So FYI – I LOVES ME SOME GAYS! I swear I was a lesbian (or at the very least, a super sexy transgender) in another life. My certainty comes from the fact that I am hit on by them all the time. It’s a strange phenomenon, and they seem to flock to me like bees to honey with the intention of converting me. I often wonder, if I ventured to the land of vag, would I be the lipstick lesbian or the don’tfuckwithmywoman lesbian? I think I would have to rock the trend and be the super fem, accessory whore lesbian who can also kick your ass while wearing 6” stilettos. And I’m not talking kick ass like, pull your hair and scream like a 10 year old. I’m talking, punch you in the face and take you out!
When I was in the hospital my “Patient Care Tech” (short for, I was too lazy to actually BECOME a nurse), was a lovely lesbian. She was the butch kind, with the short buzzed hair, tongue ring, bad ass tattoos and gorgeous eyes who started all her sentences with Dude, and I’m-For-Realz. And she liked me. Like, let me take your temperature and blood pressure as often as possible so I can be near you liked me. She kept telling me how pretty my eyes were, and how much she loved my tattoos and about the gay bars she had visited the night before (thank God she wasn’t taking my blood or removing an organ from me!), just so I would know she was indeed, a lesbian. If she could have clothed me in rainbow shirts and got matching BFF bracelets to wear when I left the hospital, she totally would have.
And while I straddle the penis filled side of the fence, it’s always nice to have options. Who doesn’t like to feel pretty, even if the pitcher giving them throws for the other team?
And now, the song on repeat in my head is, I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and GAY!
Dude, that is off the chain – for realz.
When I was in the hospital my “Patient Care Tech” (short for, I was too lazy to actually BECOME a nurse), was a lovely lesbian. She was the butch kind, with the short buzzed hair, tongue ring, bad ass tattoos and gorgeous eyes who started all her sentences with Dude, and I’m-For-Realz. And she liked me. Like, let me take your temperature and blood pressure as often as possible so I can be near you liked me. She kept telling me how pretty my eyes were, and how much she loved my tattoos and about the gay bars she had visited the night before (thank God she wasn’t taking my blood or removing an organ from me!), just so I would know she was indeed, a lesbian. If she could have clothed me in rainbow shirts and got matching BFF bracelets to wear when I left the hospital, she totally would have.
And while I straddle the penis filled side of the fence, it’s always nice to have options. Who doesn’t like to feel pretty, even if the pitcher giving them throws for the other team?
And now, the song on repeat in my head is, I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and GAY!
Dude, that is off the chain – for realz.
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