Whatever shoes I’m wearing are taken off immediately as I come in the door. I put them away only when either a) I get sick of tripping over them b) I’m going to have company or c) if I have a live-in partner, when she yells at me. Currently occupying the space between the love seat and the wall by the door are: my winter boots, a pair of tall microfiber boots (that I haven’t worn since probably November), my favorite shoes, a pair of Merrells and the infamous, ridiculously ugly Crocs that I wear to walk the dogs when it’s not wet/snowy outside. Not EVERY pair of shoes I own are in the living room. The rest are in the closet in the bedroom because I haven’t worn them since that last time I got sick of my shoes in the living room.
I will say “Honey, can I drive your car tomorrow?” That is Top Secret Femme Code for: I’m out of gas and my truck needs to be vacuumed. (You butches can thank me later.) (Send cookies. Or Peeps. Or Reese’s peanut butter cups.)
When my hair is long, you will find hair doojies all over the place. Elastics, barrettes, headbands, pins, etc. On the coffee table, next to the bed, on the baker’s rack in the kitchen, on my bathroom counter, on your bathroom counter, in my shower, in your shower, in your pockets, in your car. Those little buggers get everywhere.
My favorite lipstick is pretty cheap so I have them all over the place. I will leave one in your car. In the summer, it will melt. I know this but I forget that I’ve left it there. I will (possibly) get mad at YOU for letting it melt. I know this is unreasonable, even as I’m mad, so when I get over it, I’ll make it up to you. But be forewarned. This is not remotely reasonable behavior. Pointing it out, however, isn’t in your best interests.
I am generally decisive. If you ask me, say, where do I want to go for dinner and I say, “I don’t know” then just fucking choose. Don’t give me options. I Do Not Know. It doesn’t happen often, so take advantage of it when you get the opportunity. I usually know exactly what I want.
The world should rejoice that I no longer get PMS. I have been known to complain about people breathing too loudly when I was PMSing.
I have ADD. Sometimes, I’ll have a conversation that takes place mostly in my head and then wonder why you have no idea what I’m talking about when, out of the blue, I say something like “My blue shirt.” Because I forgot to say the rest out loud.
I am prone to Full Femme Fits. However, a person has to push me pretty far to get me to throw a fit. I will give you plenty of warnings that you’re on thin ice so you can slow your roll before you incite one. I pity you if you ignore the warnings. Which are blatant. Such as: if you don’t leave me alone RIGHT THE FUCK NOW I am going to lose my goddamned temper! [For the record, all the entails is either me yelling or leaving the house so as not to do/say anything unfortunate.]
You can cut most of your hair off and dye what’s left purple and I may not notice. But if you tell me you’re getting your hair cut that day, I’ll remember to pay attention!
Have I mentioned my crazy dog? And one total slut of a dog? One barks at everyone and does not like men. And tends to view butches as equally as loathesome. The other? Will roll over and sprawl out for whatever masculine person of either gender we come across. I suppose that’s one way to meet a cute butch while you’re out for a walk. “Oh, sorry. Mikey the Barky Dog hates butches but Nola the Wonder Slut will roll around all over you, if you let her.” Sigh. [It just made me laugh to call my dog Nola the Wonder Slut. I have no idea why.]
On a slightly more serious note: I tend not to trust easily. On one hand, I don’t automatically assume that every butch is a lying rat bastard but … well, on the other hand, I sorta do. I am, however, AWARE of this and will generally call either Diana or Melody to talk me down. Before I make an idiot of myself. Usually.
If I don’t want to talk about something, I will just avoid the topic as long as you will let me. I don’t really do well with talking about *gag* feelings. I’ll tell you I love you (if I do), I’ll be excited for you about things. If I’m mad, I will usually tell you. However, if I’m hurt, I keep that to myself. If I’m excited about something? I also keep that to myself. It’s just about the only thing about which I am superstitious. I don’t wanna jinx myself. Because I’m ridiculous at times.
If you fall down, I will laugh. If I fall down, I will cry at first but then I will laugh. I will stop laughing the second I find out you’re hurt but if you’re not hurt and just clumsy? I’ll laugh. It runs in the family. My sister does it, too. We can be so nice at times, but not if you fall down. If you laugh at me if I fall down, I’ll be mad for a second, but I have no business being mad so I get over it pretty fast. Once I’m done crying. [Yes, I roll my eyes at myself quite a lot.]
I whine. Don’t tell me I’m whining. I’ll just get mad. The whining is better as it gets over with far more quickly.
I am persnickety about music. I like what I like and I don’t want to hear pseudo-feminist arguments about why I shouldn’t like it. I do. The end.
What makes you a pain in the ass? We all have SOMEthing. What’s yours?