I strongly recommend the occasional bout of aloneness.
Enter lesbians. Observe lesbians. Exeunt.
That there are so many other adults trying to take themselves seriously while being handed plates of fish fingers makes me want to laugh, cry and vomit at the same time.
Russia has given its Olympic volunteers a rainbow-coloured uniform. This is a country that, as of last year, has criminalised homosexuality and banned its citizens from publically brandishing the Pride flag. What's really going on here?
There will be an admissions procedure. “So, did you get into lesbianism?” Emily asks Stephanie. “No,” says Stephanie, gazing at her tiny, straight-girl feet.
Before one of them came out of my sister, the best I could hope for around babies, speech-wise, would be an awkward “Hello, small person thing.” Now, I'm having thoughts . . .
The disillusionment of plunging a fork into something that claims to be a pie, and almost immediately hitting plate, is like no other.
Let’s face it, lesbians, we’ve peaked. We’ve had our 15 minutes of sweet, hashtag-spawning fame.
Christmas is the one time of year that straight, socially conservative men unconsciously gay it up for a whole month.
Increased visibility of mentally ill people can only serve to highlight problems and break taboos, but for the most part this is a stultifying trend.
By snubbing the Sochi Games himself and picking tennis star and lesbian icon Billie Jean King to represent him, Barack Obama is effectively waving a rainbow flag in Putin's face. Three cheers for the “we’re here, we’re queer”-ness of the US Olympic delega
Coffee Guy is all, “Look at me with my nice hair and my penis,” brandishing his barista tools like a middle-class Viking.
I’ve often thought that sex is just a series of humiliations punctuated by orgasms, and this film is a confirmation of that.
Perhaps a cervical screening test is the “gateway to womanhood”, the rite of passage I’ve been waiting for.
There’s no doubt that Tom Daley's coming out is marker of just how far we’ve come in terms of LGBT visibility, but it highlights how far we still have to go.
The fomo is strong with this one.
For the millenial with no money, no umbrella and no hope of ever owning a house, it's time to look elsewhere.
Thinking of reaching for a leotard and a suggestive foam finger so you can twerk your way through the spookiest night of the year? Think again!
The definitive list of foodie friends and foes of the gays.
I was recently greeted with a double kiss by someone in a gay club. I was simultaneously relieved that I’d avoided a handshake and convinced that her mouth-based greeting meant that she wanted to move into a semi with me and have 2.4 cats.
Perhaps mystery is overrated - the LGBT sexting/Snapchat instant sexual gratification craze can only lead to more gay sex, which can only be a good thing.
Welcome to the Sapphic Republic of Great Britain.
Night Buses are where you really find out what life means, writes Eleanor Margolis.
Usually, comparisons to Nazism are idle and misplaced. But the new anti-gay legislation in Russia, a supposedly progressive democracy, is truly reminiscent of the anti-Semitic Nuremberg Laws.
Aggro-dyke is more than “angry lesbian”. It’s a smarter, more subtle concept.
From Lena Dunham tweeting about her bladder movements to Lana Del Rey becoming the first ever pop star to describe what her vagina tastes like in a song, today’s rude girls are storming the mainstream. Men no longer own gross.
For starters, never describe yourself as "bubbly" or "normal".
A new Russian law allows for “out and proud” tourists to be detained by the police for up to fourteen days. While being outraged about this, Eleanor Margolis realises that she should have been directed at the Russian government’s treatment of its own LGBT
Musing on the concept of Bedfulness, Eleanor Margolis finds her self questioning her own unhealthy relationship with her Ikea Malm.
The instinctive urge to get married is a hard one to rationalise, finds Eleanor Margolis, but she could do without being judged by other members of the gay community.