Let's be a lesbian Thanksgiving 2020 style.

I'm the zoom calls in lieu of a gathering.

I hope that turkey baster is CLEAN.

I'm Roxane Gay, nauseating everyone with her "cooking".

I’m the nutloaf. This year I’m cooking for 120 minutes at 500 degrees instead of the 90 minutes at 475 outlined in the Jill Sobule cookbook. Wanna make sure any possible cortin-18 germs get baked off.

Despite the possible presence of virus particulate still alive inside me, unsurprisingly the principal dispute among the womyn in attendance is about the presence, absence, and/or quantity of cilantro I contain.

The Jill Sobule Cookbook? I love it! What's the title, "I Kissed a Grill"?

I'm Jeanette, and I brought this lovely assorted pack of Essential Oil disinfectant wipes for everyone. There's Eucalyptus, Rosemary, Tea Tree, Lavender, and Citrus.... please take a few for later!

I’m the keg of Keystone Light that’s been lovingly decanted into individual mason jars and sterilized like a pot of peach preserves. There’s no COVID left in me, but I’m now thicker than Aunt Jemima and skunkier than Pepe La Pew.

I'm the new deck just built during the quarantine.

I'm the rescue animal adopted during the quarantine by each Zoomsgiving participant. I'll interrupt the zoom multiple times so all the participants can see how fast I go from adorable and cuddly to bat shit crazy and destructive. I remind everyone of their most recent ex.

I’m the Amy, still sleeping in Bev’s guest room. I was going to move out early this year but then the pandemic hit, which I am going to milk for as long as possible, and I only felt safe staying here.

I will be attending.

I'm the Zoom call between Kim, Kelly, Kelly's ex (also named Kim), Rashonda, Andrea and her new nonbinary partner Aisyn, Terri (who has dated both Kelly and the other Kim), Diandra (Terri's new flame whom no one thinks will last), and Terri's mother, who is recovering from COVID and is Zooming in from her lockdown condo with a Lean Cuisine microwave turkey-and-stuffing dinner.

I'm the antibacterial wipes on the porch to disinfect canes before entering.

I'm the boundaries being set. I'm telling you now...

I’m Nat and I actually had corona pretty early on in May. I’m fully back to good health except for a touch of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Although I’d already self-diagnosed it a year ago, my CFS will be one of the more heated topics at dinner, whereupon I’ll storm out after screaming “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE HAVING TO FIGHT THIS VIRUS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE”!

I’m the tofu Turkey, organic stuffing, and glutton free, non-dairy pumpkin pie that “Cosmic Moon” brought to the party to impress her new girlfriend, Teddy’s friends. That shit lands in the compost pile after the first round of eating. Teddy tells Cosmic that Nat probably hid it from everyone so that she could have all the leftovers because “your shit was sooo good babe.”

I'm the turkey-retentive dyke, who puts the bird in the oven as the guests arrive. But there are rice cakes to snack on for 4 hours.

I'm Kris, terrified of coronavirus when I should be more concerned about fatty liver disease.

I come wearing my vagina face mask. I wear it throughout the day. I've cut a slit in it to help make it easier to eat and drink. I must've made the same joke 20 times as I ate, "Look, gals! It really does have teeth! AHAHAHAHAHAHA"

I'm the conspiracy theorist one (or maybe several). Here's a quick rundown of the BS I'll be spewing all evening as the night (and booze) rolls on:

Masks are designed to silence womyn, vaccines are a plot to turn womyn into men, social distancing is to stuff women organizing, Joe Biden wants to put lesbians in concentration camps, vaginal yeast can cure coronavirus...

[quote]and glutton free

No lesbian celebration could ever be "glutton-free."

I’m the one who is discussing the thesis she STILL hasn’t completed despite not having left the house in months — Discocervix: Phallic Trends and Female Subjugation in Disco, 1977 - 1978.

I’m the one who was sloppily dressed and gaining weight pre-Covid.

I’m actually all of them.

I’m the boundaries, the pandemic has made me stricter than eve.

I’m the moderately used new quad parked outside in the dirt

I'm the leftover nut loaf in the deep freeze, left over from Easter. I will be put into the compost heap and replaced by the leftover nut loaf from Thanksgiving.

I'm Cyn (government name Cynthia) and I walk in with a sweet potato casserole and about 45 minutes of conversation ready for whomever brings up women's soccer first.

[quote]I’m the boundaries, the pandemic has made me stricter than eve.

Stricter than Eve? But that bitch was a slut!

I'm Trish, and I suffer from terrible flatulence on a good day. I won't be coming this year, as the Nutloaf is indigestible, and unfit for dogs, let alone humans. I'll see everyone on the Zoom chat, and enjoy REAL turkey this year! All those essential oils make me sick as well. Between the wipes and the candles, and my gas, I'm out.

I'm Lisa! I just sent a group text to the women, "Coming in hot with homemade titty cupcakes!!!! 👻"

Im the compostable toilet. The nutloaf will keep me busy for hours

I'm the pre-meal ritual of everyone citing what they're grateful for, and someone will mention Megan Rapinoe.

NOT FUNNY. Why are you doing this to me?

I’m the guest at loose ends wearing argyle sweater vest and golf visor/spiky hair. I can only talk about sports, cats, and who’s single again. Now pass me an orange slice for my Blue Moon Ale and I’ll tell you about Jenna’s divorce.

I'm lateness to dinner. I simply will not be tolerated.

I'm the single mother who tuned into my Sapphic side after divorcing my ex-husband at 27. I'm an office manager and, taking a cue from working from home, attempt to get everyone on the Zoom call to recreate The Brady Bunch opening.

I’m personality disorder Pam. I like to tell lies about sex attacks I’ve survived, and violence perpetrated upon me. I forget that I told half the room my father raped me and the other half that he’s my hero.

I’m the sad fact that nobody will get to see my exposed cankles thanks to cargo pants on the zoom call.

I’m the moment talk turns to the election....

I will end in tears

Susan Collins is a longtime champion for women. She’s not like those other Republicans.

Pam policing the group with bid dick energy. She wants everyone to act right.

I'm Ruth, the hypochondriac of the group. I have a long list of debilitating ailments I never really divulge but constantly speak about broadly that render me unable to hold a full time job and on disability for the foreseeable future. I am walking around checking everyone's phone to assess proof of a current negative test that was taken no later than two days ago. I'm gonna lose my shit if an 11th person shows up and threatens my already vulnerable health and psyche with the disregard for the CDC guidelines.

I'm Jacky, an abortion doula. I'm hiding three teenage girls in my basement as we speak.

I'll take all the leftovers off your hands.

I'm the one who still hasn't found the time to read Hillary's latest book. I will pretend I have though.

Okay, like last year I'm Marge again - holding up the festivities by trying to parallel park my big rig

"My name's Britney, but my friends call me Tank. Keep the nut loaf warm for me - on my way, girls!"

I'm Ash to my found family and Nicole to my actual family. I'm a pro at code switching and am committed to keeping up appearances for my 70 year old Pentecostal mother, who has no idea that I'm meeting my girlfriend Beth at the women's dinner shortly...Thanks for the carryout container of overly salted mashed potatoes, mom...

I'm Flo. Kim invited me but not my dear mother Bertha C Fishler. So, Im not going this year...I had promised to bring the turkey, all cooked and ready but fuck them....and no I have told them

I'm the rules of potluck, being disobeyed.

Each one of these girls is fat and cheap.

They all brought $5 worth of food each and will consume $10 each.

I'm Brittany aka Tank just out of prison and looking for a new girl.

My preferred type of woman is a '40s film-noir dame who likes being slapped around.

You'd never guess it to look at me, but I'm quite confident that I will leave here tonight with someone.

I'm glad I don't have to worry about finding chips of nail polish or hairs in the tofurkey meatballs.

I am the one already rehearsing my lines for the argument I plan to start about how patriarchal Thanksgiving and the Pilgrims are.

I'm the incense making everyone feel queasy.

I’m the ghetto that surrounds this little bohemian sapphic enclave. Money earned in janitorial is not for rent but for the $750 monthly payment on the Ford F450 in the yard.

I'm the gay nephew that had no place else to go and can't believe he got talked into this hormone shitshow.

I'm Al (Allison) and my auto-immune disorder puts me at increased risk if I catch COVID.

It also means I can't bring any hostess gift, can't help clean-up, and can't turn up on time.

Nobody has ever asked me exactly what I have been diagnosed with, which is good for me since the answer is nothing.

I’m the missing turkey neck being smuggled out for a “snack” later. Fran says she’d rather stand and eat in the kitchen, thank you.

I'm the cluttered backgrounds in the zoom call.

Tidying is a patriarchal construct.

I’m the lesbians who have been too busy with their turkey basters this time of year to fly into an angry, insecure tirade on this thread.

Here’s what your missing:

“R1 thru R57 Get some therapy! You must have MAJOR MOMMY ISSUES. You’re all a misogynist!!!”

“Good thing we took care of you all during the AIDS crisis when no one else would... Never again!”

and one 6 paragraph response that drones on about the current state of feminism and toxic masculinity.

Bravo, R58.

That's just what we're missing.

[quote] and one 6 paragraph response that drones on about the current state of feminism and toxic masculinity.

Six paragraphs long, but not a single line spacing.

The lesbians will get to this thread... they're just slow-moving. Give it time.

I’m pathological lying, an affliction of more than half of the attendees. They’ll come up with pointless whoppers.

Kristi (who works in retail at an outdoor gear store, drives a 2003 Toyota Tacoma and lives in a garage apartment) says she has a “massive” Trust Fund... but you know she “just don’t like to touch it.”

Kelsey (who sells soap and other crafts on Etsy) says she lived in Brooklyn for a few years, when she was about 20, where she allegedly owned a highly successful boutique vegan bakery and claims she had a “highly secret” affair with Zooey Deschanel. “Not many people know that, so don’t say anything!”

None of this is even close to true.

This year’s big lie is that they’ve had a negative COVID-19 test days before or more commonly that they have the antibodies, which leads to a full symptom description of what a horrible bout they had with coronavirus and gory details of diarrhea & phlegm. They were never sick or tested.

The Mauritanian

*Ding* *Dong*

Sara's here!

*Kathryn calling ahead to see if this is a safe space for her giant fucking dog*

I'm T'Nesha. I am bringing the cheese board appetizer. the cheese is under my large breasts. I with I could findthe picture of me at Michfest where I won the cheeseball contest.

Hahaha! I'll let you know which ones are right tonight!!

I’m all the gals with compromised immune systems that forget all about them ten blue moons in. Masks off, enough noise to alert the police, and some weepy hugging ensue.

It's me, Jessie, having a complete tear-riddled breakdown over the tray of pasta bake that toppled over in my car on my way to the dinner. This is definitely connected to my dad disowning me for a good 5 years after I came out.

I'm the UPS guy, who peels-out when he hears the screams of "MAN ON LAND!!".

I'm Clothilde, the hostess's vicious, spoiled cat. I have the run of the house and think nothing of jumping up on the table and helping myself to some graxy.

R62 is a word for word copy of another post on another thread about lesbians. Weird....

R72 is keeping track of all the Datalounge threads on lesbians. Weird....

I'm Judi who goes everywhere wearing and arrives in medical gloves and heads straight for the bird's hole to shove raw stuffing into it. We let her perform this athletic ceremony every year because she really enjoys it with a glint in her eye--and we drink cans of Schlitz watching her and smiling.

I'm Deanie's wispy goatee. No one is mentioning it.

I'm the 20th.

The last time Brittany aka Tank showered.