Friday, December 28, 2007

My nephew is a genius!

Between when I last saw him in September and December, he learned so many things! He walks and speaks in two languages!

He says:
Ni-Ni (Night Night)
Up (Which can either mean pick me up or put me down. Basically, move me now)
I know there are other words he knows, but he says these consistently.

He can use sign language to say:

When you say "High Five" he gives you a high five.
When you say "Bye bye" he blows kisses. This works whether you are actually saying goodbye or singing the Nsync song.

His favorite book is a Dora the Explorer boardbook, even though he's never seen the show. But he also enjoyed the school bus book when I said "Beep Beep" and poked him in the stomach.

He started this adorable thing where if he wants to sit in your lap he'll walk up to within a foot of you, turn around and slowly reverse backwards into your lap.

He is excellent at ripping off wrapping paper and throwing the paper. And then abandoning the new toy to play with tupperware.

He is also quite skilled at pretending the foam stick give away from the Michigan Basketball game is a sword and stabbing his aunt with the stick. This activity is especially enjoyable if she screams and acts out a prolonged death scene, a la Paul Reubens in Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the movie).

Thursday, December 20, 2007

I actually said this in response to a story I heard today

"I cannot imagine the circumstances under which I would have to chase a midget out of my kitchen. How could a midget be in your kitchen eating directly out of your crockpot and without your knowledge? What has to happen to a person to get to the point where you just stumble upon something like that?"

Friday, December 14, 2007

Just another afternoon in the shrink's office.

The other day, my therapist asked me the most bizarre question after majorly misunderstanding something I'd said. It was the result of me talking too fast and underestimating her knowledge of circa 2000 pop culture.

I was talking about a former friend from my college days. She and I were in Women's Studies courses together and active in the feminist community on campus. We both ended up in the Bay Area after graduation where she started dating a lesbian separatist. Her girlfriend was pretty hard core. Basically no movies, books, music, etc by men. No male friends, etc. My friend was torn between sympathizing with her girlfriend's politics while feeling restricted by how small her world had become as the result of the rules governing their every decision.

This is what I said:

"She would basically sneak over to my place to watch things like the SNL movie The Ladies Man. As feminists, we both recognized that the character is sexist, but we could still watch it because at the end of the day it's relatively harmless."

To which my therapist replied, "So she would sneak over to your apartment so you could watch S&M porn together?!".

I can only imagine what my therapist was thinking when she thought I'd blurted out quite casually:

"She would basically sneak over to my place to watch things like the S&M movie, The Ladies Man. As feminists, we both recognized that the character is sexist, but we could still watch it because at the end of the day it's relatively harmless."

Anyone that knows me well (including my therapist) knows that myself (and my former friend) would never characterize porn as "harmless," especially SM porn. For my therapist to have heard me blurt that out after 2 years of hearing about my vanilla existence made the misunderstanding all the more hilarious to me.

Monday, December 10, 2007

I went to middle school with this guy!

First I heard him on This American Life. Then he showed up on the other day. His name is Gabriel Delahaye (I remember him being called Gabe back in the day) and I think he's pretty funny!

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Smitty is tapping into her rage...

...someone head her off before she hits her stride. Hide the SoBe bottles.

KT - You are the winner!

Just when I thought I had the lesbian drama to end all drama, I get a phone call from my homegirl in D-town. She went on a "friends maybe more" blind date with a girl from Myspace. Turns out the date has a prison! For having sex with a 15 year old girl! There's nothing like a blind date that puts you 1 degree of separation from a registered sex offender to put one's own drama into perspective.

Monday, December 03, 2007

No Christmas List is complete without a copy!


Monday, November 19, 2007

Reason # 32,7462 I know being gay is not a choice...

Effing Dyke Drama!

Nobody would voluntarily sign up for this shiz.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

So I had this dream/nightmare the other night...

It started off in a German beer garden. I see an American woman who is trying to figure out which bathroom is the women's restroom because the signs are in German and she can't read them. I remember thinking she was an obnoxious American, not because she couldn't read German, but because of the way she was asking for help. She was speaking really loudly in English and drawing a picture of a woman and then pointing to some doors that weren't even the bathroom doors. At some point I realize that my girlfriend is also at the beer garden, but she's not sitting with me. I feel disconcerted that she's not sitting with me. Is she mad at me? I'm not sure.

Cut to...

My girlfriend kissing her ex-girlfriend! WTF?

Cut to...

My mom and I are on a tandem bike of some sort, except only my mom is peddling, but I have my own seat. My mom is in front and I'm holding onto the hood of her sweatshirt while holding up a flashlight to light our way. We are looking for my girlfriend who has gone missing. While on the bike we pass her ex and a bunch of their friends who are also out looking for her. I'm feeling pretty panicked when we see this little girl on the side of the road. She is very pale, barefoot, wearing a white dress. She is trying to flag my mom and I down, saying that she needs help. All I can say is that this girl is creepy. Like the twin girls in The Shining kind of creepy (except there is only one of her). My mom and I instinctively don't stop, deciding that we'll go around the block one more time. If we don't find my girlfriend and the little girl is still asking for help when we come back around, we'll stop. I keep thinking the girl has something to do with my girlfriend's disappearance and I really don't want to go into the little girl's house. My mom and I circle around and just as we are about to come around the bend where the little girl will be...

...the alarm clock goes off!

I roll over and ask my girlfriend why she was kissing her ex. I've been giving her shit about it for days (jokingly).

Anyone out there in cyberspace do dream analysis?

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Mr. Semple

They moved in across the street when I was in 2nd grade, but I already knew them from church. Father, mother, daughter, son. The daughter and I were in the same grade. The dad died on Monday. He was only 58, the same age as both my parents.

At my childhood swim meets, I could always hear him cheering and whistling, even while in the water. He used the same whistle to summon his children for dinner or for bed when we were playing kick the can or having tennis ball wars in the street. Often, he'd open the back hatch of their wood paneled station wagon, load up all the neighborhood kids, and take us to the DQ. I cut through their yard to go to the park and fed their dog when they were at the lake.

He was meticulous about his yard. Mowing, raking, hosing down the driveway. Whether I was 8 or 28, he'd yell my name from his yard whenever he saw me. When the cancer meds made him jittery and restless, he took to mowing the lawn twice a week and raking obsessively. My mom jokingly took some leaves from our yard to his yard so he'd have more to rake.

He had terrible taste in TV and movies. He'd watch anything and he'd watch it over and over. "My big fat obnoxious fiancee"? Yeah, he'd watch that type of stuff.

He was huge Michigan fan. He ushered at all the basketball games; attended U of M club meetings every Monday with my mom. When I was in middle school and too cool to sit with my parents at the basketball game, I'd make my rounds around the arena and always visit his section.

He was a banker and handled my parents' accounts. My mom would take me to the bank with her and I'd always try to visit him. When I saw his office was decorated in Michigan colors, I painted a rock yellow and blue and told him it was for his office. He still had it on his desk when I opened my first checking account for college (he gave me Charlie Brown novelty checks at no extra charge).

The last time I saw him was at his son's wedding this summer. His son married an Ohio State girl, Michigan's biggest rival. The wedding was in Ohio and he changed into a blue vest and yellow bow tie for the reception. His funeral is on Saturday, college football day. Instead of a wake, there will be a tail gate. My mom said the only thing about this weekend she is looking forward to is watching his friends from Ohio eat off of maize and blue plates.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Sloth Loves Chunk.. and Timbaland?


Am I the only one that hears Sloth from The Goonies when listening to "Apologize" by Timbaland (featuring One Republic) ? There are three notes repeated throughout the song that sound like someone saying "eh" or "hey" 3 times. To me, It sounds eerily like the start of the infamous "Hey you guys!" line uttered by Sloth when he reappears at the end of the film dressed in a Superman shirt and pirate hat. Mainly, I just like the idea of the specially made headphones Sloth needed for his uneven ears when Timbaland invited him into the studio (Beautifully photoshopped by Bird).
In the video below, Timbaland lip synchs the three "hey" notes at seconds 14-16:

"Hey you guys!" by Sloth:

Saturday, October 27, 2007

You know you're jealous.

My email inbox is full of delights today. First the "Daily Show" clip (see below) and now this:

"Hello and Congratulations from 89.3 The Current, We randomly selected your entry, and you've won tickets to see an exclusive interview and performance from Sia on Halloween night."

While you suckers are trick or treating, I'll be seeing Sia!

Friday, October 26, 2007

Joe would be the "poor, sad, opportunistic, bearded dude" on the right

So a few years back I went home for Christmas and ran into my friend Joe. Known him for years. Joe and his wife were counselors for my church youth group all through my middle school and high school years. His father taught my Bible study class. When I asked Joe what he was up to these days, he said,

"I'm a celebrity photojournalist."

I was like, "So, what you're telling me is that you're paparazzi."

Turns out a photo he'd taken of Alyssa Milano was in that week's issue of US Weekly.

Since then, I've received updates on his career from him and other members of my church whenever I'm home. He told me about flying to Hawaii to photograph Matt Leblanc's wedding. When I went home for my sister's baby shower I found out that he'd taken the infamous photo of Britney Spears driving with her baby in her lap! Remember how she blamed that decision on being chased by the paparazzi? Joe was that paparazzi! If you google his last name and his agency, tons of photos come up. Sometimes I flip through People or US Weekly and check the photo credits and find his name.

Just last week I watched the video of Britney Spears running over a photographer's foot just to make sure it wasn't him!

Today I received an email from my mom entitled "Joe on the Daily Show." He was featured in a segment about celebrity "exhaustion." Check it out:

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

She's not even correct. I only get Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off. The Catholics don't give a shit about Jesus at all.

My mother's response when I called her up and said I think I need to quit my job at the Catholic University sooner than I planned because I'm in danger of causing permanent damage to my body as the result of repetitive stress injury?

"But you have so many days off at Christmas."

Well, shit, do I have my priorities wrong. My concern is bowing out before my hands turn into gnarled talons; your concern is my availability at Jesus' birthday party. Who cares if I'm there to open Christmas gifts if I'm physically incapable of opening them?

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

And the homo in the corner pipes in...

The girls at work were having a conversation about people they know who are well out of college and still virgins.

My contribution to the conversation?

"I know a few women in their 20s and 30s who haven't had sex with men. But I wouldn't call them virgins, I'd call them lesbians."

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Vote 4 Jesus

I feel like a lot has happened since I last blogged. I went to Chicago, went camping, there was what I'm calling the "week of making lesbian amends" and the 35W bridge collapse and subsequent Red Cross volunteering. So there's a lot to catch up on. But I'm currently exhausted and want my blogs to be coherant. And if I write about the Red Cross stuff, I want to word it carefully out of the respect for the Red Cross (who ultimately do great work, but I find myself having a love-hate relationship with) and of course, respect for the victims and their families.

So, I leave you with a blog entry that shows little to no respect for the Catholic University where I work! Cuz, fuck 'em.

So, the University has been renting out the vacant domortories for the summer and there have been a lot of sports camps and such on campus. A couple weeks ago, when Pfunk arrived to pick me up at work so we could leave directly for Chicago, I saw a large group of kids wearing "Vote 4 Jesus" T-shirts on the front steps of my building. I exited the side door, where I met up with Pfunk.

I joked, "Hey, there's a bunch of kids in "Votes 4 Jesus" T-shirts, let's go make-out in front of them. Then I leaned in for a kiss (still in the relative safety of the side entrance).

When I was about 2 inches from her lips, Paige said, "There is a priest right behind you."

"Excellent!" I replied, and finished the kiss.

The priest, did a triple-take, but kept on walking.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Enough already!

I think it's time for CNN and YouTube to stop sucking each others dicks already. CNN is especially way too pleased with itself and their joint venture hosting the Democratic debates with YouTube.

Wait? There was a question from a snowman regarding climate change? That's just wacky! I totally take back what I just wrote.

Friday, July 13, 2007

The Spam in my email inbox this morning

"Going to have sex with two ladies at the same time? You need a strong erection, or they will have to satisfy each other. You really need Viagra!"

There are just so many things wrong with this. First of all, the author is wrongfully asserting that "two ladies" sexually satisifying each other is somehow lesser than if a man did it. Compare the number of married woman who have never or rarely have orgasms with their husbands to the numbers of women in long-term relationships with other women who have the same problem and get back to me, ok?

Second of all, That statement assumes that a nice stiff one is the only route to sexual gratification, which it isn't. However, if a stiff one is what you're after, viagra is not necessary.

I'll refer you to Bitch and Animal's song "Best Cock on the Block" from their album, Eternally Hard.

If you still don't get it, try the spoken word piece "Cute for a girl" by Alix Olson.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Open Letter to Those that Irked Me: Part two

To my girlfriend's supposed friends,

There where warning signs right off the bat. When P-funk announced the locale for her birthday dinner (after the dyke-licious birthday plans of stock car races were rained out), every single one of you made some protest upon hearing the dreaded location of, gasp, NE Minneapolis. I know that you rarely leave Minnetonka, Eagen, Edina, (insert gentrified Twin Cities suburb here) and when you do, it is to go to places like the effing Hard Rock Cafe and Valentinos, two locations P-funk and I suffered through for some of y'alls birthdays in the past year. But suck it up, her b-day is only once a year. When you chose a straight nightclub with a dress code for your birthday party, we didn't complain to you about it (
I complained on cyberspace, but that is a different story). And when you didn't look up directions to a place you'd never been to before and got lost, not only did you not apologize for being late (which you never do), you complained about the location to the Birthday girl, again.

Then, in quick succession, you behaved in ways that pretty much secure you on my shit list:
1) You treated the waitress like she wasn't human
2) You made fun of other people in the bar because they have the courage and creativity, unlike you, to dress outside the norm. ("Apparently it's 'Wear your underwear on the outside of your clothes' Day. I guess I didn't get the memo.")
3) You talked about how awesome the Transformers movie was.

But the worst offense of all: the birthday presents. I'm completely baffled by the gifts you got my girlfriend. You seem to be suffering from the "I'll just get her something that I would like because she'll probably like it too" syndrome. The problem with that approach is you are a spoiled femmy brat that apparently hasn't looked your friend in the face since you all when to Edina High School together. At least I hope that is what your problem is, because it is better than the alternative which is "we are in complete denial about the fact that our friend is a big old lesbian" syndrome, or, even worse, "we know she is a big old dyke, but we think that doesn't mean she can't be frilly" syndrome. How else can you explain the fact that she received FOUR tubes of glittery tinted lip gloss from two different "friends"? This is in addition to the Winnie the Pooh stickers, body splash, shampoo and aromatherapy thingy she received.

[Side note. This is what happens when a lesbian receives a Pier One aromatherapy thingy (technical name: Zanzibar Clove Reed Diffuser):

Lesbian: Is it a candle?

Femmy brat: No

Lesbian: But do you light it?

Femmy brat: No

Femmy brat's boyfriend attempting to speak lesbionic: You put the bamboo sticks into the aromatherapy oil. The bamboo soaks up the oil and wicks the scent into the air.

Lesbian: Ok, I get it. So you just use one stick at a time?

Femmy brat and brat's boyfriend: No, you use them all at once.

Lesbian: Oh.]

The best gift was the one I thought was tacky at first: $10 cash in a card. When P-funk opened that one first, I thought to myself, "Jesus, it's not like you're her Aunt Doris! Cash in a card? At least put the cash towards an iTunes gift card." But in the end, I figured at least you recognized you had no idea what to get her and didn't resort to some nauseating flower-scented crap she'd never get for herself. She could at least use the cash for something she wants or needs. Like, say, a drink a gay bar with friends after a disastrous dinner with high school friends. Which is exactly what we did!


Smitty (who recognizes the hypocrisy of my judgemental and holier than thou tone while criticizing someone for being judgemental and holier than thou. But I'm being judgemental of them being judgemental, whereas they were judging someone based on wardrobe. So I totally win).

It's a Magical Month for Muggles!

I have tickets for Harry Potter Movie #5 at the IMAX this week, Harry and the Potters play Minneapolis on Monday and I have Book #7 on reserve for next week. Holla!

Monday, July 09, 2007

An open letter to the people who irked me this weekend

To the gay man who tried to lift my shirt at Innuendo,

You know, even though I despise and disagree with it, when straight men are sexist and degrade women, I can understand the motive behind it. Only to the degree that I know it is advantageous for them to do it. Demeaning women secures men's place as top dog not only in society overall, but within their interpersonal relationships with family, friends, coworkers and lovers.

Despite experiencing discrimination for being homosexual, gay men are not about to relinquish their male privilege (or white privilege when it applies) even though it allows them to discriminate against women (and minorities). Gay men are still firmly entrenched in patriarchy; sexism still works to their advantage overall in society. Anyone that questions that assertion need only to visit San Fransisco and compare the Castro neighborhood to the Mission District and see the discrepancies in money and corresponding visibility of the gay and lesbian populations there. Or visit the Log Cabin Republication booth at Pride and see who comprises the gay republication population (hint: they look a lot like Dick Cheney, with his lesbo daughter). A gay republican? Isn't that like a unicorn? A fantasy devised by the Religious Right? Alas, no. But I digress. The irony is that homophobia and sexism are cut from the same patriarchal cloth. Without patriarchally defined gender roles, neither homophobia or sexism can exist in their current forms. Unfortunately, that doesn't stop gay men from being sexist.

Despite knowing all this, you, Mr. Shirt Lifter Upper, caught me off guard Saturday. Here's the scene: A double date with P-funk and friends S1 and S2. S2 and I hit the dancefloor, leaving our comparatively butch girlfriends chatting and having drinks in the lofted seating area that overlooks the bar and dancefloor. S2 and I were soon joined by you, a big bear of a gay man, who seemed delighted to have some lesbians join in the dancing fun. We engaged in some campy disco dancing that would put the Village People to shame; it was all good. Until, that is, S2 left the dancefloor to have a smoke outside. Keep in mind that the dancefloor is in the front of the bar, with floor to ceiling windows on two sides, so that anyone on the street can look in.

[Side note - anyone ever noticed how unusual it is for a gay bar, especially in the midwest, to have a well-lit dancefloor that can be seen by the public? How are all the closeted homos supposed to imbibe and dance if the windows aren't blacked out, non-existent, or the dancefloor located in the back?Well, for all of you shamed gays in St. Paul, you'll be happy to know that this set-up at Innuendo is a temporary one. Once "Rumors" opens up in the back, (Rumors & Innuendo, get it?) the dancefloor will be moved back there where you can get your groove on discretely.]

So I'm dancing by myself and sort of doing a silly dance for S2 through the window when you come up from behind and grab the bottom of my Tee-shirt from both sides and lift it, getting it above my belly button, but not as far as my bra, before I grab his hands and yank down, HARD. You continued to try to lift my shirt even after I started pushing down. At this point, P-funk and S1, who had watched this whole scene unfold, came barrelling down the stairs and quickly surrounded me on the dance floor. When I sought solace in P-funk's arms, you made a confused face and backed off. You even tried to apologize from across the dance floor later.

The interesting part was that you weren't apologizing for trying to blindly and forcefully disrobe me without consent, but that you had mistaken S2 as my girlfriend. So you were apologizing for trying to take my shirt off for the wrong girl (and anyone walking down the 200 block of East 4th in St. Paul), not for treating me as less than a human being. As a gay man you can accept that I'm with someone of the same sex, but can't get it through your thick skull that I'm not the play-thing of you and whomever I'm dating. Women are still property and you'd mistaken whom I "belong" to.

And while I pride myself on being an independent woman who didn't need P-funk and S1 to come to my rescue, it was sort of fun watching you flee at the sight of these two butch dykes thundering towards your sorry ass.

I have another open letter to some other people that irked me this weekend, so stay tuned!

Sunday, July 08, 2007

It's fine, thanks for asking.

My big straight sister called me last week to announce she'd had "A VERY lesbian day today." She was phoning from an Indigo Girls concert, so that explained the evening portion of her Lesbian Day.

Earlier, as part of her job marketing her physical therapy clinic, she had worked at a charity golf event.

"It was a girls charity and it was basically these 2 rich lesbians hosting the event and all their rich lesbian friends playing in the tourniment."

Sounds about right.

One of my sister's tasks was to check in the players. They were teeing off at different holes to stagger the players and avoid bunching up on the course. The hole number was pre-printed on the players' nametags.

At one point, my sister leaned in to read the nametag on one woman's chest and said, "Sorry, I'm just checking your hole."

Everyone cracked up.

For the rest of the day, my sister had lesbian golfers coming up to her and saying, "How's your hole? I'm just checking your hole."

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Sick and Tired

When I first got my current job at a Catholic university, my then girlfriend, a Catholic herself, got me a copy of the book "Catholicism for Dummies." Someday, when I'm no longer employed there, I'm going to write a blog entitled "Dummies for Catholicism." I went into this job with my eyes open. I expected some clash between my personal views and those of the institution. Shit, when I turned on the local news the night after my very first day on the job, I saw a representative of the University speaking at an anti-gay marriage rally on the Capitol steps. But after working there for over a year as an out lesbian, and experiencing no friction from my immediate co-workers and boss, I guess I let my guard down and got a bit comfortable. Well, that comfort has been discarded and the guard is back up. An event that is supposed to be a "team-building" conference and a "reward" for a year's hard work had the opposite effect on me. I've never felt less like I want to be a part of this team after witnessing the racism, ablism, homophobia and sexism displayed by my co-workers at this retreat. Far from a rewarding experience, I felt like I was being punished for something.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

I personally thought the best way to celebrate gay pride last weekend...

...was to fly to Ohio and watch two straight kids get married. My girlfriend and friends disagreed. Hey, I'm not bitter that I used to baby-sit for the groom, yet he's allowed to get married and I'm not. Ok, maybe a little bitter.

My parents basically said I had to go to this wedding. I'm not very close to the groom, but he's the son of close family friends. They live across the street from my parents; his sister was in the same grade as me. And the father is ill with two types of cancer, and is headed to the hospital for his 2nd bone marrow transplant. It was important that I be there before he's in the hospital and under quarantine for months.

Since my presence at the wedding was mandatory, my parents booked and paid for my flight. Now, normally I'm very resposible about printing out my flight information and get to the airport plently early. But last week was hectic. I was out of town Monday, worked and saw a friend Tuesday (my last chance to see her before she left town to get married), did laundry and packed Wednesday and worked both my jobs Thursday and Friday.

I was talking to my dad during the hour I have between jobs Friday when I mentioned that I still hadn't printed out the flight information for the next day and needed to look it up. It had easily been 2 or 3 months since the flight was booked and I really had no clue when it left. My dad said, "Oh, I have it right here in my Outlook. Northwest has a feature when you book online. You can download the flight information right into your Outlook and Blackberry."

This is where the Consumer Alert portion of the story begins.

He told me my flight was at 10:05 am.

I arrived at the airport at 8:40, plenty early for a 10am flight.

The check-in kiosk told me my flight was a 9:05 AM.

When my dad downloaded the info, Outlook converted my flights from Central Standard (where I live) to Eastern Standard (where my dad is). The fact that I was leaving at 10:05 Michigan time wasn't going to help me in the Minneapolis St. Paul airport. My flight was already boarding and I hadn't gone through security yet.

The first time in my life I've not printed out the flight information for myself.

Turns out it would also be the first time in my life I would miss a flight. Not before I put forth a galliant effort to make that flight. But the Fates are not without a sick sense of humor. I ended up in security behind the people with strollers, inexperienced travelers who don't know to take off their shoes, people who put their IDs away after the initial inspection. And the bitches at security pulled my bag for inspection. I knew they wouldn't give a shit that my flight was about to leave, so I kept my mouth shut, assuming that they look upon idiots like me with utter disdain and purposely take longer out of spite for the stupid girl that can't get to the airport on time.

Like a scene straight out of a movie, I ran to my gate, pulling my suitcase behind me, my overloaded purse bouncing off my butt, simultaneously pulling my shirt up and pushing my pants down. At one point my name came over the intercom "This is the final boarding call for flight whatever to Cleveland, Smitty, you have two minutes to be at gate whatever". I flagged down one of those golf carts usually reserved for the frail and invalid. Panting and dripping with sweat, I begged for a ride. The driver obliged and did his best with me cursing under my breath everytime we had to slow down for a yuppie with a small dog in a carry-on or a businessman on a cell phone that was oblivous to the cart coming down the concourse.

When I got to the gate, my plane was still visible through window, but the door to the gangway was shut. There was an Amish couple in front of me at the counter who were also trying to get to Cleveland. They had just flown in from somewhere else and there flight was late getting in to Minneapolis. They were being told, "I'm sorry, we saw that you were coming from a far-away gate and held the plane as long as we could." Damn, they didn't hold the plane for some Amish folk who were late through no fault of their own. I knew then I was SOL.

I had called my girlfriend in a panic from the security line. I knew she was praying I'd miss the flight, that there'd be no more flights to Cleveland in time for me to make the wedding, and she'd get to turn around, come pick my ass back up, and take me to the Pride festival.

Perhaps I would have made it to Pride if I hadn't started to simuloustaneously cry and have an asthma attack in front of the ticket agent. She took pity on me when I really didn't deserve it, and gave me a seat on a Cleveland flight that left only an hour and 20 minutes after my original flight. A flight that ended up being overbooked. When the ticket agent at my new gate came over the P.A. and said "I'm looking for 3 people with flexible travel plans to give up their seats on this flight in exchange for a free round trip ticket anywhere in the U.S.," I sat in my seat twindling my thumbs as if I was supposed to be there all along.

Friday, June 22, 2007

Not a good idea

To eat an entire Chipotle burrito at 10 pm and be in bed by 11. You end up dreaming about your friend's dad's bluegrass band and wake up with the song "I'm my own grandpa" stuck in your head:

Oh, many, many years ago
When I was twenty-three
I was married to a widow
Who was pretty as can be
This widow had a grown-up daughter
Who had hair of red
My father fell in love with her
And soon the two were wed

This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life
For my daughter was my mother
'Cause she was my father's wife
To complicate the matter
Though it really brought me joy
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy

This little baby then became
A brother-in-law to Dad
And so became my uncle
Though it made me very sad
For if he was my uncle
Then that also made him brother
Of the widow's grown-up daughter
WHo of course is my step-mother

I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa
It sounds funny I know
But it really is so
Oh, I'm my own grandpa

My father's wife then had a son
Who kept them on the run
And he became my grandchild
For he was my daughter's son
My wife is now my mother's mother
And it makes me blue
Because although she is my wife
She's my grandmother too

Now if my wife is my grandmother
Then I'm her grandchild
And every time I think of it
It nearly drives me wild
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw
As husband of my grandma
I am my own grandpa

I'm my own grandpa
I'm my own grandpa
It sounds funny I know
But it really is so
Oh, I'm my own grandpa

Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Best. Cheer-up. Email. Ever! Thanks Austin!

I just received the following message from my friend Austin and now there is a smile on my face!

"I know I am working on getting a JD, this is not like an MD. That was my warning that the following advice is not my medical opionion, but just sort of general things I have gathered either through others or that I just made up now.

While depressed avoid:

overly cheery people - (a) they typically suck to be around but when depressed it is magnified as they would say something like "make lemons out of lemonaide" which is the problem because (b) they may possibly force you to become violent (c) and confined spaces with them as it only increases the odds of the aforementioned (b).

whiny folks - you are in no place to empathize, but more possibly attack their shallow whines and then shatter their already shakey existance

depressing music - elliott smith is a bad choice right now. Just say no to emo.

nonhappy ending movies - millon dollar baby, boys don't cry, the crying game, bambi - all should be avoided.

Booze - not because it is a depresent no, no no. More to avoid the drunk dials you will live to regret. Or drunk emails etc.

The one uppers - those that say, "oh yeah you did X, well that's not so bad because I had Y happen to me." Though normally they can be side stepped and ignored or talked over most of the time. Right now you may lash out and explain that Y is not X so no they don't really know what it is like and that Y in fact didn't even happen to them because they are too full of shit to ever have anything actually happen in their life.

The mall of america - this is actually a place that should just pretty much always be avoided

WE - now is not the time to watch women be abused or have shopping problems. Their problems are obvious and solvable and their lives are in no way as meaningful or complex as your own melodrama.

Things to not avoid:

Austin - though she can be cheerful she is far more cynical than most and sassy. Pick someone for her to verbally assault and she will do that just to make you smile.

Pointless comedy - movies like "mean girls," "tootsie," "Wayne's World," and any great standup - Whoopie, Kathy Griffith, Ellen, Robin Williams, you should know who you like.

Flea markets - for many reasons (a) you are better off than 95% of the people there (b) great neil and elvis finds are bound to occur (c) shit is cheap and (d) people watching

Bravo - that channel is just damn good tv

dancing - you missed a remix of glamorous by Fergie that repeated "tacobell" about 100x. You don't get that experience just anywhere. How often can you dance to tacobell?

Please again remember this is in no way medical advice but more of some bullshit I wrote to make you at least smile or roll your eyes. If I wasn't successful I blame it on the fact that it is text so something must have be lost.

On a totally different note unrelated to the above list my dog Q got a haircut yesterday and he is very handsome and proud. He struts all over and seems very excited. Basically he is proud to no longer have the shag and return to his stud buzz cut. Take it easy. I am going to the show at your theatre on thursday. I hope it doesn't suck. If it does suck expect hate mail coming at ya'

Take it easy, and try not to be so easy


[LLCJ stands for LL Cool Jew, btw]

Sunday, June 03, 2007

Song by David Gray

Please forgive me
If I act a little strange
For I know not what I do.
Feels like lightning running through my veins
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you

Help me out here
All my words are falling short
And theres so much I want to say
Want to tell you just how good it feels
When you look at me that way
When you look at me that way

Throw a stone and watch the ripples flow
Moving out across the bay
Like a stone I fall into your eyes
Deep into some mystery
Deep into that mystery

I got half a mind to scream out loud
I got half a mind to die
So I wont ever have to lose you girl
Wont ever have to say goodbye
I wont ever have to lie
Wont ever have to say goodbye

Please forgive me
If I act a little strange
For I know not what I do
Its like my head is filled with lightning girl
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you
Everytime I look at you

Friday, June 01, 2007

A familiar stranger

She and I never celebrated an anniversary. It was a running joke whenever someone asked how long we'd been together. Should we count from when we started dating the first time (even though we didn't remember the exact date)? It made more sense to start counting from when we'd picked up years later, the 2nd and final time around. But that time the relationship was long distance, confusing things. She had been ready to name it "dating" and "girlfriends" before I was. So again, we were left with no one day to celebrate. We could've counted from when I took the plunge and crossed state lines to move in with her. But that seemed too late a date to start counting from. So, the answer always ended up being "about a year," "a year or two," and finally, at the end, "3 or 4 years".

I do know the exact date that it ended. The day (actually it was night) when she turned to me and said, "You know this is pretty much over, don't you?"

"Yes, it is."

The one year anniversary of that date came and passed recently. I mentioned it to my mom that day as drove home. Minutes later I saw my ex on the street. Me still in my car; her standing on the corner smoking. I watched her while I waited at a red light, briefly entertaining the thought that it was somehow significant that I saw her on this anniversary. But the light turned green and I did when I've been doing for a year now, turned away and headed in my own direction.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

The women in my family need to chill and stay put

My grandmother had a stroke in February. And in the last 4 weeks, my sister and my mom have had overnight stays in the hospital with mitral valve prolapse palpitations and stroke-like symptoms, respectively. Everybody needs to calm down and get their circulatory systems under control because I need them around for at least a century or more, or they're going to give me a god-damn heart attack. Damn! (Positive thoughts are requested. If you pray, you can do that too)

Monday, May 21, 2007

This American Life goes Televised

Ira in the middle of nowhere

I'm slightly obsessed with the public radio show, This American Life (TAL). I was first introduced to the show when I was employed at the University of Michigan. There wasn't enough work to fill the day, and I noticed my co-worker often had her headphones on. I eventually learned that she was making her way through the free online archives of TAL as a way to help pass the time. And it has become my habit to stay sane by doing the same in my illustrious career of mindless data entry.

For me, TAL is kinda like that certain band that you love. A band that isn't exactly unknown, but is far from mainstream. When you meet a fellow devotee, there is a certain kinship you feel with that person, while at the same time you suspect they couldn't possibly experience it as you do. When people haven't heard TAL, you feel sorry for them for missing out so long. At the same time you email links of your favorite audio to the unenlightened, you kinda think new fans are posers that just jumped on the band wagon. And you secretly fear you yourself are a poser because you only started listening in 2000, and TAL has been around since 1995.

7 years later, I've shelled out $30 on three separate occasions for a Sarah Vowell reading, an Ira Glass radio demonstration and a David Sedaris reading/book-signing. And at each performance I was simultaneously incredulous that the venues were sold-out because TAL is my thing, but also not really surprised either, because TAL is so awesome. I bought Davy Rothbart's book of short stories based solely on his affiliation with TAL (he should stick to nonfiction). And when I found out a college friend got a job as a production assistant on TAL, it was all I could do not to grill her for every detail, from the layout of the studio to what she knows about Ira's wife. I find myself repeatedly saying, "tell me again about the time Ira borrowed a can of soup from you". If it weren't for the fact we were friends well before her production assistant days, she'd probably think I'm only friends with her because of her TAL connection.

And then there is the day your favorite band sells out. At least it looks that way. The band is on MTV, their ticket prices go up and the venues are larger. In this case, my favorite public radio show was not only becoming a TV show, but a cable TV show. Not basic cable either, but effing Showtime. And when TAL went on tour to promote the television version, tickets cost 50 bucks. And its probably the first time in the history of the Twin Cities that the NPR venue of choice wasn't the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul, but the Orpheum in Minneapolis. I can't afford Showtime and I can't afford $50 tickets. But I still really wanted to give TAL the benefit of the doubt regarding this whole TV scheme. And that's where my production assistant friend came in. She received an offer for free tickets and was nice of enough to share a free ticket with this TAL super-fan.

Ira's not dumb. He's knows fans are skeptical of the TV show. So he addressed the issue to the Minneapolis audience, where someone in the audience reportedly yelled out, "Judas." I missed that. The Judas shouter was drowned out by the guy on my side of the theater who yelled out, "What were you thinking?!". Ira attempted to quell our fears and put us at ease with humorous tales of how they too had doubts and stumbled along the way in converting to a TV show. He admitted that elements of stories that had worked well on radio didn't translate well to the screen. He specifically cited the example of how the power of the emotion in the voice of one of their regular interviewers ended up somewhat lost when matched with her appearance. I left thinking that at least Ira was honest and hoping that the opposite could also be true: that an image could possibly enhance the power of the audio.

So I finally got to see an episode. My girlfriend's parents were out of town and she'd been at home every night to watch the dog. And they have Showtime. I emailed my friend who used to work on the show and this is what I said:

P-funk and I watched an episode of This American Life last night (that is a strange sentence. Watched This American Life). We watched episode 2, which had the story of the middle schooler who doesn't believe in love that was previewed at the live show.

I didn't dislike the show, but I can't say that I really liked it either. It was just weird. Ira is sitting at this late-night-talk-show-host-type desk in the middle of nowhere, and you can imagine people who haven't heard the radio show thinking, "who the hell is this guy? And why is he sitting in the middle of the mountains.... at a desk?". One thing I hadn't realized until last night is that the TV show is only 30 minutes per episode (compared to an hour long radio show). The episode had three acts and was only 28 minutes long. It is strange in television to have a half hour program that has three separate vignettes with no overlap and no wrap-up at the end. There is just nothing out there to compare it to, which could either be exciting or just leave people going "what the hell is this?".

I'm sure some of my uneasiness comes simply from knowing the radio show so well . I kept turning to P-funk last night, saying, "This is weird, isn't this weird?". And she kept reminding me that she's never really listened to the radio show (other than a few stories I've forced upon her), so she couldn't really comment.

I will say one thing: one of the Acts was about a photo journalist who had the choice to spring into action and try to save a drowning woman or continue to act as an observer/photographer. He chose the later (there were other people trying to help her). They showed a series of photos as he described the scene and at one point the story takes a dramatic turn and the corresponding photo literally made me gasp out loud. And there is something about that image that never would've fully translated on radio.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

The Definition of Covet


What comes between a quarter and mid-life crisis?

Cuz I think I'm there.

My 29th birthday, job dissatisfaction, and a conversation with my girlfriend regarding a hypothetical move to Chicago seems to have combined into a mind-racing restlessness.

In terms of the 29th birthday, I have this personal notion that it is one thing to be a nomad with an unstable career when you are in your 20s and "just out of college." It is another thing to be pushing 30, with a 10 year high school reunion under your belt, and holding down two jobs that have little hope for upward mobility. When I say this is a personal notion, I truly mean for me personally. On the spectrum of stability desired, mine is stronger than my ex's, but less than say, my sister's. And it is firmly rooted in my history of depression and anxiety. I like a certain level of predictability. But playing it safe can get boring. While I was in desperate need of more stability a year ago, now that I have it, I'm feeling like I could take some risks. I'm a little tired of the status quoness of my life at the moment. The problem with that it, I'm trepidatious of rocking the boat should it capsize into depression if I change too much too fast, or take a risk and fail.

Random aside: Stability shouldn't be confused with spontaneity. I've been accused of not being spontaneous. I can be very spontaneous and fun, dammit.

Anyways, on to the job satisfaction (or lack thereof). Let's review my post-collegiate career path. I'd say said path resembles a course akin to the path an R2D2 with faulty wiring would take. Since graduating from college in 2000...

2000-2001: Lived in hometown of Ann Arbor, Michigan: First job out of college was as a patient advocate at a women's clinic. Later worked as a research assistant at the University of Michigan. Volunteered with NARAL during the 2000 election.

2001-2002: moved to Berkeley, California and held 2 jobs (with several temp jobs when I first got there). Worked as a fundraiser for another women's clinic and did customer service in a crunchy granola solar panel store. Very Berkeley.

2002-2003: Back to Michigan, 2 jobs: Customer service in bookstore. Data Entry at a environmental compliance software company.

2003-present: Minneapolis. 2 years of temping at multiple jobs (mostly data entry, but some accounting) in two corporations. At the same time, I worked as a house manager for the Fringe Theater Festival for two summers. Spent three weeks in Louisiana with Red Cross after Katrina. Presently holding 2 jobs: full-time job in the admissions department of a university and a part-time job at a non-profit professional theatre.

I got the admissions job during a time of much-needed stability. I'd been unemployed for several months, very depressed and my relationship was on the rocks. I needed a reason to get off the couch everyday. I went after the admissions job because I thought I could get it, period. There was no particular dream to work in Admissions or even academia for that matter, although I was glad to be leaving Corporate America. I can't really complain about the job. It fulfilled the requisites I needed at the time. It got me out of bed every morning, gave me a regular schedule and enough money to be autonomous. But now that I'm out of that bottomless pit of depression, out of debt and out of the rocky relationship, I'm think my needs in a job are changing.

The pros:
Work with a great group of people (not the whole department, but the 4 people I work with daily)
Don't take my job home with me
Flexible Schedule
$, benefits, 401K

The cons:
As a cynical, low-income lesbian, working at a homophobic Catholic university for rich kids sometimes makes me feel like a sell out.
My group is the low man on totem pool within the dept and we can tell.
Work is not meaningful in any way, boring and mindless actually
Little hope for upward mobility
Money is enough for paying bills, but have to have a 2nd job to buy luxuries such as contact lenses.

Don't even get me started on the part-time job. Recently, when is comes to scheduling, my boss has royally screwed me. Screwed is too polite, it's more like getting pummelled up the arse with a splintered broomstick.

As for the move to Chicago, while it is purely hypothetical at this point, it brought up a bunch of other life stuff. Do I want to stay in Minnesota? My reasons for moving here no longer exist, but that doesn't mean there aren't reasons to stay. I considered moving to Chicago a year ago when my ex and I split (especially when a room opened up in the apartment of a fabulous drag queen across the street from my friends). But I ultimately I decided not to make anymore major life changes (there's that pesky desire for stability coming into play). Do I want a relationship to be the major motivating factor behind another move? No. At least, not yet.

Moving to Chicago Pros and Cons:

Live in the same city as my nephew, sister, brother in law and 2 of my closest friends (and girlfriend if Chicago is where she decides she needs to be).
Live closer to my parents (who are in Chicago all the damn time now, visiting their grandson).
I'd be down south where the weather is balmy. :-)
I'm a Midwest girl.

I have reservations about living in that city (size, quantity of concrete).
Have to leave the friends I have here.

Ultimately I need to decide what my goals are and then prioritize them. Education, career, family. You know, the little stuff. When I try to picture my career, I have a tendency to dismiss my dreams as unrealistic. The whole fear of failure leading to the Smitty that can't get off the couch problem. Family is difficult to picture too, especially as a gay lady. I go back and forth on whether I even want kids, let alone how I would attempt to procure them. But let's not even go there, my brain is fried as is.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Spiderman 3: Spidey Goes All Emo on Your Ass

Why is it that when Peter Parker is flirting with the dark side, he looks like he's on his way to a 30 Seconds to Mars concert? This movie is absolute crap, btw.

Friday, May 04, 2007

But I wanna touch the caulk NOW

Received an email at work yesterday entitled NEW TOILETS!!! Having already heard the news regarding this improvement to the women's restroom, I didn't bother opening the email until I heard several of my nearby co-workers giggling. This was the text of the email:

The engineer of Toilet Installation came in to ask us not to touch the caulking around the bottom of the toilets for several days. For those anxious to do so it should be good by Monday.

I'd be embarassed if I still cared about the job.

Tonight, at the theatre where I work part-time, I helped stuff envelopes for a mailing being sent out by the theatre's education department. The letter was so poorly written it was laughable.

These are letters sent to teachers in hopes they'll bring their students to the theatre on field trips. I'm sure they're going to be impressed with what our director of education had to say in her letter.

This was the second sentence:
"We are thrilled to offer this American Classic to you and your students as so many of you have requested that we do so."

Huh? First of all, none of the letter recipients care how many requests were supposedly received. So the sentence would've been most straight forward and effective this way:

"We are thrilled to offer this American Classic to you and your students." Period.

If you just can't help but brag about this deluge of requests you've received, then phrase it this way:

"We are thrilled to offer this American Classic to you and your students as many of you have requested." (No, not SO many)

But under no circumstances was it necessary to continue beyond that. But again, if you just can't help yourself...

"We are thrilled to offer this American Classic to you and your students as so many of you have requested that we do." You simply cannot end that sentence in "so."

Onto the next cringe-worthy statement. In a description of one of next season's student matinees:

"When a young nun is found unconscious and bleeding with a dead baby nearby...".

Dead baby? Revolting. Doesn't that seem a little crass? Let's consult a thesaurus and replace "dead baby" with less visceral wording. How about, "deceased infant'?

In another description:
"The central character is a performance artist who is about to present a performance art piece".
So what is it that performance artists do exactly? Performance art you say?

On the actual subscription form, the educators were offered the opportunity to sign up for an "Immersion Day*".

Were you hoping I would explain what an Immersion Day is, perhaps in a corresponding asterisked footnote? Yeah, well, so are the teachers attempting to fill out the form.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Nike Venom

My lesbian credentials were put to the test yesterday when my girlfriend made the following requests of me:

1) Will you practice softball with me?
2) Will you go to Sports Authority and help me pick out a bat?

Other than the briefest of forays into tennis and golf, I've strictly avoided any sport that involves catching, throwing, running, extreme physical contact or hitting balls or other objects with sticks (and any combination thereof). Which left me with swimming and synchronized swimming as my only options unless I wanted to take up competitive jump rope or perhaps rhythmic gymnastics.

I was a competitive swimmer from age 5 through middle school. Picked up synchronized swimming in middle school and continued through high school, which culminated in a Michigan state championship in 1996. Oh wait, you thought I was kidding when I mentioned synchro earlier? Nope. So it's not that I've never been athletic, I've just always shied away from sports where there are strategic plays that require me to successfully complete my portion of said play for the benefit of the team. Too anxiety-provoking.

With swimming, you get to be on a team but the strategy starts and ends with "swim as fast as you can." Which I always did and did well. With synchro, the whole point is for the routine to look the same every time. It is predictable, aside from the occasional nose clip mishap (and one unfortunate incident in which I suffered an asthma attack during a meet and had to be pulled out of the pool). With enough skill and practice, you pretty much know how things are going to go down in the water.

Since high school, my athletic exploits has mainly been limited to dancing at nightclubs.

Anyways, about last night...

Request Number 1
I first had to cajole my girlfriend into moving softball practice to the back yard, rather than the PUBLIC park she had planned. It is one thing for me to make a spectacle of myself in front of P-Funk, subjecting strangers to my flailing is another thing entirely. I'd heard there was a 50/50 change of thunderstorms, so used the potential for lightening to keep us close to shelter (and surrounded by a privacy fence).

Tossing the softball around started off positively enough; I was catching and throwing with ease and accuracy. Just when I was getting cocky, she threw a fast one. I caught it, but it stung a bit. That's when I realized that "playing catch" had just been a warm up and the plan was not to keep standing only 10 yards apart and throwing softies. I decided I needed to throw harder if I was actually going to help her practice before the first game of the season on Wednesday. All consistency was gone the second I tried to really throw the thing. P-funk was gracious as she ran all over the yard chasing my sporadic tosses: "In a real game, the ball doesn't always come directly to you, so this is good practice." Luckily we were rained out before things got any uglier.

Request Number 2
The only equipment required in synchro are nose clips, waterproof make-up, sequined bathing suits and Knox gelatin*. So I was fairly confident that when P-funk said "Help me pick out a bat," she actually meant, "Watch me pick out a bat." The extent of my advice was "Don't get a pink one." I also proved useful in keeping an eye out for possible blunt-force trauma victims as she took practice swings. Then we abandoned the strange land of sports bras and for my apartment where we spent the rest of the night sorting my arts and crafts supplies. How quaint.

Random aside: This isn't the first time I found myself in a "mixed marriage." I previously dated a softball dyke my senior year of college. I was the only lesbian not on the field during warm-up. I could be found in the bleachers reading "The Prostitution of Sexuality" by Kathy Barry for my Women's Studies Seminar, occasionally looking up to drool over the forklift operator playing shortstop (who wasn't my girlfriend, but that's another story).

*We used unflavored gelatin to hold our hair in place during competition. No, Seriously.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

The day Auntie K's work productivity was reduced by 30%...

...was the day that Grandma gave her the user name and password to view the webcam at Jack's daycare.

Hugh Grant Accused of Attacking Man with Beans

Actual headline. Awesome.

Saturday, April 21, 2007

He's 9 months old already!

Someday my sister will pay the consequences for doing this to my nephew. In the meantime, soak up the cuteness!

Thursday, April 05, 2007

So Long Old Friend

I'm a little sad and guilty about giving you up. But I'm also relieved. You'd started to make me sneeze, so I locked you out of the bedroom. And you stood outside the door and cried. Every night. That's no kinda kitty life! And let's be honest, you were in the habit of literally biting the hand that feeds you. I hope you're happier where you ended up. I'm going to miss the fuzzy pants you wore everyday.

Monday, April 02, 2007

I started a Flickr account

I'm still learning the ins and outs of the site, but am doing much better after a handy tutorial from CoryQ.

My Flickr account (jerky tourniquet, of course).
Cory Q's Flickr account (that he shares with some dude).
And a featured photo:

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

I'm going to miss you suburban puppers!

It has been fun playing house with you cuties!

Random stories/observations from recent goings-on

The lamps in The Cheesecake Factory in Edina, Minnesota looks like the Eye of Sauron in the Lord of the Rings movies, which I always thought looked a lot like a big flaming vagina. So, essentially, the lights in the Cheescake Factory look like some kinda Georgia O'Keefe Fire-crotch art project gone wrong!
My one year anniversary working at the University was on March 20th. My co-workers took me out to lunch and gave me a card for the occasion. However, my boss signed the card "Happy B-day." I wonder what she'll think when she's given another card to sign next month on my actual birthday. Of course, this is the same woman who, on her way out the door yesterday (Monday), said, "Have a nice weekend!". So I'm guessing she won't ever realize her blunder.

P-funk and I were in a thrift store on Saturday when an employee came over the P.A. and announced, "Code 4," followed by something in Spanish. We decided that it translated to "Code 4! Lesbians in housewares!". For the rest of the day, I'd randomly bust out with, "Code 4: Lesbians in the Kitchen!" or, "Code 4: Lesbians on the freeway!".

We are currently house/dog sitting in the suburbs and therefore ended up at Perkins for breakfast over the weekend. Where we saw a grown woman pull a bib out of her purse, fasten it around her neck, fold her hands in front of her, pray aloud at the table, and dig in for some serious grubbing. Hey lady, Perkins may not be fine dining, but bibs are NOT acceptable attire. This ain't Red Lobster!

Which is worse: playing to a fuller house where only half are paying attention to you, or playing to a small crowd of interested fans in an otherwise empty room? Went to see Bitch, formerly of Bitch and Animal, perform at Pi last night. Don't you hate it when you are a member of an audience that won't behave? You end up feeling embarassed and guilty to be part of the crowd, even though you yourself are playing nicely. Last night, it appeared as though half those there were just there to hang out and talk and not see the show. You could tell it was really frustrating for Bitch and she actually stopped one of her spoken word pieces part way through, said, "Fuck it," and picked up her bass and drown everyone out instead. Cringe.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Drag Queen Wardrobe Malfunction

Last Sunday, P-funk, Doyle, Jess and I went to the Gay 90's for the "Miss Gay Northern Star" Drag Pageant. The winner and first runner up go on to compete in the National Miss Gay USofA Pageant in Texas. I have to say, I was a bit disappointed: there were only two rounds, evening gown and talent (talent = lip syncing). I guess I was expecting other categories. Bathing suit certainly would've been interesting. I've seen other drag queens go on stage with as little as a thong and pasties before, so a bikini actually isn't outside the realm of possibility. But one of the things I like about drag queens is that the full bodied curvaceous queens can complete as equals with the skinny bitches. So I'm glad swimsuit wasn't a category. But I would've loved an interview portion with the judges. There could've been questions like "If you could be either Paris Hilton, Christina Aguilera, Tyra Banks or Lindsay Lohan for a day, who would you be, and why?"

Also, there were only 3 contestants! So that meant 3/4 of the competitors are going to Nationals! Maybe there were preliminary rounds that I didn't know about and these were the finalists. But I was a tad bit surprised when the pageant itself probably only took up 45 minutes of the show and the rest were performances by the usual La Femme showgirls and some special guests.*

For the evening gown competition, the contestants flaunted their stuff, sashaying about slowly, pausing in front of the judges to pose and lift their dresses to show off their shoes. Meanwhile, the MC would tell the audience the dress designer, hair stylist, make-up artist, etc. Usually, these helpers were other drag queens, so you'd hear things like: Brandonna's dress is designed by Shamika Dupris, hair by Nina D'Angelo, makeup by BeBe Benay. Awesome.

Contestant Mahogany Blue was wearing a shimmery green sequined number with a halter top. Similar in style to this dress, it had a plunging neckline with two vertical strips of fabric covering the chest that met behind her neck, like a halter top. Mahogany was mid-sashay when the wardrobe malfunction occurred. The neck strap snapped, gravity took over, and the next thing you knew, there were two fake titties (and separate nipple enhancers) tumbling to the floor! Essentially, she was now naked from the waist up (that is just how much the neckline plunged). I gotta give Mahogany credit, she was the consummate professional. She just held the dress together behind her neck and continued her parade, occasionally switching the hand that was holding the dress to give the other arm a chance to look graceful.

I can only imagine that all decorum was lost backstage, when she confronted the dress designer, Simone LaRue, with her fake-nailed fingers contorted into a gnarled talon of goddess rage!

In the end, Mahogany came in last. Who is to say if it was the wardrobe malfunction alone that cost her her chance for the National crown. After all winner
Miss Alexis Principle's Tina Turner impression was pretty hard to beat! I thought Mahogany should've won at least Miss Congeniality for how she handled her mishap!

*A note about the special guests. Tiffany T. Hunter was a visiting drag queen from a club in St. Louis. She was an absolute train wreck. At one point, Doyle saw her on her hands and knees in the women's restroom ralphing. Later, she came onstage with toilet tissue stuck to her platform shoe. And she kept bumping into the pillar in that is front center on the 90s stage. Some awkwardness around the obstruction might be expected from a visiting performer, but I think it is safe to say that she was impaired to the point that she kept forgetting the pole was there.

Another visitor was Alyssa Edwards, the winner of a National Pageant. The only way to describe her presence on stage is FOUL. The look on her face was one of complete and utter disdain. Pure evil. A fabulous diva.

Friday, March 23, 2007

I don't get corporate america

So a number of years ago, my dad started a high tech telecommunications company that was eventually bought out by a larger company on the East Coast. They announced they would be closing my Dad's branch last year, so he has been out of a job since December. Always the entrepreneur, my dad is starting yet another company. This time, an engineering firm. Basically, you come up with an idea you can't execute, my dad's firm will design and build it for you. His first customer? The company that laid him off. They can't make their new product without his engineers. Oh, the irony.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

An open letter to the man that chucked a computer at my girlfriend

Dear Dickweed,

Imagine, for a moment, what it must've been like for her:

It is a lazy Sunday afternoon. After working a full 40 hour work week at 1 of your 3 jobs, you've slept in as long as possible to still get to your 2nd job on time. Job #2 out of 3 is at the Apple store in a the mall of a wealthy suburb. So you're used to taking a fair amount of crap from rich S.O.B.s who think they're above the rules. It sucks, but goes with the territory. Still sluggish from the St. Patty's Day festivities the night before, you've only been at work for twenty minutes when you hear a ruckus in another area of the store. Investigating, you discover an irate customer who has just discovered, *gasp*, that warranties are null and void when the repairs needed are due to customer error. The next thing you know, a soaring laptop has slammed into your shoulder. That'll wake you up right quick.

Dickweed, when a customer drops their Macbook and dents the hard drive (as in your case), puts an iPod Shuffle through the wash, or keeps their uncovered iPod under heavy textbooks in their backpack, Apple would be happy to repair the damage, but they aren't going to incur those costs. It sucks sure, but that's life. Accidents and Stupidness happen. Name me one corporation that pays for damage that is the customer's fault.

And even if you still think the policy is totally unfair, that laptops should be more durable, that you are entitled to repairs others are happy to pay, who did you decide to take it out on? The messenger? The customer service rep who has no power to change the rules you want to challenge? Not my first choice, but maybe you're that asshole. Maybe you shout some profanities and get in their face even though part of you knows that they are powerless to fix the problem. Happens all the time.

But shouting, "Forget it! I don't even want this computer!" and hurling it willy nilly across the room, and into my girlfriend? Shaking her up and bruising her shoulder (and no doubt damaging your computer even more) in the process? Fuck you! That's crossing the mutha fucking line! She wasn't even the one you were having the confrontation with (not that it would've been okay to hit the other guy).

I wish the other Apple employees hadn't already called mall security on your ass. Or that they realized right away you'd physically hurt someone. Because security came shortly after you assaulted my girlfriend and escorted you out of the mall. When it should've been the police taking you away in handcuffs.

Which is what will happen if you ever return to the store. An after-the-fact police report has been filed. Your image has been pulled from the security camera footage and displayed in the store. And if you enter it again, you'll be arrested. I almost hope you do come back, just to see your ass get nailed. Maybe you won't see this internet warning and will come back. After all, you left your precious laptop behind.

A usually tame lesbian you managed to turn into a crazed vengeful psycho dyke.

03/25/07 Update: Dickweed apparently didn't get the internet warning. P-funk just called to say he came back to the store today and got himself arrested! P-funk spotted him first, wandering around the front of the store. She alerted the manager, who double checked the photo of him posted in the back, confirmed it was him, and called the cops. He eventually approached an employee about his "computer he left here to get repaired." She stalled him by "checking in the back" for his computer, which gave the cops enough time to get there and cuff him. When told why he was being apprehended, he said, "I didn't know I hit anyone." Thanks for admitting you threw the computer, dumbass. I'll update with any more details as I get them, P-funk and I only had a quick conversation as we were both working when she called. This is so awesome. I only wish he hadn't come back when she was working.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007


I actually have a couple stories from the weekend I eventually want to put up here. One involves a bonafide wardrobe malfunction with a drag queen twist. In the meantime, some filler:

Friday, March 16, 2007

Another one.

Dare I propose the theory that with his shiny iridescent necktie, Sam Brownback is a closet case? In which case, he's overcompensating for his own self-hatred as a gay man by projecting it onto all gays. Either that or pandering for votes. I like my first theory better, cuz then you get to call him "Samey Bareback"! How 'bout "Samey Brokeback"?