The Undocumented Lesbian

                                                          The Undocumented Lesbian Routine

WOMAN IN A SOBREO WALKS TO THE CENTER OF THE STAGE

                                                                              Woman

Oh la. Or to you boys in Greenwich Village…la de da. Ha, I can’t believe I’m in Greenwich Village. Another stinking border town.  All the straight people…with all the opportunity just across the 34 street. If you can pass for straight. Every corporate office…so straight north of 34^th st.   Except for Macy’s. Oh please. Even Martha Stewart has to tell the Macy’s Sales Associates enough with the arts and crafts. Especially the ones in Men’s suits. They ask: ‘Want me to measure your crotch sir?’ Customer answers: ‘But  we’re in cookware. I’m here to buy a crockpot.’  But the rest of Midtown Manhattan, it’s so straight Arnold Swartzenwhatever would say: I’ll be back…when you hang a little lace.

I can pass for straight. At lunchtime, if I’m walking with my colleagues, I just remember to check out the masculine construction worker in the muscle t, tight jeans and work boots. And I have to remember not ask him, where did you get that outfit? I think I could rock that look at my local lesbian bar: No Man’s Land. Or when I’m at a corporate meeting and they look at me and say: ‘we’d like to have a woman’s point of view on this.’ I have to remember not to say: ‘so bring in the chicks already.’ All those meetings. All that coffee. Reminds me…I have to stop trying to pee at the urinals. Even if I hold up my pinky…just not lady like standing at a urinal…in Midtown anyway. Critics. Don’t you hate critics. Some people do things. Others do do things. Of course that’s a crappy joke. I’m keeping you off balance. But I’m doing well. I have a corner office. It’s in the garage.  Still.. you know a garage…that’s Lesbian heaven. And I have a secretary. Oh no you didn’t. You didn’t think my secretary is a hot girl. My secretary is a man. He’s the ticket man at the garage entrance. And my company says he’s there to assist me. Mostly by giving me my parking ticket when I drive into the garage. But when things slow down at the ticket booth….he runs back to ask how I’m doing. I tell him my desk is in a garage. How do you think I’m doing?

I’m getting all the respect you’d expect a woman who hooks up with women would get. Even if someone finds out and acts like they respect me, eventually the corporate colleague guy will ask: ‘so…which one of you  is the guy?’ I answer: ‘in a Lesbian relationship there are no guys…get it?’ Harsh? Well. Do I ask straight couples: ‘who’s the man?...Mrs Clinton.’  Oh please. I can spot a Lesbian pants suit at 500 paces. And if you are fat…black is very slimming….if you are in a room with no windows or lights…or Kim Kirdash-a lot.  Speaking of tight black pants, Marie Osmond and weight watchers. Oh, my God…oh your God…Once you get past the white teeth…that body. Wanna get into that old time religion Marie? The one where we’d both be wives to the same man. Halleluiah Chorus indeed. Actually, I’m all about the Gay Men’s Chorus. Well, I would be about the Gay Men’s Chorus with a few changes….like making them have vaginas…which they might not mind and breasts…I know ewwwwwwwwww. Now I’ve gone too far.

Going too far is what we are all about in Greenwich Village. Or what we should be. Please. All of America can be about little leagues, and scott’s lawn care, and being respectable. We have to be about no respect. Come to me Corporate America!  Your lack of respect for me? I will embrace it…as I cop a feel.  I will keep you abreast of ways to make more profits…as I slyly check out your breasts. We are not that different competitive Corporate America.  In competitive business…it’s tit for tat. For Lesbians, it’s tit for tit. The difference is one little letter. And maybe a lawsuit for unwanted fondling. And I will not drop pencils to see women bend over and pick them up for me. I’m not busy looking up lap dances on my lap top. Don’t we love that hide screen button corporate boys? See Corporate boys. We have so much in common. No not just your wife. Oh act surprised. Did you really think Mr Clean was putting that smile on her face. Mr Clean? More like me: down and dirty. See, we can learn from each other. I’ll make you a better man. And you’ll make me a better man too. Nah. That’s a myth.

UNDOCUMENTED LESBIAN PUTS HER FOOT UP ON A CHAIR.

I am all woman. (To audience member) I saw that sir. You were looking at my crotch for a bulge.Oh yes you were. Well… the only bulges are in my arms. That’s right. I bench 200. No not at a gym. If you wait til the end of the night at a Lesbian bar… and you wanna pick up a girl…you gotta be able to lift 200 pounds. Ladies b fat when the lights come up.

So that’s my fractured life. And I enjoy both sides of it. I love nothing better than to be in Midtown, put on my work boots and eat lunch by the Fox News corporate headquarters. The irony of a Lesbian sitting next to the logo of a conservative company is not lost on tourists. We takee  picture? Yesee I mean yes. Make sure you get the Fox logo in. And I am a fox. Or another f word if you ask the guard at Fox News headquarters. I report. You decide. No that’s not the right answer says Bill O’Reilly. You are disagreeing with me. Disagreeing? That’s spin. This is the no spin zone.  When I watch that network, I feel like I don’t exist. But when I see all the pretty Fox women on my tv…I don’t care. Hate me. Just let me watch them sit in those short dresses.  Very short.  That’s Fox being eco friendly: short dresses, less material. I care about the ecology too. I’ll save the whales. I told you I do save the whales…end of the night, No Man’s Land. Be there. Bring your harpoon. We Lesbians are very complex. Don’t stereotype us. Let me do that.