2) Popped Collars.

The upturned collar was originally designed to help tennis players shield their necks from the sun. It enjoyed a questionable resurgence in the 1980s when readers of “The Preppy Handbook” failed to realize that the author’s characterization of its popularity in preppy circles was intended to be satirical and began popping their collars en masse. Like cockroaches, this fashion trend refused to die and returned in the 2000s in frat houses all over the country, serving as a stepping stone to the to the untucked striped shirt and as a signal to other people to avoid the unsavory adopters of this fashion trend or else be dry humped and/or be drenched with Coors and vomit.

Unfortunately, like other frat boy badges, such as homoeroticism and watery American beer, the popped collar squirreled its way into the lesbian community, but the sisters weren’t happy popping the collars of just their tennis shirts. They started popping any shirt with a collar, often pairing the look with a tie, because lesbians can’t just be ridiculous — they have to be fabulously ridiculous. In any event, I can’t help notice its uncanny similarity to the protective medical device cats and dogs are required to wear after being spayed or neutered. Ladies, I know you love your four legged friends, but… no. Just no.

1) Grad School a/k/a Collecting Useless Degrees

Lesbians love books. In fact they love books so much that they are willing to pay six figures to read esoteric texts that expand the mind while destroying their credit score and employment prospects. They gravitate to text-heavy degrees such as Women’s Studies, Queer Studies, literature and philosophy (collectively known as “Lesbian Meat Market 101″), which prepare them for (1) conversing in a bizarre language that only other lesbians who have taken the same classes can understand and (2) unemployment. So what is a lesbian bookworm supposed to do when she is in her fourth year of college, and she realizes that her years of studying radical feminism have given her no practical skills to survive in the real world and that her employment prospects are limited to answering phones, flipping burgers, espresso-making and, paradoxically, stripping?

She applies to grad school!

Uncle Sam, the benevolent patriarch, will take care of her by extending her more student loans! Would you like a Masters in Gender Studies (“Lesbian Meat Market 201″) with those fries? How about a PhD in Sexuality Studies (“Lesbian Meat Market 301″) with that shake? She can spend another few years pontificating ideas and theories inapplicable outside of the Ivory Tower and most of all… using big words and sounding “smart” and “clever” while flirting with other lesbians! Sure, you can go to Amazon.com and buy a text by Michel Foucault for $10, but if you ask Uncle Sam for $30,000 to read Foucault at a expensive lesbian commune private liberal arts institution, the guaranteed pussy parade can continue! Holla!

Unfortunately, these poor souls eventually learn that it isn’t Uncle Sam who they will have to answer to. It’s Sallie Mae, and Sallie Mae is a girl you don’t want to piss off. Unlike other sadists, Mistress Sallie doesn’t have a safe word.

(Nota bene: This section does not apply to you if you were raised by Asian or Jewish parents, who are less indulgent to their children’s impractical flights of fancy than other parents. If you fall into this category, you know full well that “grad school” means “professional school,” and since one of the founders of this site is a member of the Tribe and the other is a descendant of the people of the Middle Kingdom, a post on this is forthcoming.)

More to come! Have a suggestion? Add them in the comments.