Rules of the Lesbian

1. If you show up at a party with a girl that you are fucking and spent all day with/the past 3 nights with, you are lesbian contracted to hang out with her all night. No exceptions… Unless she leaves before you do.

2. After a break up the bars you took her to are yours. The bars she introduced you to are hers. A bar that you both used to frequent is given to the person who at any given time will have more friends there.

3. There is no such argument as “but… that’s my ex”.

4. No reusing of toys. Don’t be cheap. Or that guy.

5. This isn’t spring break. Don’t make out with someone in front of me. I’m not a frat boy. Shit. Isn’t. Cute.

6. You can say you won’t date a friends ex, but you probably will. Actually you definitely will.

7. Lesbian dating is like high school. All of her friends are by default no longer your friends after you break up. But there is the small chance that you will start dating one of them…Figure that one out.

8. Look up the definition of hooking up and dating and KNOW THE DIFFERENCE. Ie; have a little talk with yourself about your womanly needs to wife someone. Accept them. And figure yo shit out.

9. Cats can live upwards of 20 years. How long did your last relationship last exactly?

10. If you’re in a relationship the things you and your boo do are only for you and your boo to do aka if you watch Gray’s Anatomy every Sat DO NOT go watch Gray’s with some girl randomly on your night off. That’s show cheating. (Its crazy) Your girlfriend will be all kinds of mad.

11. If you are drunk and single you can make out with as many people as you want and no one will really say that much. Make one of those people your ex and tomorrow you shall be nothing but a whore.

12. Thou shall take Uhaul’s number out of their speedial. Just in case the urge takes over. Wait it out. Wait. It. Out.

13. If you hate your friends new girlfriend you are obligated to say something. Thus saving your friend months of dysfunction that at the end of you will be left to put back together. This is both selfish and good friendish.

14. There shall be an official returning of “stuff” after breaking up. More like there should be. #thisshitgetstesty

15. Dyke who brags the loudest fucks the badest.

16. If a girl tells you she’s Queer you’re totally DTF but if she says she’s Bi you’re down and out. What’s up wit dat?

17. You have to be a vegetarian at least once in your life.

18. “Bro’s” shall not share “Ho’s”. You’re gay and you’re friends. This will get messy.

19. OkCupid lies. But. You will still continuously use it, make fun of it, disable it.

20. Whatever a stripper tells you, there is no sex in the champagne room.


Generational Mantra

We busy ourselves so much with trying to get our minds to focus on anything but. But love. But money. But the future. We are right nowists. We see tomorrow as a novelty it could be it may be we’ll wait and see. In our music and in our actions we are young and carefree. But in our minds we are constantly bulldozing. We are anxious and incomplete. We go out. We get wasted. We fuck strangers. Or people we weren’t supposed to. We are spiteful but we are loyal. We compete. I am only who I am today. I could be someone completely different tomorrow. That is how quickly my moods shift. That is how I breathe. Sometimes the breaths are more complete than anything I’ve ever known. Sometimes I am complete. And than it breaks, something shatters. I see myself in pieces. Actual pieces. Not the harmless edges of jigsaw. No. Razor sharp like broken glass. Glass and razors. I could eat fire. I already breathe smoke. Tolerate my complexities. I can hardly deal with myself. I am rough in my kindness. I am more than I can take. I see a thousand things when I look down at my hands. I feel like I’m always a breath away from being a mistake.

Lone Star Linda

Can you fall in love with someone in a night? For a night? Leaving whatever it was to linger after and eventually just turn to vapor?

Because honestly your interaction lasted for what? Less than 24 hours.

Well it has happened to me twice. I guess that permanently cements both how much of a lesbian I am and how much of an emo kid I will always be at heart. Twice its happened and both times the meeting place has been the same. Cubby Hole I owe my lone one night stand and my two 24 hour loves to you.

Of course they were both visitors. This being my bar; I can smell new blood. Call it a single lesbians sixth sense.

The first she was beautiful and completely unexpected. Linda we shall call her. For that is the only Portuguese word she taught me which I remember. Quite and shy she had somehow both cemented and hidden herself amongst a crew of my friends. I say friends with stress. Because what are the people you only know when drunk? The people whom you share weekly laughs with. Hear secrets that they would never dare to reveal during sober daytime hours. Bar best friends. Those who you make well intentioned and honest promises of day dates with, that somehow always fall through. I retract any previous thoughts or ideas passing them off as sub par friendships. These friends know some of my biggest secrets. Have seen me at my best – walking into the door and worst – walking out. They remain as both some of the finest and some of the most off the wall people I know.

She was from Brazil, and spoke English with an accent that was musical. She spoke with caution as if she was scared saying a word wrong or using it out of place would result in my dismissal. Nothing consequently was lost in translation. I found her hesitation to be adorable. I was hooked.

I got caught in the crowd that night. Talking to everyone I bumped elbows with, yet never letting my gaze stray too far, from her. The bars crowd thinned out. Friend after friend called the evening quits but I was holding out. I wanted her alone. I was holding on to blind faith. See I hadn’t said more than a paragraph to her all night. I had a feeling. Fuck it could have just been all of the two dollar margaritas knocking around in my stomach. But, a feeling I had.

I made my way over to her and suddenly I was engulfed. She was sweetness and foreign sensibility. A model who was in school for jewelry design. She loved art and alcohol and well for anyone that’s it isn’t it? You appreciate amazing art, you appreciate alcohol. It’s just an automatic partnership. We spoke for god knows how long. And than we didn’t speak at all. I felt what it was like to kiss someone who a few hours ago had been another stranger at the bar, and now suddenly was a new day. I didn’t take her home. We had that night. Those bar stools. And a walk. We had twilight drunk feet, leading us nowhere in particular. Still friends. She still questions her perfect English. I still wonder why Brazil is so far away. Or rather what would have happened had it been hours closer.

I had this southern thing for awhile. It was completely accidental but for reasons unbeknownst to me, if I went out looking to meet a girl, she would be from the south. I nickname everyone upon meeting them. As a product of having the attention span of a Jack Russell I simply do not have the knack of remembering names. I have therefore become the nickname giver of all givers. My creativity clearly peaking, I called every girl I met in this time by state they were from. Genius. Original. I know, you don’t have to bother showing me your awe. Kentucky and Texas were the two most memorable. Texas is who this story is about.

The foundation of that night is blurry. It was Halloween and well us gays tend to get good and liquored up on OUR holiday. I’m totally taking ownership of a holiday that I actually despise. Manhattan on Halloween is actual hell. Costumes not necessary. It’s fun. But it’s not. Getting from anywhere to anywhere else is well miraculous. Booze is necessary, for a night of drunken navigation and ridiculous encounters.

I did not see her at first. Cubby was packed and I was with familiar faces. She kept popping up or rather in. She made her presence known before I had the chance to notice her. God. Damn. This girl was gorgeous. Like take your breath away, you don’t see her everyday gorgeous. I thanked every inch of my twenty two year old life that I was black and therefore she couldn’t see me blushing.

Something about her made me feel high. Giddy. We avoided real conversation for awhile. I made small remarks to her as I went to get drinks from the bar. Finally as people left I allowed her magnetic pull to swiftly grab me as if I had never had a choice. She smiled as if she had known all along; that I didn’t have a choice.

There are some people I meet who I feel an instant comfort with. This is rare as I am someone who interacts often yet never feels the reigns of wanting to reel someone into my brain. Into my past and into the vault where my emotions lay. She came equipped with the master key. There is a certain calmness I feel when I talk to a person who I know hasn’t had it easy. There is instantanious respect and query. I feel compelled to both protect them and pry. To learn everything behind the spider webbed doors in their minds. She had, had it rough. She was an artist. An amazing one. A thinker. A critic. Cynical yet bright eyed. Confident as fuck. It hurt, her ego. But it was sexy and jesus was it fun. I opened up to that girl more than I knew it was possible for my tongue to.

I took her home. The image of her in my bed stayed longer than I could comprehend.

It was a night.
Only a night.
I gave her my favorite t shirt to wear when she left the next morning, knowing damn well I’d never get it back. On September 23rd 1989 a baby left Texas and on a cool day 22 years later, a piece of that baby landed back home.

Who says love has a time to start or a time to end? Who says that we can’t love and than love again. Maybe it wasn’t love I felt. Maybe it was the intensity of the moment. Knowing that tonight, that night was all we had. Living fast. Loving every minute of it. Opening up because it was safe to. Because tomorrow that person couldn’t look into your eyes and reflect back your secrets. I feel and I felt and that is all I know. The truth is who really understands love anyway?

If You Need Me Call Me

Ok I lied just a lil bit. I hate talking on the phone. So much so that I have the lowest minute plan on my iPhone possible. I’m just…not that into it.

But back to the point and it is an important one.

I get a lot of mail from people. People coming to me with questions or needing just a little bit of guidance or a push. It means the world to me that I’m seen as someone that can offer insight. I’ve been through a lot, and have seen many circumstances unfold. So here is my formal invite to you all: Need to talk? I’m here. We all go through so much day to day. Simple problems can be crippling to those in the LGBT community. But we can get through it. YOU can get past it. And I’M here to help in anyway I can. I know life isn’t always parties and strap ons. Kittens and mimosas. Shit happens. Sometimes you just need an outside perspective.

I’ll talk about just bout any old thang.

So shoot me an email.
Hit up my inbox on that good old book of face.
Nina Ryley Pogensky