Chapstick Chapstick

Thursday, January 17, 2019

You Just Can't Find a Boyfriend

“You’re just a lesbian because you can’t find a boyfriend.” 

Um, no. First of all, you know how easy it is to find a boyfriend?! Give me anything with internet connection and about six minutes. I’ll have multiple dates/hookups scheduled with NO problem. How? Because I’m a woman. If you’re a living, breathing, real-life, human woman, you can find a plethora of men who want to have sex with you right now. No shortage issues here.

You know what’s extraordinarily difficult? Finding a GIRLfriend. Gay people are only 1/10 of the population. Half that number and you’re left with queer women. Then half that number to get people who are on dating apps. Then half that number to get semi-normal people who can hold a conversation. Then half that number to eliminate people who use Snapchat filters on their dating profiles. (*shakes fist at those damn animal face filters*) We haven’t even added specifications for types or presentation yet. You see how tiny these numbers are getting?

While I could find a boy online within the hour, I find myself CONSTANTLY running into this message on my dating apps:



In other words, not only are you single, but also, there are NO women around you to date. Now, I’m definitely not saying that most men out there are date-worthy, but at least I never ran out of straight men to swipe left on. Yeeeesh!

So, when people say, “You’re just a lesbian because you can’t find a boyfriend,” I respond with:

Sunday, December 9, 2018

Butch Bullshit

Let’s talk about my frustration with traditionally butch women. Don’t get me wrong, I *love* butch women. I’m complaining about the ones who want to create a 1950s, heteronormative relationship with me because I happen to have long hair. Since I generally date women who are more masculine than myself, I run into a TON of this butch bullshit on the dating scene.

Story time! Many months ago, I went on a date with a woman who identifies as butch. When I say butch, I’m talkingcoaches a ton of stereotypical lesbian sports, has a crew cut, and shortened her name to a monosyllabic soundbutch.

First, she bought me flowers… I know, this seems super nice and it totally is, but this was our first meeting. I get very nervous about the slightest whiff of heteronormativity when I date butch women. So, the flowers made me uneasy and hyper-aware of my relative femininity. She presented the flowers and I awkwardly muttered, “Oh. Uh. Wow. You bought me flowers? Uh, thanks.”

After the flowers, I decided to squash any heteronormative presumptions and establish my own butchness by demanding to buy her coffee. I know, you’re confused because of the name of this blog. Yes, I’m feminine-looking and I identify as femme, but I like to think I have a sprinkle of butch charm.

Since she bought me flowers, it seemed like an even exchange for me to buy the coffee, right? I marched up to the barista and said, “I’ll have a decaf americano, and whatever she’s having.” While she gave her order, I pulled out my credit card. I turned to her and said, “Please let me get this as a thank you for your gift.” She laughed like I was being totally absurd and said, “Oh no. I’m buying your coffee.” I assertively said, “No, really. It’s on me.” I handed my card to the barista, but she pushed my hand down and replaced it with her card. I awkwardly said, “No, really. Please let me pay,” as I pushed my card over hers. Then this happened:

Eventually, monosyllabic butch gave my arm a *big* shove, lowered her voice, and demanded, “Take it,” to the barista. I really wanted to continue the battle, but 1) I was surprised/annoyed by how hard she pushed me, 2) I knew I would not win an arm battle with this softball coach, and 3) the barista could NOT have looked less amused with these shenanigans.

As we walked over to retrieve our drinks, I begrudgingly thanked her for the coffee. She responded, “It’s cute that you thought I was going to let you buy your coffee.”


I fantasized about saying, “It’s cute that you think I would put up with this demeaning bullshit after *finally* escaping misogynistic men.” Then I would turn to the barista, tell her to make my coffee to go, and make a dramatic exit. But I’m a wimp, so I took my cup of coffee to the table where my flowers awaited to endure the rest of the date. 

During our conversation, I made sure to say, “I may look femme, but I have a very butch personality.” She laughed and said, “You’re pretty feminine, though.” In little-kid-tantrum-style, I defended, “I’m really not that feminine, plus I don’t do roles.” Hmph! *stomps my foot*

This heteronormative, femme-demeaning behavior really pisses me off. Just because I’m (frequently) more feminine than the women I date, does not mean I’m a lesser human being! Some butch women are so invested in roles that they treat femme-presenting women worse than straight men do. If I wanted an unequal relationship with a partner who doesn’t respect me, I would have settled down with one of the 703,829 men I dated who treated me like shit.

This heteronormative crap is especially frustrating when you’re as captivated by butch women as I am. I’m really into butch women, like really into butch women, but when I go on dates with women who are masculine, I feel like I’m just waiting for them to treat me like a fragile, stupid, incompetent person who doesn’t have a mind of her own. I expected this shit from men when I was “straight,” but from women? Come on.

Any non-douchey masculine-of-center women out there? Oh, there are only six of you total? What’s that? You’re all coupled or married already? Cool, cool. Pet adoption, here I come.

Friday, November 23, 2018

Hurricane Drunk

Hi friends - Sorry I’ve been MIA. To be honest, I’ve been having a hard time. You know when every aspect of your life just falls to shit? Well, that’s where I’m at right now. 

Am I okay? Not right now, but I will be eventually. I keep reminding myself that things have to get better. And if they don’t, I’ll start a new life somewhere else. New place. New career. New people. New Chapstick Femme? Maybe.

I wanted to make a post this month to say that I’m alive, so... I’m alive! I wish I were writing a post complaining about something trivial like how I STILL don’t have a girlfriend—goddammit! But, for now, an “I’m alive” update will have to suffice.

Since I don’t have anything more to say, I’ll leave you with a Florence and the Machine song that fits my current self—hurricane drunk. Love you all. 

Thursday, October 4, 2018

Surprise! I'm Still a Lesbian.

I’m convinced that every gay person has that one family member who is especially shitty about their queerness. Unfortunately, I am no exception.

I came out to this family member less than a year ago and it did NOT go well. Not only did she call me a dyke, but she equated lesbianism with pedophilia, pretended to barf when “thinking about having sex with another woman,” was “confused” by how I could possibly be attracted to my butch then-girlfriend, and insinuated that my then-girlfriend—who was my first—had tricked me into thinking I was gay.

So, the coming out conversation could’ve been better, to say the least.

Fortunately, I only hear from this person once or twice a year, but when I do, it’s always difficult. A few weeks ago, I randomly received a Facebook message from her that said the following:

“Who’s the guy in your profile picture?”

A few things are strange about this inquisition. First, yes. We all know what she’s really asking. But second, the guy in my profile picture is my childhood best friend whom she has known for at LEAST 20 years. Like, she knows him. She watched us grow up together. Also, she knows that HE IS ALSO GAY.

On top of these already bizarre points, the picture itself couldn’t be much gayer. (Okay, maybe if we had rainbows painted on skin, but whatever.)

Since this is an anonymous blog, I’ll give you a little taste of the picture:

Doesn’t this photo scream “we’re a heterosexual couple?”

Here’s how the rest of the conversation went:

Me: “The guy is Jared Clark.” (pseudonym)
Her: “Oh, I didn’t even recognize him. I thought it might be someone you were seeing.”
Me: “I’m still a lesbian.”
Her: “Oh okay.”

It’s extraordinary the mental gymnastics people will perform to believe what they want to believe.

I’m hurt and angry and disappointed and not at all surprised. Hmph.