SciFi and Red Stilettos

With the Christmas season coming to an end, I thought I would share an anecdote; however, I couldn't pick between just one, so here are my two favorites.

Christmas Anecdote #1:

While attending a holiday party that consisted of, mostly, art school lesbians, I found myself in the middle of a thoroughly in-depth and very serious science fiction conversation. (It was one of those situations where, towards the end of the night, I found myself with a small group of people in a room separate from the majority, and I couldn't just walk away and join another conversation because I was sitting on the opposite side of the room from the door and I'd have to walk through the middle of this serious conversation to reach the exit and I didn't want to be rude.) I'm not a consistent nor studious scifi/fantasy reader, but I can hold my own in conversations on the topic; that is, unless the topic is space. I don't know what it is about space, but I can't get into it...like Star Trek or Star Wars or BATTLESTAR GALACTICA.

This science fiction conversation revolved around the heated debate of whether or not a prequel, apparently a spin-off show that starts fifty years before Battlestar and will answer how the cyclons were made(I think that's right, I went from memory), was/is a good idea. With the impending conclusion of season 4, and thus the end of the series, approaching in mid-January, this topic was more impassioned than our Rick Warren or sex sans dental dams conversations. Here's the thing that I have noticed about lesbians and Battlestar Galactica; they either hate it or they're a fanatic, there is NO in-between. NObody understands the general idea behind this television show; you either know it all, inside and out, or the only thing you know is that they use the word "frack" and the word is only included in your vocabulary for the sole purpose of making fun of a space-nerdy lesbian. NObody is casually flipping back and forth between "Will and Grace" and "BSG" and I dare anyone to try this while watching BSG with, again, a space-nerdy lesbian. An exception to this is if you are dating a Battlestar Galactica fan and you watch the show to find out what kind of sex you're going to have, because trust me, if your girlfriend is a BSG addict, it will affect your sex life. (They found earth=best sex ever. That spaceship blew up=I wasn't laid for days.)

Christmas Anecdote #2:

The night after Christmas I went out with some friends to dance off all, or at least some of, the Christmas time indulgences and after dancing we ended up at a dive bar on the east side of town. While I was sitting at the bar, I spotted this girl that I had once been set-up with. (In the spirit of Christmas I'll be courteous and say that...it was simply not good, but this girl was/is crazy-pants crazy.) I was not in the mood for civility, so I hatched a plan. If this girl spotted me, I was going to take off running; like sprint for your life, Mufasa running from the stampede take off running. (Even the craziest girl should get that kind of hint.) Well, she did spot me, our eyes met, and I bolted out of my chair...only...I was wearing this fabulous pair of red stilettos...I got a step and a half away and the back of my heel caught the end of a bar stool. BAM! I face planted right into the floor.

Well, this lesbian nut ran over, straddled me, and stuck her tongue down my throat. (I can't, in good conscious, pass up the sexual pun: I fell face first, but somehow ended up on my back...this is, ironically, how most of my lesbian escapades end...hey-ohh.) If you've ever wondered why you've never seen a lesbian in a pair of heels, now you know why! We make excuses about product durability or throw out bullshit lines about a comfort-level, but lesbians don't wear heels because WOMEN ARE CRAZY and we lesbians need reliable athletic sneakers to run our asses in the other direction. If I had been wearing lesbian approved footwear, my bolting scheme would have worked and I wouldn't of had...rabies-incarnate...stick her tongue down my throat. (OK, I don't think that she actually has rabies, that was harsh, but until I feel some sort of sanitation again, I'm going to keep on gargling hydrogen-peroxide.) All-in-all, it did make the bartender laugh, which is always nice, and now I not only have a great story to tell, but also a solid justification for not wearing heels.

Cheers to a great holiday season and a safe New Years.

P.S. I heard that Jay Mohr was going to legally take his wife's name, which is totally cool, but didn't he marry Nikki Cox? Will that make him Jay Mohr Cox?...get it, like "more cocks"...

Prototype Politics

In 28 days, President-Elect Barack Obama will make history and become the 44th president of the United States of America; and I must admit that I am a little sick of hearing the phrase "make history" and all of its grammatical variations. I find it quite ironic that Barack Obama is coined as the man to make history, when, for the exception of one thing, I think that he's just repeating it. (Don't get it twisted...I appreciate the gravity of Obama's election and I don't mean to belittle it...I am merely sidelining race for the purposes of making a point.) I didn't vote for Barack Obama, but that doesn't mean that I don't believe in him. He exudes confidence, intelligence, grace, and poise; all things that bring about comfort and no one can deny that we, as a country, could use a little comfort. I know that the word "change" no longer holds leverage, but I authentically believe that we live in a world that needs change and that Barack Obama is the man to bring it about.

In a 2005 issue of Time Magazine, Barack Obama authored an article entitled, "What I See in Lincoln's Eyes." In it, Obama recalls what he admires about the great president and offers the reader undeniable similarities between himself and honest Abe. They were both young and inexperienced, and they were both criticized for it. They both came from humble backgrounds, were raised by women other than their mothers, and came to political power in the State of Illinois, even though they were not from Illinois. They both wrote best-selling books before their presidency and they both were/are eloquent and impassioned speakers; and it looks like Obama has his heart set on delivering a few more similarities.

President-Elect Barack Obama has not been shy in sharing his admiration for Abraham Lincoln, but I can't help but wonder if his admiration is more about a blueprint than it is a genuine desire to learn from this late, great president. From a 2-Dimensional view, Barack is displaying a Lincoln-esque style, but Abraham Lincoln was about more than style. Lincoln was a man who stood for courage; a man who stood UP for what he believed in. He didn't stand for the sake of standing, he stood because he truly had something to stand for. I hate to be skeptical, but I'm not sure the same applies to Obama...at least not yet.

Last week, Barack defended his decision to invite Rick Warren to pray at the inauguration, stating, "it is important for America to come together even though we may have disagreements on certain social issues...this is a part of what my campaign's been all about." I agree that we need discussion. I agree that we need to listen to one another. I even agree that we need to come together (whatever that is supposed to mean). What I don't agree with is this idea of reaching over opposing lines FOR THE SAKE OF reaching over opposing lines. It is true that Lincoln made friends with his enemies and that his cabinet was made up of rivals, but there wasn't a single person in his cabinet that he didn't 100% respect. Abraham Lincoln might have made friends with some Confederates, but he certainly wasn't inviting them over to make policy decisions.

Barack Obama is a man that walks on water. I'm not saying that he's Jesus, but that he exudes an unparalleled amount of poise. He has that quality that allows him to walk into a room without making waves or disrupting any boats, but I don't think that it's enough. There comes a time when you have to dig your heels in. When you have to ground yourself and stand for something, and you can't do that when you're walking on water. I don't mean to cut down our president before he's even started, but it seems like Obama's more interested in applying the motions of our 16th president rather than the ideals. If Barack Obama wants to exemplify the many amazing traits of Abraham Lincoln, he has to figure out what it is he stands for, and then uncompromisingly stand for that.

P.S. Here is my favorite Lincoln story. One day Captain Abraham Lincoln found himself leading a militia company across a field toward a gate. To his dismay, the appropriate command for marching through the gate utterly escaped his mind. "This company is dismissed for two minutes," Lincoln finally shouted in desperation, "and will fall in again on the other side of the gate!"

Sick Thoughts

There are a lot of things that I don't understand about life, like... When the dog food package says "new and approved taste," does that mean that someone tested it? or How did Tom Cruise get a Golden Globe nomination for that piece of shit "Tropic Thunder" and James Franco get a nomination for "Pineapple Express", but not one for "Milk"? or Why is there a light in the fridge but not in the freezer; if it's dark you're most likely going for ice cream or vodka, not milk and eggs? and Why is the pharmacy always at the back of the store? I am going to assert that the pharmacy is the worst part about being sick. When you are sick enough to need prescription medication, it is hard enough walking from the car to... well the next car and there is nothing worse than sitting in that uncomfortable plastic chair while you wait for the pharmacist to fill your prescription.

I have been (perhaps this is an exaggeration) deathly sick for the last fourteen days. I am also someone that believes that everything happens for a reason; the universe offers us gifts, even if they do come in the form of vomit and diarrhea. See... for the last fourteen days I have been forced to sleep, watch TV (and read if I could manage), sleep some more, let go of all things stressful, and oh yeah, sleep. Here are five things that I learned while being sick...


1.)When I grow up I want to be Claire Huxtable; the gay, white version of Claire Huxtable. (If you flip to the right channels, you can watch "The Cosby Show" almost 24 hours a day and it is impossible to get sick of this classic television show.) Mrs. Huxtable is the ultimate combination of love, support, humor, discipline, and genuine good nature and if I ever find a woman as funny and good willed as Bill Cosby I'm proposing and/or tying her to the bed posts.


2.)It is always the woman. I watched five straight seasons of "NCIS", a crime show about Navy investigations, and I noticed that 80% of the time the guilty party is the female party. I think that this proves that we still live in a chauvinistic society; even if our sexist way of thinking is unintentional, it's programmed in us. Unless the victim's wife found out that her husband was cheating on her, the woman is rarely the one suspected and is almost always trusted. Let's face it, it is more shocking for a woman to commit the crime than a man.


3.)All I want is to be happy. A few days ago a friend came over to offer some much needed company and made a comment along the lines of "at least now you won't have to worry about packing on those holiday pounds." I am going to assume that the forces at hand didn't have my dress size in mind when they forced me to stay in bed for fourteen days. There is a great quote (I don't know who wrote it, but it was someone cooler than me) that says, "Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skin in sideways, chocolate and wine in one hand, body thoroughly used up and totally worn out, all the while screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!" I think that this is a fantastic way to live my life. Perhaps it would be nice to not have to worry about an extensive January diet plan, but I have no intention of getting out of bed early (especially if there is a pretty lady in it) to go running or eating only one piece of holiday pie.


4.)I don't like food that comes in a can or a box. My first girlfriend was a chef (I always make the joke that she taught me how to cook in and eat out) and she tried to show me that things are always better if you create them for yourself; if you make your own sauce, it can be catered exactly how you like it. I always indulged her, but I never completely believed it; seriously, what poor college student isn't going to eat food out of a can. After eating canned/boxed soup for two weeks, I have a new appreciation for the art of genesis cooking and have, perhaps, resolved to be more creative in the kitchen.


5.)I enjoy the things that happen in bed. Did you know that if you deprive a rat of REM sleep, it, on average, only lives five weeks; whereas a rat who gets REM sleep lives 2-3 years? Did you know that CNN reported that sleep was the #1 health related problem in America? Did you know that a University of Michigan study in 2004 reported that children with sleep problems were twice as likely to abuse drugs and alcohol as teenagers? (Here's the article.) Sleep is Muy Importante. I have that stubborn trait that makes me believe that because I'm young, I'm also invincible; apparently, it's not true. There are only three things to do when in bed; sleep, read, and fuck. Those are three really good things, so I've been asking myself: Why am I not spending more time in bed? I wonder if the world would be a better place if we all made the active effort to spend more time under the covers. Perhaps this will be my New Year's Resolution.


Folks, the next time you get sick, take it as a gift. Life is short and the universe might be trying to tell you that it's time to take a break from all the chaos. Get into bed and milk it for all that it is worth!

P.S. Behind The Scenes Comment: I might still a little loopy...everytime I would read over the part about boxed soup, I would start laughing because I said box...you know like the slang term for pussy...EVERYTIME!!! In all honesty, I would probably laugh at that even if I wasn't drugged up.

A Little Holiday Contentment

It's the story we tell our generations to corroborate the belief that we are a country based in virtue, generosity, and courage; and if you grew up in the United States public school system you know it well. On September 6, 1620 a group of puritans fleeing religious persecution set sail on a boat called the Mayflower and 65 days later they settled in a town called Plymouth. In that brutal winter, many of the aforementioned Pilgrims lost their lives to the seasonal conditions and when it was time for the harvest, the surrounding Wampanoag Indians aided the colonizing Pilgrims in their new world duties, thus ensuring the Puritans a successful and prosperous autumn. A celebratory dinner was thrown; American Indians and Pilgrims sat together, offering us the perfect portrait of respect and harmony between two divergent cultures.

I am not going to bash Thanksgiving. I am not going to comment on the many ironies that surround this historic holiday. I admire the fact that we, as a country, strive to value gratitude for the things present in our lives; in fact, Thanksgiving is, and always has been, my favorite holiday. In days that are filled with bank statements and war stories, it is more than refreshing to spend a little time accounting for what we have to be thankful for. Even if this holiday has become more about football and retail sales and avoiding family fights, it's grounded in integrity (much thanks to Lincoln) and good will, which is what the holiday season is all about.

This is my first holiday season since coming out to my family; it is also my first holiday season since separating myself from all things religion. Ninety-five percent of my holiday memories are explicitly tied to church and lately I've been feeling a little lost without being able to take part in any of those traditions. (In full disclosure: even if I still wanted to participate in those traditions, I wasn't invited to over half of them.) I wish that I could say that I'm going to embrace the meanings behind the traditions; that I'm going to live out this holiday season with the values of Christmas, even though I'm leaving the sacraments of it behind, but I'm just not strong enough...yet. In all honesty, negativity is quickly making its way into my holiday season and I'm having a hard time enjoying myself.

So... rather than a new years resolution, I am making a holiday season resolution. This holiday season I am not going to dwell on the things that I don't have: traditions, a job, or a girlfriend. I am not going to worry about the things I don't have control over: party invitations, the economy, or what my family members think about my life. I am not going ignore that it's the holiday season, merely because I'm having a hard time mustering up enough strength to enjoy it. I have a lot to be thankful for so I'm going to extend myself contentment this holiday season...and perhaps I'll liquor up my coffee.

P.S. I read the most exceptionally moving book this weekend called, "Are There Closets in Heaven?", which is a beautifully written story about the relationship between a lesbian daughter and her Catholic father. It's unlike any gay memoir I've read and I highly recommend it...oh, and clear some time in your calender to go see "Milk", it's fantastic.

Blind Eye for the Queer Guys

I am not a crier. Not because I don't have a soul or because I don't care; I just don't cry. I have shed more tears in the last few weeks than, perhaps, I have in my entire lifetime and all because I don't understand. I don't understand how someone can think that my desires are disgusting, when my desire to love a woman is the purest desire that I possess; I don't understand how someone can think that I am incapable of being a loving mother only because I am incapable of loving a man; I don't understand how someone can think that a person as sweet and as honorable as I am could destroy a blessed union; and I don't understand why someone thinks that I am unworthy of whatever it is we are fighting over.

I strive, diligently, to live my life with empathy; to see things from different perspectives; to appreciate where other people are coming from. I can often find some way to succeed at the task, but the last few weeks have been different. No matter how hard I try to provide understanding and compassion towards the anti-gay rights movement, I am having an unfathomable time finding the means to do so. I don't understand their point of view and I don't feel compassionate to where they're coming from. If I am honest with myself I feel marginalized, fearful, annoyed, repulsive, patronized, and most of all I feel invisible.

I am not an idea or a notion of what homosexuality is; I am a homosexual. I am not a painting of two fat girls naked in a castle hallway or an eXplicit movie of two skinny girls faking it in a bed; I am an actual lesbian that has sex with other lesbians. (OK, they're not all lesbians, but you get my point.) I am a real live lesbian. If you supported the passing of proposition eight, then you supported the marginalization of my real life. It's not just a conception that, out there in the world, two girls could possibly fall in love, want to get married, and potentially start a family; it's exactly what I want my life to look like.

The people that I personally interact with that disagree with my "lifestyle choice" all deal with my homosexuality in the same way; they avoid that it is an actual part of who I am. They make an active effort to separate their generalized views of homosexuality from their intimate relationship with me. I doubt that the people who voted to limit the rights of homosexuals on November 4th were thinking about a person that they knew when they filled out that bubble or pulled that lever. I doubt that the people who donated thousands upon millions of dollars to "protect the institution" were thinking about what that money could do for a third world country or an abused woman's shelter. I think that if we were to personalize the fight for same-sex rights, make the fight more about the person who is a homosexual than the idea of homosexuality, people would have a much harder time voting the way that they did.

I refuse to believe that we live in a world where we intentionally limit the people around us. Perhaps I place too much faith in humanity, but I believe that no matter how scared someone might feel, we care about one another. I don't believe that what people are scared of... is me. I think that if we were to remove the idealistic blindfold, the obstruction that is making this fight more about an idea than a person, we'd have the footing to create change. Homosexuality isn't an idea and it's about time that we removed the blinders that say that it is.

P.S. Did you know that in the 4th century Christians practiced the union of "adelphopoiesis", which literally translates into "brother-making", and was the tradition of religiously uniting two people of the same-sex?

Cum-passion

(There are a lot of other funny cartoons about this topic here.)

Gay marriage, or the lack there of, is on the mind of every lesbian blogger this week, so I thought I would follow suit and share my thoughts. Let me start with a disclaimer. I am 23 and not currently in love; nor have I ever fallen in love with someone I wanted to share the rest of my life with. I spent the first 21.5 years of my life imbibed in the world of conservative Christianity and "traditionalistic" values and where every thought I had was filtered through a machine of scripture, status quo, and religious domination. I am not naive to the fact that I come to this topic without an intimate understanding of what it feels like to want to commit your life to someone else and that I haven't thoroughly broken all the ties to my religious thought process. I, without hesitation, confess that my thoughts on this issue are undeveloped and fragmentary, but I'm going to throw my lesbian blog into the gay marriage ring anyways. ("Gay Marriage Ring"... that would be a fantastic before and after puzzle on Wheel of Fortune.)

I am currently studying journalism and I constantly have my head in a book, which means that the majority of my life revolves around words. I love words. (That's an awkward statement, but it's true.) Words are reliable, they’re personal, they have history, and they have a lot of power. Words can be goofy, words can offend, words can uplift, words can turn people on; and the same word can evoke all of those emotions, plus many more. The one thing that I have learned about words is that words have very little to do with the definition that has been attached to them. I am always shocked when I open a thesaurus* and see that so many words, for all intensive purposes, mean the exact same thing. Why so many words? It is because words have two parts. There is the definition part of a word. This is the way a word functions in a sentence; the definitive … you know, that's how we get the word "definition" … the definitive properties of a word give it meaning.

However; far more important than the definition of a word is the connotation that any word brings along with it. The idea of a word, what a word represents, is considerably more influential than its actual meaning. When you hear a word, you see a picture. That picture is not of a page in a dictionary; it is of a scenario or a feeling or an experience. This is what makes words so powerful. Everything that you have been through, everything that you have felt, everything that you have experienced is rooted inside of you and can be brought to the surface at any moment with any word. The power of a word lies not in it's definition, but in what that word represents.



The fight over same-sex rights, at this moment, revolves around a word and how that word is defined. Opponents to same-sex marriage believe that the word should be re-defined to specify that the union is between a man and a woman. Both sides of the issue have thrown the word "marriage" into the ring as our scapegoat, as a vehicle for contention, but I don't think that we are actually battling over a definition. The proponents of same-sex marriage aren't fighting over a word, we are fighting over what that word represents. Ultimately, if you believe that the union between a man and woman is different than the union between a woman and woman, then you believe that homosexual love is different than heterosexual love. That is the connotation that we are fighting against.

Here is the thing. Congress has control over words. Politicians and religious bodies have the definitive authority to define anything and everything. I say, let them fuck the shit out of definitions; until their toes curl, their checks turn rosy, and they're out of breath. Because nobody can define what you come home to everyday. Nobody can tell you what you have. If you love somebody with more love than you thought you had in you; if you come home to somebody that you have, in your heart, committed to spend the rest of your life to; if you have somebody that you fight with and laugh with and fuck with and sit with, then you have a marriage. You have all the connotations of marriage , even if you don't have that word...yet.

Because this fight over same-sex marriage revolves so much around fear, I don't particularly think that throwing our fists in the air and stomping our feet through the crowds is the way to bring about understanding. I think that there is room here for compassion; not much, but a little bit. I remember feeling scared when I went through the process of identifying my sexual feelings. There was a lot of fear in my life at that time and I got through it because I showed myself a little bit of compassion. Fear is fear; whether it's me being scared to admit that I wanted to fall in love with a girl or if it's a religious group in Idaho being scared of the change in status quo. I think that compassion is our road to progress because compassion brings about trust and trust reduces fear.

Compassion isn't easy in these times, so let me give you some advice. I recently read an article about the correlation between compassion and oxytocin. The research suggests that the more oxytocin your body naturally produces, the more compassionate you feel towards others. In case you didn't know, oxytocin is the hormone that is released during an orgasm. The more orgasms you have, the more compassionate you can be. So fuck away ladies! because if the road to gay marriage is compassion, one of the on-ramps includes gay sex. Now, that's something I can get down with.

P.S. Alternative titles to this blog included "Blind Eye for the Queer Guys" or "Fight...for Your Right...to Maaaaaarry (to the tune of the Beastie Boys)"

*I do not and can not in good conscious advise anyone to use a thesaurus. Stephen King once said, "Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule." and I agree with him.

Lesbian Trump Card

I often use my lesbianism as an excuse to invalidate my opinion in embarrassing or unsettling situations. I don't like confrontation, nor do I like to look confused, so I blame it on my homosexuality; when in reality, being a lesbian has nothing to do with my bewilderment of the situation. If I am having a difficult time grasping where someone is coming from, yet their opinion is doing no damage to themselves or anyone else, I'll throw down my lesbian trump card and the conversation is over. If I don't agree with someone else's life choice, yet I foresee no arguable reason why it would be the wrong choice for them, I'll keep my thoughts to myself through means of my "dyke-centric thought process" alibi. (I will absolutely speak up if their opinion or life choice is marginalizing, biased, unthoughtful, or just plain stupid; however, if it is harmless, I'll leave it to be.)

When I went to see Sex and the City with a group of girlfriends, I was certain that my friends would have hated the movie as much as I did. I was wrong. They all loved it, and they loved that Carrie ended up with Big. When asked my opinion, I muttered something like "How could anybody be happy marrying someone so hairy?... but I guess that's one more reason why I'm thankful to be a lesbian." When two very manly male study partners of mine asked me who I would pick to date, I said, "I like girls, so I'm going to pick whichever one of you is more girly... Do you still want me to answer that question?" When a straight friend of mine told me that she was moving to Alaska for a job, I said something like "I would never move there cause it's cold and I have a difficult enough time as it is getting girls to take off their clothes when it's not freezing, but boys aren't like that, so I'm sure you'll be fine."

I have a friend that graduated from the prestigious school that is NYU and my said friend never fails to share this fact about his life when trying to validate an argument he's making. Whenever we discuss politics or social issues, he throws his degree on the table as if it is a trump card and his opinion is more sanctioned than my non-degreed opinion. He should be proud of his degree and I don't doubt that he worked hard for it; however, he majored in dance. You can't use your degree to weight a political argument, when your degree is in dance. If we are talking about Martha Graham or where to place your arms in a pirouette, I will absolutely give him free reign to trump the conversation; but when we are talking about Fannie and Freddie or Feminism, his degree doesn't mean shit to me.

I have come to the realization that I do this same thing, just reversed. Being a lesbian doesn't mean shit when it comes to movie reviews and moving locations; yet, I allow it to mean everything. Instead of using my lesbian trump card as a way to validate my thoughts, I use it as a way to invalidate my thoughts, which is way worse. I thought that by always having my lesbian trump card handy, it meant that I was, somehow, more comfortable with my sexuality; in reality, it just shows that I was hiding behind it. It's not that I don't like Big because he's hairy; I don't like Big because he's condescending and doesn't do anything to help Carrie be the best woman she can be. It's not that I thought my friend would have a hard time getting laid in Alaska; it's that I am a bad long-distance friend and she's not a friend I want to lose contact with.

As funny as I might find my lesbian trump card to be, I'm not willing to let humor outrank integrity in my life. I'm not willing to let something that is so important to my identity become a vehicle for avoidance. I cherish being a lesbian; I feel lucky that I get to fall in love with/sleep with girls and that I get to be a part of, what I consider to be, a fantastic community. I consider my homosexuality to be a gift and I would never treat a material gift with that kind of disregard or indifference; so why do I let myself do it with a symbolic gift? There are times when my lesbian trump card is effective; like when two boys want my opinion on who is hotter or when my opinion will do more damage than good. However, when it is used as an avoidance tactic, it drains the moral fiber out of something that I really treasure. I am not willing to let my lesbianism be anything less than it can be, so I am going be more selective when dishing out my lesbian trump card from now on.

P.S. Did you know that the costume designer for Sex and the City, Patricia Field, is a lesbian? Do you know any lesbians that wear those kind of heels?

WHAMMY...

I recently ran into an old college classmate of mine and in the middle of our stale, half-assed conversation, the inevitable question arose..."Do you have a boyfriend?" I say inevitable, because I went to, perhaps, the most conservative, traditionalistic Christian college in the country, and whenever I run into people from that school and they take note of my vacant ring-finger, they inevitably believe that something is wrong. (I was not out in college, because I had no idea I had anything to be out about...but I'll get to that.) My answer to this question is always the same. "No...I don't like boys." I use this answer because it is concise, witty, and honest and I like that it puts the person on the other end of the conversation in charge of where the discussion goes. If they think that I am going to burn in a fiery pit of hell and they don't want to talk about, I don't want to talk about it either. If they think that my homosexuality is contagious and want to get out of arms length as quickly as possible, it is probably in their best interest for them to do so. If they want to ask questions because they are curious or want to know if I ever had a crush on them, I am happy to answer their questions.

Usually, the response to my clever coming out statement resembles something like "yeah, I had a feeling" or "I'm so happy that you were able to accept what we all knew" or, if you are my mother, "Thank God, I told everybody nothing was wrong with you!" (The very funny out comedian Erin Foley has a joke in her act about this very situation. Watch it!) Though I would rather receive these responses than a chair being thrown at my head or a lecture about Leviticus; it sometimes pisses me off, because I had NO FUCKING IDEA that I was a lesbian. When I was finally able to identify that the awkward, constant, overwhelming, nauseating, confusing, self-conscious feeling I was having was homosexuality, I accepted my lesbian label with open arms and (I must say, surprisingly) with very little religious guilt; however, not a second before my gay revelation did I have any sort of inkling that I was dyke.

The other day I was looking through some old pictures left on the kitchen table and let me tell you .... WHAMMY .... How the fuck did I not know that I was a lesbian? Here, let me show you...



This is when I won the state science fair in the second grade...for making a battery out of random things I found in the garage. WHAMMY.




This is when my family went to southern Oregon for summer vacation...and the only thing I wanted to do was drive giant ATVs across the sand dunes. WHAMMY.



This one doesn't even need an explanation. DOUBLE WHAMMY. (I'm not even that handsy in public at 23.)

I went to my senior prom alone and in a suit. I have never owned a pair of pantyhose, nor was there ever a time that I put on a ruffled dress without serious tears or flailing arms. I have never hesitated to make a situation more dramatic than it needed to be. I have never failed to know how a cord connects two things together or how to fix the television remote... but somehow, I had no idea that I was a lesbian.

Well, I know now and that is good enough for me.

P.S. In my defense, I am allergic to cats...

Reading Rainbows

“The more you read the more things you will know. The more that you learn the more places you'll go.” This brilliant quote is from Dr. Seuss’ book, “I Can Read with My Eyes Shut!” and when I was eight I used it to get out of trouble when I got caught reading with a flashlight in the middle of the night.

Like the good lesbian that I am, I love to read. In the past 10 years I have never left the house without a book, nor can I ever remember a time that I have given someone a present that they could not read. (For all you cynics out there, I stand by the opinion that a book is the perfect present; it is practical, cheap, and shows that you put in some thought.) When I came out to my very conservative and fundamental Christian father, I approached the situation prepared with a handful of books, all from different perspectives, and a PFLAG pamphlet. When my way too young, selfish, and financially unstable friend and her husband got pregnant, I sent over baby books and brownies. And when a young teenager asked me for some advice on her new-found-journey through undiscovered lesbian territory I took her on a field trip to the bookstore.

I rarely find myself proficient enough in a subject to give real, tangible, step-by-step advice, so I redirect people to books by means of my extensive literary knowledge. And when ladies approach me for advice on their new or questioning (or whatever word you would like to use) lesbian inclinations I recommend these three books…

1)"Same Sex in the City" by Lauren Levin and Lauren Blitzer.
This book is a collection of anecdotes categorized by different topics/steps in the lesbian lifestyle while at the same time offering witty and very useful advice. In what often is an uncomfortable, uneasy, and stressful situation in a young girl's (or adult woman's) life, the storytelling approach adds a calming and simplistic warmth to their journey. (The L Word achieves this same feeling through identifiable characters and situations that allow for crying and/or laughter; however, drama will naturally come to said lesbian, she doesn't need to be advised to seek it out.)

2)"Is It a Date or Just Coffee?: The Gay Girl's Guide to Dating, Sex, and Romance" by Mo Brownsey.
Finding a humorous and lighthearted book about girl on girl dating is like finding a gay boy that eats cheese. Lesbians, not to be stereotypical, tend to take the world of dating (or, let's be honest, everything) very seriously and Mo Brownsey's humor and lightheartedness is refreshing. This is the book that will answer all of those classic questions like who pays on a homosexual date or what do I do with my hands when I'm going down on a girl. It is brilliant and offers really good, sound advice. (Sexpert Diana Cage's book "Girl Meet Girl" is just as brilliant, but dirtier; make sure that you know your audience.)

3)"Out of the Past: Gay and Lesbian History from 1869 to the Present" by Neil Miller.
I always recommend that every lesbian, whether you are new to the scene or an old pro, read some sort of gay American history book. It is comforting to know that you get to be a part of a great community and is equally as important to know that people fought HARD and lost a lot. I always recommend this specific book because I respect that he doesn't apologize, rationalize, or downplay the history that the gay community has. (I knew my gay history quite well when I sat down with this book and on more than a few occasions I was shocked and/or nauseated, in the good way, when I read what Neil Miller’s extensive and unique research shows.)

There is a ton of fantastic gay and lesbian literature out there...but, don't take my word for it...

P.S. Did you know that in the original Star Trek:The Next Generation script Geordi LaForge was going to be gay? I read it on IMBD.

Out of Hand

I am the only lesbian in my inner-circle of friends. This, alone, keeps me out of all sorts of lez trouble that I would most likely be tempted to participate in if I hung out with other lesbians. (IE. fucking/dating ex-girlfriend's ex-girlfriends. I don't get myself into that kind of lesbian trouble, because I don't know who any of my ex-girlfriend's ex-girlfriends are.) On the surface this seems productive and healthy; however, it does prove more difficult than one would think. While the straights in my life try to be supportive of my romantic woes, they simply don't understand the behavior of sappho-ic relationships. My friends and I spend most nights with me either explaining something, or justifying something, or hiding something; all while I look into the eyes of some confused, and often a little frightened, heterosexual.
**This might be why I started blogging**

Perhaps I should preface my story by telling you about my theory on lesbian bed death. Lesbians experience bed death because lesbian sex is hard work. There are lots of hands, lots of tongues, lots of toys, and lots of positions. On top of that (uh-hum), we are a resourceful lot; so, we never run out of ideas, props, or scenes. Once you meet a girl that you click with in the bedroom, it is glorious for weeks on end...until you wake up one morning and can't move your jaw. (If you understand what I'm talking about fantastic for you. If you don't, go out and bang a girl for ten days straight and call me in the morning.)

Here is my story.
I meet a girl that is bananas in bed. Seriously! Bananas! Jackpot, Right?! Well, the other day I woke up and I could not move my hand without some serious pain attached. I spilled coffee in the kitchen, burnt eggs because I couldn't flip them with my left hand, and I think that it is fair to say that my make-up didn't go so well that morning. I am a student, which means that I use my hands all...day...long. By the end of the day I had vowed to never fist a girl again. (I don't drink, so maybe this was my opportunity to experience hangover regret....maybe...and we all know how effective hangover regret is...) Anyways, at an end the day study session, a classmate asked, indiscreetly, how I hurt myself. I am not a good liar and I know this about myself and everyone knows I am gay, so I confessed...

"I meet this girl that is a real beast in bed. Apparently, my metacarpals are a little green when it comes to lesbian finger-banging."

"Did you know that the muscles and the nerves that control your hand actually start in the shoulder?" said the boyfriend of a not-so-close study partner of mine. "Everything in our body is connected. If you sat up straight, it would strengthen all the other muscles in your body, including those in your hand."

OK, the douche-bag comment aside, research showed that he had a point. What's my point? Don't ever stop fisting!!! and when you're finished on your back, turn your vibrator onto it. It might just stop all that post-war pain and forever cease what was once known as LESBIAN BED DEATH.

P.S. Did you know that the blogspot.com spell check doesn't recognize fisting as a legal word?

Passing Pioneer

Del Martin, the famed lesbian activist, recently passed away at the age of 87. Martin and her girlfriend of 55 years (need me to repeat that... 55 YEARS), Phyllis Lyon, founded the lesbian rights organization, the Daughters of Bilitis, and were the first lesbian couple married in California this year. If you haven't already read what the recent widow wrote about her wife, READ IT NOW...

"Ever since I met Del 55 years ago, I could never imagine a day would come when she wouldn't be by my side. I am so lucky to have known her, loved her and been her partner in all things. I also never imagined there would be a day that we would actually be able to get married. I am devastated, but I take some solace in knowing we were able to enjoy the ultimate rite of love and commitment before she passed."

How fucking sweet is that? If you are a lesbian and you didn't get a little teary reading that, I demand that you fall in love with a girl and move in next door to Sarah Palin.

P.S. I almost titled this blog "Dead Daughter"... Then I realized that, contrary to popular belief, I possess a soul.

Candidates. Campaigns. and Conventions. OH...SHIT!

Brace yourselves people...It is election season and it is about to get ugly. With only eight weeks left, the race for the presidency is about to get as dramatic as an identifying straight girl engaging in a newly-developed lezzy relationship. I am no patriot, but I do love the election season. I love that convictions and perceptions run rampant with no clear path or destination, but yet filled with passion and fervor. I love that, during this span of time, it is completely acceptable for you to have conversations about topics you know absolutely nothing about with people you care absolutely nothing about. I get excited about the potential conversion of a country I was just on the brink of losing faith in. Then, like a ton of bricks, we reach early September and I remember how quickly it all becomes a GINORMOUS PILE OF BULLSHIT.

From here on out these two modern day primates will cease to exist as two separate citizens fighting for the same cause. (That cause is the betterment of the great country you live in... in case you were confused) John McCain and Barack Obama are no longer real people, rather conceptions of real people. No news article (or funny lesbian blog) will mention one without the other. Everything they say will be dissected by millions and thrown back in their face at a precise, strategic moment. Nothing they do will go unnoticed and I would bet my collection of Harry Potter books that everything they do over the next eight weeks is because someone advises them to do it.

This year I am lobbying for a "none of the above" option. Why is this not an option? Seriously? Do we really need a president?(It's not like the one we have now does anything) Would it be so bad if we spent the next four years as an executive-free country?

In 1787, when our founding fathers assembled for the constitutional convention, more than one-third of those gathered promoted the idea of multiple, single-term executives. And according to my encyclopedia*, if George Washington had not been the great man that he was, the executive seat (as it is today) most likely would never have been created. George Washington advocated powerfully for the new government; yet, did everything in HIS power to stay out of the limelight. It is for this very reason that he was unanimously voted into the seat. His self-doubt on his ability to lead, his fear that his motives for the new government would be misconstrued as motives for personal gain, and his genuine love of peace were the reasons that he became entrusted to be our first president. Interesting side note: The first citizens of the United States trusted George Washington so much that parts of the constitution were intentionally left blank so that George could fill them in later. (Would we trust our modern day George with a task of that kind of historical caliber?)

You give me a candidate today that resembles the traits of our inaugural president, even a little, and I will give you my vote. Until then I am writing in none of the above. Or Jackie Warner.

*(2007) The New Encyclopedia Britannica 15 edition