Monthly Archives: November 2011

Bartending and the Timeless Art of Seduction

Being an expert on everything, I am widely sought-after by dykes desirous of wisdom.

I am flattered and wooed; I am respectfully approached; and, more often than not, I am asked: “How do I score with the pixie-haired/faux-hawked/artsy-mulleted ladygay(s) in my social circle?”

Respectful Approach

One answer: bartending.

This, of course, is not entirely helpful when the object of your lust/affection is a non-drinker.

But even if that is the case, as it very well may be, I hope the broader points from today’s lesson will be of use to you.

Before I begin, I must make one thing clear: we are all about the consent here at Good Catholic Dykes. Using the fine art of bartending to mack on the ladies is not about plying women with liquor so you can creep on them. So take no offense, dyke feminists one and all! This is about empowerment.

Onward, hos!

Lady Bartenders

To anyone who foolishly doubts the connection between bartending and seduction, I say: consider the lady bartender.

Lady Bartender

Short hair or a sharp ponytail, dressed all in black, making change with one hand and opening bottles with the other, the lady bartender is highly competent, mysterious, and silently capable of kicking ass and taking names should the bar get out of hand.

Maybe she acts unimpressed with you and your stupid friends. Maybe she flirts with you and your charming friends. It hardly matters. Either way, you are putty in her hand.

via dorrys.com

I first witnessed the power of the lady bartender several years ago in Montreal. A good Catholic straight friend of mine sat across the table from me in a loud, crowded bar watching the dark-ponytailed lady bartender. After a long pause, she said:

“She knows everything.”

I doubted this. But my friend insisted, “No. That bartender knows everything. She knows those guys over there are d-bags. She knows I just ordered a gin and tonic because it’s the only mixed drink I’ve even heard of. She knows everything. She knows.”

My friend followed this observation a few short moments later with, “She’s hot.”

I could not disagree.

Become a Lady Bartender

I am not a professional lady bartender. No, dykes, I am but an amateur. But hear ye this: what would barely have passed for drink-mixing competence in our grandparents’ generation looks pretty badass in 2011.

Why shouldn’t we, too, benefit from the low standards of our day?

via cbsnews.com

Mixing a few basic cocktails is easy peasy lemon squeezy, as we have discussed before. Get you a bartending book, a jigger, a bottle of liquor, and something to mix it with, and you are in business. Also, wear a vest. It helps.

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The Dykes Likes: Happy Accidents

Oh, dykes, it’s been ages since our last post. Oh,Ā how we’ve missed you. And how you, no doubt, have missed us in return. But let’s shut up about it! We got bigger fish to fry (forgive the cliche, but any blog devoted to Catholicism and dykeness must contain the occasional fish reference). Jane Lynch wrote a book, and we like it.

In Happy Accidents, Jane Lynch’s bestselling new memoir, Lynch tells tales of childhood, Catholic school, the closet, improv theater, alcoholism, Harrison Ford, Christopher Guest, Glee, and marriage to a lovely Southern lady by the name of Lara Embry. Lynch’s book is not always laugh-out-loud funny but contains plenty of wonderful, self-deprecating wit, and it’s serious but does not take itself too seriously. What a lady that Jane Lynch is!

There’s a lot to like about Happy Accidents, and while I think it would be relatable for just about anyone, it does have special resonance for gay ladies. Or it did for me. Because, you see, Jane Lynch was once a little closeted, red state gay girl not unlike I was, wanting to play football and wear neckties, terrified of admitting–of anyone finding out–that she was definitely, definitely gay.

And then there’s the Catholic-ness. My personal favorite anecdote in the entire book involves Jane’s cutting class with best friend Chris (also gay, also closeted, also a student at St. Jude’s) on Ash Wednesday to go to the Chicken Unlimited, where they ate fries, drank cokes, and smeared cigarette ashes on one another’s foreheads.

There is plenty more, of course. Lynch digs up her adolescent scrapbook, in which she had labeled pictures of Happy Days-era Ronny Howard and Anson Williams with the words, “Foxy,” and “Pretty Good Foxy,” respectively, and writes of being “delighted to find [the scrapbook] was a proud monument to absolute mediocrity.” I hope that someday, I shall look back and say the same of this very blog.