Oh, Canadian Lesbians!

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Well, as you can tell, this week kinda got away from me. Between organizing a big work project and fighting multiple pharmacies to get my estrogen refilled (the national shortage is real!) and also feeling a bit under the weather (but this is America, so we work through it, lol sob!!), I haven't been able to write. But it being International Lesbian Day and all I had to post something. And nothing says, “I’m sorry,” better than a hot lesbian Canadian woodswoman in a tank top wielding a bow and arrow. Wait, my apologies, nothing says “I’m sore-eee,” better than a hot lesbian Canadian woodswoman in a tank top wielding a bow and arrow. Also, like half of us down here are also very, very sore-eee about the whole America being the worst neighbor ever thing, too. Yet you still gift us with the likes of Nicole Maple Coenen. Oh, Canada, you remain too kind. Happy International Lesbian Day, kittens (especially you Canuck kittens!

My Weekend Crush (Fascism)

Look, as a rule, we don’t center men – especially straight white men – here at Surrenders. But in these extreme simultaneously stupid and scary times, sometimes you just gotta make exceptions. I’ve always enjoyed Stephen Colbert, from his Colbert Report days to his Late Show reign, his sharp wit has always been matched by his compassion and thoughtfulness. He seems, in short, like a good man. But here we are, in a world where being a good person and stating the obvious (specifically about Donald Fucking Trump) gets your No. 1 rated late night talk show canceled – and much, much worse for so many others. I hope the history books, if in fact we have history books in the future, will reflect the staggering criminality, cruelty and complicity of the Trump era. May all the tech oligarch fanboys, corporate boot lickers and institutional kowtowers be forever branded and haunted by their gleeful embrace of all of this madness. How will we get out of this? Burn it all down, and build a better world from the ashes. And, while we’re at it, dance on their graves whenever we get the chance. Happy trails, Stephen. Thanks for your kindness and your joy. Fuck Donald Trump forever. Happy weekend, all.

My Weekend (Blogiversary) Crush

Well, here we are. Twenty years. 2-0. Two decades. Or, to put it another way, a long-ass time. Today marks my 20th blogiversary. Which feels crazy to say out loud but, again, here we are. As you’ve no doubt noticed, my writings have gotten a little shorter as the years have gone longer. And, yeah, I can be a little more hit-and-miss with posts these days too. But here we still are. Still crazy after all these years. Mostly, what I want to say, and what I always want to say, is thank you. Thank you for still reading, still visiting, still commenting, still sharing and still being the lovely and generous kittens you are. I appreciate you for coming back and caring. I will continue writing, and sharing all my big – and small – gay feelings and thoughts with you. Still crazy about queer pop culture after all these years, together. Because even 20 years later, representation still matters. Happy weekend, all.

My Weekend Crush

I always, always love the Olympics. But this year, the event (despite its many, many flaws from ongoing corruption, exorbitant expenses, environmental impacts, et al) came at perhaps the perfect time. For a nation like ours that is so fiercely and feverishly divided, the Olympics was a hopeful reminder of what makes us really great. No, obviously not that rah-rah jingoism of bald eagle screeches and whatever the fuck Kash Patel was doing in the Team USA men’s hockey lockeroom. But the big-hearted, big-dreamers who care about and cheer for each other.

The version of America that most of the athletes of the 2026 Winter Games showed was that of empathy, grace, compassion and most importantly concern for their fellow athletes. I’ve never seen a more genuinely caring figure skating Olympic competition. Like this is the same contest where in the past one athlete ordered a hit on another athlete, FROM THE SAME TEAM. I’ve never heard more athletes talk openly about the toll Olympic pressure puts on their mental health. Or what success means outside of winning medals. And, of course, I’m heartened despite the horrid backlash they’ve endured that so many of Team USA also have spoken out about what is happening in this country. More of that, from more athletes and everyone else, all the time and not just every four years, please.

This year’s Olympics were also a reminder for me about how much I despise all the unchecked AI being thrust into our lives. I can’t help but believe it’s true intent is – besides, of course, getting rid of all those pesky higher-paying white collar jobs so the oligarchs can buy more private sex islands and megayachts – is to rob us of the wonder of humanity. So with each picture, each video, each given “fact” we have to ask, “But is it real or AI”?

Honestly, when I look at any of the magnificent photography coming out of this year’s Olympics, I see why I will never accept AI art. A whole industry just to recreate and reorder reality. Yet the beauty of human emotions doesn’t need enhancement. We’re doing it every day. Look at Alysa Liu's face. The JOY. All that, and it’s also destroying the planet. So, truly, truly fuck off, AI. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. Credit to the human photographers Matthew Stockman/Getty (top) and Christophe Ena/AP (bottom).

As He Wished

Honestly, I don’t know what to say about the death of Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner. Police have arrested his 32-year-old son for their murders, and well, anyone with a functioning sense of empathy (i.e. not our POS POTUS – even though Michelle shot the cover photo for “Art of the Deal”!) can understand that their family and friends deserve grace right now.

I just want to thank the universe for giving us someone who could direct among the greatest mockumentaries (This Is Spinal Tap,” 1984), the greatest coming-of-age stories (“Stand By Me,” 1986), the greatest fairy tales (“The Princess Bride,” 1987), the greatest rom-coms (“When Harry Met Sally…,” 1989), the greatest horror thrillers (“Misery,” 1990) and greatest courtroom dramas (“A Few Good Men,” 1992) in the span of under a decade. These movies all came out in my most formative of years, and I can recite lines verbatim from all of them. I may know all of “The Princess Bride” by heart, but then what Gen Xer doesn’t.

That, my friends, would been enough of a legacy on its own. But that he was also universally celebrated as a true mensch, a good egg, a political powerhouse and champion of LGBTQ+ causes (especially marriage equality) makes him something even more important. A good human who so many will miss. Thanks for the movies, sir. May you and your wife rest in power, and may all of us celebrate your life and work for as long as people tell stories to one another that matter.

Tank Top Tuesday: G Flip & Friends Edition

After all these years of writing about G Flip, I guess it’s about time I saw them in real life. Crazy, I know. I’m going to see the Aussie star this weekend for my birthday, which admittedly seems pretty gay. So, you know, it’s perfect. Sheepishly, I’m still not all that familiar with their music. But I am taking a crash course now, starting with watching their “Big Ol’ Hammer” music video. I don’t know how I missed this over the summer, what with its choose your own adventure masc hotties for all wlw tastes. And in tank tops no less. And Fortune Feimster. And the little not-Shane Jacqueline Toboni. And did I mention all the tank tops? I mean, it is Tuesday.

p.s. No, I don’t know if Chrishell will be there. No, I’ve still never watched “Selling Sunset.”

Dropped the Ball

Well, shit. I let this week get away from me. It’s been a busy work/life/everything time and I actually had posts ready to go but didn’t get a chance to post them. C’est la Late Stage Capitalism vie. As an apology here are the stars of Friday’s women’s Final Four in various tank top and tank-top accessorized uniforms (or, in Paige Bueckers’s GQ photoshoot case, bikinis masquerading as a tank top…). Admittedly, I only get really interested in these kinds of sportball things when championships approach. I’m a call-me-when-the-stakes-are-really-high fan, I guess. For women’s sports, that is. The only men’s sport I regularly watch is the Super Bowl, and that’s mostly for the mid-game concert. And with that, some real ballers.

UConn, Paige Bueckers #5

She heard Caitlin Clark bulked up in the off season, and is responding accordingly.

UCLA, Lauren Betts #51

I’ll be flying Air Betts after all these FAA cuts, thank you very much.

South Carolina, Chloe Kitts #21

In Dawn Staley we trust.

Texas, Madison Booker #35

Not to be outdone by Air Betts, Air Booker also seems highly reliable.

Who ya rooting for? I want to see UConn and South Carolina go at it for the championship, duh.

A Year

It’s been, quite frankly, a bit of a shit year. The tail end of 2024 has especially been working overtime. My favorite aunt, my mother’s only sister, passed away after a sudden and short illness last weekend. Very sudden and very short. So I will be taking a few extra mental health days. I should be back to posting regularly next week. Tell the people you love that you love them, kittens. Tell them today.

Music Monday: New Beginnings

Well, my divorce became official over the weekend. So, that’s that. It’s a good thing, but still feel...strange. Anyway, here’s a song for us all. Happy Monday, kittens.

Happy Blogiversary To Us

Well, well, well. Look who is another year older. Today is my 18th blogiversary which, whew. For real, WHEW. Way back in 2006 I had this crazy idea to start a blog and I just never stopped. Sure, it can be slightly more sporadic these days (life, man). But here we all are, 18 years later, still hanging out and talking about hot, talented ladies whether they be in tank tops or nicely tailored suits or whatever else sparks our facies. I will say in the 18 years since I pressed “publish” on Blogger for the first time, we have a lot more out queer women to celebrate, which is a welcome sign of progress. But just as apparent is the constant need to fight against the backwards riptides wanting to drag us back into the past and into the closet. To which I say with all sincerity, fuck those regressive, hateful troglodytes forever. But this post isn’t about them. They aren’t invited to this birthday party. It’s about you. I wouldn’t still be writing here (almost) every day without you. You’ve helped me get through the unrelenting rollercoaster of life – breakups, deaths, and yeah divorce. And together we’ve celebrated the good times too. So, here’s to Ye Olde Blogge being finally old enough to vote. I’ll keep writing as long as you keep reading. Eighteen freaking years. As I was saying, whew. Thanks for everything, kittens.

My Weekend Crush

Well, friends. I’m going to have a bit of a reflective weekend. My ex-wife and I officially filed for divorce this week. So, as Carol Aird would say – well, that’s that. I’m fine. I’m actually really relieved we were able to come to this decision jointly and largely amicably. And it feels good to be officially moving on to the next chapter, whatever that may hold.

Thanks for being so supportive through My Little Life Impolision. It means more than I can express in words, letters and characters. Thankfully, we have Joni to help us in that department. And what is better than one Joni, but two Jonis? Think of it as “Both Sides,” then and now. So, again, thank you, kittens. And, well, that’s that. Happy weekend, all.

Joy to the World

Merry Christmas to all who celebrate. Today, no matter what you believe, may you find some joy. Sending you all the warmest wishes this season. As the Indigo Girls say, “There’s Still Joy.” I certainly hope so, for all of us.

Vacation Vixen: Dr. Yeoh

How adorably amazing does Michelle Yeoh look receiving her honorary Doctor of Humanities degree from The Hong Kong University of Science and Technology last month? I would watch an entire fantasy series where Michelle was the headmistress of a magical school for extreme badasses – a bit like that other magical school series but without the subsequent hideous transphobia of course. Anyway, congrats Dr. Yeoh! Also, today is my last day at my old job so it’s a bit of a graduation, I guess. I’ll be off until next week, but of course I won’t leave you empty handed because I am a considerate new graduate.

My Weekend (Life) Crush

Goodness, that week certainly got away from me. Really the whole month did. Hello, December! That genuinely good thing I was talking about earlier, well, it’s happening and it’s taking up a lot of my time (it’s a new job, which I start later this month while I wrap up my old job where I’ve been for more than two decades — I know, crazypants!) In the interim my postings will be somewhat sporadic, though I will try to fill your stockings with Vixens and other Crushes and actual real-live posts this busy holiday season. For now, please enjoy Cyndi as we all celebrate the season (whatever season you celebrate) together. Happy weekend, kittens.

Vacation Vixen: Birthday Girl

It’s my birthday and I’ll post a Vacation Vixen if I want to. And I really, really want to. I mean, who wouldn’t want Gillian Anderson all wrapped up in an oversized suit like a posh present? But I call dibs as birthday girl and all. Well, I made it another year around the sun, so that’s something to celebrate I suppose. This year I’m taking a few days off to visit friends and generally not. So in my absence please enjoy an extended weekend of Vixens. Thanks, as always, for your care and your generosity and your readership. I am still bad at thank yous, but believe me when I say that I truly am grateful for you, dear kittens, particularly this past year. Go drink a cocktail in my honor tonight, or crack open something nice at home. Or just stare lovingly at Gillian and her enormous collar. I think I might just do all three. It is my party, after all. And it sure beats crying.

p.s. If you feel like buying your host said drink, a reminder that I have a Venmo (@dorothy-snarker) and Paypal (idgie2@hotmail.com) and always gratefully accept tips.

My Weekend Crush

For no reason in particular, here’s a little ditty on the one-year anniversary of my marriage breaking up. I sure miss Sinead. And other stuff. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Or fine-ish. But, truly, onward. Happy weekend, all.

Wednesdays, amirite?

Well, shit. It’s been another week. Some life shit has thrown my off-keel (not to overshare, but The Ex is moving in with The New Girlfriend). Add that to some health issues (again, not to overshare but some carpal tunnel and hypermobility issues in my hands and the continued menace of perimenopause) means I am just not feeling it right now. But I want to feel it again, I’m just trying to figure out the best way back to feeling less topsy-turvy. The ground keeps shifting, but the sun keeps rising. So, I guess, onward. I swear I’ll get back to posting hot women doing hot things soon. Until then, please enjoy my current favorite moody song on everyone’s existential crisis playlists.

Fucking Tuesday

Hey, so guess what, I’m having a bit of a week (my work bestie put in her two week notice the same day I came back to work from vacation and I haven’t been on track since, and other life blergh.) So let’s all share a primal Bette scream into the void and hope that “Fuck” carries to the outer edges of our universe and takes all of our last fucks with it. Reset, start again tomorrow. Promise.

Pride Check-In

Don’t worry, I’m still here. I had some friends visiting through the weekend and the start of the week which got me way off schedule. Part of the last weekend was also spent figuring out this month’s Pride situation. We are halfway through the month after all. Which means it’s time to bring back this banger. Hope your Pride is progressing proudly, and you have an absolute riot - either kind of welcome and acceptable. Stay hydrated, stay safe, stay proud. Happy Pride, kittens.

Some of Them Hormones

The day has come. The day I’ve reached the Evelyn Couch Event Horizon. I am officially in the Evelyn Age Bracket from “Fried Green Tomatoes,” as a woman in her late 40s who is struggling with “The Change.” And while I have not taken a class about my vagina or crashed my car into any whipper snappers — YET — these days I often feel the impulse to just Towanda my whole damn life. My perimenopause started when I had my period three times in five weeks earlier this year. And it has continued with a cacophony of other delightful symptoms — from your standard hot flashes to wild mood swings and undeniable brain fog. In fact, if you’re reading here and see a word out of nowhere that doesn’t make any sense, that’s just my tired broken brain doing its best these days.

It seems wild that “Fried Green Tomatoes” remains one of the few mainstream films to deal with menopause head-on. In the 32 years that have passed since its release, the topic remains somehow still too taboo. Yet basically all women and people with female reproductive organs experience this in their lives. ALL OF US. And let me tell you, it is not subtle nor sweet — and definitely not something to be kept secret. We should talk about it. I can’t stop talking about it. Honestly, it makes me feel kinda crazy. Couple that with other huge recent life events and some days I feel like my entire existence is about to break through the bottom of Evelyn’s paper-thin Piggly Wiggly grocery bag. Yesterday, a 30-second video tweet of Elmo (yes, ELMO) saying “Happy Pride!” made me weep. Things are not OK inside my skull, clearly. But I am working on it, and honestly knowing the “Why” does at least help. Now, onto the what to do next. Speaking of Evelyn, has anyone else got themselves some hormones? I am also not opposed to Stress Tabs No. 4. I feel like Jessica Tandy was onto something.