Ladyfingers: U-Haul Lesbians and other stereotypes

Ladyfingers: U-Haul Lesbians and other stereotypes

I always knew Justin Bieber was a lesbian. Engaged after a couple months of dating, that son of a douche (let the record reflect that I’m referring to his father; please feel free to Google).

We are all aware, and have heard of at least one, of the lesbian stereotypes that are driven by everyone who isn’t a lesbian: one acts like the man in the relationship, lesbians always scissor, it’s just a phase, all lesbians hate men, etc. They’re comically untrue and I personally can find the humor in the stupidity more often than not. What baffles me, and what I’d like to go over with you here, are the stereotypes within the lesbian community that are totally true and kept alive by our lesbo-brethren. You guys, the “U-Haul Lesbian” has its own fucking Wikipedia page! Did you know it’s also referred to as “U-Haul Syndrome?!” You do now. We both do. Hence the Justin Bieber reference because we can agree he has a beautiful lady face. Now the small circle is completed and we can move forward.

Lesbi-completely honest with ourselves though, stereotypes — like the “U-Haul Lesbian” — seem more like statistics nowadays. I mean, it’s actually happening. For example, four out of five lesbians own a cat, statistically speaking. Yes, I have no actual research to back that up (yet), but we all know it’s true. I’ll be honest, I spent a good chunk of the last seven or eight years of my life saying I would never move in with a girlfriend and then I totally did. I convinced my amazing girlfriend to move from Georgia with a promise of that “big Florida life.” Mind you, it was a unique situation, and I couldn’t be happier with my lovermate.

All of it just begs the question, are lesbians perpetuating our own stereotypes or have these generalizations become unspoken guidelines that gay women subconsciously adhere to? As if we have somehow managed to establish conformities that we’ll eventually use to pressure one another and ourselves to fit in. It’s systematic, automatic, hydromatic, it’s basically “Grease,” but “Summer Lovin’” covers Sandy and Danny’s relationship tag plus applicable emoji on each of their respective Instagram bios. And most definitely their incredible sex. Of course they cannot forget to include a 45-minute song about intense sexual tension, electrifying arm touches and their ability to find things to text about throughout the course of an entire day. Then it ends with a flash mob engagement. Boom! If there is a musical theater director reading this and you’re interested in this treatment for “Pink is the Warmest Color: The Musical,” email me.

Here’s one that I can’t quite get a grasp on: inter-circle dating. I can’t even figure out how to refer to it properly and hell if I know how to describe it. Basically, everyone has dated everyone’s friend, who just broke up with everyone’s ex-girlfriend, and then you multiply all of that by 1,000. It’s as if lesbians have this sixth sense of finding all the other Scissor Sisters within a 20-mile radius, and then they put the ends of their ponytails together as they speed date each other for a month before moving onto another herd. I’m inadvertently Eskimo sisters with half of Orlando because of this interwoven Lez Fest. While I can understand the passion that comes with two women falling for each other, I can’t say I’ve experienced doing the same “falling” with my ex’s good friend two weeks later. Hey, I know it’s worked for someone out there. I just always went with the “Quasimodo approach” for my break-ups: go into full hiding and chill with my GALgoyles until the coast is clear. No strings, no confusion, no bullshit.

Lesbians are a fascinating species though. From the way they talk to the way they interact to the way they fuck — it’s like a magical language made up of interpretive dance and infinite amounts of orgasms with lots of energy and exchange of hormones. There is fiery drama and levels of intimacy so high that they are inexplicable. My heart breaks for the vanilla couples that don’t get to experience it. Not because they can’t, but because they don’t know it exists. Gay women, though, are a whole other story. You get two ladies that are in the midst of hot and heavy, and they can communicate to each other about likes and dislikes…Pff. Game over; Team Vagina wins.

I will conclude with this. There is one generalization that I believe would be in every dyke’s best interest if it was actually looked at as a general rule: fingernail upkeep versus your pussy starring in the sequel to “There Will Be Blood.” I’m sorry for being graphic, but it needs to be addressed, even if just for a brief moment. Remember kids: If you see it, clip it. Don’t ask, just tell them to file down their razor claws. Only you can prevent a coochie massacre. Thank you and God bless.

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