Sunday, July 9, 2017

So No One Told You

[via @worldfamousbob]

Hi there, queertopians!

I don’t know what happened. One minute it was early May, and I was drunk with fresh chlorophyll and the annual strange freedom of not having to wear a coat (for a few weeks in spring, I always feel naked and nervous without a coat, like someone who’s abouuuut to lose at strip poker)... and the next time I blinked, it was early July, and so much had happened.


I got mugged!
I’m OK and the guy didn’t get anything. The reason he didn’t get anything is because he was unarmed, and when I realized what was happening, I screamed “MOTHERFUCKER NOOO!!!” and swung my cloth lunch bag at him with a lot of force.

This lunch bag happened to contain a large glass Pyrex container, which made a pleasing ‘clunk’ sound as it hit his chest and the side of his head. Startled, he let go of me, and then shoved me really hard into the street and ran away. I got scraped up pretty bad—my palms were stigmata-style for weeks.

A few days later, I wrote a letter to Pyrex, thanking them for providing me with both fresh-tasting leftovers and a blunt weapon in my hour of need.

They sent me a whole new set of glass lunch containers, all printed with hearts.

Isn’t that cute?


I went to Las Vegas for the Burlesque Hall of Fame!
My roommate and BFF, Tawnya (aka Sweetpea) was competing for the title of Miss Exotic World, and she took 1st runner-up!

[Look at this bish performing her act in Vegas] 

Which means I now live with the only current titled burlesque Princess, and that she is one of the best burlesque dancers on Earth, officially.

(I mean, I already knew that, but huge-ass trophies can be very validating.)


She practiced and sweated and stressed; I napped in the hotel room and took selfies in my $9 dress that I found by typing “slutty bodycon dress black” into a Google search.


We had a good time.


I wrote and published another NYT piece!
You can read it here—it’s about all the complicated feelings I feel about Pride.


Pride happened!
En Vogue sang “Whatta Man” at the Minneapolis Pride festival in Loring Park, and a lot of dancing happened, and I took my first-ever (yes) shot of tequila, which imbued me with unshakeable confidence in my dancing abilities.

Was tequila the answer all along?


I went to a psychic!
Only she prefers the word “intuitive” and she was nothing like how I imagined. Tawnya and Seven have been seeing her for years, and swore she was the real deal.

Gays, it was incredible—for 90 minutes, with no prior knowledge of me whatsoever, this intuitive proceeded to read me my life.

She knew I had moved within the year (and where I had moved from), she knew about my last relationship, she knew freaky details about my job and career goals, and she casually mentioned not one, but TWO of my quietest secrets and hopes that I have literally never told a single person about.


I went from seriously skeptical and judgmental to surprised and then creeped out and elated and covered in goosebumps.

Giant quartz crystals and amethyst formations littered every available surface in her office, which pleased the crystal-worshipping woo-woo lesbian who lives in my regular dyke body, and I left so light and happy.


Really, I don’t think you could ask for a better way to spend an hour and a half of your life. I’m going to go see her every six months until I die, it was that illuminating.

[via @naropinosa, model @valentinazedda]

I’ve also been going out a lot, especially to queer events that Tawnya and Seven throw.

More times than not, because I’m still new in town, I go alone.


Being alone doesn’t usually bother me, but sometimes I feel a little weird going out to a big queer party by myself. Being new in town, even in a city where I used to live, always puts me on uncertain footing. It’s a gentle, humbling reminder of how it feels to be a stranger.

I’ve moved cities a lot, and I know the drill: it takes about six months to feel normal about your everyday life; it takes almost exactly a year to start making realass new friends.

And then, once you’ve lived somewhere for awhile, you forget how comfortable it is in your familiar lil’ tight social circles. You forget to be welcoming and pull in new people; you forget you were once an outsider, too.

[by @stefanounterthiner]

And that's alright! It's just how it goes!

It's hard to be the new kid, no matter how old you are.

[via @leabarfield]

The other night, I went alone to a show at a gay bar called Lush, and it was packed. As I looked around the room, scanning the faces of the maybe hundred or so queer people there, I realized that I didn’t know a soul there.

Whole roomfula cute-lookin’ queermos—not one I recognized.

[via @doggosdoingthings]

Except for my roommates and gorgeous people I've met through my roommates, I don’t really have many other friends yet, here in Minneapolis.

Which is OK, and to be expected! But it’s definitely a thing I’m starting to think about.

Everyone was giggling at tables together, waving at people across the room, and I wanted to know them all, be part of the crush of people who had histories and backstories with one another, all linked by living in the same spot and seeing each other at parties and dating each other and each other’s friends and gossiping at BBQs for years and years.

[via @h_e_r_s_t_o_r_y]

It’s time for me to do something about it this friend-gap.
Time to step out of my (incredibly comfortable) comfort zone!

So: friends.
OK. I can do this.
Now, if you factor in the fact that I pretty much like to surround myself 100% with queers at all times, it’s easy to hone in on my friend-targets.

[via @local_honey]

And since Minneapolis is like 72% queer, this shouldn’t be too hard.

But...how do you make queer friends? Actually? As an adult?

I mean, I already know the answer.

The fastest way to make new queer friends is through fucking.

[via @arsenic/artist @parisien.photo]

You know I’m not wrong.

You start dating someone, they have friends, you get to know the friends, and BAM! you also now have sort-of friends. Those friends have friends, and eventually, through a lot of trial and error and awkward small talk in hallways when you’re waiting to use the one bathroom at the house party, you find your people. That’s mostly how queers do it, and that’s how I’ve always done it.

You'd never have been at the house party in the first place if the person you were boning hadn't brought you and introduced you 'round, ya know?

The fastest way to new queer friends is fucking.
Not the only way! Just the fastest.


But what if...what if, for maybe the real first time ever, you don’t want to take a shortcut and fuck your way in?

What if you want organic queer friendships, not linked to your direct sexual history—friends who do not depend on your (possibly unstable!) (who said that??) love life?

Do I have to join a club?

Oh my god, do I have to join some kind of team?

[via @h_e_r_s_t_o_r_y]

Auggggh, I don’t want to join a team–I want to skip the hard parts and find myself with cute Tuesday night plans that involve curling up on someone’s couch with a sparkling beverage while we admire their dog and overanalyze texts from crushes.

I want to hang out in someone’s backyard; to have people who I know will want to walk around the lake or go thrifting or see what we can make if we take scissors to our clothes.

[via @emmapenrose]

My name is Krista, I’m an adult, and I am learning and working on myself and growing a lot this year, and I am willing to say it:

I am not entirely sure I know how to make new, solid, queer friends without dating my way in, at least in the beginning.

[via @swoon_scream]

How do you find your ghey friend group?

Friday, May 5, 2017

Getting to Know You


Hi faggettes!

How’s it going?

It’s SPRIIIING here in Minneapolis and Tawnya has been outside for days, ripping out the dead weeds in the backyard and building a fenced-in enclosure for my baby rabbits, Timothy Maxwell Thumperton and Stevie Wonderbun, to romp in.

[isn't our garden cute??]

Wait, did I ever even tell you that I have two rabbits now instead of just one?
I didn’t!

OK well: A couple of years ago, Timmy was showing signs of being lonely and I’d been thinking about getting another rabbit to give him company. In the meantime, my ex adopted a little fluffball of a baby bun to live with her.
(Pet rabbits are magic and also contagious.)

We introduced them to each other one day and they fell hopelessly, helplessly in love.

Now Stevie lives with Timmy and they spend hours lying on the floor just like this, arguing over which Netflix series to watch and whose turn it is to sweep up the snacks they spilled.



Also, here’s Stevie as a baby, so you can understand that Timmy’s heart never stood a chance.


So! It’s warm out at last and I’ve been startlingly busy—writing new pieces (another NYT article went up! and the Rookie Podcast went live!), pitching new places with article ideas, and working my full-time copywriting day job, which I don’t even hate.

My coworkers are nice, I have a sunny private desk, and I can even can walk to work—it’s exactly three miles each way, past blooming crepe myrtle trees.  

My life is light-years away from what it was just a few months ago, gheys.

[via alivetillthe-end]

It's been a great and happy month (apart from the horrific shit that's happening in the news) and I feel like my world is expanding.

I’ve been working on saying “yes” to more things, even when I privately think, “This activity sounds like way less fun than being in my house and watching Harlots with my roommates.”


Other than work (writing) and after-hours work (writing), the other thing that’s keeping me ~ambitiously scheduled~ is dating.

Lots of dating.
I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet, sluts, but I’m regularly dating a couple. As in, going out with two dykes who are solidly partnered and also dating me.
I understand that lots of people do this, but I never have.

Dating a couple makes me feel like a kid who loves reading about bulldozers standing in front of a construction site, seeing a bulldozer in real life for the first time.


Dating a couple is both great and...odd. I’m used to flirting (lol “flirting”) with one person at a time, and it’s kind of tricky to sit across a restaurant booth from two different cuties with two entirely different personality types and flirt with both of them simultaneously.

I mean, I’m up for the challenge.
There’s plenty of awkward to go around, y’all.


We’ve all been dating—really dating, going on giddy outings and having private one-on-one dates and making out—since December.

But you know what we haven’t done yet?
We haven’t had sex.
Four months of dating, qweeahs.
Four months of dating without sex, even once.
It’s like being Mormon all over again.

There has been no sex because we are “taking it slow,” at their request.
I’m serious.
We’re taking it slow the way glaciers carve continents.
Slow like a mountain being worn away by a drip of water.

This slow-taking has been a difficult concept for me to grasp, because for me, historically, “taking it slow” has meant “waiting until the second date, or at least until dinner is over on the first date.”
The level of taking it slow that we’re playing with here is a whole new world for me. A world I have no experience in.
It’s all so new.

And you gays, it’s…fun.
It's really fun.


I’m tightly wound.
I’m backed up.

I’m at the point that if one of them is lightly touching one of their knees to mine under the restaurant table, I’m made out of stars, all electric, on high alert.

One of them touched my boob during a makeout and I was like “I HAVE NEVER FELT MY BOOB BEFORE.”


My heart was pounding.
I had to steady myself against the wall.
Sex at the nursing home is gonna be LIT.



This whole situation has gotten me thinking. Why is this the first time in my life I’ve ever actually taken it slow in a relationship? Why is this the first “long courtship” (lmao I sound like a Duggar) I’ve ever experienced?
Both members of this couple I’m dating love to do this—reeeeeealllly draw out the period of time before sex happens.

It’s fetish-level, and it’s the opposite of anything I’ve ever experienced. It has literally never occurred to me that not doing it right away—building up an intense level of anticipation—could also be sexy.

[via omenmag]

One of the dykes in the couple is slowly dating someone else in this exact manner, too, and that person coined a term for what’s going on here: chasterbation.
Isn’t that good?


And isn’t this weird? Who would have ever thought that not having sex right away could feel kinky as fuck?
I hate to admit it, but I’m learning something about myself though this wildly chaste couple-dating situation: I’ve never given myself even a second to breathe between sex partners.

Sex partners, hell—I’ve never given myself any time between partners in general.  

Maybe, maaaaybe I’ve forgotten what dating actually is: a way to get to know someone.

[via totallylesbians]

There are pros and cons to each system, I guess.

When you have sex immediately, you know what you’re working with in bed, which is crucial. But! (if you’re me), you also maybe get a little blinded by the ::haze of sex:: to a new crush’s actual personality.

Like sure, she’s horrible at regular life tasks such as doing chores, holding down a job, and shopping for/cooking food, but hey, you’re so deliciously sore from getting fucked that you can hardly pee without shrieking!

[via deejay-life]

And so you continue onwards, cheerfully entering a new relationship with a cute person, dizzy from orgasms and lack of sleep... and then you blink hard, four months later, when you suddenly realize: y'all have major problems when you're not physically touching each other's genitals.

Wait, how much do you actually know, compatibility-wise, about this person you can’t stop fucking who is now your girlfriend?

Uh-oh. You’re in a relationship founded on good sex and...hang on, not much else.


Welcome to my reality.
Come in, take off your shoes, let’s get comfy.

I can’t believe it’s taken me this many years to figure out this particular pattern of mine.

Dating is about getting to know someone over time.

Dating does not necessarily have to always be about getting as much incredible sex as you can handle and then trying to force its source into being a good partner for you.



I’m not saying that taking it as slow as I’m going with the couple is the answer (because this is an outrageous amount of time and yet I’m still very interested for scientific purposes), but! Maybe I should do a bit more probing (yes) into what someone’s personality is really like before sleeping with them and then deciding they’re fantastic because they can do that thing with their tongue.


[via childmagazine]

Lotta things for a slut like me to think about!

Hope you all have days that keep slowly getting warmer!