Massage Madness

About a year ago one of my best friends, Natasha, told me to go to this local massage place to get a massage from this adorable butch woman, Amber. Natasha said, “Amber is so perfect for you. She’s spot-on your type (i.e. older, butch, and brunette) and the two of you would be so compatible personality-wise.”

I never actually went and got that massage.

About 8 months later, this OTHER friend of mine, we’ll call her Frankie, called me:

Frankie: Giiiiiirl, I just got the best massage from the cutest butch woman. She’s EXACTLY your type and the two of you would be perfection.

Me: Ooooh really? What’s she like?

Frankie: She’s super nice, about 10 years older than you, and brunette.

Me: Wait, does she work at [the place Natasha told me about]?

Frankie: Yeah!

Me: Waaaait, what’s her name?

You guessed it, pals. Her name was—drumroll please—AMBER!

I called my first friend, Natasha, to report the news that Frankie got a massage from Amber and had the same feedback about me needing to date her immediately.

After some deep Facebook diving, the three of us discovered that we were actually talking about TWO butch, brunette, 30-somethings, named Amber, who worked at the SAME massage place, whom I am destined to marry. Wild, right?

Fast forward another few months to my birthday. Natasha and her lovely boyfriend bought me a 1-hour massage at the massage place where the Amber heartthrobs work. Natasha presented me with the gift and suggested with a devious smile, “We thought you could schedule a massage with Amber and see who you get.”

I loved the idea. When I called to schedule the massage, I asked, “Can I schedule that with Amber?” Instead of asking which Amber, the woman on the phone simply responded, “Of course. Amber has a Tuesday evening open. Does that work for you?”

I have no idea which butch beauty will be giving me a massage tomorrow evening, but I’m very excited regardless. Wish me luck, lezzies!

***Update***
At the request of one of my lovely readers, I wanted to give y'all an update about this massage. Which Amber did I meet?! It waaaaaaas... Natasha's! She was single at the time of the massage and we actually matched on one of the dating apps about a month later, but then she disabled her account. I saw her recently at a queer dance party with her partner/girlfriend/wife/special human and they both looked incredibly happy and absolutely adorable together. So, let's all send some warm wishes to those lovebirds. :)  

Men vs. Women on Dating Apps

One of my guy friends asked me, “Is it different talking to women versus men on dating apps?” After receiving an emphatic YES, he inquired, “How is it different?” In honor of my buddy’s inquisition, I'm writing this blog post.

Since I used to be “heterosexual” and then “bisexual” on my dating apps, I went back through my history to find some of my favorite first messages from men. Let me repeat, these are the FIRST messages these men sent to me. I expected creepy messages from men during conversations (which I got PLENTY of), but I was always baffled by some of the first messages I received. Here are a few of my favorites:

*To protect the identities of these charmers, I put little animal stickers over their faces*

Questions I have about these messages:

1) Does asking women if they’re “dtf” ever actually work?

2) Do women ever ask men to be their boyfriends in first messages? This happened to me a LOT with men, but has NEVER happened with a woman.

3) Let’s all just imagine a woman sending the message, “I got a vagina that needs serving.” (I hope you’re laughing as hard as I am about this.)

4) So many men asked me to be their “sugarbaby” or “sugarbabe.” To all the straight and bi women reading this, did you ever get these messages? Or does something about the way I look scream “sugarbaby?”

5) Does “tryna chill” mean have sex? I wasn’t cool enough to decode many of these messages from men… Women’s messages are so much easier to read, fyi.

6) To the man I covered with an elephant: Dude, you have got to step up your game. Don’t tell a woman she looks like a man in your first contact. Ideally, you wouldn’t tell her she looks like a man ever, but it’s definitely a bad call for your very first message. 

I started making a first-messages-from-women image, but it ended up being too boring to be worth the time. Basically, the messages all said something like, “Hi [Chapstick Femme]. How are you?” The MOST unusual message I’ve gotten from a woman said: “Your eyebrows are so powerful. Wow. 😍” ← An extraordinarily sweet and unique compliment.

In sum, women aren’t creeps. I’ve NEVER gotten a first message from a woman that felt weird or gross. Yet another reason to #gogay, ladies. ;)

Unpleasant Oral

I’ve been going to the same dentist since I was a kid. Even as a grown-ass woman, I drive two states away (4+ hours) to go to the dentist in my hometown. Getting a new dentist didn’t even occur to me until this morning—you see, I’m from a very small town. Loyalty is *beyond* important to us small-town folks.  

I went to my dentist for my biannual cleaning this morning. When I got in the room, my hygienist—we’ll call her Jackie—started in with her usual questions: How’s your dad? Is your sister still with what’s-his-face? Is your mom still working at X? Did you hear about [insert latest small-town gossip]?

For the first 40 minutes of the appointment, I entertained her questions. I told her updates about my job, family, and friends from high school (the ones who used to get their teeth cleaned there).

Between flossing and scraping, I asked Jackie how her family was doing:

Me: How’s your daughter?

Jackie: She’s doing well. She married X. You know, he’s not your usual guy, but he’s nice to her. I mean, he doesn’t hunt or fish or anything! [I’m from a rural New England town where these are THE markers of manhood.] Get this! He doesn’t even know how to use a drill! What kind of man doesn’t know how to use a drill?! Have you ever met such a man??

Me: *happy that I don’t have to respond to this problematic statement since my mouth is full of gloved hands*

Jackie: But he’s good to her, so we’re happy. I hear your sister is getting married soon?

Me: *gargley yes groan*

Jackie: Do you like him? Is he Mr. Right?

Me: He’s really wonderful. I’m so happy for them.

Jackie: Soooo, have you found your Mr. Right yet?

Me: Uhh no.

Jackie: Oh, it’s okay dear. You have plenty of time. Plus, you’re probably too busy with your career right now to even date, right?

Me: Well I date, but I’m single right now.

Jackie: So you’ve dated since moving to [my current location]?

Me: Yes.

Her: Oh, so you had a boyfriend then? Oh honey, I’m so sorry it didn’t work out with him.

Me: Well, I had a partner last year…

Her: Oh?

Me: I—I— actually, I date women now.

Her: Oh. Well okay… Do you want mint or grape toothpaste today?

The remaining 15 minutes were filled exclusively with talk about my teeth, gums, and how I really should be flossing every day (yeah, yeah, yeah). If you knew Jackie, you would understand how very unusual this was.

Though Jackie didn’t actually say anything anti-gay, I’m guessing she isn’t particularly gay-friendly—especially given her overt investment in gender roles. For this reason, I regretted coming out to her when I got out to my car. But I also felt like I would have been hiding who I really am if I hadn’t corrected her NUMEROUS false assumptions about my “Mr. Right.”

After I came out to my immediate family, I promised myself that I wouldn’t hide who I am for others’ benefit. If I want to stop being ashamed of who I am, I need to act like I’m not. And eventually, if I continue acting like I’m not ashamed of who I am—especially in my conservative, Trump-supporting hometown—maybe one day I actually won’t be.