Things you should never say on a date.

[WheatToast]

Originally Posted by WheatToast

Say, have you heard the word of our lord and savior Jesus Christ of Nazareth?

I apologize if this offended anyone. It was intended to describe the kind of ultra conservative Christian who thinks being a lesbian should be punished by death. And she's on a date with a lesbian.

[FireSignFemme]

What now I have to pull out your chair for you just because you decided to wear a dress? What next we meet up for a barbecue in hell and you show up in a bathing suit? Well (great big eye roll) if I have to. Just make it quick. I'm not standing here all day.


Well I suppose since I'm the butch I'm the one who's going to have to pay. So what will it be then, the lobster I suppose? They didn't even serve lobster at the place we were at. I don't even care for lobster!


Him - Oh you're in a dress you should have told me, if I'd known you were going to wear a dress I'd have worn one too.
Me – Well I just, when you told me you were transgender...
Him – Transsexual!!!
Me – Oh of course well when you said you were a transsexual...
Him – I am a transsexual!
Me – Okay, when you told me you are a transsexual I guess it just never occurred to me that you might want to show up in a dress so we could match. Um would you like to go home and change? I can wait.


I'm so glad I'm not young any more.

[WheatToast]

Originally Posted by FireSignFemme

What now I have to pull out your chair for you just because you decided to wear a dress? What next we meet up for a barbecue in hell and you show up in a bathing suit? Well (great big eye roll) if I have to. Just make it quick. I'm not standing here all day.


Well I suppose since I'm the butch I'm the one who's going to have to pay. So what will it be then, the lobster I suppose? They didn't even serve lobster at the place we were at. I don't even care for lobster!


Him - Oh you're in a dress you should have told me, if I'd known you were going to wear a dress I'd have worn one too.
Me – Well I just, when you told me you were transgender...
Him – Transsexual!!!
Me – Oh of course well when you said you were a transsexual...
Him – I am a transsexual!
Me – Okay, when you told me you are a transsexual I guess it just never occurred to me that you might want to show up in a dress so we could match. Um would you like to go home and change? I can wait.


I'm so glad I'm not young any more.

That was hysterical!
Here's mine.
Blind date, running late, so I waited for her in the restaurant foyer. She had said before we met, "I 'spose I'm more femme than butch, whatever that means..." (Uh oh).
So, in she comes, with a face like Al Franken only more masculine, and a bobbed, moppy Tony Home perm that had lost its spring months earlier, dyed a putty-ish beige.
She wore a black cowboy shirt tucked into black Wranglers, super pointy black cowboy boots and a thick black leather belt with a giant cowboy belt buckle. It was spring, so the all-black was a rookie mistake for this big old gal, an Ohio native. I didn't mention it.
She also wore about a pint of generic sandalwood oil, covering each pulse point from her ankles to her ears. I could see the scent waves, it was so strong.
She was gruff, another trait I rarely seek in a lady friend, and when the waitress came to take our drink orders, she announced in her booming bass voice, "SEPARATE CHECKS, PLEASE."
(Really? :::eyeroll::: )
She had ordered some kind of boiled shrimp thing, served with the heads on. She made a dramatic presentation out of yanking the heads off, tipping the brains toward her lips and slurping them up so loud, I cringed and gagged at the same time.
By then, I was chugging down a dirty gin martini so fast, the observant waitress didn't have to ask if I wanted another.
Besides her non-stop talking about her ex-lover, "the horrible witch who done her wrong" (yes, she said done, not did) I finally jumped in and asked how recent their break up was. "Seven years," she said. "No, wait, it'll be eight years on the 27th of next month."
By then I was gin-brave and annoyed, so I sighed and said, "Jeeze, lady, maybe you ought to consider hypnosis or something."
She kept forgetting to stop talking about the ex, so I said, "When I raise this finger, it means you're back on your ex."
Finally, she looked up from slurping her remaining shrimp guts and eyeballs, looked me over and said, "Heyyyy, you look pretty dern muscular, that's great. You can help me move some heavy furniture upstairs in my new place."
I did not request a second date, nor did I visit her new place with a dolly and winch.

Years later, I was browsing through a lesbian dating site, looking to see if anyone had poked me.
Yep, there she was again, she'd poked me with her massive, sandalwood soaked finger.
I wrote and said we'd already had the pleasure, and she (probably) grunted as she typed, "Yeah, well, okay then, never mind."

I never saw Ms. Slingblade again. Yet.

[imperfect_cupcake]

One of my last dates was tomboy-ish and I have found a few very lovely closeted what *I* would consider "butch" in that category so I'm usually ok with a date or two but hesitant because it can go horrifically wrong very quickly.

She was an instructor up at UBC, very smart, witty, fun... but not quite grasping the femme thing though I could see it rocked her boat. Her ability to dress herself had obviously stalled in the 80s. Which is hard for me because I like well dressed people, but because I live in a crunchy west coast city these days, I am willing to over look certain things and focus on more important things.

Though the fanny pack, birkenstocks with socks, and mullet-y hair was a hard swallow for the first couple of minutes till her actually charming personality and fun sense of humour shone through.

We hung out a few times and then she got drunk-ish at her neighbour's house ("a girly straight house wife that loves to flirt with the boyish lesbians!" - that she got very overly excited about - radar hint #1 there's quasi-butch in there...) and started sending me pics of this wine party her neighbour was having. "Look at what they are showing me! hey hey!"
and of course straight girls getting their cleavage out for the lezzo to take phone pics of, because that's what drunk straight girls do.

I responded to none of them. But the next day when she was sober, sent a text saying "I appreciate that you may have had partners that were also into girls tits and would have liked the above. As I have said before, tit shots interest me about as much as elbow shots. Possibly less as elbow shots likely have sexy biceps attached to them. If you want to send me sexy pics to interest me, go take some photos a butches in tight-ass sailor costumes with them looking backwards over their shoulders. Maybe send to boob shots to your mates next time, OK? Please don't make me repeat myself again about this."

I got a text asking to take me to my graduation from college dinner. A big deal (2.5 ish years ago, I went back to full time school). Nice! OK. when it rolled around I told her 2 weeks in advance, and the response was "Oh. well... I am dating someone else a bit more seriously. But I can ask her if she minds if I take you."
"no, that's fine. Best of luck."

*eye ROOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLL*

Don't text pics of people's cleavage between dates, either unless she *SPECIFICALLY* asks you to.

[WheatToast]

Originally Posted by imperfect_cupcake

One of my last dates was tomboy-ish and I have found a few very lovely closeted what *I* would consider "butch" in that category so I'm usually ok with a date or two but hesitant because it can go horrifically wrong very quickly.

She was an instructor up at UBC, very smart, witty, fun... but not quite grasping the femme thing though I could see it rocked her boat. Her ability to dress herself had obviously stalled in the 80s. Which is hard for me because I like well dressed people, but because I live in a crunchy west coast city these days, I am willing to over look certain things and focus on more important things.

Though the fanny pack, birkenstocks with socks, and mullet-y hair was a hard swallow for the first couple of minutes till her actually charming personality and fun sense of humour shone through.

We hung out a few times and then she got drunk-ish at her neighbour's house ("a girly straight house wife that loves to flirt with the boyish lesbians!" - that she got very overly excited about - radar hint #1 there's quasi-butch in there...) and started sending me pics of this wine party her neighbour was having. "Look at what they are showing me! hey hey!"
and of course straight girls getting their cleavage out for the lezzo to take phone pics of, because that's what drunk straight girls do.

I responded to none of them. But the next day when she was sober, sent a text saying "I appreciate that you may have had partners that were also into girls tits and would have liked the above. As I have said before, tit shots interest me about as much as elbow shots. Possibly less as elbow shots likely have sexy biceps attached to them. If you want to send me sexy pics to interest me, go take some photos a butches in tight-ass sailor costumes with them looking backwards over their shoulders. Maybe send to boob shots to your mates next time, OK? Please don't make me repeat myself again about this."

I got a text asking to take me to my graduation from college dinner. A big deal (2.5 ish years ago, I went back to full time school). Nice! OK. when it rolled around I told her 2 weeks in advance, and the response was "Oh. well... I am dating someone else a bit more seriously. But I can ask her if she minds if I take you."
"no, that's fine. Best of luck."

*eye ROOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLL*

Don't text pics of people's cleavage between dates, either unless she *SPECIFICALLY* asks you to.

According the dyke manual, "tomboy" is from babyhood to age 16. From age 17-21 the term is Baby Butch. From 22-100 the term is Butch

[Gemme]

Originally Posted by WheatToast

According the dyke manual, "tomboy" is from babyhood to age 16. From age 17-21 the term is Baby Butch. From 22-100 the term is Butch

Not always. There are many flavors and expressions of butch, thank goodness.

[WheatToast]

Originally Posted by Gemme

Not always. There are many flavors and expressions of butch, thank goodness.

It could be from a different dyke manual. I used the 2014 edition, bound in red leatherette. You?

[Mel C.]

Originally Posted by WheatToast

According the dyke manual, "tomboy" is from babyhood to age 16. From age 17-21 the term is Baby Butch. From 22-100 the term is Butch

There's a dyke manual? I detest the word dyke so maybe that's why I'm not in the know. I was never a baby butch. I can accept that I was a tomboy, but not the baby butch.

[WheatToast]

Originally Posted by Mel C.

There's a dyke manual? I detest the word dyke so maybe that's why I'm not in the know. I was never a baby butch. I can accept that I was a tomboy, but not the baby butch.

I understand.
I don't use the word dyke around straight people, but I've read several lesbian articles and spoken to many more, and they agree that we queers should take the word 'dyke' and make it our own--like Dykes on Bikes in the San Francisco Pride parade, or Alison Bechdel's iconic comic strip, "Dykes to Watch Out For (started in 1983!).
If you want a similar case of a disenfranchised group reappropriating an offensive word, look at the African American community, when they turned the N word into "n*gga" which is used in music, as a term of endearment, etc.
A black friend of mine once asked me if I was her n*gga.
I said sure, but can I ask you if you're my n*gga?
She said, "Yes, but not around anyone else. And don't use that word around black people, you'll get your ass kicked."
I hope that helps you, buddy.

[FireSignFemme]

Originally Posted by WheatToast

That was hysterical!
Here's mine.
Blind date, running late, so I waited for her in the restaurant foyer. She had said before we met, "I 'spose I'm more femme than butch, whatever that means..." (Uh oh).
So, in she comes, with a face like Al Franken only more masculine, and a bobbed, moppy Tony Home perm that had lost its spring months earlier, dyed a putty-ish beige.
She wore a black cowboy shirt tucked into black Wranglers, super pointy black cowboy boots and a thick black leather belt with a giant cowboy belt buckle. It was spring, so the all-black was a rookie mistake for this big old gal, an Ohio native. I didn't mention it.
She also wore about a pint of generic sandalwood oil, covering each pulse point from her ankles to her ears. I could see the scent waves, it was so strong.
She was gruff, another trait I rarely seek in a lady friend, and when the waitress came to take our drink orders, she announced in her booming bass voice, "SEPARATE CHECKS, PLEASE."
(Really? :::eyeroll::: )
She had ordered some kind of boiled shrimp thing, served with the heads on. She made a dramatic presentation out of yanking the heads off, tipping the brains toward her lips and slurping them up so loud, I cringed and gagged at the same time.
By then, I was chugging down a dirty gin martini so fast, the observant waitress didn't have to ask if I wanted another.
Besides her non-stop talking about her ex-lover, "the horrible witch who done her wrong" (yes, she said done, not did) I finally jumped in and asked how recent their break up was. "Seven years," she said. "No, wait, it'll be eight years on the 27th of next month."
By then I was gin-brave and annoyed, so I sighed and said, "Jeeze, lady, maybe you ought to consider hypnosis or something."
She kept forgetting to stop talking about the ex, so I said, "When I raise this finger, it means you're back on your ex."
Finally, she looked up from slurping her remaining shrimp guts and eyeballs, looked me over and said, "Heyyyy, you look pretty dern muscular, that's great. You can help me move some heavy furniture upstairs in my new place."
I did not request a second date, nor did I visit her new place with a dolly and winch.

Years later, I was browsing through a lesbian dating site, looking to see if anyone had poked me.
Yep, there she was again, she'd poked me with her massive, sandalwood soaked finger.
I wrote and said we'd already had the pleasure, and she (probably) grunted as she typed, "Yeah, well, okay then, never mind."

I never saw Ms. Slingblade again. Yet.

Oh wow. Yes some of that behavior would be pretty off putting to me. Other parts like the clothes, not so much, but at least the only complaint you have about footwear is cowboy boots. I went on a date once with a man who showed up in clown shoes. I tried to act nonchalant, pretend I hadn't seen it. He was in a suit, a nice suit, he was dressed in predictable fashion from ankle on up. It's just he had these clown shoes on.

[girl_dee]

Originally Posted by FireSignFemme

Oh wow. Yes some of that behavior would be pretty off putting to me. Other parts like the clothes, not so much, but at least the only complaint you have about footwear is cowboy boots. I went on a date once with a man who showed up in clown shoes. I tried to act nonchalant, pretend I hadn't seen it. He was in a suit, a nice suit, he was dressed in predictable fashion from ankle on up. It's just he had these clown shoes on.

OMG. ..... just wow!

[homoe]

Originally Posted by WheatToast

That was hysterical!
Here's mine.
Blind date, running late, so I waited for her in the restaurant foyer. She had said before we met, "I 'spose I'm more femme than butch, whatever that means..." (Uh oh).
So, in she comes, with a face like Al Franken only more masculine, and a bobbed, moppy Tony Home perm that had lost its spring months earlier, dyed a putty-ish beige.
She wore a black cowboy shirt tucked into black Wranglers, super pointy black cowboy boots and a thick black leather belt with a giant cowboy belt buckle. It was spring, so the all-black was a rookie mistake for this big old gal, an Ohio native. I didn't mention it.
She also wore about a pint of generic sandalwood oil, covering each pulse point from her ankles to her ears. I could see the scent waves, it was so strong.
She was gruff, another trait I rarely seek in a lady friend, and when the waitress came to take our drink orders, she announced in her booming bass voice, "SEPARATE CHECKS, PLEASE."
(Really? :::eyeroll::: )
She had ordered some kind of boiled shrimp thing, served with the heads on. She made a dramatic presentation out of yanking the heads off, tipping the brains toward her lips and slurping them up so loud, I cringed and gagged at the same time.
By then, I was chugging down a dirty gin martini so fast, the observant waitress didn't have to ask if I wanted another.
Besides her non-stop talking about her ex-lover, "the horrible witch who done her wrong" (yes, she said done, not did) I finally jumped in and asked how recent their break up was. "Seven years," she said. "No, wait, it'll be eight years on the 27th of next month."
By then I was gin-brave and annoyed, so I sighed and said, "Jeeze, lady, maybe you ought to consider hypnosis or something."
She kept forgetting to stop talking about the ex, so I said, "When I raise this finger, it means you're back on your ex."
Finally, she looked up from slurping her remaining shrimp guts and eyeballs, looked me over and said, "Heyyyy, you look pretty dern muscular, that's great. You can help me move some heavy furniture upstairs in my new place."
I did not request a second date, nor did I visit her new place with a dolly and winch.

Years later, I was browsing through a lesbian dating site, looking to see if anyone had poked me.
Yep, there she was again, she'd poked me with her massive, sandalwood soaked finger.
I wrote and said we'd already had the pleasure, and she (probably) grunted as she typed, "Yeah, well, okay then, never mind."

I never saw Ms. Slingblade again. Yet.

Gee Wheat and here I thought I had handled myself so well on this date...........

[WheatToast]

Originally Posted by homoe

Gee Wheat and here I thought I had handled myself so well on this date...........

God, wouldn't that be embarrassing!