So, back when I was in my early 30’s, I was still straddling the fence a bit between men and women.  Wifesy hates hearing this, but it’s the goshderned truth.  For me, the main problem with lady-gay was the round robin lesbians often played with their exes.  Let me explain.


When you’re a lady-gay or a lesbo, even in a major city, there is a very small pool to pick from.  After a few years, you kind of know who everyone is.  So, unless you start dating from state to state or internationally there’s some crisscrossing of lovers.  I call it the lesbian-lazy-susan.


"Put your lady on here and spin. Now let someone else give her a try." Ew, no.


It goes like this.  You have a lesbian friend and you have your lady lover.  Sooner or later – statistically speaking – your lady lover is going to be dating your lesbian friend.  I absolutely HATED this.  And then – gasp – when your friend and your ex start dating – YOU’RE ALL SUPPOSED TO REMAIN FRIENDS.  Are you feckin’ kidding me?  No way.


I suppose there’s something about the lesbo community that silently says avoid confrontation at all costs.  So much so that they’re willing to let their lover who just broke their heart, date their feckin‘ friend, and then they will attend their ex and friend’s lesbian wedding like some kind of happy bridesmaid on the outside, totally destroyed on the inside – non-feeling zombie.  Okay, maybe these lady-lovers are better people than me for keeping the peace, but no way, no how, could I do something like that.  Impossible.


Here’s the way I feel about my exes – once we break up, you are dead to me.  Unless you’re face down in the river, I don’t want to hear about you.  I suppose I was sooo hetero in that way because burning everything belonging to your ex reminds me of Angela Basset in Waiting to Exhale.  So, I’m going to say burning the bridge towards ex-land and then cauterizing the wound is a straight trait.  It’s a straight trait I can understand.  Due to this ambivalence, from time to time, I would give up with the gay girl  “community” when it would get too pass-her-around for me.  Instead, I would go out with my straight friends trolling for some boys.


Now, I never understood these guys emotionally.  Almost never.  And for me, FOR ME, that’s the disconnect that puts me in the gay column.  It wasn’t the sex, it was the mind.  For me, again only for me, the two never jibed – the sex and the emotion with the dudes and that bothered me.  With the ladies, it did.  And by the way, certain ladies.  Not every feckin’ lady under the sun.  I say that because the minute you say you’re a lesbo or in a gay relationship, everyone wants to say to you, “Hey, what about that ass on Angelina Jolie, huh?  Isn’t it nice?  Don’t you want to tap it?”  Yes, I can appreciate her ass, but I can also appreciate Brad’s and no I don’t want to tap either of them.  I don’t want to tap everything with a vagina.  Sorry, but I don’t.  Some vaginas actually totally annoy me like Snooki and Sam-Wow or whatever the feck her name is.  So there.


One day, during this trolling for boys phase, I had an epiphany.  My very close friend, Rayanne, had just broken up with her boyfriend and she was a mess.  I wanted to raise her spirits, so I suggested she go on a date.  Between sobs she indicated that she wasn’t ready, so I said, “What if I go with you?”  And in a moment a plan was born.

What's the worst that could happen? Bwaaahhhhhhaaaahaaa.


The two of us were comedians and pretty ladies, if I do say so myself.  (Hey, if you don’t like yourself, no one will like you!)


So, I sat with my broken – hearted friend and composed the following post for craigslist:



Her:  28, Russian-Jewish, but looks more Puerto Rican.  The Puerto Rican lookin’-lady is hilariously funny and can do an impromptu, dead-on, imitation of Nancy Grace.  The other her:  32, Irish-Colombian, but looks more Irish, yet not in a weird, inbred sort of way.  The Irish lookin’-lady is hilariously funny and can charm the pants off a terrorist.  We’re friends, best friends, AND NO WE’RE NOT GOING TO QUEER OFF FOR YOU.  DON’T EVEN ASK.  Next step:  your pictures get ours.  Pictures of your faces, please.  DO NOT, WE REPEAT, DO NOT SEND US PICTURES OF YOUR D*CKS OR WE WILL FIND A WAY TO SEND THEM TO YOUR MOTHER.  Looking forward to hearing from you.


Rayanne read the post out loud and I could tell from the twinkle in her eye that she liked it.  We decided that I would do the email correspondence and Rayanne would do any talking on the phone.  Rayanne is a genius on the phone, btw.  One time, I listened to her call up Bed, Bath, and Beyond because she had blown off their delivery time for her order.  B,B, & B are sticklers about you not missing your assigned delivery time in New York, so they won’t usually reschedule.  But, Rayanne told them she was an 80 year old woman.  EVERY time the customer service rep said she couldn’t reschedule it, Rayanne pretended that she didn’t understand in very loud, old person-ease.  Her boyfriend and I were on the floor peeing with laughter and, of course, Rayanne got her order rescheduled.


I hit “continue” and uploaded our double date – Craigslist ad.  Within about 30 minutes, my computer practically exploded with responses.  I mean we received hundreds.  Some were d*ck-pics and they were deleted after a glance and a snide comment for not following orders.  Then I slowly worked my way through their faces.  If I liked one, I’d shoot it off to Rayanne and she would give her yeah or neigh.  We had such a blast doing this, I can’t even tell you.  We went back and forth with the photos for days.  Eventually, we got to the part where Rayanne needed to call a few of the guys on the phone.


And I’m going to leave this post at that…What happened after Rayanne called?  Well, you’ll have to come back tomorrow and find out.  This has been a Sweet Mother special episode capped off with a tantalizing “to be continued.”  Does that infuriate you or get you excited?  Tell me in the comments section, but please, no d*ck pics.


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Photo creds:  CL feature, lazy susan, to be continued, cl catastrophe

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