Pet Peeve

Image by Ilona Krijgsman from Pixabay

It strikes me as unlikely that you need another reason to detest our president.

I'm gonna give you one anyway.

In a recent newsletter, an animal shelter here in western Washington described the problem thus:  "Economic woes are playing a dramatic role in increased intakes and longer lengths of stay for animals at shelters. Shelters are struggling to keep up, and it’s getting more difficult by the day to sustain operations while adhering" to a no-kill policy.

In other words, inflation and the cost of living under Trump have made it scary hard for people to keep their pets, and shelters around the nation are floundering.

I defy any lesbian who reads this to get a wink of sleep tonight.

Guess

 

A Weird Feeling

Image:  Facebook

Now and then, Washington's famous folk rocker Brandi Carlile plays three-night shows in the middle of the state at the outdoor Gorge Amphitheatre.

To say the Sapphic musician has a devoted following is an understatement. When I visited my friend Ruth yesterday, I gave her the news:  "We're the only lesbians left in Seattle."

This Week's Quote

Image:  Facebook

Anyone that knows me knows that I will always tell you I told you so, but knowing that Sue Bird would eventually dump Megan Rapinoe, well, that was very, very easy. First, Megan Rapinoe . . . is a predator, and Sue Bird, I told you forever was not a lifetime lesbian. Maybe I'm wrong, but I knew, I knew that was never gonna last because Rapinoe is a predator.

The aptly named Dick Dakich, former ESPN announcer

Source:  Out

News Flash

Image:  Facebook

I was driving home this afternoon, listening to NPR, when the local affiliate teased that the biggest power couple here in Seattle sports had split up.

I sat in the driveway, listening to the piece on the breakup of Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe. I soon discovered that The Seattle Times had emailed a news bulletin announcing the same.

In fact, this story of a lesbian rupture made mainstream news all over the country. That in itself is news, a positive sign of how things have changed. The accounts I read were direct and respectful. No need to hint at what their relationship had been, since Bird and Rapinoe didn't.

What I wonder now is will the mainstream press get the rest of the story: that from coast to coast, half of all lesbians are sad about the Bird-Rapinoe split, and the other half are weighing their chances with the both of them.

Strange Time for Romance

Image by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay

Let's take a break from the impending end of the world and examine something much lighter: My attempt at dating.

As a 62-year-old divorced lesbian, I know the odds of pairing up at this juncture aren't great. But hope stings eternal, and in a weak moment I found myself researching lesbian dating sites.

I settled on one called Pink Cupid. In the week that I've been on there, it's become abundantly clear that I didn't do enough research.

Oh, I receive a daily stream of likes and messages, so I should be in dyke heaven, right? Wrong. The folks trying to strike up a connection are frauds. The profiles are fake. Once in a while a real lesbian breaks through, but that's rare. It's a deluge of deceit.

The stilted language in messages, the way the photos and listed ages don't match, and the fact that some photos reappear as a different person are some of the hints that these profiles are pure fiction.

Also, I've twice seen an image of Sue Bird.

The scammers, likely male, assume that I want a younger woman, so they offer up gals from 25 to 55. The women are all attractive to gorgeous. And some of them are so well-endowed they make Bryon Noem look flat.

Thanks to the multitudinous attempts to swindle me, Pink Cupid has been an unhappy experiment. Now I know I'm gonna be all alone in that bomb shelter.

Of Course It Is

 

A Lesbian Represents

A friend in Vermont sent me this photo taken at an anti-ICE protest in Brattleboro this past weekend. I needed the levity.

Breaking Barriers Across the Pond

Image by Shafin Al Asad Protic from Pixabay

I now present you with a pair of news items from abroad. Partly because the news items from here tend to suck.

On Nov. 21, a 20-year-old musical theater student became the first out lesbian winner of the Miss England beauty pageant. Grace Richardson considered keeping mum about her sexuality during the competition, but when the interview panel asked her about overcoming challenges, "the first thing that crossed my mind was my coming out story."

We might be at that point in social evolution where the other contestants thought, "Damn! Why didn't I say that?"

Also in late November, rising Swiss tennis player Mika Brunold came out as gay on Instagram. The 21-year-old wrote that being gay means "dealing with things most people never have to think about. The fear of not being accepted, the pressure to stay quiet, the feeling of being different. But I’ve grown. And I’m proud of who I am today."

Brunold is only the second active male pro tennis player to come out, following Brazil's Joao Lucas Reis Da Silva, who did the deed last year.

An openly lesbian beauty queen and an openly gay male tennis pro. What next? An openly transgender mafioso?

Lesbian Vibes

Image:  Freepik

I belong to a Facebook group for lesbians in the Pacific Northwest, and today a member posed an uncommon question.

Though "a little embarrassed to ask," she wanted to know "how are you supposed to dispose of old vibrators? I know we aren’t supposed to throw them away in the trash but that’s what I usually end up doing."

She chose to be anonymous. Big surprise.

Some responses were humorous, like throw them in the neighbor's trash, or white elephant them, or use them as dog toys.

Practical respondents suggested recycling the batteries, which frankly would've been the extent of my contribution.

I never underestimate lesbians on the topic of vibrators or the topic of recycling. But when those two disparate subjects are combined? For some sisters of Sappho, it's such an orgasmic moment they don't even need a vibrator.

One woman posted an article on recycling sex toys. A self-described "Sapphic toy reviewer" let us know, "Most companies have a recycling option where you can remove the motor and drop it off. The vibrator itself, without the motor, cannot be recycled and has to go in the waste."

In a completely cliched display of lesbianism, another woman replied, "They're e-waste. They should be taken to the proper e-waste facility, even if it's just an e-waste recycling bin like at some malls. It's worse to throw them away if their batteries and capacitors are still intact, but either way e-waste is pretty harmful for the environment."

Informed, technical, ardent, preachy. I read that and felt an unusual desire to wear Birkenstocks, read Adrienne Rich, and become an organic radish farmer.

A Memorable Meetup

Image by Kat Love from Pixabay

I had one of those community experiences on Sunday that left me kafoozled.

That's a synonym I just created for dazed, confused, and aggravated.

I attended a Seattle Meetup for lesbians over 55, and since I've gone several times, I thought I knew what to expect. But this one turned out differently.

I found myself sitting next to a new participant, a 70-year-old transgender woman. I'm well aware some lesbians argue that trans women aren't women, so they can't be lesbians, but I don't hold that view.

A few others and I chatted with R for a bit. When she asked why people were protesting at the "No Kings" rallies the day before, and noted that she thought Trump's tariffs were a good idea, I sensed the woman across from me shift and face the other way, not to mention build a brick wall and rig up an alarm system.

I don't know if transphobia was involved, but she clearly was in no mood to listen to a potentially conservative queer wax ignorant, so I knew I was on my own.

I have an old habit, good or bad depending on your point of view, of being obliging to the socially awkward. So I listened for an hour as R told me that she's lived all over the country, worked at 27 jobs in the defense industry, and been in an unconsummated marriage for over 30 years.

It didn't take an expert to see that R was on the autism scale. That can make a person lonely, so my ears soldiered on. I asked about the Israeli patches on her jacket, and I learned that in her time she's been everything from Episcopalian to Russian Orthodox to, now, Jewish.

It was all adding up to someone who's tried and failed a million times to belong. With some trepidation, I asked about her being transgender. R said she made the gender switch to increase her chances of employment in an industry that's overloaded with men.

I was aghast, but still polite. I reframed the question, hoping R would speak of a long yearning to be a woman. Nope. It was a career move. Like bringing Dunkin' Donuts to a meeting.

Fearful she could be Exhibit A for our transphobic overlords, I wondered if I should poison her coffee.

What do you do when you run into a person in the LGBTQ community who's a conservative Christian's nocturnal emission? A person who actually embodies some of the wildest things they say about us?

I didn't poison her coffee. But boy howdy, I wished I was drinking something other than hot chocolate.

Tools of the Trade

Image:  Facebook

I received an email from the online seller Temu that a "tool set kit is calling."

The stilted English isn't unusual for this Chinese company. The question here is how do they know I'm a lesbian?

Turnabout Is Fair Play

Image:  Facebook

As a Seattle Storm season-ticket holder, I went to a lot of games at Climate Pledge Arena this summer. A young lesbian couple usually sat in front of me. They were a physically affectionate duo, free to be their gay selves in the lesbian-positive WNBA atmosphere.

They must've sold their tickets for a game at the end of the season, because that night a straight couple occupied those seats, also busily caressing and kissing.

A heterosexual display at a WNBA game. I thought DEI was dead.

It's What Makes a Subaru, a Subaru

 

I Checked

Image by TyliJura from Pixabay

Pride Month is over.

I'm still gay.

The Threat

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

I live in a mother-in-law apartment just outside Seattle. A straight couple in their 30s rent the house next door to me, and we're friendly when we see each other.

He works for a tree service, and recently he drove home in a great honking truck. A few days later, as he tinkered in his garage, I went over to joke with him about getting to drive the company car. His partner was there, but she headed in the house.

Then she came back. Then she returned to the house. Then she reappeared in the garage, and made a point of placing her hand on his shoulder.

All I could think later was, "Oh honey, don't worry about me. First, I could be his mother. Second, I don't go for breaking up relationships. Third, and most importantly, I'm gay."

In fact, I'm the least threatening female neighbor she could have. Perhaps I should demand a stipend.

Twine Whine

Image by Raquel Candia from Pixabay

I'm interrupting this period of general American calamity to bring you my moment of specific lesbionic misery.

Three players on my WNBA team have now torn their ACLs and will be out for the season, before the season's even begun.

All right, it doesn't rate compared to the demise of due process, civil rights, and checks and balances. But I was relying on a strong Seattle Storm team to serve as my essential distraction from Trump World.

Those players' knees have no regard for my mental health.

International Women's Day 2025

 

Been There

 

Preparedness