Channel Boy George

Betsy's brother is Gay! I love Karma!

I'll be interrupting regularly scheduled programming to bring you more on this breaking story!

(If you're totally confused refer to my past posts, "Dawn has Kicked Down the Closet Door," "Boring, boring, boring," and "Testimony". That should get you up to speed.)

Fervor

Oh, Girls! I wrote too soon. Dawn's mother has crash landed in Weirdoville, population 3. Demographics are a bit skewed. All inhabitants are over 60 and all are Missouri Synod Lutherans and all, at this writing, are not speaking to the only angel any of them have ever come in contact with. Strange, yes, that 2 of them birthed her.

Dawn's mother, Maggie took the news of our relationship really well, initially. Like everything else, it was about her, but still. She did well. She agreed that telling Dawn's father, Ed was not a good idea because of his fervent religious zeal and ailing health. Great. Matter closed. Just Kidding.

Unbeknownst to Dawn, Maggie emailed Pastor Ken Klaus, a radio pastor that Ed listens to. They have met him a few times briefly, but there is no personal relationship to speak of. She told him all about Dawn and how fabulous she is and that she has just recently come out to her and should we tell Ed and how if so and what are your teachings if any on the matter that Ed may have heard on the program and are there any passages she should be aware of in speaking to him and yadda yadda. Well, the good Pastor had a lot to say on the subject, none of it positive. He accused Dawn of "ripping at the fabric of the family" and "playing with fire both spiritually and literally" and of "laying a heavy burden on her mother's heart." Wow.

So what did Maggie do with this? She showed Ed. Really. That is how she told him about Dawn and me. She showed him her email to Pastor Brimstone and his back to her. As if all of that isn't bad enough, she didn't call to let Dawn know that she had told him. So yesterday morning, Dawn called her folks to find out a good down home remedy for a bee sting. Her father answered and quickly handed the phone to her mother. Still Maggie didn't come clean. Not until Dawn mentioned that I had sent an email to Maggie that needed to be intercepted because I didn't know that Maggie and Ed share an email account (who does that?!), did she confess that she had told him and so it was OK if he saw my email. Dawn did lots of yelling and screaming that it "wasn't yours to tell."

Think that's the end? Nope. Later in the afternoon, Maggie sent out a mass email to Dawn, her 3 siblings and her sister's boyfriend who none of them have ever even met, saying that all of them have a long way to go before they will understand her realtionship with Ed and the depth of their love and commitment to each other and that she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her decision to tell him. Apparently, everyone needed to be involved in the News of the Weird in Weirdoville.

Words of wisdom, please! Barely Breathing - Windy

Dawn has Kicked Down the Closet Door

Waring Ninja Style. Beautiful angular body slicing through the air in slow-motion. For real. She finally told her Mom and her crazy right-wing nut job "friend" about us this week. They probably both already knew, but now she has said it out loud. And I am reminded of this song. And I am sharing it with you.

Her mom did great. The funniest thing she said was, "I hear the words you're saying, but I don't understand any of it." She laughed at herself.

The "friend" saga continues. She is uber-religious and super conservative and scary as hell. So far all she's done is quote scripture and say that she isn't like the other "Bible-throwing" Christians and that she hopes we are able to find the Jesus that eats with sinners. -Sigh-
Oh! And her feelings are hurt because she wasn't the first to know. -Another Sigh-

This should get really good once Dawn starts quoting scripture back to her. I'll keep you abreast (hehehehe) of the situation.

Everyone has seen this, I'm sure, but it bears repeating, doesn't it? Love it!

The Great Debate

Dawn and I have an ongoing debate about how, when and to whom we tell about the nature of our relationship. I want to tell everyone. Right Now. Here are my arguments -

1. If Dawn were a boy, I wouldn’t hesitate to say “husband.” Why should I not refer to her as “wife” or “partner”?

2. I don’t want to get in any deeper than necessary with bigots. I like to get the lesbian revelation out of the way in a new relationship, be it with a new friend or a new business associate or a doctor or anyone else. If the new person is a bigot, I want to know right away.

3. The children. I want to protect the children as much as possible.

Time out: This is where I don't trust you to remember to click on my paying gig, so I'm going to help you. That was the tease. This is the remainder of the article.

Memorial Day Weekend in Pensacola Beach

March is here, so it's time to start making plans for Memorial Day. Big Pride festival. Big. Big like the-population-of-our-town-doubles big. Anybody coming?

How could you not? We have the most beautiful beaches in the world, and for 4 or 5 days they'll be covered with lesbians. When I went for the first time, a friend of a friend said, "Yeah come on. Wear a top and boardies." I had no idea what she was talking about. "You know, a bikini top and board shorts, like surfing shorts." I told her I didn't have any boardies. Blair said, "You're going to want to get some. I mean, it's a beach full of lesbians. Know what I mean?" As it turned out, "a top and boardies" did seem to be the official uniform.

Nightlife, however, requires a funny or crass t-shirt. Here's a few of my favorites.

"To do list. 1 - Your Mother. 2 - Your Sister."

"Excuse me boys, we've come for your wives."

"The feminist agenda is not about equal rights for women. It is about a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." -Pat Robertson

"I love Spicy Tuna."

"If you disagree with Gay Marriage, don't have one."

"Yes, we are and No, you can't watch."

I think I've settled on mine for the year. It says, "Nerdy Girls Make Me Hot." If Dawn would let me post her picture, it would make sense.

Here is my first and most important suggestion. Book now! The beachside hotels fill up quickly. The Hilton is really nice and the Comfort Inn is really convenient. You can also try VRBO.com. That stands for Vacation Rentals by Owner. We've found some really great deals there. If you stay in Pensacola proper instead of at the beach, you have to get to the beach pretty early in the day because they'll close the bridge if it gets too crowded over there.

More advice to follow as the schedule of events is released.

Funny Morning

About every 2 weeks, we have a morning where everything comes together (or falls apart) to reveal the hilarious nature of our kids. Today is one of those blessed days.
Storm, age 8, sleepily walked down the hallway in mismatched jams. “Why did you change pajama bottoms?” I asked. He stared at me.
“Did you pee in your bed?” Blank stare. “Storm. Hi. I’m talking to you. Did you pee in your bed?” He shook his head a couple of times and then pulled the diagonal nod and gradually worked it into a full nod. “Does that mean yes, Baby?”
Blank stare then, “No.”
“So you didn’t pee in your bed?”
“Yes.” Now we’re both staring at each other.
“Storm, angel, did you pee in your bed?”
“Yes.” OK. He wrapped a blanket around his body and trudged to the table.

William, from the bathroom, yells, “Mom!” I went. He was sitting on the potty, so low that his butt must have been touching the water. His cheek was squished in his little hand attached to the elbow that was propped on the toilet seat. He calmly asked, “What that smell?”
“Poop.” I said.
“No, I not fink so.”
“Are you pooping?”
“Yeah.” he said with a little sigh.
“Well, then I think it’s your poop.”
“No, I fink it be Way.” Ray - the baby brother who is no where in sight or smell range.

Faith and Ray were at the computer, which is to say that Faith was sitting in the desk chair and Ray was sitting in the little kid chair next to the desk chair. Faith said, “I don’t want to play Nick Jr. today. I want the one with the big circle on it.”
“PBSkids.org?” I asked.
“Yes, that one.” She looked at the keyboard, frowned a little and asked, “How do you spell PBS?”
Ray, meanwhile, still had on his pajamas and still had his puppy lovey and his paci which he holds in the corner of his mouth like a cigar. He also though, was wearing sunglasses, red sunglasses, which were on his face a little bit askew because they were only over one ear. The other ear was smooshed under the arm. He was staring expressionless at the screen.

Storm, finally dressed with lunchbox and homework folder in hand, was waiting at the door for Dawn to drive him to school. He started to squirm. He stuck out his butt, pinned his knees together and shimmied. When that obviously had not fixed his problem, he stuck the folder under his arm and pinched repeatedly at his nether region. Mimi, my aunt who lives with us, said, “Storm, you all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, “it’s just my pants.” The shimmy continued with bursts of twists that would make Chubby Checker proud.
“What’s wrong with your pants?”
“Well, it might be my underwear.”
“Maybe you should put your things down so you can attend to it. You don’t want to be walking around like that all day.” He put down the lunchbox and folder, undid his pants and began to dig. And dig and twist up his face and look very pensive at times. Mimi was turning purple from the effort to stifle a giggle. When his arm finally came free and he re-snapped and re-zipped, Mimi asked, “So what was the problem?”
“It was twisted or something.” We resisted the urge to inquire as to what exactly was twisted.

Faith, meanwhile had decided that she wasn’t going to school and so did not need to get dressed. She and Ray were standing on her bed going through her jewelry/random-crap-that-she-won’t-part-with box. Ray had on a purple headband.

William, still from the bathroom, yells, “Mom! I fink I got dirrea!” This is a pretty good pronunciation for him. He says “diarrhea” differently every time. I went in there to find him still hunched precariously over/in the bowl. “I gonna need your help, Mom.”
“OK, baby. Mommy is always going to help you. What do you want me to do for you?”
“I want you get one of Way’s frozen wipes for my bootsie.” Translation - Get one of the baby wipes which is startlingly cold and wipe my butt. I did.

Mimi had by then miraculously coaxed Faith into some school clothes. She was standing in the kitchen, pink lunchbox in hand. Her wild mane was protesting the cherry print headband that she had worked over it. Her bottom lip was poked out far enough to warrant, “You could walk to Memphis on that lip!” She was totally silent on the way to school. Very unusual. When we got there she stomped into the classroom. I yelled after her, “I love you, Faith!” I was hoping to embarrass her into a reaction. She stopped walking and slowly turned around. She lowered her chin, furrowed her little brow and doing her best not to smile said through clenched teeth, “I love you, too.”

We LOVE Florida Senator Eleanor Sobel and her Gigantic Balls

Behold Florida State Senator Eleanor Sobel! (I hope I can figure out how to paste her portrait right here!) Isn’t she beautiful?! (She reminds me a little of Jill from Desperate Housewives of New York. Maybe it’s that she actually is a Jewish New Yorker. Regardless, I’m so glad to call her a Floridian today! Are any Floridians actually from Florida anyway? I’m a Mississippian by birth. Don’t choke! It’s OK. I escaped.)

She has introduced Florida Senate Bill 1642, a Domestic Partnership Bill to ensure that we Gay, Lesbian, Bi and so forths can visit each other in the hospital and legally do such basic things as blink in each other’s presence. I am eternally gratefully to her for having the courage and conviction (balls) to suggest to the old Baptist white guys who keep her company in the Florida Legislature that the queers are, in fact real people who vote and pay taxes and raise kids who will grow up to vote and pay taxes, and who might actually account for 15% of the state’s population (Gasp! Cough! Choke!) and so should probably be guaranteed the full set of Floridian human rights instead of the 3/5 set currently offered. (Yikes! You read right! I did just go there. I figure I can get away with it since I have bi-racial children. My friend Carol who is married to an Indian man refers to it as getting the “bigot pass.”)

Senator Sobel, forgive my digressions. This should be about you. We love you. We thank you. We pray to the Kennedys for you. (Read my past blogs. It’s a big deal - I promise.) We think of you when we register our children in schools that don’t recognize them as siblings. We think of you when one of us goes to a doctor to get meds for the other who isn’t covered under the health policy provided by the employer of the first. (I didn’t mention, did I ?, that the employer is the good old U.S. of A.) We think of you, Senator Sobel. We think of you; and we thank everything benevolent for you.

Senator Sobel, please be in touch if we can do anything for you.