Hiiiii cunny lingerers!
How’s by you?
Ahhhh I need to tell you I have the best work crush going right now.
Eee hee hee we are talking a cute, kinda androgynous, totally mysterious work crush—I don’t know her name, I don’t know what she does at my job, I actually don’t know anything about her at all except for that she has a sassy undercut and extraordinarily white teeth, which she uses to smile at me when I’m not expecting it.
This causes me to slosh coffee down my shirt in confused alarm on a near-daily basis.
My work crush’s smile is what it would look like if Julia Roberts were also Jesus, and it is deeply unnerving to have it beamed in my direction at random intervals.
Y’allfags should see my vintage white angora sweater.
She just got moved into a desk that’s kitty-corner from my desk at the office, and I now spend most of my work day pretending not to look at her.
This is proving difficult, as summer is coming, and she seems committed to showing the world what exactly tank tops are for.
She’s been my work crush for almost a month now.
And it’s fun! She’s a reason to put on the extra-tight skirt in the morning; a reason to make a detour past her desk when I’m getting yet another coconut-flavored La Croix from the fridge.
Juuuust something to take my mind off florescent lights and copy stage meetings.
Work crushes are good for the morale, amirite?
But ok: will you do me a quick favor and pretend she’s your work crush for a second?
Pretend you, like me, alllllways see her in the bathroom and the cafeteria at the same time as you and she always holds the door for you and you sometimes catch her eye when you glance over to where she sits which means she was looking at you and one time she helped you mop up a water spill and you bumped heads and giggled and you once held the door open for her and you distinctly saw her ears get red.
That’s what’s going on.
With all that in mind, then—what if you were, say, heading for the train after work, and you suddenly saw this Massive Work Crush of yours walking towards you from about two blocks away?
What if she looked really cute that day, her hands in her pockets, her sunglasses on and her undercut all fresh and crisp in the newly warm, sunshiney spring breeze?
What if she was coming closer and closer?
What would you do?
a) walk towards her, smiling, and say “Haaaaaaaay” while obviously checking her out;
b) walk towards her with a poker face and pretend you didn’t see her (classic lesbian default move!); or
c) break out in a cold sweat panic, fumble in your bag for your phone, pull it out in order to pretend to be OMG TOTALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF AN IMPORTANT CALL SO YOU TOTALLY DON’T SEE YOUR WORK CRUSH AT ALL and, as you wildly swing the phone up to your face, watch in slow motion horror as it slips free of its case and sails through the air like a sleek silver and black dove, landing shatteringly in the middle of a busy intersection, screen smashing into several hundred pieces and skidding merrily to a stop face-up while about 30 onlookers (including your work crush) wince and go “OOOOOH SHIT” in a rare collective urban vote of sympathy?
If you chose a or b, you and I are in a fight right now.
Shake it off, faggettes, we cannot let being terrifically socially inept hold us back!
It’s queerdyke mating season! The gays are out to play!
I mean, just a few weeks ago, the streets were empty.
It was fucking freezing and all any of the lesbians wanted to do was put on pajamas directly after work and watch Game of Thrones.
That is, when they weren’t buying starter cultures for their homemade kombucha, brewing it in Mason jars, and posting the pics on Pinterest.
It has been a long goddamn winter.
But turn the temperature up 50 degrees, and suddenly the adorable gayfolk are out in force!
I’m sitting at a coffeeshop in Andersonville watching what seems like hundreds of homos walking past, holding hands and licking ice cream cones and wearing brand-spankin’, just-bought-a-new-pack-yesterday ribbed tank tops and looking fucking delighted to be outside.
How I’ve missed them all.
The gay boys glistening with sweat as they walk down the street carrying gym bags.
The queergirls circling around on just-tuned-up bikes, flashing new tattoos and cigarettes tucked behind one ear.
The book club dykes sitting outside at a cafe table drinking iced green tea, their Tevas fairly squelching with newness.
I MISSED Y’ALL SO MUCH, MY GOD WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN??
Come here you queerz I want to wear this shirt and make out with evvvvveryonnnne!!
Besides impending summer (and horniness!) we have a real reason to be making out—celebration!
Two minutes ago, as I was writing this mess and streaming a live news feed on my laptop at the coffeeshop, the votes clicked in.
The Minnesota Senate just voted, 37-30, to pass the gay marriage bill!!!!!
Minnesota is now the 12th state in Amurrica where homos can get legally hitched!
The first Midwest state to make gay marriage legal through a legislative vote!
After all this time and all the generations of struggle… the THIRD STATE TO DO SO IN TWO WEEKS!
Change is a-comin’, faggettes, and it’s happening faster than I ever even imagined it would.
UH MUH GUH GAYS CAN GET MARRIED IN MINNESOTA!!
Hahahaha I don’t even know what to do!
I’m by myself in a public space!
No one knows why I’m cheering! I look crazy!!
Aggghhh I’m crying.
I’ve been happy when other states legalized gay marriage, but the momentousness of what’s happening never really hit me ’til now.
I’ve always thought of Minneapolis as my home base, even though I spent my childhood in California and Wisconsin.
When I was 18, and without a thought in my head, I moved to Minneapolis, “choosing” to go college there because I was too lazy to apply to any other colleges. Totally future-oriented!
I knew nothing about the city or the University of Minnesota, only that I had vaguely enjoyed visiting my sister in her dorm room… exactly one time.
It was (as all things are, young grasshoppers) the right place for me to be at the right time.
While I was in Minneapolis, so many things happened.
I left the Mormon church.
I figured out I was a lezzzbian.
I started doing burlesque, started writing, and found a tight-knit queer family.
Minneapolis was my headquarters for learning how to consciously build the life I wanted to live.
I will freely admit that I love Minneapolis more than any other city, and not just because it’s a wonderful, green, liberal li’l city that’s not too big and not too small and has giant rambling houses with screened-in porches and cheap rent and hundreds of bike punks and a massive local food culture and quirkly little coffee shops and miles of shimmering lakes and more lesbians per square foot than a Tegan and Sara concert on Pride weekend.
All those things help, but that’s not why I love Minneapolis.
I love Minneapolis because it is the first place where I ever felt like I was home.
Even when I travelled—even when I moved away and then moved back and moved away again—even now, whenever I drive back into the city to visit and see the skyline rising up like a drawing in my head of how a skyline should look, I feel like I’m driving through the place I understand the most, the trees draping into the river, the names of streets and neighborhoods familiar and woodsy-sounding—Cedar, Franklin, Powderhorn, Seward, Hiawatha, Lake.
Minneapolis is my first real home.
And now everygay I know in Minnesota can finally feel like they’re welcome, as they are, in the city and state they’ve called home for years.
Queers can get married and have the same rights as everyone else in Minnesota now, and I think that this—this basic extension of human dignity and recognition of gay relationships—is going to have a massive ripple effect in my adopted home state, a ripple effect that’s already happening all over the country.
This is some historic shit!
Gays can get married, for-real-married, and it won’t be—as a newly-unfriended-on-Facebook person recently put it to me—”just a couple of homosexuals giving themselves a party with cake and rings” to anyone anymore, no matter how asshole-ish they are or how they feel about queer marriage.
No one cares aboutcher shitty homophobic views anymore; the law-uh says we kin do it and that’s that.
LEGALLY MARRIED NOW, BITCHES, YA LIKE THAT?
Now, I have a number of queer friends who are already engaged, or thinking extremely hard about getting married, and this just makes things even more awesome for them.
But you sluts know I like to worry.
And while I’m super-happy for all of Minnesota and all the couples who can now recognize their relationships with legal status…
does being able to get married mean that suddenly I have to, um, worry about getting married?
All my adult life, I’ve just blown off the marriage thing.
It was never really a question.
People would ask me if I ever wanted to get married and I would snort, “Let’s see if it ever becomes legal first. Maybe then I’ll think about it. Come talk to me if I can be married in one state, cross the border, and still be married.”
And then one day you wake up and it’s happening.
Maybe I still couldn’t go for that I’m-legally-married-in-all-50-states honeymoon road trip across America just yet, but if it can happen in Minnesota, it can happen in any other state.
And (sorry bigots!) it’s going to happen.
The third state in two weeks, gaymosexuelles.
Ready or not, it’s time to talk about marriage, and not in a “why can’t we have it???!!”-type way.
I mean, I used to be able to count on not being quizzed about marriage or baby plans in social gatherings.
I’m queer! I may not have rights, but at least I don’t have to pretend to care about tying pastel-colored jordan almonds up into tiny bags of tulle!
Now I can’t hide behind the “well, it’s not legal so let’s not worry about it” argument anymore.
It’s starting to happen.
Friends, relatives – they’re starting to jokingly poke me whenever someone announces their engagement and go “Ho ho ho, and when will you be tying the knot?” *wink wink*
Straights have been bitching about this for shit for years, and I dunno, I always kind of assumed that my publicly avowed goal in life (to have a face full of pussy) would be my protection when it came to nosy people asking me about marriage plans.
Everyone knew I was a dyke, and so everyone left me alone about it.
Now I – I – I…I might have to start giving some thought to marriage.
At some point.
Marriage as a possibility, as something that other mos might want to be shooting for during relationships.
I’m not even sure how I feel about marriage to begin with, and, while America’s stance on gay marriage has been unbelievably shitty, it’s also been quite a convenient way for me to not really, um, have to think about it.
My argument was:
“Gay people can’t get married, legally, and I’m gay, and I’m not interested in getting married if it’s not legal”
and that was that.
Ta-da! Neatly boxed and put away in my mind.
As soon as I knew I was someone who liked boobs more than almost anything else on this earth, I abandoned any thoughts of getting married.
Wasn’t gonna happen.
No white dress for meeee, well fuck, I guess I’ll just have to content myself with piles of hot dyke sex.
But with gay marriage slowly sweeping across the country like a drag queen’s sequined train, I find myself… a little nervous about what’s next, while still being thrilled for everyone who does want to exercise their access to their rights.
Not being able to get married is a lot different than consciously choosing not to.
What does this do?
Now I’m all confused.
Is it ok to still not really care about getting married, or does this put me into some kind of a “commitment-phobic” category now?
With state after state voting gay marriage into law, what will happen to the queers who haven’t given marriage any, er, real thought or attention whatsoever?
Are we gay dinosaurs now?
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Krista Burton is brand-new to Chicago. An ex-Mormon from Minneapolis, she writes a blog called Effing Dykes (www.effingdykes.blogspot.com), which is about activating your lesbian gaydar. She spends most of her time staring longingly at enormous dogs, riding her shiny orange scooter around town, and trying to bake gluten-free cake that doesn’t taste like gluten-free cake. She’s a staff writer at Groupon, and loves girls, inappropriate footwear, and hip-hop songs with filthy lyrics.