OKCupid should just shoot me

I recently joined OkCupid much to the encouraging of my friends (including Woolf). They all said it was "a great way to meet people" and I foolishly believed them.

Having had my profile up for less than a week I have had over 100 views, I have 50 messages, at least 25 winks (whateverthefuck that means) and maybe one or two of the people who have messaged me can actually spell, use grammar and aren't looking for a hookup with their "man" involved.

I am semi-disgusted/its like watching a train wreck.

Couple of things about OkC though that have gotten me thinking...

1. is the gay community really just out there on these dating/social networking sites just for the enjoyment of sexually adventurous hetero couples

and 2. Why did I join?

I have no answer for either.

But I have noticed a few things about the lesbians on OkC...

1. I know a great deal of them. And great deal of the ones I know, I know on a Biblical level if you will.

2. All the cute, andro girls are on the coasts. Either NYC or Portland. Looks like I need to move. Or make Denver more appealing to them. Here is my attempt: If you are an androgynous woman and are looking to move somewhere, move to Denver. I will buy you drinks and be a slut for you.

3. All the ones that message me that are identifying as gay have a picture of them and their dog or they have ONE picture of them and then FIVE of just their dog. Which wouldn't bother me because I like dogs. But its a dating website. Who the fuck cares what your dog looks like? We want to know that you don't look like dog.

4. All the ones that message me who aren't identifying as gay are bisexual. I know, I know...bisexuals have a terrible rep around our community and its kinda mean. But the ones that have messaged me have seriously lived up to it. AND I QUOTE "my man and I were looking at profiles and saw yours and damn, we wanna do bad things to you." Seriously?! It says I am looking of ladies, and only ladies...how does that equate you and your man doing anything to me but keeping your parts in your pants and going away?

5. A lot of lesbians need better hair cuts and the ones that need better hair cuts are usually also rocking some frosted tips or bad bleach jobs. NOT OK LADIES. Listen, if you have a hair cut that you think I may be referring too, then go get it cut.

I know some good stylists, they both do my hair and I love them...Ashe at Instrukt on Ogden or Nichelle at Aveda on Market. Call them, change it. Stop being that dyke with the bad hair.

6. If I looked at your profile and didn't message you, that was probably because I wasn't interested...so girl who keeps sending me messages saying "you looked at my profile but didn't message me so I thought I would message you" I got your message, I am just not interested. Seriously... Would you attack a girl at a bar who looked you? "You looked at me but didn't say hello, so I am saying hello." No, you wouldn't...so why do it on the internet? Please stop.

7. Straight men seem to think that me saying I am only into women means that I am into women and maybe them, even though they are not women at all and never were. So if you a straight man reading this (which I doubt) and you are on OkC (which I doubt even more) please stop pestering all the lesbians. Go hit on the bi girls. They are into you and will have a threesome with you because they like women too.

8. Finally, this is my biggest issue with the people on OkC who have contacted me...You have a nice face, your profile seems snarky and intelligent and then I look at your photos. Everything seems normal until I see the one of you in your LARPing costume and the caption says "On the weekends I play dress up and hit people with padded sticks." HOW DOES THAT GET YOU LAID? I mean, really? I don't get it. It's weird and creeps me out. I think that maybe OkCupid should make another way to identify yourself...LARPer or normal adult who doesn't pretend she is a wood nymph, ever, not even on Halloween.

Maybe my friends were right, its a great way to meet people...just not always the people you are looking to meet.

Happy Trails... back to rating people. (That's really the only part I like...)

-Alice.

Rugby...the ultimate lesbian sport (Woolf)

Sometimes when I play rugby or am involved with the social scene of rugby I feel a scene from the movie Mean Girls coming on. Like when the high schoolers suddenly become animals in the mind of the ever creative Lindsey Lohan character.

No but seriously. That is how it feels.

When you hit the pitch, these girls get carnal. They get angry. Mean. Mad. And when you drop a ball, there is no understanding. No coddling. Its all "PICK IT UP YOU FUCK!". Now, I get it. Its a nasty sport, but seriously, what is it about ladies that gets them all nasty at other ladies in moments like this?

I joined rugby thanks to the convincing of a fine batch of ladies whom I met at a birthday party in March. When I was a) a recent colorado returnee, b) on crutches, and c) completely incapacitated due to aforementioned crutches and post-foot-surgery-nightmare. Nonetheless, the idea stuck. And a few months later, I saw one of these ladies at a bar. She reminded me about how I had promised to play rugby. (I had?) And that I really should want to play. So I joined up.

Now all that is fine and well. I made a great decision. I have made new friends. Really learned to love the sport again. But wait...There's more.

Now, after a brief spat with said friend (brief. spat. and friend. are all understatements) I feel as though I am in the gauntlet. Everyday I am fighting with a zoo animal of various sorts. Oscillating between glances, anger, and evading actually tackling. (Cause tackling requires touching. Duh). And honestly, its a bit tiresome.

This is not to say that I don't get why this is all happening. I do. Woolf had a really long week of crazy wherein everyone steered clear of her (including her beloved Alice). But seriously? We're on the same team.

So here are my current musings regarding the rugby world of ladies and what it does to our delicate female psyches.

1. Not all rugby players are lesbians. Chances are the ones you think are lesbians....aren't. And the ones you think aren't? Are. Case in point: Prop who is screaming dyke from every angle. Totally straight. Super femme forward player who is super bad ass. Dyke. Completely.

2. The smaller ladies are the best players. I mean this with the double entendre. Completely.

3. Just because I am a bohemeth of a chick does not mean that I am a good player. In fact, it just means I fall really really hard when you hit me. (Double entendre intended here too)

4. Screwing up in a game lasts two seconds. But it will be held against you all week by your team. In fact they'll mention it....daily. On facebook. Via text. And at practice.

So there you have it. I joined rugby. I'm now bruised. Battered. Baffled. And bewildered. But happy nevertheless. And you know what? If said friend is going to channel various African Savannah animals, so will I. And the next time I see her, I will pounce and maybe claw her eyes out....If only I can catch her (please see observation 2).

Long time no...anything. (Alice)

Hey. Hi. Hello. It's been a while.

My life has gotten a bit focused and chaotic in the past couple of weeks...at the same time... consequently I have been come unfocused and weirdly calm about it all.

I am sure you don't wanna hear about my boring family/school/life/I moved the furniture around in my apartment for several hours because I couldn't sit still-- drama...

So on to the lesbotron 99 solo friday night adventure of Alice.

I went to the local lesbian watering hole, where by the don't actually serve water.

On a Friday night.

Alone.

Why alone?

A few reasons, mostly all adding up to everyone being lame except me. I got all gussied up in my favorite dress (that Woolf helped me pick out), wore my favorite vans that have massive holes in them (so they basically serve no real shoe-like purpose) and had what I like to think was the best hair night in the recent history of my hair and I went to the bar.

Where I proceeded to drink far too much whiskey, ran into friends I hadn't seen since the last lunar eclipse and we had a fantastic time.

There was no drama, minus me getting people with bad hair and worse shirts to take pictures willingly and some how made more "that's what she said jokes" than I have ever made in my life, despite my loathing for them.

It was great night of drama free escaping.

Then I woke up with three new phone numbers in my phone with names that I am not sure are actual names, or just a mashing of letters I thought looked nice (I deleted them). I also woke up with bruises on my arm and a tingly forearm, which I concluded came from me getting in a serious fight with myself, since there were no ramifications or evidence otherwise. Or maybe I just ran into a wall, got abducted by aliens, fell down some stairs or slept on it weird. Any of those could be logical explanations. Unfortunately I have no memory of any of it.

But before I fell asleep I drunk dialed unBeau and apparently laughed a bunch about a silly video on youtube and talked somewhat like a toddler. For which, I am never going to hear the end of.

I think, dear readers (if there are any of you out there) that I may be reverting back to my youth. By youth I mean, toddler. Minus the diapers, plus whiskey. Should be a good time.

Stay tuned, I promise to write more and maybe stir the drama pot for some excitement.

Ps. Fancy ponytails are curled, hair sprayed, perfectly pulled back to not look there was any real effort made to do so kind of ponytails. Awkward. Not ok. Just cut it off and butch it up for reals. Every time I see a butch girl with a fancy pony all I think is "pillow princess" and then throw up in my mouth. No exaggeration.

Also if you are wearing cargo anything and not 1. in the military and in uniform or 2. actually carrying cargo, please, don't wear them. Otherwise I will be forced to put my trash in your pockets.

Cheers.

The Don'ts of Lesbian Fashion (According to Woolf)

Alice and I have been involved in a myriad of conversations as of late regarding lesbian fashion.

Our friend Cargo, Alice, our token straight boy (TSB), and I were out at lunch on Saturday eating biscuits at the Denver Biscuit company. (Which is delicious by the by) At some point, Alice started a rant about what is deemed inappropriate lesbian "fashion". Included on this list was Cargo Shorts and Butches with long hair (especially those with fancy ponytails...I'll let Alice explain). Cargo is named this because she obviously wears them and has long hair and is butch. So she's a trifecta of poor choices in lesbian fashion according to Alice.

I'm not one to judge and I can't comment on her pet peeves, as I too wear cargo shorts. In fact I have a pair of camo cargoes that are just below the knee. Cargo was quick to tell me that they are in fact "capris". Damnit. I own camo, cargo capris. Color me a disaster in the book of Alice Fashion.

So while I may make Alice cringe with my frequent clothing choices, I have my own set of "rules". Some of them are pretty typical and others might surprise you.

1. The mullet is not cool. A reverse mullet is not cool either. Both of these hairstyles should have died long ago. The mullet never should have happened. Whoever thought it was a good idea to have party in the back and business in the front ought to have a lobotomy. The reverse mullet is the haircut that lesbians just can't get rid of--very long in the front, short in the back. This wasn't cool in the late 90's and it still isn't.

2. Cargo PANTS. Fine. I get the shorts. But the pants have to go. Unless you are one of those girls who wears cargo pants with skimpy tops. I'll let that one slide.

3. Popped collars. You are not a frat boy. You don't go to Dartmouth. And you are far old enough to know that polo collars belong down. Flat. Where they belong. Even worse is when you are wearing a button down shirt which doesn't have a collar made for popping.

4. Wearing pants that don't fit you. Look, I don't want to see your underwear. I didn't like it when the boys did it when I was 16, and I don't like it when the ladies do it and you're 25. Showing off the band is fine, but when the shamrock pattern of your boxers is showing, we have a problem.

So ladies, there you have it. Please understand that if Alice or I see you out in public dressing a way that puts shame to us dykes, you will be given a ticket.

What you should do on Monday

Dear Denver,

I (Alice) am not one for bossing or telling people what to do...so please make an exception...

Monday Nights are usually boring and not so much fun, but everyone few Mondays some of Denver's best Talent come out and perform in one big Queerbaret (get it, like cabaret?) and some of my nearest and dearest friends are involved with putting the show on...

This month's show is all about throwing it back to the 1920's and all the glory they were. People will be in costume (I will be there in one!) and there are prizes if you used the code word (which is Dirty Crown)...basically its gonna be awesome and you're gonna feel lame if you aren't there.

There are musicians, slam poets, drag kings, dancers and a comedian! What more could a girl want from a Monday night?

The fun starts at 8pm at Her Bar (Colfax and Washington).

It's a whopping $5, but per Her Bar standards, your first drinky drink is free.

There is gonna be some rad drink specials. (I'm talking cheap drinks)

AND rumor has it that there is going to be a real live pin up girl! (Yep, pin up girl!)

So come, get drunk, enjoy the show and maybe, just maybe, we will blog about you Tuesday.

West Virginia Thursday Night at the Zoo (Alice)

It is a rare and unusual occasion when I venture out on Thursday nights in this city.

Thursdays bring two things: 21 year olds and drama, neither of which I am particularly interested in. BUT I have a friend in town from a place that is rooted in our country's history and has more bugs than any place ever needs. And me, being adventurous, decided I could deal with going out so her vacation in Denver was exciting.

So we went to the one and only lesbo bar, where it is usually disappointing and doesn't have much to look at, people wise. But Thursday night pulled through, it was like walking into a West Virginia Cousin-Loving front yard barbeque.

(You lovely readers know how much I like lists...)

Out of all the homosexual ladies there, here are a few that stick out in my head this morning like a bad dream:

1. The spiked mullet with frosted tips lady wearing a flannel shirt and cargo shorts (I loathe cargo shorts)

2. The bad bra butch. Not only was she wearing cargo shorts and a warm up tank top (one of the slick feeling ones for basketball) but she had the least supportive bra in the history of bras on and she needed at least a little support. She also walked like a man and I am pretty sure I saw her adjust her dick.

3. The screamer. This girl is usually out and about in our community and I have had a few not-so-pleasant run-ins with her before, but this time she was particularly annoying. She was participating in one of the deck games the bar was having and she was screaming. I think it was physically impossible for her to talk. Shrill, loud and unable to decipher what she was saying...thats all she was doing. Screaming. I wanted to duct tape her mouth shut.

4. The DJ. She was magical all on her own. Plaid cargo shorts (double whammy) and had a fake affliction shirt on, it was the Walmart special version. She also needed to buy a new support system because her ladies had become one and were sagging down to her belt. Which was pulled up high because for some reason when people get older, they pull up their pants to ungodly heights

5. The walking banana cream pie. She was wearing yellow and white and looked like a banana. But a big one, that moved a lot more than a banana should. She was banana cream pie. Walking around. Pretending it was human. She was encouraging the screamer.

6. The drunk dyke couple. According to my friend from out of town, they had been there since she arrived three hours earlier, and were already drunk at that point. When we arrived at the bar they were in the same spot, same bar stools, considerably more drunk and were getting ready to sing karaoke. Magic happened need less to say. Magic. My ears bled, clear blood.

I felt like I was at the Denver Zoo, watching the animals come out for mating season. But all the sexy animals were taken, so no Tigers or Cheetahs and certainly no Pumas. Only warthogs, rhinos and lemurs.

Thursday night thank you for being everything I wanted and more. Next time I venture out on a Thursday I am going to wear my safari outfit and my shirt that says "West Virginia is for Cousins"

In other news, wish me luck, I am going to Apple today and that always ends in my spending too much money or yelling at some twat genius for saying I use PC's and thats my problem. If you know me at all, I am not a PC user and have an affinity for all things Apple.

Other advice from Woolf

2. Don't start smoking. Queers love their fags, and when you hang out with a slew of them you are destined to see cigarettes. Therefore, damn near impossible to quit. And I am doing my damndest, which just ain't good enough right now.

In other news, Alice is home finally. Too many days of playing nature girl for her. I think she's glad to be back in her natural habitat.

It has also been brought to my attention that Alice is funnier than I am. (I was already aware).

Also, readers! We know you are out there. Stop by a comment thread and say hi sometime. We'd like to know there are those of you who read this drivel.

Into the wild...

Alice here...

I got mauled by bugs today.

Specifically spiders, which are my least favorite bug.

I am covered in bites that itch worse than that thing I got last summer from a girl I was fucking.

I even have one on my ear lobe.

Me being in the wilderness is quite a funny sight.

In case you have never seen it (which you haven't because you don't know me) I will describe it to you:

I am sunburnt (and my nose is already peeling)

I am covered in bug bites. They itch. Bad. And nothing helps but drinking more.

I think I had a tick, or a chigger (I don't know what a chigger is but it sounds bad).

My stomach is dying from all the meat my family cooks with and I can't avoid.

I am allergic to dirt, so I have a wicked headache... which could be from the altitude or all the alcohol I have been drinking, either way, it sucks.

I have taken one shower in the past two days and it was ice cold...mind you I usually take two a day, so I feel like I smell like the dumpster behind my house.

Add all of that, plus being surrounded by an abnormally large and invasive family and I am basically in survival mode. Add my recent parting of ways with my un-beau and I am now surviving...on rootbeer and vanilla vodka and my aunts cigarettes.

Oh, and I saw a bear today. In the wild. On a hill, really close to me. I could see his eyeballs. And there was no glass between us.

Happy Wilderness...Back to the city in a few days. Where I will take a hot shower, cover myself in oatmeal or that weird pink lotion until I stop itching. After I am socially presentable, I will make my way to my favorite vegan restaurant and pretend this was all a bad dream.

(btw I am kidding about getting a disease from someone, that never happened)

If you see my heart, will you throw away the pieces? (Alice)

I have had my heart a bit busted today,

I am up in the mountains and my beau decides now is a good time to un-beau me.

Over facebook chat. (Thats the truth, I couldn't make that shit up).

Remind you, I have no phone, no instant connection to the world outside of my crazy family and I am up here trying to deal with this.

All I have for real comfort (since my family hates that I am gay and refuses to hear about it) is alcohol and cigarettes. Super cozy, right?

Good times.

Be forewarned that over the next few weeks my posts may be despondent and decidedly pissed off.

I told Woolf via Skype today that I was going to be come "THAT" lesbian with too much eye makeup, hair in her face and dark colored clothes. She didn't put up an argument.

Cheers.

A brief...from Alice

Yes, Woolf is an angel.
Yes, my aunt is eccentric. But, have you met me...probably not, but its proof I am really from this family.
Yes, there is an Irish man here, who yes, loves the Red Sox. But! He has a great gay man impression, so spot on I am convinced that in a past life, or in the past of this life, was gay. Flaming, glittery, cock sucking gay.
and yes, I am excited to see my beau.


But, Woolf can't read Pepsi bottles. In her attempt to buy a diet pepsi, she actually purchased a diet cherry vanilla pepsi. It tasted and smelled like baby vomit (yes, we know what baby vomit tastes like, we were babies once after all. I actually flashed back to diapers and wanted to cry out for someone to hold me).

I will be off the grid for a few days, in the mountians, with my ENTIRE family. No worries dear readers, I will have interwebs, so I will post away about trout fishing, getting too drunk, how awesome my cousins are and all the drama that only my family can create. (A few years ago my dad and uncle got into a fist fight, broke wine bottles and threatened to "cut a bitch". No lie)

Now we are off to a straight bar, with my cousins, to see my beau... FUN WILL BE HAD.

ps. Woolf I love you always and forver for being a safe driver and adventuring to the great republican city of Colorado Springs with me. At least if we get hate crimed, we will get hc'd together.

Our big adventure

First off, don't fret. I won't be posting twice in one day too often. That's Alice's bag, baby. (Which by the way she is carrying a clutch tonight, and its leopard printed).

ANYWHO,

Being the generous person I am, I packed up Alice and myself in my convertible and drove to the airport to pick up her aunt. We then proceeded to drive 1.5 hours to the Springs. Mormon/Christian/Army/Airforce/Focusonthefamilyriden Colorado Springs.

Yes. I really am that good of a friend.

Upon arrival to her family's house, I see Boston Red Sox paraphenalia. College in MA means I have a mean love for the BoSox. We enter the house. And there is an Avon/Tupperware party going on. I can't lie. This actually happened. Fifteen people are getting their face on with eye pads soaked in some level of toxic goo in hopes of staving off age's deadly fingers. Tough cookies. No goo is going to fix that shit.

We then enter the garage and proceed to chain smoke with the Bostonian who was born and bred in Ireland. True Irish Boston boy. Alice feels like this is the PERFECT time to make gay jokes (because, duh it is) and show EVERYONE our blog.

Now if you haven't figured out yet, this is a bit covert. But here we are, drinking wine with her TRIP of a family and they are reading about our lesbionic homo-tastic lives.

I'm not amused.

And now, the two of us are piling into the big red truck (belonging to the Bostonian, duh) and headed to the local bar. Straight bar. To see Alice's beau. You see, that's the ONLY reason I was this nice. Because since the Beau has left, Alice has been decidedly despondant and addicted to whiskey.

So I left my NGFGF (EnGuffGuff) who decided today that she was ready to drop the EnGuff and just be the Guff (who didn't see that coming from a mile away? Not this broad) and I took Alice to Colorado Springs, in rush hour, with her eccentric aunt to make her happy.

There. Proof I'm an angel.

See you in the morning lovelies.

Advice from Woolf

1. Listen to Alice.

Seriously. Those are some good tidbits of information. I know I have suffered from the hands of these things many times. In my opinion the most important things she mentioned are not all lesbians are going to transition, and the butch femme dichotomy aren't for everyone. My Not Girlfriend Girlfriend (NGFGF) also has suffered from these two things.

On another note, if you haven't heard already Proposition 8 *coughhatecough* was overturned. I would love to write something beautiful about it, but honestly I am just so happy and overwhelmed that I could jump up and down. So I will leave with you that.

Advice from Alice

I am probably not the best person to get advice from, I mean my past is sordid and is a tangle of failed relationships and burned bridges. But, out of the glowing embers I have discovered a few things (and in case you haven't noticed, I love making lists)... so here is a list of things I have learned about being a lesbian, in her 20s who is just trying to find her way.

(I will number with Roman Numerals just to keep you guys on your little toes... and because I need the practice using them)

I. If you are going to cancel plans with someone because you don't want to see them (for any number of reasons, but mostly because they like you and you don't like them back) always do it when the sun is up. Otherwise, it will seem like you are canceling because you are drunk and that you don't care about their feelings. In general, the day time is a better time to make someone feel like you are avoiding them like that bubonic plague.

II. In conjunction with canceling in the day time, it's better to do it over the phone, with your actual voice box and not via text. The reason should be clear, but some of us ladies still need to remember to actually pick up the phone. Have some integrity.

III. Never assume that two people are dating, getting hot and heavy or simply benefiting from each other's naked company. It makes things awkward and forces those two people to have to have "the talk". That is always uncomfortable when it is brought on by other people.

IV. Not all lesbians LOVE Ani the way you do, so please don't act like you are a better pussy licker because you know every song she has ever written by heart.

V. Lesson number four also applies to Tegan and Sara, Melissa Etheridge, Melissa Ferrick, Portishead, and Chris Pureka.

VI. Not all lesbians like softball. (this lesson is mostly for the straighties out there who think we all like to whack balls with big sticks and then run like hell). So please don't invite a homo to a game unless you know for a fact that they adore the sport, otherwise they feel like you may judge their gayness when they politely decline (see number one) so they will feel obligated to go and subsequently hate every second of it.

VII. Just because two gay ladies are hanging out it doesn't mean they are bumping bagels. I am gay but I can have friends who are women who like women and I don't have to be attracted to them. We are not all incestuous (in the sense that we become each other's family) and we can platonically cuddle with our friends and not have it be sexual.

VIII. There is no man, so please don't who is the man in the relationship. We are lesbians, so there is no man. And no, you and your boyfriend can't join in.

IX. We may be called carpet munchers, but some of us prefer linoleum.

X. The butch/femme dichotomy is not for everyone. I may be in a dress today, but tomorrow I will be pants, will you still like me then? Please stop assuming because I wear girly clothes some days that I like girls in carharts.

XI. Not all lesbians want to become bois. Please don't think that the andro girls out there are going to bind and take T. Yes, some do but just as many (if not more) don't. (I personally get a little flustered every time I see an andro girl. Keep it up ladies...mmm)

XII. There is such a thing as gaydar. I have it and I use it, well.

XIII. I may be a lesbo with a guitar, but I am not into granola or hearing about wind power (sorry Woolf).

XIV. Nope, not all lesbians want to turn someone. So please don't get your thong in a bunch when I say you look nice today.

XV. There is a difference between queer, gay and lesbian. If someone says they are queer, its rude to say they are gay/lesbian. Also, if you are going to hate speak at me, I prefer if you came up with something better than dyke, fag, homo, etc. Those are old and out played. Lets get creative. Make me laugh a little inside at your creativity.

XVI. We call each other family for a reason. Not only is it fun to say in a super gay way (faaamillly), but because a lot of us loose our blood family when we come out, the community steps in and takes care of us. So ladies, please remember all those "baby gays" out there may need us, the way we need the older generation. We are the only support system some people have, so come on...WE ARE FAMILY, I GOT ALL MY SISTERS WITH ME! (sing it girls!)

That's it. That's my advice.

Pretty good life lessons, right?

Maybe if we are lucky, one of these days Woolf will offer up some advice. I mean, she is the brains behind this operation. I'm just another pretty face.

Taco Tuesday

Hi, Alice here.

I fell off the radar.

Sorry.

It was only for a day, please forgive me!

My comeback is epic...

TACO TUESDAY.

yep.

tacos.

lesbians.

other kinds of tacos.

tequila...

If I survive I will tell you all about it.

No predictions this time,

but if you don't hear from me for a while, please have Woolf call my mom and tell her that I love her.

Happy Shark Week and Taco Tuesday.

ps. Sunday was less exciting that I thought it would be and I am still disappointed by how adult we all acted. My beau was the sweetest thing to wake up next too and we splashed in a fountain Monday in a local park and got yelled at by a park employee.

Last night

First off, let me explicate. I (Woolf), may be a chapstick-only-wearing-lesbian by day, but by night I'm a no-holds-barred-I-lived-in-NYC-too-long-not-to-wear-crazy-makeup type of lady. And despite my tendency to be outdoorsy and crunchy, I am enough city I know how to party. (Thankyouverymuch!)

Last night was no exception. Alice, her beau, myself, and my turquoise eyeliner made our way to Vinyl. (The place to see and be seen in Denver on a Sunday, duh). Now fair reader, if you aren't a social butterfly or a Denverite you are probably thinking. Dancing and drinking on a Sunday?

Yes.

Every. Sunday. On a rooftop.

Ok. Back to the story.

We made it to Vinyl. There was no bloodbath. There may have been uber skeletons in the closet with a few people, and even more moments of heart to heart with others. But in general. Our crew was calm, cool, collected. Shocked, I'm sure. (That makes two of us).

So there you have it. Mayhaps Alice has a different story, but as far as I can tell, everyone behaved and Pinnochio didn't show which meant far less blood baths than initially thought out. WOW. Now that is a boring assed Sunday. We'll make sure to tell our crew that low drama nights do not make interesting blogging.

(Oh and blogosphere....Alice and her beau are sofreakingadorableitmakesmewanttovomit)

Call me Miss Cleo

It's Sunday. Not only is it Sunday, but it is also the start of Shark Week, which means two things:

1. I (Alice) will watch a lot of Discovery Channel and be obsessed with Sharks for the next 7 days.

and 2. I will take my behaviors and mirror those of sharks, complete with shark attacks and primal pack mentality.

Today is a perfect day for these behaviors to come out. You see, a few weeks ago there was some serious drama (but when isn't there?) and I lost a close friend due to her behavior, we shall call her Pinocchio (because she is a liar, if you didn't figure that out on your own).

Anyways, Pinocchio lied about her intentions with someone we will call Paris Hilton (because she is the center of attention and the drama). Paris and Pinocchio eventually started seeing eachother (such an attractive pairing) and the truth about the lies came to the surface. There were lies told about the lies and lies told about me (yeah, I was LIVID to say the least). To make matters worse, the girl I am seeing is Paris' bff. AWKWARD.

The culmination of the past few weeks will take place tonight...You see, Paris, Pinocchio, Ellen the Generous (who is Pinocchio's recent ex and my close friend), MoHo (who is my beau's ex girlfriend and is besties with Paris and who is dating Ellen), my beau and I will all BE AT THE SAME PLACE. Recap: Paris, Pinocchio, Ellen, MoHo, my Beau, and I will all be at the same place. Oh, and this place is a rooftop that serves booze.

I feel like the show "I was attack by a shark and survived" will be recreated tonight. I am definitely not wearing white, I don't want blood stains on my clothes.

I would like to take a moment and make a few predictions for the evening, feel free to think of me as the lesbian Miss Cleo.

1. My beau and I won't make it out of the house, due to lack of clothing.

2. Pinocchio's nose will be too big to fit in her car, so she can't come.

3. Everyone shows up and we all act like we don't care (I'm SO good at fake smiles)

4. Everyone shows up and we all have a massive orgy, fuel by awkward tension and anger (definitely would happen if this were porn)

5. I get too liquored up and run my mouth, with no one there to save me, I start a drunken fist fight with Pinocchio and break her big nose. (never gonna happen because I can't fight, but I can run my mouth, so maybe parts of it will happen)

6. Everyone shows up and tries to make things better, but I am a stubborn fuck and don't buy any of. (can you say silent treatment?)

7. Me, my beau, MoHo, Ellen and Woolf (yes Woolf will be there, because she will FINALLY be back) will have a dance party and not invite the 2 P's

8. I will be forced to dance fight Pinocchio for my honor and will subsequently win and she will shamed back into hiding. (I have some fierce dance moves, complete with rude hand gestures)

9. I stay home and watch Shark Week premiers. I begin pretending I am a Hammerhead and I can bite the heads off of people, then I arrive late, in character, and proceed to tell people how I really feel.

10. None of this happens and I blog about it all tomorrow.

Happy Shark Week.

Woolf Abandoned me

Woolf abandoned me all weekend to go...(get ready, its really exciting)... kayaking.

Yep, her secret is out. She is a granola, crunchy, I-love-the-great-outdoors, only wear chapstick kinda lesbian.

Anyways, while she off playing Into the Wild I will be holding things down in the Denver...

In case you were curious, here is my agenda for the weekend:

1. Saturday Brunch with an old flame. Don't worry, I packed burn cream in my bag.

2. Errand running with Ellen the Generous, to include going to Target and staging something very gay...maybe. If I can convince her its a good idea.

3. Debauchery...the kinda that comes with too many libations and too many lesbians.

4. Chores, because I have put them off.

5. Seeing the apple of my eye on Sunday (it has been over a week!) mushy yes, but needed.

6. Lots of dance moves and inappropriate comments.

7. Potential drunk driving (via mario kart, duh!)

that's it.

Thats my weekend.

Woolf better come home soon, because I feel less smarmy with every passing second.

Even this post was a sad attempt to keep up the sarcasm.

COME BACK ALREADY!

Conversations with a Cherry Creek Whole Foods Fish Monger

Woolf: Alice, I know you are a pseudo veggie. Do you like fish?

Alice: I love to get down with some fish, fo' sho.

Woolf: This is probably not appropriate conversations to have at the fish counter in a CC whole foods. Think of the rich ladies and their precious ears?

Fish Monger (FM): Oh come on, jokes about fish are the only perk of the job.

Woolf: I'll take that piece of Salmon.

FM: You have to cook it before you put it in your mouth.

Alice: You're telling me I have to heat it up before I eat it?

FM: Of course. I do know my fish, I've eaten all kinds.

Alice: Can I get a soft sauce for my hot fish?

Woolf: CAN WE GO NOW PLEASE?!

Proof that Alice is far cooler than Woolf. Exhibit A.

Happy Effing Hump Day (from Alice)

I have a few issues with Wednesdays.

1. I feel like they are that "2:30 feeling" but all day. I need a 24 hour energy drink just to get thru it.

2. Nothing fun is ever on a Wednesday. I mean, who has time to tear it up and paint the town red in the middle of the week? No one. We are all still recovering from Monday's torturous start to the week, mostly caused by Sundays drinking and consequential hangover.

3. Wednesdays are in the middle of week. 'Nuff said. Its a day of the week sandwich, without all the good sandwich stuff.

4. People constantly say "Happy Hump Day!" to me, which is silly because if it were an actual happy hump day, I would happily be humping someone. DUH. Plus, the pun of it being hump day because its the middle of the weeks isn't that good and who ever thought of it should be seriously scolded.

5. There are never any good drink specials at the local bars that don't come with the torture of listening to people karaoke.

6. Day time t.v. is most boring on Wednesday. I need DRAMA to get through Wednesdays, lets work on this television people. Spice up "Hump Day" and make your shows more humpy.

7. Most conventions downtown (where I spend most of days) are in full swing by Wednesdays so it's nearly impossible to get from point a to point b downtown without at least 3 people asking for directions to some place that you can actually see from where you are standing.

and finally...

8. The best prices to fly out of town are usually on Wednesdays, but who wants to be stuck on a plane with flight attendants who keep saying "Happy Hump Day" next to the soccer mom (because they pinch pennies too) that keeps giving you dirty looks for enjoying cocktails. Not this lesbian.

Happy Hump Day...live up to the name and HUMP.

This is how we do it...

Meet us, Vagina Woolf and Alice DoHer Miller.

Charmed, we're sure.

We are fantastic (not to be egotistical or anything). We are platonic life partners (PLPs) who adventure around this great city of ours, Denver. The claim to fame around here–beer and being a mile high. Meaning, visitors get drunk faster and can't breathe well. We, of course, are immune to both these things, though have been known to have a few too many libations from time to time.

Alright fine, pretty much any day that ends in a Y.

Vagina Woolf spent time on the eastern side of our country getting a higher education, while Alice moved here in adult-ish hood and dropped out of school. Woolf studied Tibetan Philosophy (yeah, she's the brain of this duo) and Alice studied, well women and Political Science Management (or the art of getting what you want).

If this were a game of Scrabble, we would win. If this were a game of Monopoly, we would own all the hotels. Even one on Boardwalk bitches. Intimidating, we know. But we're not really, so take a moment to catch your breath and collect your wits.

Woolf is a writer by passion, a wordsmith if you will. She is an avid marketer, of all things epic, even herself. Catch phrases and one liners may or may not be what she is good at. She also has an affinity for economics (anyone want to be her sugar mama?)

As for Alice, she is a musician and a spa junkie. No no, she doesn't inject hot oil into her veins, but she has been known to use a few hot towels on clients. Musically, she is awkward. In the taking-whiskey-shots-on-stage kinda way.

So what unites us? Aside from our mutual awesomeness and ability to finish eachothers sentences?

We are both goldstars.

If you don't know what a goldstar is, you either aren't one or aren't gay enough to get it. We will help you out...A goldstar is a lesbian identified woman who has only slept with women. I/E no dick has ever crossed these labias. We are as gay as they cum (yes, we meant it that way). Don't beat yourself up if you aren't one, we will let you into our inner circle, but only with a visitor's badge and some hand sanitizer.

We both have lived fabulous lives thus far, including world traveling and stories you probably won't believe. So we won't bore with the details of our past, because we don't want jealous readers (yet). From here on out, we will fill this blog with things we put in our mouths and the things that come out them. We both love good food and neither of us can bite our tongues, so this should be fun. On multiple occasions we have been told we should "write that shit down" or have been asked to be invited to our famous PLP dinner parties for two.

So consider this your invitation and us writing it down. Sit down and stay awhile (Woolf wanted to say that, Alice wanted to remind you that we don't repeat ourselves, so this is your one and only formal invitation).