Holly Miranda is taller than I thought she'd be.

The opening act for the Boston leg of Tegan and Sara's "Sainthood" tour, Miranda looks gangly, wearing skinny black jeans and a blazer on stage at the Orpheum Theater. She stamps her feet and tosses her long dark hair like a horse, jamming to "Sleep on Fire," my personal favorite from her new album "Magician's Private Library," out Feb. 23. In the moment, I can't help but wonder if one of the Quinn twins is taking advantage of out lesbian Holly's presence on the tour -- if you know what I mean -- but later research reveals that Holly has a steady girlfriend back in L.A. Miranda perches on her toes while shredding on her turquoise guitar as she and her band mates languidly pick their way through the new album's track list. The audience -- which I'm now referring to in my head as "lesbo central" -- seems enraptured by Miranda's music, but not enough to quell the giddy excitement rising in the crowd at the thought of the evening's main performers: lesbian, Canadian, identical twin rockers Tegan and Sara.

The majority (of women, at least) in the audience can be presumed gay. Maybe, just maybe, that's one of the reasons they're all so excited: for once, we -- the LGBT crowd -- are the majority. We are the general public. Or it could very well be because the moment we've all been waiting for is almost here. The Quinn twins are about to take the stage.

Before they make their much-anticipated entrance, Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline classics serenade the waiting crowd -- country-style love songs that culminate with a patently un-Tegan and Sara song about rainbows and lollipops and true love that escort the twins onto the stage. Both women have donned the hipster lesbian uniform -- dark skinny jeans, ankle boots, and oversized grey t-shirts (American Apparel much?) -- and as I bounce along with their opener "The Ocean," a popular track off 2009's "Sainthood," I thank the lesbian goddesses above that our balcony seats aren't too far away to see the twins' tattoos.

After the opening number is over and the raucous cheers have died down, Tegan thanks the audience for buying tickets to the concert. "We're in a recession, people," she says before the twins launch into "Hell." My girlfriend grabs my elbow and points downward, and I notice that the floor is shaking. People in the audience dance maniacally.

While Tegan and Sara catch their breath after performing their first single off of "Sainthood," Sara regales the crowd with the musical path she wishes she'd taken. "What I regret is being in an indie rock band and not being an R&B singer," she says. "[R&B] is very feminine and very sexual."

"Do you feel Tegan and Sara is stifling your sexual side?" Tegan asks her sister jokingly, and the audience erupts into cheers at the mere mention of sex.

There's more of a unanimously positive crowd reaction to Tegan and Sara's older songs -- lesbian classics, if you will -- that people know and love from shows like "The L Word" and "Grey's Anatomy." It's strange to hear songs from the past decade being played one after another. Each album meant something different to me; Tegan and Sara escorted me, like so many others, through coming out, going to college, my first girlfriend, and my first break-up. Most of those emotions are still there, and raw, and very much brought to life by these songs.

I'm reminded that even if you put someone on a lesbian pedestal, it doesn't make them a saint (ha) when Sara forgets the words to "Monday, Monday, Monday." The audience finishes the verse for her as she says triumphantly, "Well, there's our first mistake!"

While Tegan and Sara are open about being gay, they're known for their reluctance to talk about their sexuality and its influence on their music -- they'd rather you just like their songs without fixating on who they sleep with. But I think what they don't realize about their music is the space it creates for, shall we say, "likeminded" women. A quick look at the rows behind us -- we're in one of the balconies -- reveals women of all ages kissing, running their fingers through each other's hair, entirely unconcerned with anyone's perception of their public displays of affection. Here, we're safe, happy, and together all the while being who we are, because of them. And that ability -- to bring together any group of people -- should always be celebrated.