Adolescence

If I take my hand and place it on the back of your head and force, shove or coerce you to lean forward, what is your intuitive reaction? Most likely it is to push back. And if I shove hard enough, you're likely to be less than agreeable with me. This is an action of force. If I then try to repeat this action under threat of punishment, the predictable response is a one of defiance, resistance, and most likely resentment. When this happens, one of us assumes a position of oppression and the other of power. In this case, the result is always one of loss. One cannot grow and thus we move to resignation.

I am surrounded by adults or grown-ups who are under the distinct impression that their job as a parent is an all encompassing practice of "Do as I say because I'm older and wiser" or worse, "Do for your own good, because I said so". With the tremendous about of knowledge and research that we currently have on development, behavior and the like, I find myself wondering, what in the hell are we doing as parents? Are we really that smart? Have our own lives really been so stellar and successful that we want our own children to replicate everything that we find great, good and wonderful? Are the mistakes we made really so original that we can prevent our own children from repeating our stupidity?

What are we worried about? Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll, right? In today's culture and society we could probably add technology. Not to disappoint you, but, grandma was as likely as any teen today to be doing the dirty before she got married. Statistically data show that our propensity to play whoopie outside of marriage has changed almost nil, since the early 1900's.

Drugs. Not a whole lot has changed with the exception of the availability and awareness. A problem? In some cases. I think I might know a few who I would worry about in the addiction arena. But, in comparison to the number I know who engage in the "recreational" sense, well, I'm always surprised at how many will "partake" but are somehow not going beyond a little "oregano".

Rock 'n' roll? I have yet to read or see anything that would constitute correlation or cause of certain behaviors based on the media that is consumed, the music that is listen to, or the video games one plays.

I'm more flexible than most. This is why Vera is probably coaching her little Highlight about whether to even engage in conversation with me. Seriously, look at what I did to poor Blondie. Ruined for life. But, with my hope of being flexible and open, I hope that what I foster in my Offspring and in the teens that I know, is a sense of critical thinking.

Adolescents aren't stupid. And they don't need someone to tell them what to do, what they are doing wrong and why it's abhorrent or stupid. Adolescents are smart, inquisitive and for the most part, hard working. When you anticipate them to fail, let you down, or violate your trust-they will most certainly live up to your expectations. They may appreciate check lists, but they don't want or need you to direct them through the list. Back off. Hovering never worked. I know, ask those who I mistakenly hovered over. It's annoying and they don't thrive in those conditions.

I realize that there are exceptions. Duh. But, I think that they are fewer and further between that we would all like to believe. I've had my broken heart by those I had higher expectations of, It doesn't mean that I've lost faith in those who failed. We all fail. We all make mistakes. I have faith when I grow up that my heart will be mended.

This is all I have heard for the last five days. At the end of the day? I sure do wish I was as smart as all them grown-ups whose doin' the bitchin' and complainin'. They just have all the answers. Makes me wonder why they struggle with their teenagers if they's so damn smart.

Kindred Spirit

I love meeting new people. But I love meeting those I have connection with. I met one of those tonight. Beautiful red headed New Yorker with an obsession for books. Good obsession. Books require pencils, post-its, notes, and one must always be consuming more than one.

Who doesn't love to read? And who wouldn't be immediately drawn to an individual reading D.H. Lawrence? Fan-tas-tic!!!

Rumor Has It...

Like sands through the hour glass...Oh wait, we're dealing with water, so I guess we're dripping.

Time for the annual parade of bullshit. Sorry, board meetings. Edith has, unfortunately left us. I wish she had taken Nancy and Nellie with her. One needs to be bitch slapped and the other needs a fuckin' muzzle. It reminds me of a skit from the old "Electric Company", whimper and whine, whine, whine. (Which we consumed when they left. We had been driven to drink.)There's a whole lot of whine going on for two people who don't drink. If I here the phrase "...Well I just think" one more time I will reach across the table and throttle them both. I fear it will do me no good, but I'll feel better.

I don't need Nancy to compare us to the local "country club" one more time. I don't need investment advice. I don't need to hear how she and her shady husband do it or how much money they make. I don't need to hear how we can't raise fees. It boiled down to me gently touching her arm, looking her straight in the eye and saying "Nancy, we're doing it. It'll be OK"

I was reduced to juvenile antics in the meeting. Is it bad that the other board members giggled right along with me? My response to everything? "Just do it. Who cares if they don't like it. Let them sell their memberships. If they're so upset they can talk to me, I'm mean." Mr. McGregor jokingly agreed and we were off on roll. His favorite come back? "Let Molly do it, she's mean." And we would be reduced to giggle fits that ultimately pissed off Ms. Narcissistic.

The Lovely Lady is doing her damnedest to play head honcho this year. She thinks she'll try it again next year too. I laughed and told her to get to the end of the summer.

It was when she began venting about Henny Penny that my mood actually turned sour. The information was nothing new. And, I fully concur with all observations. The problem? The inability of some people to keep their traps clapped. The rumor mill has been a swingin' and I don't like what's coming back to me. It's inaccurate, mean and it was conveyed in confidence. Or, so I thought.

Guards who should be coming back? Nope, their not. Guards who most certainly should not be coming back? They are. And the information about behavior, work ethic, and kids who were terminated last year? The Lovely Lady could only apologized and hand me Kleenex. I knew that terminations were suspicious, but the reality? The Lovely Lady just stood with mouth agape and shook her head.

There are two sides to every story and she had been on the other end of a phone call that I got last summer trying to ascertain the validity of the course of action being taken. "If these are your reasons, that's discrimination." The response, "Oh, no, no, no. I'm just tired of a poor work ethic." Real reasons were never admitted to in person, but, religious conservatives always have an excuse.

Well, here we go again. Those who are hired are there because they're favorites. Not because they are good at what they do. And the ones that are good? They're being bad mouthed before we even start, or they are vocally not being invited back. (Can you see me roll my eyes to the back of my head?) Not that I want those precious individuals to come back. No one should have to endure a hostile work environment. Especially my kids. I'm grateful that they are growing up and moving on. At least this place won't hurt them anymore. God in heaven I MISS our Daisy.

Social Comforts

What is the first question you ask when a friend has a baby? When you or your partner got the first ultra-sound? You ask what flavor. You know you did.

Nature gives us our sex. Male, Female. Many of us are under the distinct impression that male is XY and female is XX. And for the most part, it is. There are cases where the womanizing, uber-jock sitting next to you has a chromosome make-up that looks more like XX 1/2 Y. But, to the naked eye, he is all man. Whatever that is.

That brings us to what society gives us, our gender. Why do you act like a "girl"? Who taught you that? Why do you act like a "boy"? Who taught you that? Society. Society told your mother that boys go home to a blue room and girls go home to a pink room. And somewhere in the mix, we came up with yellow for neutral....things that make you say, hmmmm?

So, what about that one in 1000 child who is born with ambiguous genitalia. Your first response would probably be, "Ha, do a DNA test!" But, is that the clear-cut answer? Or, is it what makes you more comfortable?

Most of my "educated" friends say, "Well, yes, but think about social development. Think about identity development." I do. And I want to understand why we have been conditioned to be so uncomfortable with ambiguity. What if, what if, that little person grows up and is happy, well adjusted, and balanced in their lives? What if?What if, you get it wrong? What if?

When the Offspring were little, I chose to nurse. Breastfeed, if that's a better technical term. And, based on the medical, anthropological, social, and developmental information I read, the best thing for them was to nurse until they self weaned. I learned that self weaning sometimes takes until they are 5 or 6. Anthropologists have found that the average weaning age, world-wide, is 4. In most cases, Mothers report encouraging weaning when they reached a psychological discomfort with nursing. In other words, nursing their child at a certain age was out of their comfort zone.

I followed these guidelines. Much to the chagrin of my family and social surroundings. Most found it uncomfortable and even "gross" when my 3 year old would ask to nurse. So, I made allowances for other's comfort levels. But, in the end it was about my child, not your comfort level.

Comfort zones, I worry about others comfort zones, frequently. From the clothes I wear to the whether my presence will bring discomfort to one or any in a room. (Yes, I questioned whether to participate or even attend on Saturday. It wasn't about me, it was about who I would discomfort. The Bride won out in the end, but still.) The same comfort zones that dictate how we "feel" when we see people in society that don't fit our schema for gender binary.

So, why do we do this? Is this person less than? Freaky or weird? Suffering from a "disorder"? Some of them, yes. They aren't legitimately struggling with gender identity. But some, are just that. Split right down the middle. Try to imagine a male getting pregnant. Unnatural, maybe. He might find it REALLY unnatural. Now put yourself in the shoes of a woman who feels she is male. Would it be just as "unnatural" for her to get pregnant? Think about how SHE sees it. How SHE FEELS. Take yourself out of the picture.

One of the Offspring was recently posed this question. His response? How do you go through life without a pronoun? This bothered him, so he made up his own. Clever. I like the way he thinks. He told me, he felt lucky, too. He was glad he had a pronoun and he was sad for those who didn't. "Someone should find a pronoun for them."

Yes, yes they should. My thoughts are long and wide on this gender thing. My little G.Q. inspires even more thoughts. Midge brightens this world, and while G.Q. is concerned with what YOU are comfortable with, I wonder, did anyone ever stop to ask G.Q. what G.Q. is comfortable with? He? She? Human? That's what I wonder. We're working on a new pronoun, me and the Offspring.

School That Puppy

It's no secret that I home school. And I am frequently asked a list of well meaning questions. Well meaning, but, uh, thoughtless. What about socialization? Are you smart enough? Are you trained to that? How will you know what to teach them?

These are all questions based on the premise that the government run public education system has cornered the secrets of learning, lock, stock and barrel. And while the people who work in this system are, for the most part, loving, motivated, well meaning individuals,(Miss Andrea kicks ass, if you must know)they are still participating in a perpetual cycle of stupidity.

I tend to refrain from bad-mouthing the school system, oh wait, hahahaha, no I don't. Let's say I try to avoid talking about the school system because it frustrates me. I think we are doing the youth in this country a huge disservice in terms of their education, but, what are you going to do?

I assumed, at some point, that the Offspring would venture into a high school class or two, in order to complete a GED and then be off to college where they would actually engage in a learning process that would educate them rather than school them. Stupid me, it seems that even in institutions of higher learning, it isn't about actually learning something. It's about school. And I thought going back to college would teach me something. Oh yes, it did. Keep the Offspring home.

It is about....Here is what is important to the teacher, here is what to memorize for the test, regurgitate well on test day and we'll give you a gold star! It is absolutely NOT about; Here is a variety of information and view points. Consume and try to apply to yourself and society at large. Think outside the box, think critically and then demonstrate how you could or would apply this new information that you have acquired. No, no, no, no, no! This is not about learning, this is about school! How well does that puppy jump through hoops!

Cover you eyes Matilda, but, what the FUCK!! This is what a college degree gets you? Four years of "look at me jump", to head into the work place for what? I read somewhere once that our government schools were kind of like a government conspiracy to keep us from thinking, to keep us from strong family bonds and to get us to comply with what big government organizations need large populations to do in order to keep them under control. I remember thinking...You freak, as if.

Huh, I'm beginning to wonder. Conspiracy, well that's a stretch. But education it is NOT! It is about school. What random, arbitrary bullshit can they get you to do for no apparent reason? A whooooooole lot. Now, make sure you raise your hand to go to the bathroom and don't you dare start or stop any activity unless the bell rings! Get it, got it? Good!

Timing

From a particular frame of reference, events just happen arbitrarily. We move through life and we impact it and it impacts us. But these events have no meaning unless we place meaning on them. These events are, if anything, coincidental. No one thing or person drives the timing or placement. Unless, like myself, you choose to place them in a certain context. I choose to see most events as nature driven. Sometimes, sometimes, the events and happenings seem far to serendipitous and I choose to see them driven by someone else. I name this thing God, with a capital 'G'.

So it is that my heart rejoiced and was simultaneously shattered at one event. The rejoicing was received and accepted with gratitude. The shattering, not received by the perpetrator and, with no remorse or feeling. Narcissism does strange and funny things. Why is it the bad stuff is so much easier to believe?

I find myself asking repeatedly, why? Not that anyone in the world, least of all those that I want to, really cares. What lesson am I ultimately supposed to gain from this experience? What behavior or practice am I supposed to alter? Am I supposed to be unavailable? It would leave me far less open for hurt and disappointment. But, then I would miss the things in life that make it worth living. Am I supposed to be more cautious, more judgemental, more closed?

I tried to convince myself, that, I didn't care. It doesn't matter. It's just stupid. And someone very adeptly called my bullshit. The message received was two-fold, 1)you care, it hurts and that's OK. And, 2) I care that you hurt. I refocused my perspective for a moment, because, I believe that, if you think the way you always thought, you'll always get, what you always got. So I rejoiced. I focused on what was right. And then, that backseat driver of mine gifted me with simple praise, that to the outside observer, would be insignificant.

"I love you so much, thank you for sharing this with me."
"Oh my gosh, I'm so glad you will be there. It makes it fun and bearable."
"I'm so sorry. That hurts my heart too. I love you."
"You are one of our best and we really appreciate you"
"My child adores you and I can't thank you enough."
"I'm so sorry stud."

Simple, insignificant words that were so needed for my hurting heart. Gratitude beyond measure for those words. And for that clever backseat driver who continually keeps me in mind. God's timing, is always perfect.

Change

How do you cope with change? Ultimately, it happens. As humans, transition is a stressful process. From the time we are babies to the day we finish this life. But, it happens whether we like it or not. And, sometimes, it hurts. Sometimes it leaves holes in our psyche wider than the Grand Canyon and we are left to decipher how it is that we navigate through life with such caveats.

Today, I had to help the Offspring understand another of those uninvited chasms.
"But why Mom?" was what they ask me over and over. "What did we do?" again, I had no answers. Most poignantly, "This hurts my heart Mom."

Yeah, it does. But, we hug, we talk, we heal, and time just moves on. Last summer MisAdventure accepted a change that she wasn't prepared for. The results are, for the most part, favorable. Portions of the outcome, we are determined to mend, to make whole again. And, we will.

Others, are decidedly left to the water below. Today, we re-focus. That which is downstream will continue to the ocean and is no more. Lesson learned.

The vigilante standing across the chasm, well, it's time to throw over a rope and give it our best. She isn't in the water yet and we've found an engineer for that bridge. Several in fact. One wanted to be a backhoe when she was little.(Can we fix it?!) That should do nicely.

The other is poetic on his feet, just a little sparky....Yeah, Sparky or maybe Twinkle Toes.....I've assured our little G.Q. that we won't encourage him. We promise, we won't. No, really, we won't. But you have to admit his dance in the parking lot was, well, so unexpected. I mean, who knew? I guess I shouldn't be surprised.

Perhaps a shift in perspective is what this bridge builder needed.

She Got Married!!

She got married! She got married! And I cried like a stupid Mom. Ms. Dolly got hitched and now I get to add on more cutie to my funny family. G.I. Joe and Dolly are off to honeymoon. I was dateless, but got to see LoverBoy, Blondie and Bubbles. I'm kicking my self for not taking Sparky with me! He even offered to wear a tux! How cute....I don't think my little G.Q. was to keen on the idea though. (eh?)

Now I have to gear up to send Blondie to Africa. Good grief! What a blubbering mess I'll be for the next few weeks. Thank heaven for good friends and family to keep me busy.

You Can't Straddle This Fence...

.......You'll get slivers in your nethers. Those down unders where they may cause some squirmin'.

This is a sore subject for me, perhaps a bad pun too, but I find myself revisiting on a regular basis. Perhaps it's the ethnology and culture of the community within which I make my life. Religion is a HUGE topic. Was that clear? I mean a permeating, overpowering, dominate, overbearing topic that doesn't go away.

With the way things, such as this particular issue, are viewed in my neck o' the woods, I seem to visit the same topics over and over. Which means I must be clear as mud when it comes to expressing how I feel about some of these issues or people just can't let go of old ideas. While visiting one of these issues this evening, an oft repeated phrase preoccupied and immersed my attention. "I'm not prejudice, but...." I listened carefully and I wondered, how does one utter those words without the resulting phrase being an oxymoron? We are, all of us, by nature, prejudice. You can't exist and not be prejudice. I am prejudicial towards idiots. My prevailing thought being, get an education - stupid!

I countered with my standard, "How does this impact your life?" The response really irritated me, because ultimately, it doesn't impact your life. It being gay. And if you think that it does, are you really so selfish as to believe that such an individual should just remain anonymous and miserable in their own lives in order to accommodate yours? Are we really that self absorbed? (Can you see the oxymoron?) In which case I would have to counter so many people that tell me that others who look for the personal freedom to be themselves and be happy without apologies are themselves, just being selfish. Well pot, this is the kettle, and last time I checked, you were black.

I guess perhaps the answer is, yes, we really are that self absorbed. We really think that if another persons life is somehow outside of our realm of acceptable, that they are selfish and not considering others. But why? Because they might make us uncomfortable? As Eddie Murphy so eloquently relates for us in "Delirious", "What the fuck, Gus? Gunigugu!"

I fail, miserably I might add, at seeing how the natural tendencies of one individual can really negatively impact another. All I can see, really, is the tragedy that miserable people create for themselves and others, when they deny who they are and try to live by the arbitrary principles of others. Tragic, that a young man or woman would marry someone and even go so far as to have children only to collapse under pressure and finally leave the situation to be who they are, gay and happy.(Can that be in the same sentence?) That is tragic. That, marrying and having kids and then leaving, impacts others lives. But, being true to oneself, being GLBTQ, marrying a partner and living a life, does not impact our society in way that I can fathom is detrimental to the culture at large over a long term.

There are actions in which others engage that do have a negative impact on me. Illicit drugs, irresponsible consumption of alcohol, self absorbed politicians, bad corporations or copious, capricious sex with strangers (you might have illegitimate children, or contract nasty things down in those nethers.Get it?). These things impact my life, my children, my family, my real estate investments. But other than the closed minds of my immediate community members, being gay? Mmmmmm, Nope. And while I kept my mouth shut tonight because I didn't feel it appropriate to engage in an argument over the subject, I did find it, well, frustrating. Will we never learn?

Strange Visitors

I have this wonderful ability to "see" who visits me here at this spot in the middle of Internet no where. For the most part, those I don't know, appear infrequently and don't come back. But recently, someone is rather intrigued. So, assuage my curiosity, will you? Comment. The wonder is going to kill me, seriously.

Realizations

It occurs to me, suddenly, as an epiphany, why they won't, don't, refuse, to speak to me. I wouldn't speak to me either. Ever, ever again.

Want to fix it. They don't. And now I contemplate possible run-ins. Maybe I should avoid those anticipated places. She'll kill me when she reads this and realizes I'm entertaining the thought of it being Saturday. But, they'll be there. And they don't want me to exist in this world. They deserve to be happy, comfortable, at ease. My presence elicits anything but.

Realizations, they suck.

The Smartest One Wins

I've talked about it here and here and to a degree, here. But, I still haven't figured out that "smart" thing.

Intelligence is an "issue" in my house. And, I severely lack the ability to keep up. Such as the case may be, after 15 years, I've quit trying. I will NEVER outperform John Boy on cognitive skills test. In the task of recollection, nope, he kicks my ass. Throw My brother-in-law into the mix, engaged in conversation with pseudonymous husband, they are the Mount Everest of smart. Like I said, I've stop trying to keep up. (Please, the man keeps up with the Lawyer. And we all know that a lawyer's job is the mental equivalent of jackhammering.)

I am not particularly adept in the brains department. And, it seems that as I increase in age I decrease in mental capacity. It seems that there is ever more in this world that one NEEDS to "know" and it befuddles my gray matter how to "know" it all and USE it all. Acquisition and application are two different things. And neither, unfortunately guarantees me "success" as defined by an American society and culture. Being that I lack a determined amount of knowledge and smarts, I love to learn. I choose to learn. And I think everyone in this world has something to teach us. It's why I love kids and teens, they teach me so much. My teachers are the Offspring, Blondie, Miss Dolly, that spunky little G.Q. and the ever charismatic Sparky. DDbutt, Miss Andrea and my eclectic little collection of "peers" are second to none. But, the best is that they all know, as I do, that individually we know....nothing. Collectively, we are looking to appear like we know something.

I believe that learning is a choice. Teachers cannot compel a student to learn, the student has to chose to accept the information. Given my lack of knowledge and understanding due to my limited intellectual capacity and my desire to learn, I find it irritating, nay, excruciating, to sit in a university level class and listen to the 20 something know it all pontificate and exude their wealth of knowledge, ad nausea um, to the class. What I'm saying is..."Look, Pippy Long Stocking, I don't care how stellar you are at filing away those developmental theories...24 ain't the pinnacle of aged wisdom!!!Shut up, the paid guy at the front had something to say." I've the overwhelming compunction to tell her to clap her fucking trap! And if the bouncy bitch with the big teeth counters me one more time with the patronizing tone and look, I might be so inclined to let it slip.

Learning is an exchange. A reciprocal action, between teacher and student. You can't learn unless you are engaged, to be sure. Teacher talks, you contribute, you learn.(Teacher doesn't have to be what we think of as the traditional kind either. Preferably, not.) This doesn't seem to be Pippy's intent. Pippy just wants to "correct" all of our thinking. Prove herself intellectually superior and astound us with her wealth of, whatever. I think I need more eyeballs, I've poked my clean out.

Oh to return to the day I completed my undergrad. I KNEW IT ALL. Why I can't I be that smart again?

Moments

I don't know if I can do this again. Letting go....I don't understand. I don't do loss, well. And 2X4 moments are the worst.

Oh My GaLinda Moment!!!!

Cue the music! Don the pink frills, high heels, tiara and the sparkly wand!! I just did the MOST ridiculous GaLinda skip across the room...Ooo, yeah, old people shouldn't attempt such moves. Check. It. OUT!!! My boys (and girl) may FINALLY have the recognition and rights they DESERVE!

Daily Dish has the best coverage. But, this made me cry.

Let's hope that somehow, by the grace of God? Nature? Allah? or Buddha, perhaps? That the upcoming Constitutional Amendment vote goes down in November. Some decisions just should not be put to a vote by the people. Sometimes Democracy is the enemy.

Stellar Moments of Stupidity

You know those moments. That moment, as a kid, at school when you approach the crowd of peers you think are your friends and they all start to giggle. You inquire what they are sharing that is so funny and it dawns on you, YOU are the shared humor.

A hot, sick, nauseous feeling rushes to your head. You feel your face turn pink and you wonder, did I say anything I'll regret? Oh gosh, did I share anything they'll use against me?

The answer is most definitely, YES. They'll use it. Awkward. You have the distinct feeling, you should've kept your mouth shut.

Yup, note to self. Sharing, not a good thing. It's ALL TMI. It's the moment you wish that life had a rewind button. (Or CtrlZ) I wish I had one.

I Can Still Be Twenty

I've decided, I'll be twenty-something for the next 15 years or so. Today marked the second day of me pursuing higher education.

Class is in my faaaavvorite building on campus, or not. The Behavioral Sciences Building. It reminds me of every stupid movie whereupon an earthquake ensues and everyone in the big cement monster is crushed, except for those poor unfortunate souls lucky enough to be in the elevator.

The classroom and it's participants are that much more promising. Well, with the exception of the eye candy. Sally Sorority, uh, yeah, she was carrying a $300.00 "shopping bag". (I won't elaborate with anymore details.) Then there was Mr. Muscle, drenched in far to much cologne. Yummy to look at, with a lovely bedroom voice. But I'm afraid he might not have much between the ears. Well, I'm quite happy in my life so using him for his only really good purpose, unfortunately won't serve me, oh well. He hit on me, that doesn't suck. I must still blend in with the "college crowd", yay me.

Then there was the really sweet stuff sitting next to me. We discussed essential oils. Gee whiz, if I weren't married. Hee hee, I married, I'm NOT DEAD!! Hmm, oh well, maybe the artwork will make class more entertaining.

You Feel....Sorry?

Sorry, as in you have sympathy. As opposed to empathy. Similar, but not the same.

I've heard this particular phrase over the last year, repeated by those that really would like to think that they share a sympathy for another individual and their "situation" or "issue", but, that squishy gray matter betwixt my ears got to buzzing after John Boy expressed a thought about the after events of his mother's death.

John Boy: "It bothered me when people told me that they were "sorry" about my Mom's death. Sympathy? Yeah. Empathy, ? Maybe. But, sorry was always an apology for me and they didn't cause my mother's death, so why apologize?"

Now, realize that he fully understands WHY people SAY they are sorry. They don't know what TO say, and they want to show sympathy. They're trying. Well, I hear this phrase related to a context that peaks my curiosity. When I tell people, on occasion, where I've been working (I like to call it work, because it makes it sound so much more, productive) the repeated response I get..."So sad, those poor kids. What a tough life, I feel so sorry for them."

Sorry? Why? It occurs to me that the "sorry" or "sympathy" is not for the position that society forces upon the individual, including the one expressing the "sorrow". It is an expression of "sorrow" for their orientation. Their "choice" or their being "compelled" by another individual to think they have this orientation.

Well, stop. Don't feel sorry for their orientation. The misappropriated sympathy contributes to misunderstanding. It perpetuates the "otherness" that so many of us inappropriately categorize this minority in. It's time to celebrate each and everyone of the GLBTQ in our communities, our churches and our lives. And thank the Lord above for the wisdom in granting us with their presence. I am thankful everyday that they are out in the world teaching us about unconditional love and courage. I celebrate how fortunate I am to be able to call so many of them my sons, daughter, friends and loved ones.

Attitude of gratitude. Have you hugged a queer today?

Words of Prophetic Women

A slow build up of anxiety and fear has crept upon me over the last four weeks. I'm really doing this. I'm really doing this. I'm really doing this. I will not chicken out.

I am a creature of comforts and one that, like most humans, would like the easiest way to maintain a consistent state of happiness. Status quo. It's seems far less painful and certainly requires less work.

This morning arrived. 5:00. 5:15. 5:30. I should just get up and go running. I'm NOT sleeping, by any means. 5:45. 6:00. The alarm goes off, John Boy has a flight to catch this morning so he needs to get up and get ready. I follow suit. Coffee is of course, first on the agenda. Laundry, clothing, dishes...all in that order while the pot hisses and finally concludes with what, may or may not, motivate me physiologically to get going.

Halfway through my first cup, my heart rate, which has been rather high, rises. Oh shit, caffeine and anxiety DO NOT MIX. I set the cup down and contemplate my next move. Read? Read what, I've read and re-read. There just doesn't seem to be anything more to read, yet.

By the time I'm in the car and transporting myself to anxiety hell, I've visited the bathroom 8 times, contemplated medication, tried to avoid coffee, forgotten to eat, downsized my bag so as not to APPEAR completely neurotic carrying my "security blankets" with me. (If you know me, that would be a mere ten pounds of books in my bag) I'm working my brain between distraction and denial. Nothing is working and my heart rate has now climbed from a steady 82 bpm to 91 bpm.

Radio. I'll listen to early morning news, the music isn't working. As if that proverbial back seat driver that remains a constant presence in my life just reached forward and flipped the dial for me, the announcers voice tell me about a SL Community College essay contest and ..."this mornings reading will be one of our winner's Mary Craig."

If I could have slammed on the brakes and grabbed my chest I would have. I'm not sure the Honda behind me would have appreciated the gesture. Mary Craig. I know Mary Craig. She is my friend. I sing with her. Her beautiful bright eyes and indelible spirit.

And then, her words filled my space, her prophetic words. The soothing sound of her amazing articulation in her own voice.

I was fortunate to have to stop at a traffic light as she concluded her essay. And, I cried. I was so worried about my own new adventure and in how many ways I might fail, trip or indelibly screw it up. I had completely missed my focus.

I pulled into the church parking lot and wiped my eyes, took a deep breath and stepped out into an intoxicating northwestern replicated morning. I-can-do-this. And, I did. Thank you Mary. Thank you Simon.

Wealth

Affluent, rich, well-off, wealthy. What semantics do you use? What is rich? Is rich a number, a location, your station, power position? It is, relative. Rich is, a feeling. It is a perception. And sometimes, that perception, is bigoted.

"People who are poor just need to get an education so they can improve their job status"

"People who are homeless just need to get a job"

"I hate rich people they are so out of touch, the world is struggling and they spend money like it's water. People in _ _ _ are starving."

"The affluent are unaffected by rising prices while the rest of us struggle"

"The wealthy have it so easy"

"I wish I was rich"

What is a reasonable line of wealth and who is responsible to get you there? Keep you there? Provide "it" for you? What are we, as a society, as humans, entitled to?
Does it change our perspective, our attitude, when we know an individual has wealth? What about when they don't? Will you like me more if I have wealth? Will you like me less? Can I trust you? Or do you just want to know me, be my friend, because I might be wealthy.

Why do we assume the wealthy have power? Why do we assume that they are anything? What is that we think that the wealthy can get for us? Can the wealthy get for us what we want? I wish I knew all the answers.

Fear

Nervous. Scared. Anxious. I am blessed with a propensity to be anxious. Acute Anxiety Disorder is what my medical records say. Or, General Anxiety Disorder, depends on which Doctor you talk to.

It makes my heart race, my breathing rapid (all while being horizontally inclined), I lose sleep, I pace, my brain never shuts off. I obsess, I over analyze, worry. I'm weepy and emotional. Angry and emotionally aggressive. It compels me to do silly things. Randomly text or call everyone I love to make sure no one is dead or dying. Get up at odd hours to check the Offspring's breathing, or put my hand on pseudonymous husbands back. Just to make sure.

I don't like, I just learn to live around it. I refuse to quit living life. Therefore, I have to be creative. I've tried redirection, distraction, any number of ideas that doctors and therapists have suggested. The most useful, outside of consistent running for ridiculous hours and miles, is medication.

Tomorrow, I start toward what I hope will be the path to a life long dream. To be a therapist for gay youth. Specifically LGBTQQ youth. Especially here where the predominant culture and religion create such an oppressive, stifling atmosphere. Conditions ripe for rampant lifetime denial.

Everyone tells me I'll be fine, I'll do great, I'll kick ass... I'm scared. No, really.

Never Say Never

I'm trying, I'm really trying.




Never say never,what ever you do
Never say never,my friend
If you be that, your dream will come true.
They will come true in the end.
Keep up your courage,don't ever despair
Take heart and then count to ten
Hope for the best
Work for the rest and never say never again

Never say never,never say never again...

~"Never Say Never" ~ An American Tale

My first never, it will never happen. My second, please, please, please, please.

Impudence of Hope

Hope. In a way, yes, it takes some moxie to have it. And in terms of candidates vying to run this country, it does take brazen audacity.

I'm leaning more and more in one direction as we scream headlong into the November elections. I also harbor a growing fear. It is, just that, fear.

I'm afraid of politicians. As a populace, we grant them enormous power. Power is like Cocaine. Intoxicating, euphoric striking, a substance that imparts a sense of invincibility, stimulating, exhilarating and granting a feeling of limitless power.

I find it cliche to say that power corrupts or that people in positions of power abuse that power. Power does nothing for anyone. How that individual wields that power is what makes something. "Power cannot be abused. Power is the abuser." It is used to enact that which the holder finds most important to themselves.

Politicians scare me. Their words tell me that they care. Their words tell me that they want to make change. Their words tell me that they will uphold the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. But, they'll use whatever means and words necessary to get me to click the right box on voting day. I have spent time with politicians. "Big Guys" with LOTS of security. They know all the right things to say.

Politicians scare me. I don't think they say what they mean. Addicts don't engage in substance abuse for anything other than self absorbed gratification and physiological rush. Politicians don't run to take office for anything other than self absorbed gratification and physiological rush. And they are good at their jobs. The job, of charisma: "It's a special quality of leadership that captures the popular imagination and inspires allegiance and devotion." It's an addicting personality trait.

I am told that my elected officials will represent me (my community, my state) in the process of creating legislation.

"If you are a member of a minority, living under majority rule (democracy) isn't all that great. Having your own representative in the legislature can be of some help, but if you can't persuade the majority to protect you, you're helpless."

The passion, therefore, and not the reason, of the public will sit in judgement. Politicians, Media, and mass communicators play on the irrational phobias of the masses. We play into the idea that they can protect us from the "could be's" and we elect them. They enter into a public office and.....status quo. The endless cycle continues.

I'll vote, in November. I'll HOPE, in November.

Loss

How do you, lose? How do mend the holes in your heart? How do go from; "You're amazing, I can't believe you would do this, I am so grateful for you, I love you"...to (----------), nothing. Silence. Space.

Relationships are vital to the human condition and experience. We risk ourselves by opening up to relationships. For most of us that is a romantic relationship. And for some of us, it goes beyond the romantic. To those individuals that we somehow share a spiritual connection with. A connection that is sometimes severed by participating parties and not because we agree.

Death is the most final of these. The finality of the earthly relationship. But, second to that, is the loss of the individual with whom you connect, when the tie is abruptly and unexpectedly severed, without provocation. I can count 4 difficult deaths in my life and 2 friendships. All six leveled me. To the floor. I miss them. I miss them. I. Miss. Them. You know who them.... Looking for the band-aid box.

It occurs to me as I type the words, do the casting parties really give a shit anyway? Huh, Nnnope. That, is the hardest part of all.

LAUGH! It's Funny.

Someone I love needed to laugh tonight. Her broken heart made me cry. Stunning, I know, I cried. But, Mom Moment, I hate it when the world breaks my kids. Hugs...hugs...hugs. A little accent to make you feel at home and a girl to make you laugh. Giggle, it's good for you! Get Trixy to watch with you!

Gendeerrrrrr.

This is a test, this is only a test. Add a little Karin Walker for me, will ya. It's my attitude.

"Boys over here, girls over here." I can just picture the perfectly put together teacher as she stands at attention in front of the class and rhythmically claps her hands together like a Spanish Flamenco. The cheery, patronizing voice utilized under the guise that she is hap-hap-happy and so therefore, you should be also! It's all sunshine and roses!! And aren't you just energized and motivated by her forced, feigned enthusiasm?

Excuse me, I need to vomit. I don't know what makes me more nauseous, the voice or the delineation. Girls and Boys. Please. Because no boy ever had similar interests to the girl sitting next to him and no girl ever shared the same proclivities as the boy in front of her. Ugh. Sugar and spice and everything nice...Frogs and snails and puppy dogs tails!

Social prescriptions. Girls do this, boys do this. Honey, the box is a little cramped. Unsightly too. It makes your ass look...oh wait, it already looked that way! You need to stand up and expand your prospective.

Test over, you may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

525,600 Minutes

I hear something different every time the words come out. Years. It's how we count the moments in our lives. An accumulation of minutes, hours, days, weeks, months...collectively, a year.

1985, 1989, 1992, 1996, 1997, 2000, 2005...2005...2005, 2007. Some are worth repeating, in memory, not in replay. The moments that mark each year. Some are fading. Some are the years that will never leave my conscious.

Somewhere in between, are the spaces. An oft repeated wish in group, boring years. Boring, for us, was...is good. Is life boring? Some days, boring is, good. It ensures change that we can consume. It ensures a child's continued innocence and naivete. Boredom means that they remain blissfully unaware of what the reality of the world is. That everyone love everyone, no exceptions. That Mommy and Daddy can save the world, that they are invincible.

Some of those years, I want a do over. I want boring. I want one more moment of blissful unknowing. No broken hearts. No tears. But, the introspective Film Maker always said, we would not have a story to listen to if it weren't for...our moments.

Before Knowing

Will I lose my dignity
Will someone care?
Will I wake tomorrow,
From this nightmare?
~"Life Support" - RENT

The words relate to something different in their own context, but, when I hear them on my favorite CD, I think of the perpetual, endless, running in one's head...if they know, if they know, if they know....

The Family Friendly Version

Click, click, take a peak

Knowing

Schools out. Summer is here. Well, almost. Teenagers everywhere will enjoy a break from the mundane activities they are compelled to and just be, teens. They will have summer days like we all remember. Days like any other summer day. Work, time to hang out with friends, lunch with your boyfriend....Except, that, yesterday they didn't and today, they do.

Somewhere in an average American neighborhood two kids share lunch. In a non-descript kitchen, they raid the refrigerator. They talk, laugh and share gossip about the children they work with. The doorbell rings and one gets up to answer the door...

Boy1: stunned at the presence of the visitor, he can muster no words. Nothing, as the blood rushes to his feet and he becomes nauseous. He can only think "Shit, how did you find my house?"

Father: Is he here?

Boy1: Yes. He leaves the father standing on the front stoop and makes his way, shaking, to the kitchen to find him. A shirt. He didn't put a shirt on after work. He's only in shorts. A shirt, he thinks, he needs a shirt.

Boy2 emerges from the kitchen to find his father standing at the door.

Father: Do you have shoes?

Boy2: Says nothing, and turns to get his shoes after first boy has run to put on a shirt.

When Boy1 returns to the front door, the house is silent, the door is still open and the boy, his father and the car...are gone. Boy1 cannot think. Cannot breathe. He doesn't know what to do or who to call or how to react. His pulse races, he breaks into a cold sweat, his head hurts. He shaking intensifies and tears well up in his eyes. They know, they know, they know, they know.

Nothing changed, but knowing. A lifetime of difference erupted in one moment. Yesterday, they didn't. But today, they do.

NewsFlash! Old Dog Learns New Tricks

Sit, Ubu, sit! Good Dog. MisAd-
venture winds up, sets the play and SWING! Oh My Ghawd! She can be taught! I'm going to remain in a state of permanent denial that this is somehow NOT a complete and total fluke. Hm hm hm, uh, uh uh. I, yes I did just refer to ME, myself, I. I learned a new trick.

My Sparky (Belly bumps, Jack!) and Blondie taught me to text last summer. Blondie taught me and the Offspring to ride that infernal "wave board",(without falling on my ass) and now, ladies and queers, my little G.Q. has taught this old sac 'o bones to play pool. And it's fun! And I get it! And I almost won the game...match...set? Ok, I just know that you point that stick thingy at the white ball and poke it really fast. It makes a fabulous clicky sound. And the stick ensures I won't I fall backwards onto my ass when I get all GaLinda after a good shot.

Look at me, finding entertainment that doesn't require a bottle or my pharmacist....wonder if I can mix the two. (kidding! I'm kidding!)

Diamond

Giving is something that I relish. I love to see the look in people's eyes. That moment of shear enjoyment and spontaneous gratitude on their face. And I do it, because I can. It makes me giddy. I'm not looking for anything, just the beautiful moment that an act of kindness or giving can elicit. That moment when emotion gives back to my heart.

Yes, that heart that I wear on my sleeve. Many a reason and story surround my psychological compunction to "love" as I do. I see "love", in terms of a decidedly Anglo definition, in a different context and set with different semantics than those in my society and culture.

I choose to believe in a "higher entity". Call that what you will, the most common of references is God, with a capital "G". This entity has no defined gender or numeration. It is, just God. I also choose, in a somewhat traditional fashion, to believe in the Christian purpose of Christ. To a greater degree, this human that we call Jesus, is not, in my mind, what most of the Christian world would define. But, that is for a later day. Tangents are distracting.

Put that short and cryptic belief statement together and I believe in the inherent worth and dignity of every human being. As Jesus taught us. And showed us how to apply. (Remember, I'm working to avoid serious tangents.) Love one another, as I have loved you.

My accumulation of life and experience didn't imbue me with the desires to act such until I was able to balance me, as a human. Anxiety under control, (delusional behavior has it's advantages...) I am venturing into territory that would have ruined me even a short time ago. Let's face it, I can't pass up a damn stray, make it human and I'm wreck. And so, in my drunken enthusiasm at being involved in my new job, I have encountered my first "Mom" moment. That animal instinct that one has in defense of another less able to defend themselves. If you know me in real life, we call it my "Mama Bear". My proclivity to protect children I love. Friday, it was a beautiful, vacant eyed girl. A diamond that comes in to hang out. A human that silently screams for the "mother" that we all deserve to have.

She has a "lost boy" look in her eyes. She looks like she might be pregnant, or, have a distended stomach due to malnutrition. She is quiet. She is apologetic. She watches everything around her like an animal ever alert. She is accompanied by a larger group that collectively waft of the New York subway. It take all my strength to smile, nod, shoo everyone out at closing, and get in my yuppie, upper-middle class car, and drive home to my upper-middle class neighborhood. And, leave, her, there.

After work, when I've seen her at work, I come home to the little world of dysfunction that I have created. Offspring still awake, pseudonymous husband snoring in the bedroom, kitchen not clean and a general sense of semi-chaos and I climb in next to my snoozing romeo, and cry.

Where does Diamond go? Where does she sleep? What if she is pregnant? Who loves her? Who is her cheerleader? She is entitled to what every American girl dreams of, love, dignity and a family that will love and lift her up. A shopping trip to Forever 21 and Dahlia's wouldn't hurt. That amazing human, whether you choose to deify him or not, also said, "suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not." I wish I could give that to her.

But, alas, I cannot. So, every night, she disappears into the darkness, and I drive home to a world that can conveniently ignore her. Sleep well Diamond.

Like Waves Upon The Sand....

...these are the oceanic moments of our lives. Please, who am I kidding. That GodDamn Wave is about burst forth. And me? I'm the optimistic maroon standing in front of the tidal wave about to hit, with the delusion that all will go, oh so much better than last time.

Putting lipstick on this pig won't make it prettier and it won't make the maintenance that needs to be done and paid for go away. But, I've a brand new outlook on it all this year, I don't fucking care...

I can't wait to gossip about all these jack asses. Every last one of the tightly wound boneheads that look down their noses at me, my Blondie and my b-e-a-utiful Sparky. Oooo, neighborhood scandal, their gay!

Earth shattering, I know. Can you believe two gorgeous humans could fall in love! (Insert heavy note of Karin Walker sarcasm) And to think they could grow up and have a loving, committed relationship, be productive and not be condemned by God...oh the tabloids we could write. (Makes this FuckChop sound that much more ignorant, bigoted, uninformed, uneducated and just plain stuck in the dark ages..)

I used to get knots in my stomach worrying about how to make all those country club wanna be's happy. Not anymore. Tonight, when I was asked point blank if I knew why Blondie wasn't going on a mission, I happily looked this individual in the eye and said with NO guilt, "Why, I have no idea." Liar, liar pants on fire!! Like I would fuel that fire. You don't need anymore fodder for your gossip. Find your own Relief Society, back row conversation. My boys don't need you to be talking about their bedroom activities. And, Vera may not like me, but quite frankly, she and the rest of the families who "love" (god damn strained sort of love) my boys don't need the critical eyes and hidebound, condemning behavior.)

Besides, gossip about this neighborhood is my job! I choose who you idiots talk about, ME! And I in turn gossip about YOU!! Hm, hm, ask me if I give a shit...Oh, ha ha, NOT!

Adolescent Wisdom & Intelligence

Turning 30 was cool. In my world, it meant that I was finally intellectually and educationally legitimate. I was no longer some punk-ass 20 something with a college degree. People would listen to what I had to say, I had clout. My knowledge and my degree were worth something. Ok, mildly delusional, but a girl can dream.

7 years later, sliding down the backside of 30 toward 40, I know not a smidgen more than the day I turned 30. I am unable to impress the Offspring, who the hell is going to take me seriously if I can't engage my 10 year old?

Americans have some unique fixations. Numbers, statistics, all things "quantifiable", regardless of whether you can ACTUALLY quantify the activity. Categories, boxes, definitions, statistics, movie stars, CEO's, Executives, Ivory Tower Academics...the list is long, mind numbing even. In our hyper-focus of all things random and ultimately unimportant in the schema of life, we lose sight of what is looking us straight in the eye. We are endlessly excited to "stream-line" everything, make it more efficient and cost effective. We seldom stop to really UNDERSTAND, to think, (I know it hurts, but invest a little effort) of the long term implications of our actions. Remember what we all thought of Welfare Reform and NAFTA? What about Reagan? Anyone want to re-think their original opinions?

Welfare Reform, oh, maybe a good thing? NAFTA, not so bad. Reagan, good-looking, but perhaps he wasn't as Republican as we'd like to think. Right now, I'm holding out hope that someone will impress upon the next Oval Office Occupant that NCLB may be one of several of the most moronic of King George's ideas. (Let's not even get started on Rumsfeld, Iraq, Iran....Cheney)

Our government has proven time and time again it's stellar adeptness to take the most simple social program and royally fuck it up. Helpful Bureaucracy is what we call an oxymoron. And Efficient? Please. When is the last time you sat in a "free" health clinic? Tried to enroll in a program such as WIC or Food Assistance. How about trying to renew your drivers license? Would you call the experience a good one? Was it efficient? Quick, easy? Hmmm, none of those words coming to mind? (You wonder why I question our enthusiasm for a Universal Health Care System, I might be skeptical...)

One of our biggest failings, the public education system. We contain 44 million children in a factory system of schooling. As if this process is like an assembly line in a Ford plant. "Open 'em up, stuff it in! One size fits all!" And, to exacerbate our moronic efforts, we apply arbitrary rules of engagement. "You must ask permission to succumb to bodily functions such as elimination."

It should come as no surprise (although it does) that when our youth reach 14, 15 and 16 they seem, well, immature. We break the best of children in this system, they disintegrate morally, becoming dependent on group approval. We ask them to be "schooled" not educated. We imbue a sense of inability and wonder why they don't "act their age".

Adolescence. That time between 10 and 24. Yes, it, adolescent development, covers that much time, that many years. A time of growth, experimentation, of becoming. A time when we are smarter than the world will give us credit for and yet more guileless, more nescient, than we would like to admit. Uneducated, but not stupid. Dieter very adeptly articulated his frustration saying "I hate that my opinion is discounted when people learn my age." Touche, my friend, touche. And it is true. We with hold credit from those individuals who fall between 10 & 24.

New flash - "I'm not as think as you dumb I am". As I watch the teens I so fiercely love and cherish (Blondie, Sparky, Dolly, Dot, Lover Boy, G.Q., Sundance Kid, Deiter, Train Girl, Trixy, Sarcastic Sam, Blissful Blond....) share the opinions that they have with the world, I realize, they may lack the articulation and the experience, but they are anything but stupid.

If you are a "grown-up" and you think that you can listen to a teen express his opinion, think again. What we fail to understand, is that what we see as "life experience" or "wisdom" is imparted on an observing teen as nothing but condescension. You are just another patronizing adult.

Adolescent adults are intelligent, articulate, insightful, wonderful human beings. They have such potential. And they teach me, educate me, everyday about the joy and wonder in this world. About optimism. I can't wait to see where they take this world, I see nothing but a bright future. We need only hold out a hand and lend a true listening ear.

Yay! Yay! First of May!

In the time honored tradition of pseudonymous hubby's family, being the first day of May....We say to you,

YAY! YAY! FIRST OF MAY! OUTDOOR FUCKING STARTS TODAY!

What does it mean? Uh, nothing. It's a contest between he, his siblings and his cousins. Who can get on the horn the fastest and start calling to scream those words as fast as they can and then hang up. Texting doesn't count.

Oh my hell, we seriously lack quality entertainment. What a bunch of non-sense boneheads.

LAUGH! It's Funny.

Lipstick in School -- Priceless!!

According to a news report, a certain private school in Washington was recently faced with a unique problem.

A number of 12-year-old girls were beginning to use lipstick and would put it on in the bathroom.

That was fine, but after they put on their lipstick, they would press their lips to the mirror leaving dozens of little lip prints.

Every night the maintenance man would remove them and the next day the girls would put them back.

Finally the principal decided that something had to be done. She called all the girls to the bathroom and met them there with the maintenance man.

She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the custodian who had to clean the mirrors every night.

To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors, she asked the maintenance man to show the girls how much effort was required.

He took out a long-handled squeegee, dipped it in the toilet, and cleaned the mirror with it.

Since then, there have been no lip prints on the mirror.

There are teachers.... And then there are educators

People Are Strange

I'm not sure what made me think of the lyrics in this song, eeehhh! To blaaaaave! I sooo know what made me think of them, I want you to HEAR them. "Nature loves variety. Society does not."

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down
When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name

When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name

They don't remember your name, but somehow they never forget...you! A wise friend once told me, "People will forget the words you tell them. They will never forget how you made them FEEL." Oh, so, true!