten.

I'm the hidden soy product that will cause five wimxn to suffer diarrhea. Everybody will blame it on Bett's commercial hummus.

I'm the sprig of mistletoe that Sara the butch has placed in her belt buckle.

I'm the cunt never eaten, after 40...I am rarely used

LOL, r40

I'm Peg's large, colorful Yoni pendant, left over from her unsuccessful Etsy business. I have glitter and a quartz crystal representing the clit. I'm worn conspicuously outside her acid-wash denim work shirt, awaiting comments and compliments that never come. Peg dips heavily into the Wassail wine.

I'm Bev's wildly weather-inappropriate white wifebeater under a jean jacket with sleeves torn off, the better to show off her hairy pits.

As a wommon of size and Irish heritage I for one celebrate Bev’s hairy pits. I haven’t shaved or plucked my red hair since 1972 as I wish to dedicate all womyn’s body hair to the moon goddess.

I will also be hosting a breast casting session at midnight, but I must state a clear boundary and reiterate that this is only for womyn of Irish heritage. There will be a simultaneous art therapy session for those who feel excluded from the breast casting overseen by Mobility Meg.

However my use of ‘overseen’ is not meant to imply Meg is above all other systers, and as Meg cannot lift herself from her mobility scooter I would ask all art therapy participants to remain seated throughout in sympathy with Meg. Yoga positions are allowed once Meg has agreed her boundaries with you in advance. Naked yoga during art therapy requires special written consent from all other participants following the 4 hour talking stick discussion that will begin at noon SHARP. Systers will not throw the talking stick but will gently pass the stick to their left or right, depending on the boundaries agreed with all other participants.

Alternatively Bev will be hosting her ever popular k d lang karaoke.

I'm eyebrows. There are 40 attendees at this solstice and 73 distinct eyebrows.

I'm the background music.

I'm going to bring my vagina cape to keep warm

I'm the black stretch pants worn by Meg. She thinks black is slimming. I'm size 3xxx and I am stretched to my limit.

I’m the 22 caliber that will be used to deal with these annoying bytches once and for all

I'm Trigglypuff, who is now a major feature on the lesbian circuit. After dinner and a few cups of (vegan) eggnog, everyone starts chanting "do it! do it!" and I let loose my cathartic frenzy.

I am the circle of naked lesbians, as we open our collective legs and let the waft of yoni juice soar to Gaia.

No r52, I'm the background music.

Sistyrs! Sistyrs! You're [italic]both[/italic] the background music.

As Wyse Womyn we must never forget that divide-and-conquer is a tool of the phallocracy. Let no p*nised entity tear asunder what She Who Forges the Great Labrys of Justice has ordained.

I too am the background music.

I am a red finger painting, but not painted with paint.

I’m the queef trapped in Peggy’s boxers.

I am the word "Christmas," the mere mention of which will cause a tirade of epic proportions. Patriarchy, oppression, genocide, colonialism, you name it, it will be part of the lecture about Christmas.

R62 - does that mean my reimagining of the nativity story starring the three wise systers, the shepherdesses and arc-angel Gabriella is cancelled?

I've spent the summer months making merkins, from ethically-sourced yak hair. Now I'm worried I might trigger someone if I bring them along. Could you advise please? My desire was not to hide my sacred area but to enhance it.

That's sad R21.

It's one of the reasons I don't want to leave my closet.

I'm the bag of sausage egg and cheese sandwiches in the back of Midge's Chevy Blazer. A gal can only eat so much of this Vegan shit before she needs some REAL food.

I'm the brouhaha that erupts when a dirty nonstick pan is discovered in the sink. Nan, alarmed, announces that Teflon causes cancer, only to be informed by Bet that it's better than the other dirty pan, which is made of aluminum, which causes Alzheimer's. Suz overhears and chimes in with, "Cast iron is the ONLY thing I'll let in my kitchen," but is quickly corrected by Sal, who barks over her, "Sure, if you don't mind the chronic iron overdose that causes heart failure!" Midge, putting the sausage, egg, and cheese sandwiches out of her mind for the moment, announces haughtily, "Cooking ANYTHING in ANY cookware kills the essential enzymes Mother Nature put into the food! No wonder we are all Sanpaku!"

Barb gets the last, contemptuous word in, just before the contretemps gets ugly. "Stick to your pots and pans, 'girls.' That's exactly what the patriarchy wants us to do!"

Sistryn, we have a problem.

If you haven't already heard, Kim and Dar were violently attacked by a p*enised elder last night. Dar's fine and has returned home. Kim, however, suffered severe injuries to her neck and back when her would-be génocidaire lowered his wheelchair lift onto her as she was valiantly fighting to claim her rightful handicapped parking space.

It should come as no surprise that Kim was denied medical treatment and that her terrible injuries are going untreated in jail, with the agents of the phallocracy even going as far as to deny her repeated anguished cries for painkillers! Meanwhile, the deceitful p*enised elder was medflighted straight to the nearest Level I trauma center where he now luxuriates, waited on hand and foot, in the ICU.

The trumped-up charges are serious, sistyrs, and include imaginary parole violations, possession of drugs lawfully prescribed by a physician, elder abuse of a monstrous génocidaire, poppyseed-muffin DUI, self-defense with a deadly weapon, and more.....so, so, so much more.

As you know, only our Kim has been blessed with the Goddess-bestowed gift of honey-free meadcrafting and without her we will go without this Solstice. Just imagine. We must free our sistyr!

[quote]The trumped-up charges

Triggered.

We're Chris and Dot's 9 year-old twin daughters, Eurydice and Layla. We're gathering sticks for kindling to use in the fire pit for the drum circle.

I'm nutbag r68 leaving after being reminded of the restraining order put out against her by Suz and Barb and the overall hecking by several others to gtfo.

I am the untameable Jewfro of the Bari, the gender studies professor. I am not been washed since last year's Solstice Party.

I'm Beamish, providing childcare in the basement.

I'm Nancy. I'm filming our wonderful party and I will upload onto my YouTube channel. It goes viral and we are mercilessly mocked, especially on DL. I am outraged. I try to get an invite to the Ellen show but nobody will return my calls. BITCH!

I'm the heated discussion about the Wimbledon Final 1991 (Gabriela Sabatini vs Steffi Graf for all non-lesbians)

I'm Peg. You don't know me yet but I'm a corrections officer and Kim's brand-new fiancée. It was a whirlwind romance (two blissful days!) and absolutely in violation of the terms of my employment but when it's right, you just know.

Kim and I thought your party would be the perfect place for me to break the news to Dar and also collect her house keys and Kim's truck.

I'm Dar, and while Kim and Peg are getting ready to make their big announcement, I've just heard from a drunk, shit-stirring Meg what's about to go down. That truck is MINE -- I drove it here and I intend to drive it home. I only put it in Kim's name because some typical corporate-patriarchy financial entanglements led my lawyer to advise me to hide or divest my assets. She'll get my truck over my dead body.

Right now, Kim's probably looking round the room to see if Peg and I are there and the special moment's just right.

I'm already outside going all "Before He Cheats" on Kim's 1997 Subaru.

I brought the tarot cards!

(Oh my Goddddddd! These are the second coming of the michfest threads!! Yippee!)

Back to scene:

I am Kim’s extremely high powered human rights attorney. Normally I wouldn’t get out of bed for less than an ungodly sum of money but I have a coke charge and I stilll owe community service hours. Plus Kim is an ex from way back when she was still hot, so whatever.

We’re the lightly-used cheese balls misplaced after the last Michfest. Eat us at your peril.

My name is Helen and I am a white witch as you can plainly tell. You simply must sample one of my breaking barriers brownies before they're gone.

Sistryn,

It has come to my attention that [italic]someone[/italic] has brought pornographic tarot cards into my Solstice-sanctified home. As direct confrontation causes my fibro to flare and my poor Ehlers-Danlos joints to projectile subluxate, I had no choice but to call in a conflict resolution facilitator, a DolphinBreath™ counselor, a lived-experience dialogue doula, and a womyncrafted-sage smudger. Kay will let you know what your share is (cash, Venmo, or Square; no bartering!) as soon as she totals their regular house-call rates plus additional after-hours and travel fees.

WE ARE NOW ON LOCKDOWN. No one enters; no one leaves. This is non-negotiable.

I am the approximately 2752 food allergies, intolerances and sensitivities that are present among the 23 guests.

Evening shoes.

We're the fair-trade, vegan, ethically sourced, organic Furious Vulvas available at the cash bar.

"Eat me" jokes are marginalizing and will not be tolerated.

I'm the muesli bars

What do you call two lesbians in an armoir?

"Licker" cabinet.

On behalf of the entertainment committee, after many spilled tears and the break-up of one couple, we've come to a mostly unanimous decision that there was NOTHING FUNNY about the highly problematic comedian recommended by Dar. We felt particularly marginalized by the following parts of her "act."

1. Her triggering and demeaning flirtation with a penised version of Siri

2. Her assertion that lesbians like to talk about their ex-partners and what their lives and relationships had been like

3. Her assertion that lesbians like to talk about future; moving in together, getting cats, and which Billy bookcases to buy

4. Her assertion that lesbians talk about which celebrities are lesbians

5. Encouraging lesbians, who are likely to be in recovery, to keep lesbian bars in business

6. Her assertion that lesbian couples start to look alike after a few years

I can't finish. This is too much for me.

Where does she stand on the issue of vagina capes? Do you HAVE to twirl in them or not?

I am the gray, wiry strands of hair that have never seen a colorist.

I’m nothing but trouble. Womyn, keep an eye on your soulmates.

I'm Nancy and I will spend the solstice out in the garage stoking the generator. We're not having a repeat of last year. Do you know what it's like when twenty three C-Paps and a Sybian all switch off at once?

I'm Kristi, one of Dar's co-workers, and I'm a living, breathing dilemma: a woke straight ally who wants to sign you all up for Mary Kay.

I'm lamely bumping this thread without a single contribution.

I'm half baked political opinions.

I‘m not getting laid because I accidentally let it slip that I sometimes eat meat.

I'm the organic beeswax candle on the ceramic candlestick crafted by a woman's clay collective. I have sat on the sideboard happily for 4 dusty years. After a cup too many of spiked vegan coconut-milk nog, Suz got the bright idea to light me. When the womon of the house notices my head sputtering, melting onto my ample bosoms, there will be hell to pay.

R82 "Projectile subluxate!"

i’m so excited to see you all. Since I’m driving across the country with both dogs and the lemur, I’m leaving now. Please let’s not have a repeat of last year’s last minute cancellation. It was so unfair. I’m not sure how many more miles the old Subaru has in her.

Head before daybreak to dance around me.

Really, R99? Must we go through this every year? I told you THEN and THEN and THEN, so I wouldn't have to be telling you NOW.

As you know, Chris and Dot's twins have life-threatening lemur allergies. Why do you want them to die? Is it because even the shadiest illegal adoption agencies have turned you down? Is it because legitimate sp*rm banks want nothing to do with you and, as rumor has it, even the vile penised creatures on that gynocidal Datalounge site you visit (don't deny it) in the name of "research" turned down your requests to buy sp*rm, even when you offered free Reiki for life? Face it, R99, you couldn't even find a baby-seller on the dark web who'd have you.

The truth is harsh but sending the twins into deadly lemur anaphylaxis isn't going to fill the empty pit that is your soul.

Turn around and go home. Your invitation is revoked.

Hi OP, this is R99’s friend Bar. We met a couple of years ago. You may remember me as barred Bar since you made it clear I was not welcome in your home ever again.

R99 has no internet on the road and will not see your post before she stops for the night, if then. However, I do know that she took the Lemur to an expert who certified that it is the hypoallergenic variety of lemur, so no worries there. Besides, I doubt she intends to bring the lemur into the house since it has so many anxiety issues outside of familiar spaces which aggravate her trichotillomania

As for the rest of your post, I’d rather not step into the middle. You can apologize to R99 in person. When she and her fur babies arrive for the long-anticipated fest.

Is it a syster lemur or a penised one? Even a lemur is a rapist in waiting.

R103, how about a penised sloth? Is it a rapist In waiting and waiting and waiting.

I regret that I have but one W&W to give R104.

Yes, Barred Bar at R102, I remember your Bush very well. The memory of it will scar my beautiful mind forever.

If you're a friend, you'll want to let R99 know that Tish and Tub will be patrolling the yard once again this year and they'll be wearing elbow-length rubber gloves. R99 will know what that means.

Hi—R99 here. We drove straight through to Scranton without stopping! Fur babies and I are all doing well. So excited! I can smell the nut loaf. Is it OK if we’re a bit early? I can help set up. . .

I'm the sage smudge stick used to purge the house of evil spirits and masculine energy.

Hi Kristi I am an actual lesbian and I used to wear Mary Kay, back when I was a young’un so I’ll buy some from you for old times sake.

Wait are actual dykes allowed to post? Either way keep it up boys. You are cracking me up.

I'm the vegan who sounds the alarm about the melting candle at R109 with a booming voice that cuts through the crowd noise: "Wait -- is that BEESwax?"

That's R97! Sorry, R109. I'm sure you're not melting.

[quote]Here comes Hillary, Here comes Hillary, right down I'mWithHer lane....

Please not THAT warmonger! Here comes Jilly Stein you mean.

I am the sense of irony sitting ignored in the corner of the room, unwanted, unused and unrecognized.

My yoni stinks.

Is it true that r99’s lemur is NOT a rescue lemur?

[quote] My yoni stinks.

I’m the Yanni records. Yes - records.

I'm Kat, overhearing the word "Yanni" and asking the gals gathered around the drinks counter whether they think it was "Yanny" or "Laurel." Three of the five are elderlezzes and have no idea what she's talking about. Suz says confidently that it's Laurel. Babs asserts testily that it's Yanny. Kat says she hears "Laurel." It's ON.

I'm the dyke fight occurrring right now on the hood of Pat's 18 year old Subaru Outback.

I’m Julie Mars, obsessed with Barbara Stanwyck, silently judging a young womyn with a T-shirt with my beloved Barbara on the front. All is fine, but the photo is from her pre-Big Valley period! Holy faux pas, Batgyrl!

Hi. It’s r99 again. I’m parked on the street, right next to your driveway waiting to hear from you. Could really use a bathroom break. Looking forward to your answer to my question at r107.

Still here.

You're really pushing it, R120. Why would you need a bathroom break? Weren't you recently outed as one of the mysterious serial poopers who go viral after being caught on security camera? You were the one who specialized in playgrounds. I remember pixellated photos of your leavings all over the Daily Mail, day after day, until the next mysterious serial pooper came along and made you obsolete. Don't wait for me to let you in, just go find a seesaw or slide.

I do give you credit for managing to jump on a current bandwagon this time. We haven't forgotten Solstice '16 when you were trying to push your latest invention — that macrame and twig thing that was meant to hang a phone book from a wall phone. My boundaries have been stated, R120. Take your lemur-mill lemur and go home.

R109, I warmly invite you to replace R120 as quarter caller of the North as we bid the Crone farewell and usher in the Maiden. All I ask is that you refer to Forvo for the proper pronunciation of harbinger as it appears a couple of times in the text. That, along with the silent “u” in guardian, was something that ALWAYS eluded R120.

Please accept this bowl of womyncrafted soap balls wrapped in the sacred felted wool of Djuna, my rescue yak, as a token of my appreciation.

Thank you syster womon OP R122 for your gracious invitation and thoughtful gift.

Sadly I will have to decline the gift. My skin is so sensitive (tender to the touch even) and it is triggered by any wool like substance.(Also balls) I regret that I had not told you then so I wouldn’t have to tell you now.

I believe my recent stay in an igloo will well equip me me well in the role of quarter caller of the north. Also my wrrinkes and silver hair. Fear not for my pronunciation ; I intend to play my part with an old English accent circa the Canterbury Tales. All echts will be enunciated. It’s pretentious and unnecessary, but it sounds impressive.

Anyone who accepts a “warm” invitation from OP should have her head examined.

Does anyone have any Lemur Chow I could borrow?

Do lesbians mellow in their senior years?

R126, NEVER!!!

Sistyr R123, some troubling information has come my way this Solstice Eve.

In my embarrassment over your rejecting my soul-borne offering of wool, soap, and balls, I found myself pouring my sorrows onto the rippling musculature of Tiff’s shoulder; the one attached to her slowpitch throwing arm, that is.

When I told her that you had declined my gift of lovingly crafted balls she said, “Her? Turn down balls? That's a first.” before breaking into that raspy laugh we all love so much until it turns into the repellent crackling, phlegmy, gasping cough.

When I asked Tiff what she meant she simply pointed to her sacred yoniplace and grunted.

Perhaps you can explain?

Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

I'm the copy of The Female Eunuch that was quietly wrapped in a supermarket plastic bag and placed in the trash as soon as the womon of the house got back from the Thanksgiving debacle at Nan's.

I'm the bell hooks book that was moved onto a higher shelf to replace the Germaine Greer book. My owner said a little prayer to Gaia that no outrageous interviews, articles, or tweetstorms would tarnish bell's reputation between Thanksgiving and the Solstice party

This Solstice is upon us! And already several womyn have reported problematic behavior.

1. Do NOT refer to books as your "paper babies." This language is hurtful on more levels than I care to get into while I'm in such a jovial and carefree mood. Whooohoooo! This is no way meant to microaggress R130 and R131. They know what they've done.

2. If you're not a raw keto-vegan locavore, do NOT eat the food set aside for raw keto-vegan locavores.

3. If everyone at the party is not in on your conversation, do NOT laugh. We've already had one sistyr leave in a state of profound anxiety after looking out at the driveway and spotting two womyn smiling and laughing. That's one less guest buying drinks at my cash bar. Laughter is misconstrued as mocking when everyone is not part of the conversation. Know it. Believe it. Do better.

Party on, sistryn!

I'm the eye-watering raw keto-vegan locavore farts.

My source: Kit, who earlier in the evening was holding forth to a small crowd, explaining how her raw keto-vegan locavore diet both halts yeast overgrowth AND eliminates intestinal gas. The words "wheat belly" were used as Kit looked pointedly at (non-barred) Bar.

Is Kim out of the lockup for her latest DUI yet? I don't know how Dar can put up with all that.

In 1592 Scotland, not exactly the jolly tearoom in a time of turmoil, someone used that word potluck to refer to a meal served to a guest the host did not specifically prepare for. In other words, I didn't expect you, so it's luck of the draw what I've got in the pot. And given economic conditions in Scotland at that time, you would be lucky if you got a bit of boiled oatmeal.

Fast forward centuries later, and the word now refers to an event where everyone brings a different (one hopes!) dish. Thus, supposedly, one can enjoy a choice, but at the same time, unless the host or hostess decides to notify in advance who is bringing what (often the etiquette these days), it's the luck of the draw what is in all those pots ( really, tupperware, chafing dishes, foil trays et al.) Or, in the case of some office potlucks, what's in the 2-liter bottle of soda and bag of chips someone (usually a male) picked up at the downstairs convenience store at the last minute.

I was reading on an admittedly snarky LGBTQ board about an event called the lesbian potluck, and apparently such an event was and is so popular it has become a stereotype. Apparently gay men, in contrast to lesbians, tend to eat out or cook at home specific menus, or if their culinary skills are less than stellar, hire a caterer. Perhaps this set up allows more time for extra-food events such as sex upstairs (or in the slings in the basement) between most of the guests. Or more time to finesse with the crudites and the specific décor.

Lesbians, however, for a variety of social and cultural reasons, prefer to view these meals as community bonding rituals (I've heard winter or summer solstice ones are popular). They will eat in, but the food comes from other lesbians, lovers, and sometimes, to add drama to those events, an ex-lover or two. I must admit I've never been to one, but I've heard stories, alas. Let's just say perhaps reverting to Prohibition might be a good idea at some of these events.

Yet potlucks were often, in the days of the closet, a way for both gay men and lesbians to meet each other in a private setting free from the threat of the police. I remember visiting Kentucky as late as the early nineties, and the main events for LGBTQ persons were potlucks. They took those Southern Bible Belt church potlucks, it seems and made them their own way of forming community. (I do hope perhaps that they offered more than baked beans and casseroles with a cream of mushroom base!)

And in the case of lesbians, the potluck often became a way for lesbians and/or early feminists to say, we are cooking for each other, not for men aka husbands and children, and not just in a kitchen in a house owned or supported by a man. And at the same time, these early lesbian potlucks were able to embrace environmentally friendly and nutritious diets, especially, macrobiotic, vegetarian, gluten-free, and vegan options. Oy veh. Lentil salad, anyone? More lentil salad, anyone?

To be honest, my potluck experiences have been less enjoyable than most. I remember the dictatorial hostess of one I attended criticizing my pumpkin tart (she claimed it was undercooked). Another friend went to the same event and brought a plain lettuce and cherry tomato salad, which the hostess insulted as well (that friend admitted she did not have time to do much and frankly did not want to). Still, the hostess committed a major etiquette faux-pas. (She, a straight woman, much later married a gay man. No comment.)

And then, at the Bijou office a few holiday seasons ago, there was the year of the cookie exchange that accompanied a potluck. I made a vegetable lasagna that year as well that but I should have used regular cheese (the fat free cheese does not melt), and I cut down on the spices. It was bland, but one person just sprinkled a bunch of oregano and garlic powder on it. (At least he did not insult it!)

But I digress. That infernal cookie exchange. So many rules. Let's just say participants had to bake not just say, one batch of cookes as for a potluck, but several batches because one would utlimately exchange your batch with the respective batches of the others. Thus, you would come home with several different types of cookies. But only after you baked Lord knows how many batches of your cookie. In a panic, I called my mother and a friend. They said do drop cookies. I tried a drop cookie cake mix recipe. I burnt two batches. Never again.

Maybe pot lucks are like life in general. Maybe one should be lucky one can fill a pot, or even own a set of pots, and not just one to piss in (and no, the watersports party is not an event with food).

So, here's to a holiday season and a coming year full of pots, luck, food, sex, and love. Not necessarily in that order.

Anyone got any problems with the above, meet me outside. I've got lots of big strong friends who might change your opinion.

I'm Babe. You damn well best believe I'll meet you outside. Let's GO.

"Let's go." -- Faye Dunaway as Mommie Dearest "I will ALWAYS beat you."

I'm Madge. Sorry I'm late. Bets and I got hung up in traffic. Hey, Babe, what's going on here? This little man giving you some trouble?

She's here, R134. If you don't find her in one of the bathrooms, check the horseshoe pit.

Abominable crocs

[bold]ATTENTION[/bold] mothers of boys!

If you haven't done so already, PLEASE write your pre-rapist's name and SS# on his arm using the Sharpie provided.

While I don't anticipate any problems, my garage is full of woodworking tools as well as solvents and other chemicals which could pose a problem should the kerosene heater tip over. Sojourner is doing her best to provide a safe environment for your sons but there's only so much that a thirteen-year-old, three-legged, blind rescue pit bull can do.

Thank you for your compliance.

Systers, I just received a text alert that a formal complaint has been filed at the Gertrude Stein LGBTQAI Center that our celebration is trans-exclusionary. Just who sent the mean email to Caitlyn Jenner?

Hey. It’s Bar. Barred Bar. Has anyone heard from r99? Last anyone heard she was searching for an exotic animal vet in eastern Ohio.

Party is over. Everyone, OUT. You will be billed, shortly, for any damages to property and/or feelings that you caused.

Am Noreen wearing a belt that has handcuff buckles.

I’m bringing, and smelling all evening entirely like, ground cloves.

Solstice came and went, but the party continues...

I'm the soul-crushing panic attack that gripes a sisterwomyn when the hostess, in a momentary lapse of vigilance, offers her a Drunk Uncle mocktail.

grips*

I'm 911.

The neighbors called me because of the stinky pussy stench that could be detected a mile away.

Has anyone checked on the kombucha? Is it ready yet?

Hi Rose here. I couldn't get here sooner because my psychotic daughter was fighting a squirrel to death and it took a few days.

What did I miss?

Rose! We’ve transitioned to a mid-winter crone festival! Mostly because we still have nutl0af and my partner Betty does all her shopping at the post xmas sales. Gather a stool and join us.

Sorry I’m a day late I was waiting for the wheatgrass to sprout. I brought my juicer. It helps with dry skin and hot flashes.

Let’s not!

I'm one of the many delightfully made up stories that will be exchanged over dinner. Always an outright lie like: 'I was almost assaulted for walking down the street whilst letting my hair go grey.'

I don't appreciate that you didn't offer a sliding-scale option for the collection for the hostess gift! I earn pennies on the dollar compared to some of you privileged cunts! (Well, not earn. I'm on disability for my fibromyalgia.)

Those most lezs do have imagined disabilites isn't fibro primarily frauen not dyken?

OP, that should be 'Solstyce'.

R160, plus I have a slow metabolism. And low blood sugar. So excuse me for cutting to the front of the line for the tofu BBQ buffet. But if I don't get food right away I COULD FUCKING DIE!

R162, you're okay, then, with eating soy that is almost certainly GMO? You're a Monsanto fangirl, is that it? So you're okay that every bite of the Tofu BBQ buffet goes to support a company that's completely interwoven into the Drumpf administration? You're okay with that?

R163, I didn't say I ATE THE TOFU! Jeez Louise. I had some of the brownie bites. Zhaiyn brought them. She's starting a cruelty-free catering business and she only uses agave nectar, so no, SHE'S NOT RAPING THE ENVIRONMENT!

Zhaiyn is my ex. And she got really drunk at the Solstice party and hit Shell (who is also my ex.) The police came, and Shell got a restraining order against Zhaiyn. But Shell dropped the restraining order and moved in with Zhaiyn. So now I look like an asshole because I got Zhaiyn kicked off our softball team. And Shell is hosting the Vernal Equinox brunch, so I'm shit out of luck if I think I'll get invited to that.

Because I have a deeply held moral conviction about disrespecting Mother Earth and the Heavens Above Her with frivolity, I cannot support this going forward. Therefore, I block the party.

I'm sorry, but I feel strongly about this. As we are Lesbian Womyn, we decide by using Consensus. And my concerns are as valid as yours.

No party.

[quote]Rose! We’ve transitioned to a mid-winter crone festival!

[quote]TRANSITIONED???[/quote]

Isn't that damn party over, yet?

Look, this is Shell. And I just want to say for the record that Zhaiyn didn't hit me. I ran into her fist. I'm clumsy that way.

And the Vernal Equinox brunch will be amazing. Zhaiyn is making a vegan sausage out of pine nuts and dandelion root. And Vyx will be doing celtic face painting. We can't do a bonfire because of Elaine's PTSD. But we will be honoring Gaia with a pagan dance that Conys is choreographing to an instrumental deconstruction of 99 Red Balloons.

SYSTREN! Despite the unilateral announcement of our syster at R166, I must express my disenfranchisement. We have already displeased Mother Earth and the Heavens Above Her by failing to observe our Imbolc rituals. Systren, I call a skyclad convocation for Ostara! To be followed by observances at the altar, and a pot luck. I will bring the nut-free nut loaf, in honor of Al, our syster with the tree nut sensitivities.

I blocked!

Hi, this is Elainn (yes, it's 2 n's and no "e" at the end. Shell can't spell for shit.)

While it's true I suffer from PTSD, I told Shell she could do the bonfire at the Equinox brunch while I stay inside and sage Shell and Zhaiyn's bedroom. I sell this amazing sage blend in my Etsy store, and I think it would really clear some of the negative energy in their home. So when I told her, Shell went ballistic. She wanted to know how a bonfire could trigger my PTSD, but that I could be okay with a smoking bundle of sage. It's like she was picking a fight. And I'm beginning to see how she really pushes Zhaiyn to her limit. I mean, I felt sorry that she had a black eye. But now I can see how she really pushes Zhaiyn's buttons.

What's with lezbians and alternative spellings of names?

R173 What's with your alternative spelling of 'lesbian'?

I'm Katherinn's soy candles.

I'm the self-proclaimed guru who refuses to partake in the patriarchal ritual of hand shakes, but who will hug you as a greeting, if you're comfortable with that. I revel in awkward first impressions and keep extensive journal notes about power games I've played to successfully thrown people off balance.

[quote]but who will hug you as a greeting

I'm BOUNDARIES!!! that you have not submitted a written request to do that at least two weeks prior. This reeks of fucking misognistic gay men and trannies (that's I say we call 'em) who are trying to take over womyn's bodyes.

I'm Olde Englyshe

I'm the curt response when asked if the bread pudding is gluten free.

I'm this shirt, worn since it's a special occasion.

I'm the lesbian cleaning supplies cupboard for after the party. Windex wipes, Clorox wipes, and Swiffer wet pads.

seasonal bump

Quelle suprise that the anti-woman/Lesbian troll would bump this elderly thread (the original was better anyway).

I’m that time of year... when the house finally tidied, if not very well.

I'm the plaid, finally worn when appropriate.

Why did you bump this thread instead of the more seasonally appropriate "Let's Be a Lesbian Thanksgiving?"

Because that thread -- one of DL's all time greats -- is full. This is the continuation.

I'm the Mrs Claus statuette.

r187 I know, but the Solstice is more analogous to Christmas.

Someone started a frau Christmas thread which I think put the idea into my head. We can save it till December. There's still plenty of other lesbian jokes to make.

I'm the bread pudding that was burnt. The 'thrifty' butch half of the hosting couple refused to run out and buy another dessert at the last minute and claimed there was nothing wrong with me.

I'm the two weeks until the big day which will allow for FOUR pre-process check-in meetings.

I'm the need to dress up felt by nobody.

Have you people ever met any actual lesbians? The stereotypes are just idiotic. And mean.

I'm vagina shaped baubles on the Solstice Tree.

I'm these star things.

I'm the argument the tree at R195 caused.

"You chopped down a tree just to decorate it with plastic shit! What is Mother Earth to you!"

I'm the ratatouille that looks like it has already been eaten. Last year. At this same damned solstice potluck thing.

I’m the winter solstice. I put the ‘dark’ in ‘dark lesbians’.

I'm the price limit for presents that no one has anyone trouble sticking to.

I'm the problematic mythology surrounding Santa -- a man evades boundaries to climb into someone's house when they sleep and they should be thankful.

I'm the heavy coat that is always worn in when dinner is eaten, usually as fast as possible, but even now at this once a year gathering.

I’m Kim, already on my second mulled cider despite the fact I’m driving.

Have Yourself A Humorless Little Solstice

I’m the seating arrangement, the calculation of which is based on astrology and unresolved past grievances.

I'm the logic puzzle that could be build around the seating boundaries:

Bar can not sit beside Suze because her butch styling triggers.

Deir can not sit beside Kate because Kate's transphobia wounds.

Ang can not sit beside Sara because her vagina cape requires its own seat.

Where does Nan sit?

I'm the butch one who eats meat.

I get many nasty glances for being unimpressed with tofurkey.

I'm the all-vegetable stuffing that Jeannine baked and transported warm and foil-wrapped inside of her vagina to the big invernal blowout, to all the hungry attendees' amazement and festive cheers!

I'm the book of Roxane Gay essays -- a much sought-after present, believe it or not.

This thread is a hoot; I can almost picture the dour, flannel clad participants in my mind

Aaron (=Erin), Max, Lee, Jean and Jo all came in Aaron’s ancient Subaru Outback, that looks like a vacuum cleaner. They’ll be fighting all the way back over who drank all the mead and what ingredients were in Pat’s Solstice Stuffing. “I’ll give YOU a stuffing!” sez Max.

I’m “Scout”!

There’s always a Scout at these things. My partner is Kik.

I’m Scout’s sleeveless denim jacket. I am worn 360 days of the year and washed only annually.

I’m the perpetual new lesbian brought in as the new girl toy of one of the butch ones. I wear makeup and am shy. I’ll claim that every lesbian or gay-centric joke or statement is new and funny and say “that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that.” Followed by an oft repeated “I’m just still so new to all this!”.... I’ll be doe-eyed and pretend to be shocked when Sandra makes a pass at me in the kitchen while the others are talking in the dining room. I will lean in and kiss her back and gently finger her hole. Then I’ll pull away in faux shock at myself while exclaiming “Wow I... I’m so sorry! I’ve never done that before!”

In actuality, I’m a sexual grifter who’s been making the rounds since moving to this town two years ago. I’ve burned through half the town’s lesbians already and have the local U-Haul franchise on retainer. You may remember me from the lesbian July 4th potluck bbq. I play this shtick because it scores me LOTS of attention, and pussy. I also score a free place to live before breaking up and moving on to the next one. I’m awful.

I have my eyes set on Terri next. I heard she’s got a pool and has a major thing for helping new, inexperienced lezzies transition from the dick to the vagine.

I’m the adopted child with a black eye ghat’s been brought along. Whether I receive any gifts this year will depend on how well I stick to The Story.

At the precise time of the equinox, I received a message from the Ashtar Galactic Command, that I should dump Bev for Pat.

I'm the freezing temperature outside. I don't stop a brawl outside at one in the morning as the party is winding down.