Dirty Kind of Make-Believe

The New Year makes me think about fairytales (…and oddly enough, I don’t think it’s just me…every time that I turned the computer on this week, I ran into another blog entry/op-ed piece about Disney Princesses…anyways…) I think that the New Year makes me think about fairytales because the New Year reminds me of what it feels like to dream; to dream like you did when you were little, when there was no understanding of limitation. I was a childhood dreamer, but I was never very interested in or entertained by fairytales. I never dressed up as Cinderella for Halloween. I never made my little brother rescue me from the top of the bookshelf. Frankly, I never really understood why I was supposed to look up to an illiterate, ditzy mermaid.

Before I start ranting and raving about Disney princesses, allow me to back up and offer some context. As a kid, I grew up in an extreme, fundamentalist Christian community in Texas; being openly cynical about fairytales wasn’t really an option for me. I was implicitly taught that the only dreams worth dreaming were the pre-approved dreams offered to me and that those dreams would be mine just as long as I colored in the lines, didn’t cause any trouble, listened in Sunday School, and didn’t question…anything. I had no interest in being a Disney Princess, but I also had no interest in being rebellious, so I played nice and made a really funny make-believe step-sister. At eighteen, I went to college to study to be a minister and I chose to go to the most (“most” might be an exaggeration, but there’s no way to tell) conservative Christian college in the country; where I was the only (this is not an exaggeration, I was the ONLY) female in the Bible department and the only female at this college for the pure reason of getting an education. {My thought process in this situation: If I was really going to make a difference in the church, I wanted to understand where the people who thought differently than I did were coming from (and what better way to understand them than to learn from them) and if I could hold my own in this school, then I could hold my own in any religious setting…suffice it to say that I didn’t hold my own, but this is all for another time} Every female friend I made at that college was unabashedly there for her “M.R.S. Degree” and in this educational environment, it was admirable if a woman’s greatest desire was to become co-dependent and the accomplishment most commended by the college was a wedding certificate. All this to say: I spent a lot of time being force-fed fairytales that I didn’t, personally, want anything to do with.

Far before I recognized that romancing women was an option for me, I had no interest in living out the stories I read when I was younger. Honestly, one of the most comforting things about coming out was the realization that there was no longer any pressure for me to find a Prince Charming. To be perfectly blunt, the Disney Princess stories make me feel dirty and not the good kind of dirty. (Not to mention unsanitary…I am so not a feet person. Do you think that Cinderella made the Prince wash his hands before he kissed her?) The bottom line is that I’m not afraid of a little loneliness and I’m definitely not going to marry Prince Charming just because someone wrote a story about him a long time ago.

So, where does this all lead me? Ironically, it leads me back to the beginning and back to dreaming. As a kid I dreamed about things like being a missionary in Africa or writing the sweetest (sweet as in kind, not cool) book ever written, and it’s about time I remembered what those dreams felt like. I had forgotten how important it was to dream and the New Year has brought about a new admiration for it and has offered me the self-assurance to scream, “I want to write my own damn fairytale!” I know what I want from life and just because it doesn’t look like the Disney princess stories, doesn’t mean it isn’t just as magical. At the end of the day, I am not looking for romantic salvation; I just want to find a girl that likes to read and who can keep up with my hyper-active persona. I am not interested in living in/ruling a kingdom; the city is good enough for me. I am not worried about spending the rest of my life doing dishes or staying home from the Ball; I like hard work and I’d rather meet a girl at the bookstore. My New Years Resolution is to do more dreaming (or self-edit my dreams less) and if all goes well they will involve the good kind of dirty.

P.S. Sara Bareilles wrote a song on this topic called "fairytale." Listen to it.

P.P.S. Anne Neczypor wrote about this topic (this week) as well. Read it.

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.