School Days, School Days...

..good ol' fashioned rule...hold it! Uck, now I know why I keep the Offspring home. Except that the title doesn't refer to them. I'm referencing myself.

We are officially into May and I am going back to school, in 12 days! Signed up for my classes, got my books and in a state of age-ed paranoia, I've read almost all of them - through, to the end. And taken notes.

Now, god (with a lower-case 'g'), could you impart the insight and wisdom needed to get me through...to the end?

I. Am. Crazy. All this, because I'm under a sustained delusion that I can, could, will...help youth find their way along that path of, life. Yes, I am crazy. As if those beautiful humans, gay, lesbian, bi, trans, or queer could possibly use the help.

Books We Shouldn't Read

Out of sheer curiosity, and a subtle suggestion by some random smart cookie I know, I picked up a copy of the DSM-IV. That would be the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

Oh Goody, where should we start? Well lets look at what I'm familiar with first...OCD, Anxiety, Neurosis, Narcissism. Well, that was fun. Next we'll move onto what I'm obsessed with, Gender Identity, Homosexuality. Now, just for fun we'll look at some of the "disorders" that I'm studying for class. Abuse, Pedophilia, Necrophilia, Technophilia?....Some of these are starting to sound like they overlap. One could be the other. The other could be this one and so on. Wait...you know, I fit a lot of the criteria for some of these disorders. Anxiety, Neuroses, holy shit...what's pederasty? Psycho Sexual Disorders?!?!

Moment of shock, horror, dismay! Shut the book, fast! Psychosis, psychosomatic disorder, schizophrenia...I'm adopted, did that run in my family? Whose idea was this!!! Put down the book and back away, very, very, slowly. I think, that some books should never be read.

Molly - In Real Life

I'm little slow on the uptake. It took me to long to follow the advice dispensed to me some time ago to watch, "Dan In Real Life".

What's worse? That a comedy made me cry or that I see far to many parallels in my own life? Ok, so I've not lost a spouse and I'm not trying to raise 3 kids on my own, but, can we discuss my propensity to royally fuck things up? On a regular basis. You would think, by my actions, that this life is some sort of a dress rehearsal. Oy.

When you mess "it" up, whatever "it" may be, how do you, you know, "fix it"? Do I sound like a revolving door? I want life to work like the movies, I want to resolve "it" with artful wit and humor in an hour and half. I want it to work like it does in a script. And I want to look that good in the process.

But, life isn't like the movies. And, we can't rewind. I can't redo my "growing-up" part, moments with gran, stupid things I've said, friendships that I've messed up, relationships I should never have had, kids I probably scarred for life, moments of misunderstanding or just sheer stupidity. I'll never be as educated, sophisticated or intelligent as I was the day I graduated from college. But, I can laugh. I can hope. I can dream. And, I can do what I did when I was 5, use the whooooole box of band-aids if it makes me feel better. I can love, imperfectly, forever.

Age - ed

What brings people together? What keeps them together? Beyond two individuals who come together to create and build a life together - marriage, what makes friendship? What is the bond that people find, nurture and sustain in true friendship?

Lots of things, you say. Age, location, resonance. Our society inculcates in us, from a very young age, the notion that all things in social friendships begin with age. You "hang-out" with kids "your age". You are grouped with kids "your age". You trade ideas, test out social behaviors and find out what is acceptable and what is not.

Then, we grow up. Some of us work, others get more education. And we discover that the rules of friendship, change. Support, resonance and bonding become far more important to our existence. Age, for most of us, takes a backseat.

We nurture friendships carefully, evolve and grow. And in times of real trial we find what true friendship is. The Mother who looses her loved one is surrounded by true friends, AFTER the funeral. The drug addict is held by true friends after they pick her up out of her own vomit and lovingly find help. The struggling Man who cries without restraint when floundering to save his marriage. The child whose hand is held firmly on the playground, shielded by a loving friend, from relentless bullies, regardless of their oddities. The playgroup that welcomes you back each week regardless of your unruly Offspring and endless verbal faux pas. The one or ones who look you in the eye and tell you your character flaws and love you in spite of them.

True friends love you, forever. And unlike family, they celebrate and lift you, when your family is far away, critical or just plain dysfunctional. You can't choose family, they stay because they have to. Friends stay because they want to.

So, is the age of those you call friend really the issue? It isn't for me. From the man whose snoring I endure almost nightly, to the 43 year old realist who teaches me unconditional love. The enthusiastic 13 year old who excitedly recalls his missteps and wants to sing show tunes with me, to the 59 year old who laughs at my foibles. The 19 year old who shares the same like and dislikes and watches marathons of our favorite T.V. shows until the wee hours of the morning, to the 40 year old who tells it like it is. The 23 year old perpetual optimist who teaches me about true honesty, and the 52 year old who inspires me to hold up my head. Friends I've known for years and some, just weeks. But you know when you meet them, you just...know.

All of them, are my true friends. They are honest with me. They tell me when I'm wrong and celebrate when I get it right. They cry when my heart breaks and cheer when I make it. They keep my secrets, without judgement, and I loving gaurd theirs.

I realize everyday that I am a veritable disaster, I know almost nothing and I make it up as I go, but my friends, they can't wait to hear and share. And twice, only twice, have I tragically lost a friend. (I'm still holding out hope, that's what Blondie tells me to do.) If I love you, my friend, you're stuck with me. Forever.

Periscope...UP!

Ahh, the theatre. A night on the town. An evening to enjoy entertainment, culture and...a look in the back door of a conservative community.

The Offspring have some little playmates that have been working feverishly on a MAJOR production. We ventured out tonight to see the fruits of their hard labor. We have to leave the house by 6:30 or we will be late, except that I need quality time with my Blondie. Oy, cut that short, spit shine the Offspring, open the car and...Oh shit, I forgot the leftovers from Prom Night still scattered all over the back! Mmm, smells like Subway!

Clean up car, adjust seats, seat-belts everyone, pull out of the driveway and we are on our way. Or, not so much, I forgot my cell phone. Turn around, go back to the house, get razzed by the neighbor standing out in his yard, run inside, get cell phone, run back to car and we're off again. 30 minute drive to BFE, just avoid traffic!

DDbutt has warned us that this is community theatre, in a DIVE. Well, she wasn't kidding. Quality, engaging, performance this is not. More in line with an oversize school play. And, knowing me, what do you think I'm looking for? And how long do you think it took me to identify every, single, one...ha ha ha...!

Please, it doesn't matter what KIND of theatre it is, it still attracts them. Every cute, clean-cut, sparky, perky, well groomed, tanned, head snapping, eye-brow popping, hippy swinging, vocal, dancing prodigy. (Picture Jack from "Will&Grace", there were, decidedly 6 of them!!) My gaydar was screaming like a bad siren with flashing lights. This was a small room, it's not like it was a stretch.

3:10 AM

This is what one does at odd hours when inflicted with insomnia. Could someone make the grey matter between my ears stop buzzing? Just resolve the conflict in my head. Balance it all out, assuage my guilt and fears. Entertain my brain....throttle the train conductor, it's 4 a.m., do we really need to blast the horn from Farmington to North Salt Lake? I think s/he finds some sick pleasure in it. Misaligned, repressed aggression. Ahhh, Bitch.

House of Immorality

This is the sign that I will hang in the entry of my new home.

"House of Immorality - Welcome to the truly obscene. The REALLY offensive!"

Seriously, I'm becoming/building everything I loathe. What a hypocrite. Spending and insane amount of money on a structure to be erected to the material Gods. I need my head examined.

Then again, secretly, I'm really excited! I get to build my dream house. Shhh.

I just need to work on assuaging my guilt somehow. I could house a whole family in the storage rooms alone! Ha, ha, any takers?

You're OK, Just Do It My Way- Part II

(The second part of my long soap box) When people participated in civil rights movements in the 60's, in participating at that time, they may not have changed anything, except themselves. There were no guarantees, but, they did something that most of them had never done, stood up for themselves. That act alone, takes tremendous courage. Courage to put ones safety on the line. Courage to be both inwardly/intellectually honest and outwardly honest.

What I just described for you were people. People, not objects. People with lives, dreams and passions. People who took it upon themselves to speak for what they believed. The way they went about informing the world of what they believed may have changed absolutely nothing, except one thing, their sense of self. The acquisition of personal power. The knowing that they could make themselves heard, within.

What I read in the lines of today's editorial is this; "Be yourself. Be a good citizen. Be gay, I support that. As long as you do it....MY WAY." Society at large is becoming a more accepting beast. And we all can applaud that. Yet I hear the proverbial "but", over and over. From the LDS church who says "Be Gay, but do it our way" to the openly gay man who says "Be gay, but be (look) respectable". Yes, "look" right, according to social definitions.

Look, I'm not comfortable with a fairy in a pink thong any more than you are. (Ok, well, maybe that's your secret fantasy, but, we'll just leave that to the twisted recesses of your mind) but I support the individual to be that fairy, as long as he/she is not encroaching on my person or my property. I'm not comfortable with a southern white man in a white hood, but, I support his right to express himself as long as he does not encroach on my person or my property. In both cases what we are observing, is an external expresion of an internal attitude. And we can't dictate what someone thinks.

Last night, amongst the running and chaos, I escaped, for two minutes, into the bathroom to relieve myself. The room was quiet. The air didn't move, so obviously, I was alone. Or....not so much. The toilet in the stall adjacent to me flushed. And as I exited the stall and turned the corner I about lost my lack of lunch to find my little G.Q. standing at the sink. She scared the shit out me. I didn't realize anyone was IN the bathroom. But, I realized, with a sinking horror, that she had a sudden, paralyzing fear when I entered the bathroom, "What if..." What if, I questioned her presence. What if, I didn't recognize her gender and I complained to Library staff. Or worse, what if I inflicted personal injury on her. She felt compelled to hide her very presence, her existence, for fear of her safety due to my possible objections.

My heart fell into my stomach. Why, why would someone have anything less than respect for her in a public restroom? I wasn't upset by her presence anymore than I was upset a few hours later by the drag queen who was fussing at the mirror in the same bathroom. He is obviously a gay man in a dress. Did this deter me from using the toilet? NO, he's not watching over the stall or under the door!! But, we are offended when individuals such as these don't play by our rules. Which continually brings me back to the same spot, that of Higher Law or Fundamental Law,

1)Do all that you have agreed to do and 2) Do nothing that would encroach on any person or their property.

By using a public restroom we agree to 1)Appear, to a reasonable degree, to be the right "gender" 2)Be respectful to the facility and all persons within it. But seriously, if you follow number two, what's the true importance of number one? Other than your attitude and the imagination that it invokes?

Hmmm, "You're ok, just do it my way". I think, we need to think. Now, I need to get off my soap box, my feet hurt.

You're Ok, Just Do It My Way - One

I spent the better part of my day, yesterday, running my ass off. Up stairs, down stairs, elevators, boxes, tables, car loads, loading, unloading... As my sore backside, feet, shoulders and calves can attest, and having the most marvelous time doing it.

I helped with my first "Queer Prom" last night. It was, like any other prom, with one difference, EVERYONE was welcome and included. From the picture perfect straight couples to the fanciest drag queens. Trixy in his hat with peacock feathers, our quiet Train Girl in her STUNNING white tux with black pin stripes! There was Dieter, clean shaven and all slicked up, the SunDance Kid, who, by the way, took Queer Monarchy!! All 700+ of them. We started our adventures at 3:30 in the afternoon and I finally crawled between the sheets, a MOST happy and content MisAdventure, at 1:34 a.m.

I can't be in this world, (and by this world, I mean this world collectively, not just the GLBTQ community) and not be fascinated, awestruck, intrigued and humbled everyday. The amazing tenacity and color that people give to this world. From the "average all American" kids that I work with at our "Little Wave" to my "adopted kids". The Pseudonymous Hubby; so flexible and patient. My Offspring; only the smartest two Offspring I know. My Blondie; the most empathetic and giving boy that God gave this earth. My Dolly; the ever enduring optimist who can't wait to marry her guy. And most recently, My Little G.Q.; (she's gonna hate the "Little" reference, but she is....short. Heehee) the gentle, intelligent, keenly aware, gender neutral that teaches me what true acceptance is. I could list them endlessly, but, I let's face it, I've probably already lost poor Sally.

So, imagine my frustration as I read this, over coffee this morning.

Since "queer" has traditionally been a derogatory term, why have Williams and other gays and lesbians adopted it? Straights like me find it offensive. It reminds me of African Americans who use the n-word. Adopting a derogatory term is not healthy, nor does it help one's cause.

He has a point. But, (oh that ever intrusive little word) read between the lines.

The gay community needs to act with maturity and dignity as it fights for equal rights. That will lead to more respect and support than will attempts to shock.

Really? According to who? And, by what definition? It may be that minority groups will garner more respect and support if they refrain from trying to make a point with "shock". It certainly doesn't compel me to listen to a group of animal rights activists when they stand on a corner with pictures of slaughtered animals. I've not the compunction to stand behind a "pro-life" advocate as they scream at clinic goers with pictures of aborted fetuses flying in a patrons face. Thus, you may not feel empathetic when your visual senses are accosted with a prancing fairy in his pink, sequined speedo shaking his stuff on a gay pride float. Yet, we all fail, myself included, to stop as see what is really going on.

We are talking about people, not objects. People with lives, dreams and passions. People who take it upon themselves to speak for what they believe. The way they go about informing the world of what they believe may change absolutely nothing, except one thing, their sense of self.

"You're Ok, Just Do It My Way"

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

I have been known, on occasion, to scream headlong into an inquiry without thinking ahead of time. My mouth tends to run far ahead of my brain.

Some of my more stellar moments of etiquette include...asking a frequent patron of the bakery I worked in if he shared his purchases with his wife..."If that's what you want to call him" was his response.

Telling a mother at children's theatre classes that her son was adorable..."Yes, she is, isn't she"

Asking a cute girl in the grocery store when her baby was due..."He's four, and home with his Dad"

Choosing to bitch about a local legislator and having a family member say..."I'll let him know that next time I'm at dinner with he and his wife."

I excel in stupid comments. My mouth runneth amok. But, at least you all still tolerate me!

The Road Hell

Tired cliche. The road hell is lovingly paved with good intentions. In my case it's ridiculously decorated too. An obnoxious array of ribbons, streamers, glitter, banderole and oriflamme. It's got a funny handle, too.

It is what we all start out with, I suppose. Good intentions. Our hearts are in the right place...there's another tired one. We set out to effect good influence and change. In my case with delusions of grandeur dancing, nay skipping, through my head. 'Yes, yes! I'll conquer the world!'. I'm Dudley DoRight, 'Here I come to save the day!' (Can you just picture me on my white stead as I gallop splendiforously through the forest. I want the boots too!)

Unfortunately, the perpetual problem that I encounter is that the older I get, the less I know, or remember. I see a problem and with ever increasing enthusiasm, I get out my climbing gear and head for the summit. Convinced that I can reach the peak!

(If you're struggling to read the cartoon, click the picture)

I just need to let that gear collect dust. I don't think I'm cut out for climbing. As evidenced by my repeated failure to reach the top. To victor the conquest. I sound like I can take this so well, don't I. What I should be conceding is the repeated smashing of the heart I wear on my sleeve.

It seems readily apparent that God is desperately trying to tell me something. "Stooooop!" (Sung on firm C natural) and I should listen to him. Or at least to the dog at my heals. If you know me IRL, and most of you do, which is why you wander here, then you need no explanation. If you read this unawares....you'll know my regard for you if I tell you. (You can ask, go ahead.)

My heart is removed time and again by that silver sword. Hence, the armor. I think I'm rather fetching in 14th Century Crusade. I can just feel King Richard's bellowing voice behind me. I can leave that tired Prince John at home...(Not mine, muttlefut. The whiny one.)

The armor doesn't make the hole go away, though. Humph, sigh. Anyone skilled with a band-aid? It hurt my feel bads...

HYPOCRISY

I think, no, I know, this judge needs to adjust her priorities. This just fries me like no other - You can pray, we wouldn't want to infringe on your religious rights (even though, in some aspects, we already did) but don't nurse!?!

Arbitrary and capricious. Practice your religion to the extent that society is comfortable, but let's put your infants at emotional, psychological and physiological risk. We remove these women and children for alleged abuse and neglect and then impose a form of abuse and neglect on the infants! Hello Pot, this is the Kettle!!!

Turkeys

Or Red Herrings, call them what you will. I've reached my proverbial limit and to make matters worse, I've no communicative access to the one particular source that I THINK may be able to answer my question, or, in the least, be able to give me some source of articulation.

Here's the dilemma. If you are GLBTQQ, (I am NOT going to list each one, catch up!) does that impulsively, automatically make you promiscuous? Is the GLBTQ "community" more sexually active? Or is this a projection of stereotype? When discussing my gays, (because, they are mine.) somehow, in order to get around one's homophobia, we throw up the distraction of sexual habits. It's called a red herring. And in really stellar moments of argumentative intelligence, we jump to ad hominem. This is akin to telling me that drinking alcohol automatically makes you an alcoholic or smoking a doobie makes you a drug addict and that in either case, it doesn't make the one proposing the argument any less valid in point. Conclusively, it doesn't.

Quite frankly I've had it up past my ass with assumption. Along with jumping to the act of sex when you hear that someone is gay,(earth shattering, isn't it, that there might be more to being gay or lesbian than what goes on behind closed doors.) why does the population at large then jump to promiscuity?

Tangent!!...I need my little G.Q. I know she has an answer for this. These are moments that I reach for my phone and realize, kwah, snap! I can't text her. I can just see those sparkly, beautiful, brown eyes light up as she runs through the file in that head of hers. It's like watching the lights on a flashing Christmas tree go off and on (haha, that WOULD be funny, cause she's Jewish!)....Think I should've named her Sparky? Perhaps it's time to reassign...hmmmmmmmmmmmmm. I don't think I have any dissenters. Eh, we'll stick with G.Q. for now.

Nerves

I think that I am failing to impress upon those around me just how panicked I am to act, perform, do this "public" thing. Fuck! It's Friday....I have to sing, by myself, in front of a crowd, IN TWO DAYS!!

Could someone slow the movement of time? Perhaps we could just skip Sunday altogether. We don't need Sunday, do we? I mean really, it's just the Unitarians. Our services are of no particular importance or significance.

God, oh, sorry, god with a little "g", won't mind removing Sunday from the agenda. Hell, just remove the 9:00 and 11:00 o'clock hour, that works for me. It'll be a bump in the time/space continuum and I won't have to publicly humiliate myself! OK, now I just need my GaLinda wand! "Time Out!" "Time Out!!"

A little vino and my prescription Klonipin....MMmmm, just call me Karin Walker.

Code Word Duck

This, this, thing. This "blog", is a strange collection of the buzz that goes on in my head on a continuing basis. (the voices in my head, where would I be without them? Please, I need someone to talk to me.)I share just about everything that I think and believe right here in public. For all the world to read. Yet, I harbor quite an array of secrets.

Now, some of you, pseudonymous married guy (That's my hubby), a handful of friends, you know my secrets. You know AAALLLLL my secrets. The rest of you, are left to decode what I regurgitate out of my brain. And none of you has yet to "get it". It's a constant source of irritation for poor Sally, she has implored me to use real names. Yeah, no. Then you would actually KNOW what was going on. My dysFUNctional behavior and the unwitting participants would all come to an unfortunate and screeching halt. And that is such a killjoy.

I talk about all of you. When I elate and celebrate you and when you infuriate me, oh most especially when you elevate my blood pressure! (It's in "the Rules"!! Don't say I didn't warn you.) I am a tell all book here. You just have to know how to "read" it. So, do you know when I'm talking about you? Hmmmm, Irritating, isn't it.

Authentically Yours

I've had a problem most of my life. I severely lack self censure. I like people. In fact, I love people. And I want to be loved backed. If you don't feel the compunction, I may or may not take it well. (If I love you, I love you Forever!)

I am also loud, boisterous, in your face, intelligent, articulate and always looking for the humor. (I've laughed out loud at funerals and in church)This is not well received by those around me. Infelicitous behavior has ALWAYS been frowned upon in my familial world. Religion and society have prescribed a strict code of behavior and I frequently violate that code.

The pinch of the lips and the crease in the brow tell me, girls don't speak out. Girls are subdued, (Dad always told me I had the grace of an elephant and move like a herd of camels) girls are suppose to dream of growing up and getting married and having little ones. Girls should have little inspiration to be strong, intelligent and demurring. Girls are "sacred", girls acquiesce to the patriarchy, girls don't even get into heaven without - a guy. In this world I was, and still am, second fiddle.

Me? Well, speaking out when it didn't "make sense" was my creed, I didn't care what restrained was - I just knew it was boring. Well behaved women rarely make history. I liked running, climbing trees, gymnastics, swimming, reading and playing rough. I wanted to be with the boys. I wanted to be like the boys. I liked messy hair, pants and dirt. I liked running faster than anyone and outwitting everyone. I wanted to grow up and be President (I only ever delineated President, I never could define president of what.) I liked walking strong with my chest thrust forward. I relished my bruises. I wanted to be a Jack Rabbit. (I'm not kidding, it was a favorite game of my girlfriend and I) I hated authority, I hated when anyone told me what to do, how to do, or on what time table to do it. I was especially repulsed by anyone who told me anything that was counter to what my heart told me. Because in this world, my heart is never wrong.

The world told me I shouldn't drink (alcohol), I should always adhere to the Religious Majority, I should never have an independent thought, I should never be friends with anyone that isn't "my age" or "persuasion".(As if I can't have a genuine friendship with an 18 year old because they can't be articulate and intelligent, they can and are. And, as if I have nothing in common with members of the AARP!) I should "love the sinner and not the sin" (can you see me gag and turn green at that crap?! Religious Tolerance my ass, fucking (sorry Matilda, I know you hate that word) oxymoron.) And I should always judge my interaction with any human based on the arbitrary rules and listings of white bread, white collar, patriarchal leadership.

Nope, my heart is never wrong. I'm not even going to apologize for that one. When my heart says that I love you, I love you. Forever. Period. God is perfect, therefore, God makes no imperfect thing. I know what my heart tells me and it is not wrong. God put it in my heart and God put it in me. It isn't wrong.

If my authentic self is not to your liking. You know where you can stick it.

How Much

This is, somewhat of an open book to my thoughts. So, it is a constant pettifog how much I reveal and how much I keep to myself. I think that all depends on how much time I think you really want to waste reading the blither that dominates the grey matter between my ears. It amounts to just about, oooo, zilch.

I had a GahLinda epiphany...picture the pink donned princess teaching Elphaba how to "toss" her hair, remember the opera spot?...Back to my epiphany, it went something like this. What I think is...XYZ. What you want to hear....ABC. It doesn't equate. Oy, the Salt Lake Swede is right, I need some practice in self censure. To many angst ridden, angry types keep reading this trash and then, they stop speaking to me. As if I know anything. I don't. I've just been well endowed with over opinionation. I think they call that "hot air". (I'm leaning in to whisper that in your ear. As if it this comes as a great shock to you.) Please, I'm such a creme puff. I couldn't hurt a knat. Why do think I stay home with Offspring? I think that saying goes something like....Those who can do, those who can't? Teach.

Damn, truth hurts. I'm lacking sleep, or effective quantities of alcohol.

Words, Words, Words

Language, questions of language and application of language. My brain is buzzing. Words I like, words I don't.

Trixy said something last week that didn't register in my brain at the time because I had never put much thought into it and so had nowhere to drive the concept when he presented it.

Trixy: What if we had no words?

Me: Huh

Trixy: I mean what if that (pointing to a chair) had no word?

Me: Huh

We proceeded into a discussion about the application of the word gay. Then, this morning it hit me like a ton of bricks. Words, definitions, dictates, social prescriptions. Male, Female, Heterosexual, Gay, Lesbian, Transgender, Queer...We all fall into the elusive trap.

What's the first question you ask when someone has a baby? You ask "Girl or Boy". And then you apply the appropriate label based on the specified gender. (I hate labels, I hate categories.) We are repulsed if the child doesn't live up to the expected role dictates. We lift an eyebrow to our daughters, "What do you MEAN you don't want to wear a dress!" and try to still a speeding heart beat if we witness our son skip merrily with the girls to play dress up! And then comes the day, "Oh no, you can't be attracted to the same gender. You are NOT GAY/LESBIAN!"

No, you aren't. You are HUMAN. And you fall in love with another soul. You look to share a life with another human, whether they share the same genitalia or not. But somewhere in the journey we get caught up in religious and social dictates and the essence of that human is lost in words. Words, language and definitions.

Have you ever seen two people in love. People! Not boy with girl in the park. Not the cross dressing flamer with his male lover, two PEOPLE. I have, and it is absolutely the most beautiful thing to witness. I've seen it. And they are unbelievable. They don't need a gender description, they're in love. Watch the body language, the eyes that sparkle, the gestures they make. They exude immense joy and pleasure and it's intoxicating to watch. It's Orgaaaasssmic. And notice, I didn't need to give you a gender, they're in love, who cares.

I can't wait for tonight. Only, now I'm busy writing all my questions. I'm in a state of wanting to garden....Need to pick a brain or two. Hey G.Q., Trixy, do you like flowers? Ya'll planted a seed or two.

I Don't Do THAT In Public

It was some months ago that a little secret of mine got out. In a renewal of exploring who I am, was, may still be, I returned to a former aspect of myself to indulge in something that I can't get enough of. Something that I love with great passion. Something that I am almost as passionate about as my Offspring and my kids. Each and everyone.

So, the cat escape the bag. I went back to taking voice lessons and found myself a coach. My Blondie gave me grief about not singing for him.

Me: I sing for you. I just don't do it in public.

Blondie: Yeah, 'cause you don't have any of these. (He gestures to his package)

Me: What these? (grabbing my lack of boobage) Yes, you're right.

Blondie: Yeah, you'd have to grow a pair of these to do it in public. (He again gestures to his package.)

Me: Hey! I resemble that!

What I did hear was, "I double dog dare ya!". Oh, Oh, I will not be yellow. (Well, most of the time, just ask Sparky.) So I reluctantly joined the choir at church. After a few practices I thought, hey, this isn't so bad. I can do this. Ha, ha, then we performed. Mmmm, four shots of Vodka and two performances later I white knuckled the pew to try and stop shaking.

In my funny little dream world, you know the one, where I still have all my "Jack" and I am a stunning stage performer, I "wow" everyone with my solo performances. In real life, I ignore the prospect of singing without people to hide me, in public.

Two weeks ago as we tittered and mingled between practice pieces at choir rehearsal I heard my name. And then, she said it again.

Prim and Proper: Would you sing the solo part on this piece?

Me: Stunned look. Blood rushing to my feet. Heart racing

Prim and Proper Partner: Ha, ha, she appears to be a deer in headlights.

Yes, yes, that would be an adequate description. Sing, you say? By myself? In a public performance?

Well, she just started playing and then it was my turn to sing and then the choir followed and then, I WAS ON THE PROGRAM?!?! I'll give a hint what I'm thinking. I believe my Sparky Jack introduced me to the term...WTF!!!!! How did I get myself into this? Did I say yes? I have to sing, in public, by myself!!!

Well, I'm comforted to know that none of you will be there. So, you won't see me squeak like a mouse and watch the congregation wince as I slaughter the music. Oh, and if you read this and even FATHOM of informing certain members of my immediate family, I will HURT you. (That means you Princess. And you Sally!!) I'll just let you hear what the song is SUPPOSED to sound like...

For A Moment

I measure life, in moments. Moments accumulate into days and then weeks, and then months and then years. Some moments are good, others, not so much.

My recent accumulation of moments, not so good. So, just for this moment, I say - ick. Nobody wants to hear about icky moments. So I won't share.

This moment, it'll go away. Someday.

Which Is It?

This one says no. This one says yes.

Internalized Homophobia or just plain self loathing? Which is it? Are we just randomly labeling or is this really a condition? I wonder. I don't like to label or categorize. It's demoralizing in some ways. It leads to inappropriate conclusions. You're gay so, therefore you are X, Y or Z. Stereotyping, Grr.

Gay may be an adjective, but it is not a definitive label. It's one of a dozen descriptions, but it isn't what makes a man honest, trustworthy or responsible. Or lacking. So, a human can be self-loathing and engage in self destructive behavior. Can this apply to a man (or woman) in terms of the self loathing one may feel about their orientation?

Good grief, I need sleep.

G.Q.

I, have an obsession. Like this is news to anyone. Mmmm, let me rephrase that, I have an obsseeeeeeesiooonn. Can you see me arch my back and hang my limp wrist in the air and breath the words Lauren Bacall style.

Each week I get the delightful, wonderful, fantastic, educational, inspiring, intoxicating, stimulating...Ok, Ok, I'll cease with adjectives, you get the point. I get to hang out with a whole collection of the most delicious human beings. And if you just read that in a licentious way, please, get your head out of the gutter.

So far I have learned the most fascinating collection of random knowledge, beginning with "Queer". I can't drink this all in fast enough. Every week I journey home, wishing I could pack half these beings in my back pocket and enjoy the company everyday. Please, who wouldn't be in love! I hang out, talk about movies, books, music, South Park, politics and all things random. I get to participate in Pride Celebration. And, and, oh oh oh oh, uh, uh, uh, I get to go to the Prom!!

Who could these people POSSIBLY be? Well let's see; we have our dapper little Trixy, (he looks amazing in heels and a skirt, khaw, bitch!), there's Deiter (He has the best hair, seriously, curls to die for! Kind of like the Offspring...) and we can add the thoughtful Train Girl, the gorgeous Intellect and of course our Little Salt Shaker, who told me that she wanted her name to be G.Q. Yes folks, she has a name. I rather like G.Q., although, I was more partial to Brown Eyed Girl... oooh, such pretty eyes. (And, a smart little cookie I might add.)

Hee, hee, Blondie told me I needed a hobbie! Eleka and the Midwife steered me in the right direction and, away I go.

Forty Years of Masterbatory Paening.....

....Has Come to An End!! Folks, she can finally stroke her own. Wahooo! There was some joking about relations on it at some point...I RAN!

At any rate, she finally gets a dishwasher. Pretty hefty price for wash box if you ask me, but, who am I to judge? I'm the BUILDING an ode to immorality, like I should talk - eh?

Sides

Each of us, regardless of what we would like to think, falls on a side. On one side or the other of an issue. And, being American, we are not lacking in opinions.

I posted the funny video below of Chris Crocker. I'm not real fond of the boy. I can't put my finger on it, but, it is what it is. I do, however, appreciate his "side". However lacking he is in his delivery. He has a "side" and he lets you know.

I have a side. I have many. And, in a process of personal evolution, my sides change. Politics, Gender Theory, Abortion, Orientation, Gay Marriage, Anti-Discrimination, Immigration, Universal Health Care, Education, Religion, Economics. I have an opinion on them all and more. And, I discovered recently, my opinion evolves.

Flexibility and a willingness to hear what others say, it's a good thing.

"That's So Gay"

Never liked the phrase or the way that it tends to be used...I like Chris's articulation, but I'll leave my opinions of the deliverer to myself. Remember, let us not engage in 'ad hominem' or 'genetic fallacy'... we must keep ourselves ever on our toes.