Blunt-haired hipster lesbians

The street I live on is packed -- just packed -- with lesbians. But last night, when Bubba and I were walking through the neighborhood, she posed an interesting question: "Why is it that *all* the lesbians around here have that blunt-haired hipster look that is just *not* the kind of girl I'm attracted to?"

I wonder the same thing.

But then, my problem is not just that I don't dig "blunt-haired hipsters," it's that I totally go for the femmes. (We've been over this before, haven't we?)

So this reminds me of a conversation I had yesterday with a customer service rep from Verizon Wireless. I had a question about text messaging. The CSR looked up some information about my account: "Let's see, you have the Motorola RAZR. Is it the black one or the pink one?" she asked.

The pink one, I replied.

"Oh, that is *such* a cute phone," she said.

I know. It's very sexy. (Like, whatever. But yeah, it is....)

"Are you a girly-girl?" the CSR asked.

OK, that was *not* what I expected to hear. Right? So I said, Hmm. Yeah, you could say that. Pretty much.

(You cannot sue me if you injure yourself by falling out of your chair, laughing at the thought of me as a "girly girl." I do at times reveal odd things about myself on this blog. This would be one of them. Some of you may assume it's a secret, INNER girly-girl to which I refer. But it's not. I'm decidedly floral -- and I usually smell that way. That pink phone spoke to me at a visceral, feminine level. And the only reason I don't wear really cute shoes is because an old ankle break prevents it. ... It is true, though, that a lot of my girly-girlness is ... er, underground. That doesn't mean she's not there, though, so if you're one of those people who classifies me as "butch" and is laughing at this ... FUCK OFF.)

Anyway, like I said, I told the Verizon chick that I *am* a girly-girl of some sort (my collection of Keene's and my love of technical outdoor fabrics notwithstanding).

"Well," she replied, "I am *totally* a girl, too!"

I thought: This must be what it's like to be in a sorority.

And then I had some fond flashbacks to a funny little, three-year "passionate friendship" I had with a sorority girl in college. She's probably the one responsible for my love of femmes, damn her.

Then there was that fling I had with a co-worker who wore powersuits, heels and black nylons all the time. Hummana-hummana.

But the rest have been a parade (a very *short* parade) of more-or-less androgynous women -- and a hippie gal. The hippie had a certain level of mastery and chemistry that no one else has managed to match in practice. And long hair. Loved the long hair. But, ultimately, she didn't want a relationship; she only wanted my body. (Now, you can go ahead and laugh at *that* if you want. But it doesn't stop it from being true.) And, also, I often found myself thinking things like: Am I allowed to laugh about how she burns a candle all night long in her bedroom during the full moon in hopes of aligning her menstrual cycle with the lunar cycle?

Also, there was your classic German woman. She was the first, and she kinda scared me. I'm pretty sure she had OCD: She was pretty freaky insistent about me washing my feet -- and drying them *thoroughly* -- before getting into bed. (Now that I'm thinking of it, the German OCD type sounds a bit familiar....)

So anyway, this is a long-about journey to how I can commiserate with Bubba about the blunt-haired, hipster lesbians. Day after day, I'm walking down the street with my little dog, and in cafe after cafe and bar after bar, these women are having coffee and smoking cigarettes. They look alike, and they dress alike. And almost uniformly, they're striving for androgyny.

It leaves me feeling wistful. In this veritable river of lesbians, there's hardly a girl in sight.