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Wonder DykeEvents in the life of a harried lesbian mom June 25 Yeti - the Truth RevealedI speak to you today of a dark secret that few will talk about. There lives a legend - some would say myth - that has terrorized humanity since centuries past. Yes - I write today of the Yeti. Now, I am not referring to the Abominable Snowman from Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Nay, not the cute and cuddly fluffball that terrorized Rudolph and Hermey, the wannabe dentist elf - yet ultimately put the star on top of the Christmas tree. .  Nor am I alluding to the fuzzy star of Harry and the Hendersons - that gentle giant mowed down by the family station wagon, only to become a valued member of the household.  What I am talking about is a creature of much greater cunning and evil, the HR Yeti. It may not be a familiar beast to you, but let me assure you - it is no myth. Now, anyone who knows anything, is aware that the Yeti is an alleged ape-like animal said to inhabit the Himalaya region of Nepal and Tibet. The name Yeti is derived from the Tibetan yeh-teh, a compound of the words yeh meaning "rocky" and ti, meaning "bear." "But Wonderdyke," you say, " how is it that you are so incredibly knowledgeable about such an exotic creature?" The natural answer is that my brain is 7 times bigger than that of the average human brain (or 14 times that of a Republican). However, in this one solitary case, this is not so. No, my unending wisdom comes rather from the fact that the HR Yeti lives not in the mountains of the hinterland but in an office at my hospital. The HR Yeti is a particularly evil and beastly sort. Prone to consuming large amounts of food with no regard for its own health, this fiend is especially destructive and can often be condescending and nasty to humans. With an unnatural ability to maintain a facade for those in leadership positions, the HR Yeti has no qualms about revealing his horrifying true self to co-workers and subordinates. With knife-like cunning, the HR Yeti is able to negotiate his way through corporate politics, feeding off of the corpses of those he views as inferior and throwing them under the proverbial bus,. Known to be decidedly compulsive about bringing down those around him, the HR Yeti requires the obsessive compilation of reports and statistics attempting to prove his own worth and to highlight the perceived flaws of those he considers underlings. Without a doubt, this particular monster must be considered the most dangerous of all creatures and all attempts to render this species extinct are encouraged. Techniques proven to be effective in the eradication of this spectacular pest involve the use of pitchfork-wielding villagers using donuts as bait. Steer clear of this animal whenever possible and, when you must coexist, always have an escape plan in your head and a candy bar in your pocket. June 13 My Friend, the Faux Republican I have a friend who thinks she's a Republican. She really believes this - so much so that she has a photo of W and Laura in her office. I almost dropped dead the other day when I walked in and saw her newest picture of McCain and Palin. She takes much pleasure from this. In fact, I believe that my friend, whom we'll call Smith to protect her identity, is not what she claims to be. No, she's just pretending to be a Republican - though, for the life of me, I can't explain why. Let's examine the evidence: 1.) She is cool - ok, I would never let her know that I think this about her - because that would somehow alter our power ratio - and that would be bad. However, she's cool and funny and clever. Does that sound even remotely like a Republican to you? Of course not - look at Bush, Cheney, or Romney, even. Can you find one ounce of coolness in their soft, pudgy, white bodies? Of course not - and why? Because they're Republicans. Point to me. 2.) She has pictures of infamous Republicans in her office, frequently makes fun of Obama, and would like to be one of Romney's wives. Ok, on the surface, I admit - that does make her look like Chrissy Conservative. However, it's all in the presentation - she just works too darn hard at it. Wearing that polyester pantsuit fashioned to look like the American Flag just puts it a little over the top. Methinks she doth protest too much. Me also thinks , however, that if we're going to see Smith as others of her ilk would view her - she'd blend in. Point to Smith. 3.) She has friends who are liberal and some of us are gay AND liberal. This, my dear, is quite damning evidence. Republicans do not form relationships with liberals - not real ones anyway. They may pretend to tolerate us in order to achieve some secret goal - but they don't really like us. Furthermore, Smith knowingly hangs out with the gays. Even if she was a red-blooded conservative, they'd make her return her NRA card for that one. Point to me. So, with me having 100% more evidence that Smith is masquerading as a Reaganite, one might wonder why would she do this? What possible gains could come from pretending to belong to the party that ruined our country? 1.) Shock value - yes, Smith enjoys our incredulity when she professes her love for Karl Rove. She revels in our disbelief when she tells us that she's counting the days until January 20th 2013. Pure evil, I tell you. 2.) She likes to support the underdog. Well, as a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat, this is probably exactly what she's doing. Being of sound mind and body (which of course, totally rules out the conservative thing), Smith realized early in life that Democrats were the superior people and knew she was a true blue-stater. However, as a bleeding-heart liberal, she felt it was her duty to pretend to be Republican because, well, someone has to do it. 3.) Perhaps she can't come out as a Democrat. It is possible that she grew up in a shack somewhere in the deep south and that there was too much pressure not to be a Democrat that she internalized her liberalism. She may yet still be closeted and has not even come out to herself yet, let alone her friends and family. This would explain the constant preaching of conservatism and denial as these are the most common symptoms of this sad, sad, oh-so-sad affliction. So, as her friend, what am I to do? Should I out her and get photos of her doing something non-Republican like say..recycling? Do I verify that she drives a fuel-efficient non-American made car and scream it out to the world? Or, do I stage an intervention - a gathering of her liberal familiars and sit her down and force her to face her inner reality? I fear this could have disastrous results. I could find her one day, sitting in a field, eating hummus on bread she baked herself, pondering which third-world charity to support and calling herself Moonbeam Clover Earth. Alas, for now I'll just have to let her continue the charade and pretend that I believe her - but secretly, I will know that her true name is Moonbeam Smith. March 29 Boys on Trips Recently, both boys went away on school trips. CAPD Boy went to Nature's Classroom and BP Boy to State Convention for the Future Farmers of America (I kid you not). While I think it was beneficial as well as educational for both of them, the most stressful part for me was not having them away from home, but getting them ready to leave in the first place. Though only 5 years separate the two boys, they are worlds apart in terms of how they approach things such as packing. Allow me to demonstrate: Me: BP Boy - what did the teacher say you need to bring to States? BP Boy: I think we need to bring clothes - and money for food - definitely money. Me: Are you supposed to wear anything in particular? BP Boy: Oh yeah! We have to wear official dress - that's what Mr. Baker said. Official dress. Me: What does official dress mean? BP Boy: I don't remember. I think it's black shirt and white pants. Me: That seems a little odd. You sure it's not black pants and white shirt? BP Boy: No, white pants and black shirt and a ribbon. Me: A ribbon? BP Boy : Yeah, you know, like guys wear. Me: Do you mean a tie? BP Boy: Right! A tie and white pants and a black shirt and black shoes. Oh - and underwear. Me: Good to know about the underwear - thanks. Unless there's a disco, I think it's probably black pants and a white shirt and tie and black shoes. BP Boy: Official dress is what he said - so I think I have to wear a tux. Me: There's no way you have to wear a tux unless you're going to be waiting tables or attending a wedding. BP Boy: Ok, then black pants and a white shirt and a tie - and underwear. Me: We're good on the underwear thing. Ok, we need to go buy you some black pants. BP Boy: I have to wear black pants?! and then there's CAPD Boy: Me: CAPD Boy - you're not going away for another two months. We don't need to pack your suitcase now. CAPD Boy: They sent the list home - we have to be ready. Me: Ok, what's on the list? CAPD Boy: Clothes, shoes, sunblock, bug spray, and underwear. Me: What is with you guys and underwear? CAPD Boy: It's on the list. Me: I really don't think you're going to need sunblock and bug spray in March. CAPD Boy: It's on the list. Me: I know, honey, but that's because the program goes year round. CAPD Boy: It's on the list. Me: Ok, what else? CAPD Boy: Sleeping bag, boots, snowpants, bathing suit, and underwear. Me: Check on the underwear. Do they have an indoor pool? CAPD Boy: No. Me: Then you won't need a bathing suit. CAPD Boy: It's on the list. Me: So are bras - should we pack some of those? CAPD Boy - If they're on the list... and don't forget the underwear. 2 months and 8 days later... Me: How was your trip? CAPD Boy: Well, you were right, I didn't really need the bug spray or sunblock. Me: I didn't think so - but at least you had them. CAPD Boy: Oh - and thanks for the underwear, but I didn't need that either. Me: Honey, everyone always needs underwear. What happened? CAPD Boy: Well, I just decided not to wear them. Me: But they were on the list... February 11 Coneheads First, let me apologize for the long absence. Just haven't had it in me to write for a little bit - but now I'm back with two months of weird, yet funny stuff to blog about. Recent additions I don't think I've written about the most recent additions to our little family. During late fall, E and I decided that we had room for another child in our lives - because, really, what's one more? Actually, that's not quite true - we've never ever been tempted to add human children to our clan because we seem to attract strays all the time anyway. However, we did decide that it was time to bring some animal love back into our home. Despite being ready to get a dog, we weren't ready for a big one as we were still grieving Lego and Tinker. E's allergic to dogs so we knew we had to focus on finding a hypoallergenic breed that we liked. Having spent some time with our friend's cockapoo, Charlotte, we knew about that breed's great disposition - and long story short, that's how we ended up with Cooper.  Now, a puppy and 43 children really isn't enough chaos for us - so we also got ourselves a kitten, named Minnie. She and Cooper are the best of friends and spend 90% of their time wrestling their way through every room. The reason for all this history is because it is vital as a preface for the rest of the story. As responsible pet owners, both Minnie and Cooper got spayed in early January. It was not a lot of fun to run a young animal recovery room - but it was rather interesting to watch the two try to play together with their Elizabethan collars on. For some reason, the fact that the puppy and kitten needed to be altered seemed to engender some concern for CAPD Boy in terms of his own prospective gelding. This angst wasn't immediately evident but he had many, many questions about the surgery details and recovery prognosis. The degree of his distress manifested itself in the following conversation: Me: Hi buddy - you wanted to talk to me? CAPD Boy: Yes, I have a really important question for you. Me: OK, well you know you can ask me anything - shoot. CAPD Boy: I want to know - will I have to wear a cone? Me: I don't think I understand your question - a cone? CAPD Boy: Yes, when they take the boys - will I have to wear a cone? Me: Who are the boys? CAPD Boy: You know the boys. The boys who live downstairs. Me: Where did you hear that saying? CAPD Boy: From BP Boy - he said it was better than using the word nuts. Me: Ok, so you want to know if I'm going to make you wear a cone when I have you neutered? CAPD Boy: Yes. Me: Well, you have hands buddy so a cone wouldn't do much good. The cone keeps the dog and cat from being able to open their stitches with their mouths. CAPD Boy: Oh and you're not worried about that with me. Me: Um, not so much - no. CAPD Boy: So, when I have my surgery, I won't have to wear a cone? (Now, this would be the point at which I should have let him off the hook and not allow him to go on thinking that his castration is imminent - if only I wasn't so evil) Me: Nope, probably not. November 26 Giving ThanksTimes being what they are these days, it's easy to forget the things in life for which to be grateful. Despite the economy having tanked, the pending change in administration has given some of us hope for the first time in eight years. So, heading into Thanksgiving, it seems appropriate to ruminate on the things in my life for which I give thanks. The Kids Though this may seem like an obvious choice for a mom, it is not - mostly because I don't have normal kids. I have children who are capable of producing nuclear bomb-like amounts of intestinal gas, which, apparently, they can disperse at will. I have progeny who, on a day when we're having a monsoon, call me at work to settle an argument about whether or not I'd let CAPD Boy go to the park by himself, if it was nice out. My youngsters think it's fun to get into a hamper and go down the stairs as if they were in a barrel going over Niagara Falls. However, I have an 11 year old son who still loves to cuddle and tells me at least once a week that I'm the best mom ever. My 13 year old daughter makes certain that I know she loves me each and every night before bed and every morning as she leaves to go to school. BP Boy, almost 16, is the sweetest, considerate, most gentle kid there ever was. Lastly, NLD Girl has bestowed a great kindness on humanity by not even thinking about getting her license - for which you all should be thankful. E Despite her inability to remember who I am or that we still have four kids, I'm very thankful to have E in my life. She may not be able to hold a conversation if you're wearing a shiny necklace but that's easy to overlook. No one in my life has ever made me feel as loved and appreciated as E does. Nor has anyone ever been able to make me laugh the way she does. Of course, she may not enjoy the fact that my amusement is frequently at her expense. However, anyone who's mental acuity shows a slight improvement post-ice hockey concussion has to expect some ridicule. X I would guess there are few people who would consider their ex someone for whom to be thankful. I don't feel gratitude towards her because she bore the children who bring me such fulfillment nor because she has any positive contribution to make to society. Rather, I'm appreciative of her because her ineptitude makes it so damn easy for me to attain supermom status with the kids. Just by doing the simple things like feeding and clothing the young'uns, they think I'm manna from heaven. Going to their soccer games, taking them to movies, and having fun with them gives me rock star standing the likes of which Bruce Springsteen himself has never seen. Mom and Minimom Every writer needs a muse and for me, it's the dastardly duo. Without them, I'd have far less material with which to entertain my readers, let alone my therapist. Speaking seriously for a moment, having my mother as a presence has enabled me to very clearly figure out what kind of parent I don't want to be. When confronted with an unfamiliar parenting situation, all I have to do is think of what my mother would do - and then take an opposite approach. My sister has also made me thankful that I've been able to get my life together and have a good job and family. She's crazy but she comes by it honestly - living with my mother 24/7 would drive anyone nuts - especially if one started out halfway there. My Brother Though I don't mention him often, my brother is someone who's presence is very important. He is the only other person who came out of our childhood with some semblance of sanity. Though we don't spend a lot of time together, we've never lost the ability to communicate in this weird shorthand way of speaking. I don't know if it's come from shared experiences or what but we can convey in two brief sentences what it takes others paragraphs to exchange. Friends As with many gay people, our friends often become our chosen family. E and I have not had that consistently for quite some time - until recently. A chance reunion at the mall one night has turned into one of the easiest, strongest and most enjoyable friendships I've ever had. Through this relationship, we've been afforded the opportunity to meet many other like-minded people and it has made life that much more enjoyable. In addition, we've now got really cool nicknames, too! Being a Nurse Though I function primarily as an administrator currently, once a nurse always a nurse. Most people go into nursing to help people but it's easy to get lost in the bureaucracy that is nursing today. What has been most fulfilling for me has been the opportunity to help other people outside of work. Many nurses do not like serving as the neighborhood health care provider but it's something I enjoy. It's great to know that when your friends are ill, facing breast cancer, or having survived an accident, you have something genuinely useful that you can do for them. However, this can backfire when it comes to family - especially when said family feels it necessary to describe every elimination of waste in excruciating detail, with powerpoint presentations and everything - but that's a story for another time. and lastly, The Election After eight unbelievably long years, we're finally going to come out from under the oppressive governing of George W. to something different. It almost doesn't matter how different the next four years will be - just that they are. None of us know what's going to happen, other than it can't possibly be worse than what we have now. Hope should never be underestimated. Happy Thanksgiving from the Wonderdyke family. November 04 Hospital HorrorThe only thing worse than having your child be a patient in the hospital, is having to spend that much time in a hospital room with your ex. Any time with my ex, X, is not well spent, more likely survived. This most recent experience was no exception. Monday morning, I received a call from the nurse at BP Boy's school telling me that he'd almost passed out in class. Given that X thinks she's Dr. Kildare, but is actually a nurse in the hospital next to BP Boy's school, I called her and had her go check him out. She immediately wanted to crack his chest but, given that he was still awake, alert, and with a pulse, albeit fast, I suggested he come to the ER at the hospital where I work to be checked out. Once BP Boy arrived, it was in fact determined that his heart was racing along - in excess of 130 beats per minute when standing. As most doctors would do, the ED physician immediately had labs drawn and began to give him IV fluids. My ex, Marcus Anything-But-Well -by, decided that our son would get better care if she upped her game to an unprecedented level of obnoxiousness. She critiqued everything from his medical treatment to the outfit being worn by the doctor. Given the fact that my mother and sister are pretty much known hospital-wide for this type of behavior, the staff who had not met them automatically assumed that X was my mentally-ill sister. It was extra fun to have to tell them that, no, she was actually someone I willingly, if misguidedly, spent 10 years of my life. Despite the ER's best efforts, BP Boy's pulse stayed elevated, symptoms unabated, and he had to be transferred to the local hospital with a children's unit. This particular facility is a teaching hospital and X apparently felt that she had a lot to teach the poor resident staff. From the minute we arrived on the floor, she oh-so-generously imbued the atmosphere with her particular brand of faux intelligence adding a splash of negativity and a soupcon of superiority. This bourgignon of attitude was not well received by the medical staff, resulting in two different reactions. The interns and first-year residents seemed a bit cowed (pun absolutely intended) while the elder statesmen thought her a buffoon. I, of course, agreed with the latter. Now, as if this wasn't bad enough, X seemed to feel that BP Boy's hospital room would be the perfect place to lower her nonexistent inhibitions. As with all mental midgets, X is unnaturally preoccupied and amused with her own bodily functions, particularly those emanating from down under. As an average 15 year old boy, BP Boy thought this not only very entertaining, but also apparently parent-approved. There were times when it was so bad in that room that I could hardly see my way to the bathroom to be sick. I am certain that this activity really heightened our status among the nursing staff. There's nothing nurses like more than having patients and family members create noxious odors for their own amusement. This might help explain the canary they kept putting into the room (and replacing as it expired) and the staff leaving BP Boy's food tray just inside the door. As BP Boy's hospitalization progressed, his symptoms gradually improved, much to the dismay of Munchausen Mary, my ex. She persisted in trying to make what is most likely a mildly irritating and inconvenient medical condition into a reason to give the kid a complete organ makeover. Dr: So, BP Boy - how are you feeling? BP Boy: Pretty good. No lightheadedness or dizziness. X: Tell the truth, goddamnit! You said you were tired and thirsty! BP Boy: Yeah, but that was because I was out of water and your snoring kept me up all night. X: That could be a symptom of pseudotrigeminalpusexpialodociousitis! Your eyes also don't look right. I think your left one has an extra lash. Shouldn't we move him to ICU? Dr: (to me) Is she always like this? Me: You've no idea - this is her baseline. X: Dr! Look, he gets dizzy when I do this! Dr: Well, I think swinging him around your head by his ankles would make anyone dizzy. X: Come on, Doc - tell me the truth. Will my baby ever walk again?! Dr: Uh - my pager is going off - got to run! Nurse: (walking into the room) Oh my - did an animal die in here? In the end, the pediatric cardiologist evaluated BP Boy and decided that he most likely has POTS - postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome. In lay language, this means that when you stand up, your heart beats faster and doesn't slow back to normal as it should. It can happen as a result of a rapid growth spurt (5'8" - 6 ft in 3 months) and usually resolves itself. X, of course, was then and remains now completely unsatisfied with that diagnosis and has started a research foundation as well as an initiative to have BP Boy put on the organ recipient list. In the same vein, I've decided to play along and am actively looking for a donor for X's surprise birthday personality transplant - the gift that keeps on giving! October 15 A Dog's Life Dogs are amazing creatures in that they can get you to love them and consider them a part of the family without being able to communicate verbally. There is nothing better than having your pet curl up on the couch next to you or greet you at the end of a really bad day with a sock in his mouth and his tail wagging like crazy. At the risk of sounding hokey, having a dog in your family can cause your house to become your home. It is interesting how some dogs seem to think that they're human. Our dog, Lego, a Portuguese Water dog was exactly that type of animal. He thought of himself as the man of the house and kept a watchful eye on all of its members. When our other dog, Tinker, would try to take off and leave the yard, Lego would shepherd him back in. Lego seemed to think himself so human that there were many times when we'd find him sitting in a chair pulled up to the dining room table. This coincidentally seemed to happen right around dinner time. Lego would be statue-like at the table, as though, if he didn't look at any of us, we'd either not notice him or think that he was one of the kids and give him a plate of whatever we were having that night. Our dog Tinker, a goldendoodle, was exactly the opposite. He was definitely a dog's dog. He identified himself as a member of Lego's pack and thrived under Lego's care and tutelage. Tinker came into our home when Lego was three and, despite displaying the occasional annoying puppy tendency, they became best friends within a week. They played together daily and slept back-to-back at night. Neither one ever wanted to go anywhere without the other one. Any trip to the dog park included Lego acting as the self-proclaimed body guard to Tinker, keeping the occasionally somewhat aggressive dog from bothering him. They also got involved in their share of shenanigans. Both of them took it to be their sacred duty to defend our house from all FedEx, UPS, and garbage trucks, as well as motorcycles. To accomplish this, they would bolt from couch to couch, barking like fools in an attempt to shield our home. Whenever the offending vehicle drove off, you could just about see their swaggers of machismo and knew they were saying stuff to each other like "You da man! No, you da man!" When Lego died last April, it left a hole in our lives but our sorrow didn't come near to the void poor Tinker felt. He refused to eat for weeks and we had to hand feed him. Who can blame the poor guy? Anyone who loses the mate they ate, played, and slept with would have reacted in a similar way. It took a while, but Tinker eventually regained his innate happiness and all of us grew even closer to him. He had many funny little habits and idiosyncrasies. Many were the times that I would walk down the stairs to find him sitting happily in the middle of the dining room table - always appearing a bit shocked when I unjustly insisted that he return to the floor. Though he obviously couldn't speak, he did have a language all his own. He used his voice to communicate almost as if he thought he could talk and always got his needs across. I'm honestly not sure that you could find a sweeter dog. Everyone fell in love with him the minute they met him. I write all of this because we had to put our poor Tinker to sleep this morning due to acute renal and liver failure. Though he only got to live four short years, there are few dogs who lived them to their fullest more than Tinker. We will all miss him greatly because there's no goofy furry presence welcoming us home at the end of the day. No longer will CAPD Boy answer "what?!" when we yell upstairs for Tinker. As I thought about both of our dogs today, the only comforting thing I could come up with is that I imagine them to be somewhere playing together, eating socks and humping each other with abandon. Losing two dogs within six months is not a pleasant experience but it has made me realize that I need to take some of their lessons to heart. Not the sock-eating so much, but really enjoying a walk in the park, feeling good about myself when I take care of my family, and of course, that sometimes it just makes sense to sit in the middle of the dining room table. September 30 Our Lady of the Windex I confess, I have some questions as to the existence of
one all powerful god or supreme being. In addition, I'm a practicing
lesbian and in a relationship. I mention these facts as, ironically, I am also an employee of a Catholic hospital. Normally, this is not such a noticeable factor at work. It's not as if we are inundated with nuns in full habit nursing the sick back to health or priests doing whatever it is they do. Occasionally, the religious side of the medical center does rear its head - especially when it comes to meeting time. At the start of every committee gathering, we do what is referred to as the "reflection." This can vary in content from the ultra-religious - during which I feel compelled to prostrate myself on the floor in deference to the Almighty - to the irreverent (There once was a man from Nantucket...) - the latter usually coming from me and my ilk. Typically, the underlying spiritual nature of my place of employment is something I can negotiate rather easily and without issue. That all changed today. After a day of back-to-back meetings, interspersed with the occasional "Our Father", I was paged to go to the staffing office. Upon arriving there, I was asked by our staffing coordinator whether or not I'd seen the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe that had appeared in one of the office windows (actual news story). After my laughing fit sparked by what I thought was a funny reference to a pseudo-religious practice of finding apparitions of holy figures on grilled cheese and the like, Cindy asked me again if I'd seen it. Ahem - whoops... So, I progressed to the parking lot outside of the ED, only to find a rather large group of religious zealots, er, I mean, visitors staring up at the side of our medical office building. Upon closer inspection, I did see what appeared to be a vaguely woman-shaped smear on one of the windows. To me, it appeared to be the result of a poorly washed fenestration rather than an affirmation of the presence of a divine being. In other words, it's nothing a squeegee couldn't take care of. Given what's going on in the world today, for me, this event begs the question "Is this a sign from above or the end of the world as we know it?" Perhaps it's my inner (or perhaps outer) cynic, but I have a hard time believing that this is the way God would choose to make his presence known. We're a relatively moderate-sized Catholic community hospital. There's a fairly good chance that a large percentage of our patients and employees (other than some of the doctors who think they ARE God) are already believers. I think that if God wanted to make sure that people knew s/he existed and was watching, s/he'd find somewhere a little more interesting and lacking in piety and morality - say, maybe, a federal building. That would be a whole different story. If Katie Couric came on the news and told the viewing public that an image of the Virgin Mary had appeared on the wall of the West Wing of the White House, I'd be running to the nearest church. Of course, if that happened, I'd expect the Holy Mother to have a frown, at the very least, if not an expression of utter contempt. Were Brian Williams to relay the news that Sarah Palin was suddenly struck dumb (and by dumb, I mean unable to talk rather than the congenital stupidity she's been showcasing in her recent interviews), that would probably convince me it was time to renounce my sexuality and run to the nearest convent. I guess maybe I just don't understand the blind faith necessary to actually believe that a blob on a window could actually be a sign of God. At this point, I'm pretty sure that She is probably too busy hearing the prayers of the Wall Street folks and their investors to find our little hospital and fashion the Blessed Virgin out of unwiped Windex. Of course, maybe the parking lot prayer group is onto something. Maybe I shouldn't have gone in after work and made a little Windex creche scene. Was that bad? September 13 The Interview Unfortunately, many of us suffered through the interview by Charlie Gibson (apparently, Geraldo was busy) of republican VP candidate, Sarah Palin. I know that I, personally, consider that an hour of my life I will never get back. It's interesting - the various pundits are bantering back and forth as to whether or not this interview was a fabulous success, a horrible failure, or just more of the same. How can there be any doubt? Were those extolling her intelligence and wit during the interview actually watching the same conversation I was? Here's how it went from my point of view: GIBSON: Governor, let me start by asking you a question that I asked John McCain about you, and it is really the central question. Can you look the country in the eye and say "I have the experience and I have the ability to be not just vice president, but perhaps president of the United States of America? PALIN: Charlie, I watched every episode of Commander in Chief (with Geena Davis as the President), West Wing, and also Benson. I'm sure I'll be knowledgeable enough to tell my black butler, er I mean, assistant what to do. GIBSON: And you didn't say to yourself, "Am I experienced enough? Am I ready? Do I know enough about international affairs? Do I -- will I feel comfortable enough on the national stage to do this?" PALIN: Charlie, let me tell you - I can shoot moose from a helicopter and I used to be a fisherman. GIBSON: So, are you saying that experience is applicable? PALIN: Well, as we Alaskans like to say - yes. GIBSON: Doesn't that take some hubris? PALIN: In what respect, Charlie? GIBSON: Hubris - arrogance - do you know what hubris means? PALIN: Of course I do, it's one of the bones in your arm. GIBSON: No, that's humerus. PALIN: I don't find it funny at all. GIBSON: No, h-u-m-e-r-u-s - not hubris. PALIN: Ooooh, hubris! I thought you were saying something else. Those cars are ridiculous and driven by the tree lovers over on the left. GIBSON: What are you talking about? PALIN: Hubris - those cars that run on gas and electricity. GIBSON: Hybrids? PALIN: Is Brids here? Give her my best. GIBSON: Ok, let's move on. Let's talk about your international experience. Have you traveled internationally? PALIN: Well Canada and the pancake place down the street. GIBSON: What does breakfast food have to do with it? PALIN: Well, Charlie, it's an INTERNATIONAL House of Pancakes. GIBSON: Ok - hmm - uh I don't even know what to say about that. All right - tell me Governor - do you agree with the Bush doctrine? PALIN: In what respect, Charlie?
GIBSON: The Bush -- well, what do you -- what do you interpret it to be? PALIN: I assume you're referring to his personal physician and asking if the doctor's in or is he out? GIBSON: No, that's not it. PALIN: Oh, then you mean where he parks his boat? GIBSON: That would be a dock. PALIN: Where? I love those animals - but they sure can quack. GIBSON: That's a duck. Do you have the faintest idea what you're talking about? PALIN: Don't you use foul language with me, Mister! Charlie, do you know that you can see Russia from one of the islands in Alaska? I know we had the Cold War with them - but I vow that, should we meet again in battle, it will be in summer - the Warm War. GIBSON: Have you even ever met a foreign head of state? PALIN: Of course, I've met several. Why, Arnold Schwarzenegger was just over for dinner last week. GIBSON: He's the governor of California. PALIN: That's a state - isn't it? GIBSON: Yes - but not foreign. PALIN: I would have there be love, harmony and world peace. GIBSON: Pardon me? PALIN: Sorry - beauty queen flashback. GIBSON: Ok, back to the question - do you agree with Bush's philosophy, his doctrine? PALIN: Ooh - you mean the one where we crush and destroy every country which is non-Christian, non-white, and liberal? Finally - an honest answer. August 30 Lost Opportunity I must have missed a phone call. That is the only conceivable explanation for what has happened. I knew I shouldn't have gone out the other night but it was bingo night and what is a girl to do? Had I only known that Thursday was the night that John McCain was going to pick his running mate, I'd never have left the house. I've checked and re-checked my voicemail and I just don't understand it - there's nothing there. How could he not have called? After all, I'm just as qualified to be VP as Sarah Palin is, if not more so. Allow me to demonstrate: Sarah Palin born February 11, 1964 Me - Born February 18, 1964 SP - Governor for 20 months Me - Director in a hospital for four years SP - Has no foreign policy experience Me - Lived in France for a year in 7th grade SP - Previously worked as a fisherwoman Me - Been fishing several times SP - Supported Pat Buchanan for Pres in 2000 Me - Have an uncle named Pat SP - Thinks creationism should be taught in public schools Me - Went to public schools SP - Against pro-choice, even in case of rape or incest Me - Against pandering politicians SP - Against same sex marriage Me - In a same sex marriage SP - Supports more oil drilling in Alaska Me - Proud owner of a cordless drill SP - Sued Bush administration for putting polar bears on endangered list Me - Some of my best friends are bears SP - Spoke to John McCain twice before being chosen Me - Been known to enjoy McCain's fries on occasion SP - Anatomically a female Me - Ditto, despite public opinion SP - former beauty pageant contestant Me - I once hosted Miss America - well, no - I watched it - well, actually I turned it off to watch golf. SP - Does not believe humans are responsible for climate change/greenhouse gases Me - She's obviously never met my sons SP - Eats mooseburgers Me - Friends have a dog named Moose, who enjoys a burger now and then Why, oh why didn't he call? P.S. I saw a college student wearing a McCain t-shirt today - right before I hit him with my car... August 22 Accidental Hobbies Isn't it interesting what some people consider to be accidents? Of course, by interesting, I mean needles boring slowly through the center of your eye painful. Accident, the word, is typically defined as "an undesirable or unfortunate happening that occurs unintentionally and unexpectedly,
usually resulting in harm, injury, damage, or loss; casualty; mishap." This makes sense as a concept and is a common human experience - every single person has had some form of accident at one point or another. So where does the perversion occur? When, in an individual's life, does a fluke occurrence become frequent enough to border on becoming a pattern or syndrome, even? For instance, if your plans are canceled by your "friend" who tells you that, for the 3rd time in as many weeks, she's whacked her head in her closet and can't make it - that's a hobby (or perhaps a pathology), not an accident. Despite the seeming randomness of this topic, there is a reason behind the insanity. Roughly four years ago, my ex, X, took the kids on a trip to that mecca of tourism, Disneyworld. While it's true that my guys like Disney as much as the next kid, I believe these vacations are definitely for X, not the children. She always seems to be much more excited than any of them do. In any case, after a fun-filled week of dinners with Mickey, rides on Space Mountain, and enduring the drama that is X and M's life, the kids were marooned there for 3 extra days due to Hurricane Frances. Now, despite the fact that going to central Florida in late August is just asking to be in the middle of a seasonal tempest of gigantic proportions, X took the kids back for a return trip last week. Before I go any further with my little tale, I'm going to relieve the unbearable suspense and reveal the ending. The kids made it out of Florida (with minutes to spare, seriously) with little danger to them - other than to their immortal souls after having spent a week with X. It must be said that this was through no fault of X's. Hearing that a hurricane was bearing down on Florida (again), X and I had the following conversation: X: (answering phone) Yo! (this is truly the way she answers the phone. Really.) Me: Hi it's me. X: I'm sorry, I'm going to have to terminate this conversation as you're not following the communication protocol as outlined in X's Rules, Chapter 35, subsection 13, paragraph 3. Me: I'm not calling to talk with the kids - and I renew my objection to your "1 minute per kid per week" phone call policy for when the kids are with you. X: Hurry up - WWF is coming on! What do you want then? Me: I want to talk about Fay. X: Listen, our relationship ended almost 9 years ago and who I slept with during it is none of your business and certainly not germane to anything at this point. Me: Uh - well I was actually referring to Hurricane Fay. X: Oh - what about it? Me: It's a hurricane headed for Florida, yet again - and you're down there with the kids, yet again. X: Is there a point to this? Me: Yes - I want you to look into coming back tomorrow (Monday) rather than on Tuesday. I already called the airline and they can change your flights. X: I 'm not leaving early - I paid good money for this hotel and we have reservations at the Crystal Palace for dinner that night! Me: So, you're saying that it's more important to get your money's worth from the hotel and eat in the Magic Kingdom rather than save our children from almost certain death (a little dramatic, I admit). X: Pretty much, that's what I'm saying. Me: Well that's stupid - why would you want to be stuck in a hotel room for 2-3 extra days at significant cost to you rather than leave a day early? X: Because I want to go on the Dumbo ride again. I like that ride. Me: I'll bet you do - but there's a hurricane coming. You need to leave the state. X: Nah - I don't think so. I don't feel like it. If the good Lord wants to take me and the kids - he'll take us. Me: You really need to stop watching the 700 Club. X: I know you are but what am I?! Me: This really isn't getting us anywhere. X: Shut up times infinity!! Me: Stop, you need to listen to reason. X: Who's going to make me? You and what army? Me: I'm not being unreasonable - I just want the kids to be safe. X: Na na na na na - I can't HEAR you!!! Me: Ok, I've had enough. I'm hanging up. X: Not if I do it first! So, should you hear that a lesbian who looks like a drag queen has gone missing from MA and had an accident, I was with you - working on my compost heap. August 16 CompostEveryone knows that, especially as you age, it's important to be active and do things which keep your body functioning well and your mind engaged. It's also essential to have diverse interests which may or may not converge with those of your partner. Many of us have hobbies - blogging is one of mine. My beloved partner, E, has decided that it's time for her to enrich her life with such a pleasant diversion. In discussing this, we bantered about options such as knitting, skydiving, scrapbooking, offshore oil drilling, etc. Surprisingly, she chose something much more complex, rare, and some might even say, dangerous. That's right, her new obsession is composting. It's pretty exciting (to her only) actually. Imagine the thrill of taking material that most sane people who have no garden and hence no possible use for the product of a compost pile would consider crap - and putting it into a big smelly pile with the express purpose of letting it rot. Thrilling. Beyond belief. Now, don't get me wrong - I believe in being green, recycling, and protecting the environment as much as possible. I'm just not convinced that making a big fermenting pile of poo in the backyard meets the criteria of enhancing the environment. Of course, with 2 dogs and four dozen or so children, we've no shortage of stuff to meet the demands of E's new avocation. The amount of food scraps, dog waste, grass clippings, and other compostable material we produce would probably be enough to fertilize most of Idaho. For those of you who may share my initial ignorance on the science of composting, there are many types. There's your basic composting in which you put anything biodegradable into a big stinky heap in your backyard until it turns into a jumbled brown mess for you to spread on your nonexistent vegetable or flower beds. If you really want to get fancy, and of course, E does, you can engage in the ancient art of vermiculture. Yup, that's right - worm farming - doesn't that sound appealing?! I confess, the idea of hiring teeny tiny little cowboys (or perhaps, wormboys) and building miniscule fences, with which to contain these rascally critters does sound pretty tempting. Apparently, the specific worm necessary for successful farming is the red worm - also known as red wrigglers. According to the literature (and yes Virginia, there is some), one pound of these worms can eat 1/2 a pound of food waste daily. Given this information and the fact that we used unknown donors to conceive our children, I'm left wondering if the kids might not be part red wriggler. CAPD Boy - at about 110 lbs, can eat 1/2 a pound of food in about a minute and a half. Perhaps he's some odd mutation of worm and human - it would certainly explain a lot. The other really compelling fact about composting is that it is an ancient art traceable to biblical times. That pretty much seals it for me. If it's in the bible - well who can argue against it? Though, to expand on that theory for a moment, homosexuality is also mentioned in the bible - maybe someone should tell Fred Phelps. Of course, the fact that composting has strong ties to religion virtually compels me to ask the following question: If composting is in the bible and part of the process can involve the use of dog waste, does this mean that the product is genuine holy shit? I'm just asking... August 08 Softball It is possible that some of you may not realize that, in order to keep one's Gold Circle membership in the Secret Lesbian Association (founding members of the gay agenda), one, namely me, must participate in that most ancient of lesbian traditions - softball. There are many different types of softball teams in the Land of Lesbos. You have the ultra-competitive lesbians who might go the Olympics (not that we have any gay athletes representing the US, I'm just saying). My team is as opposite of that kind of team as you can possibly get. I play in the Women's League (or Womyn's League - depending on your sensibilities) in Northampton. If you've not heard of Northampton, MA before, it is the "Land of 10,000 Lesbians" as featured on 20/20. We are basically the Minnesota of homosexuality. As such, we have an usually high percentage of coffee shops, vegetarian restaurants, Home Depots, and political correctness. My softball team is a bastion of sensitivity and inclusion. Anyone can play, no matter what your experience level or physical challenges. In addition, our particular team has no coach. If you want to play, it is your individual responsibility to notify the rest of the team and negotiate your presence on the field. There are also different levels of participation. For instance, some players play the field and bat but don't run bases - perfectly legal in our league. In addition, it is also acceptable to ask the pitcher to slow down the ball in order to help you hit it and garner more enjoyment from your involvement. I have to say, I've never enjoyed playing for any other team as much as I do this one. There's no pressure to compete at a higher level than you're comfortable with nor are there any recriminations when you make an error. However, what is quite interesting is the number of personalities we have on our team and what results when you put those characters on the same field. Militant Feminist - this can be a difficult personality to incorporate into any team interested in anything other than the systematic emasculation of men. Our particular version of this is extremely interested in gender neutrality. This can be interesting, especially when my children attend the games. Me: Hi Mulberry - how's everything going tonight? Mulberry: Not bad. I see you've brought your progeny with you to tonight's non-competitive sporting event. Me: Yes, these are my two sons... Mulberry: No, don't tell me. Their gender is not of interest to me - I'm more interested in them as people and their impact on the earth. Have you met my child, Mountain Goat? Me: Hmm - can't say that I have. Is that a family name? High-Maintenance, Over-Sexualized, Co-Houser - another interesting character. Were you to look in the dictionary under "intense" - this person's picture would be the definition. Me: Hey there Deere, how's it hanging? Deere: That's what she said! Me: I thought we'd agreed that you weren't going to do that any more. It's kind of offensive. Deere: That's what she said! Me: Ok, I see we're getting nowhere with this conversation. Who are we playing with tonight? Deere: That's what they said!! Me: ...anyway - how's life in your community? Deere: It's pretty good actually. We built a natural waste water treatment facility using hemp, twigs, and organically-grown cherries..and not THOSE cherries, if you know what I mean! Me: Loud and clear, unfortunately. Recovering Alcoholic Dry Drunk - unfortunately, this type of personality I'm well-acquainted with. Our particular manifestation feels that she's the world's authority on softball and tries to get her desired results from the team by screaming at us every time the ball is hit. Mistress Scary: THIRD, THIRD, THIRD!! THROW IT TO THIRD!! Me: Mistress, we haven't even pitched the ball yet and there's no one on base. Mistress Scary: Oh, sorry - it's just that I know what's going to happen and I want everyone to be prepared. Ball is pitched and hit... Mistress Scary: FIRST, FIRST, FIRST - THROW THAT HUMDINGER TO FIRST!! Me: You know, every time you yell like that, I pee myself a little. Mistress Scary: Well if you all would just follow my expert instructions... Me: Yeah - not so much, really. Nothing like softball in the summer... July 23 Post-Cruise Musings ...and we're back!! Yes, we've returned to the real world from the fantasy environment of an R Family cruise. I hereby take back any negative energy I directed at R Family for the late notice of the fuel surcharge (Surcharge Smurcharge). It was worth every single penny! For those of you who are not aware of R Family, it is the company run by Kelli Carpenter-O'Donnell (Rosie's partner) and Greg Kaminsky. They plan and facilitate vacations (mostly at sea) for GLBT individuals, families, and allies. This was our first cruise with them and it was a really good - and funny - experience. The kids thoroughly enjoyed their trip - mostly because of the independence we allowed them. There were some days when they were so busy doing their own things (acting as cruise director, piloting the boat, etc) that we hardly saw them. It's funny the perceptions kids had about certain things. BP Boy's friend's family had won the cruise and therefore didn't have to pay - so he assumed we'd gotten to go for free as well. Food for them was the best "free" thing. They didn't really understand the concept of us having paid in advance for everything. I'm pretty sure BP Boy had earned the nickname "Omelet Boy" by the end of the cruise based on his thrice daily room service orders. It wasn't that the food was particularly fantastic - just that it seemed to be free that really excited our clan. BP Boy got to the point where he was making his own reservations at the Mexican restaurant on a nightly basis. In fact, one night, he informed me that he was "unable to join us for the show as he had 6:45 reservations and didn't want to stand himself up." CAPD Boy adopted Blue Lagoon, the all-night fast food place, as his culinary destination of choice. He went there so often that they named an entree after him. The entertainment on the cruise was amazing! Most of it was Broadway (I know, on a gay cruise - what a surprise!) but there were also several very funny comedians. However, the hotspot for comedy was definitely in the karaoke lounge. For whatever reason, the lounge seemed to be populated primarily by lesbians and teens. I would imagine on your average cruise that the karaoke was no better but the heckling much more intense. On our boat, the approach was that the worse you were, the more support and tree-hugging granola-crunching positive energy we were going to send your way. For instance, there was one woman who came up and bravely sang "American Pie" during which, I'm fairly sure, the music died once again. To be fair, I'm not a good singer and probably would have made people's ears bleed had I gone up on stage. However, I'm certain this woman had never even heard this song - or maybe no song ever. She put out quite an effort but seemed to be singing in a different language and to an entirely different band rather than just a different drummer. You'd have thought k.d. Lang had dropped in the way the crowd (ok - all 11 of us) were whooping and cheering. I'm not sure if we made her nervous or if she did, in fact, have Parkinson's but the poor thing was shaking like a leaf. NLD Girl has pretty much become an R Family stalker. Not only did she have her first "girl crush" on Tressa (from Intervention) and considered them friends based on having sat vaguely near each other at a workshop on board - but she's now become obsessed with the R Family forums online. I think she's read every post ever written and checks the message boards four to five times daily. She's plotting ways in which to get from Massachusetts to Vancouver for next year's Alaska cruise - though she doesn't really have a clue as to what's involved. She's thinking it might be a feasible idea to drive out there and park to avoid airfare. Yup, with four hyper kids and two adults, a three-day drive to and from our vacation sounds like the perfect way to have a nice relaxing time!! July 08 Surcharge Schmurcharge So, if I haven't mentioned it already, the family is going on an RFamily cruise next week. We'll be cruising to sunny Canada and New England and remain very excited about it despite the fact that we received an email yesterday with disturbing news. Apparently, because of the rising cost of fuel, R Family has decided to assess a $70 per person surcharge 5 days prior to the bon voyage. Doing the math for you - that turns out to be somewhere in the vicinity of $2730 for me, E and the 37 ninos. The disturbing part of the email is that this has apparently come as a big surprise to Rosie et al. I can see how that might have happened - it's not as if the cost of oil and its subsequent impact on gas prices and the economy in general has been in the news or anything. The whole concept of an afterthought surcharge is absolutely ridiculous. Picture this happening on a regular basis in your everyday life. Imagine going to your favorite restaurant and ordering your usual meal at its usual price. After you're done eating your food, the waiter comes out and says "I'm sorry, your meal was harder to cook than we anticipated so we're assessing you an extra dollar per mouthful." Crazy, right? You take your family to the movies - and it happens to be a particularly good one. As you prepare to leave, you're accosted by an usher informing you that due to the high quality of the movie, you and your 37 children have been assessed an "excellence surcharge." Total BS right?! This whole thing gets a lot more interesting when you find out from the cruise line, whose name starts with N and rhymes with orwegian, that there's no way that they'd ever change the terms of their contract with R Family at this point and that any charges incurred were made known to them long ago. Furthermore, should you be obsessively lurking on the forums over at R Family, you'd hear many times over that several people had actually spoken with reps from R Family who assured them over the last few weeks that no surcharges would be passed on to the passengers. What's a boatful of 2300 homos to do? I say enough already! It's time we stood our ground and took back the night or something! I have a plan to get revenge for this bazillion dollar surcharge. I am going to offer alternative entertainment and shore excursions at discount prices. Ok, well the entertainment on board is free - but as I've proven above, the posted price is not always what you end up paying with this company. So, free was what you paid BEFORE I decided I wanted extra money and that you're the captive audience that has to give it to me. I have no real talent to speak of but I figure I can read the phone book and my gay sisters and brothers will pay for it if they think it's a bargain. I've got 42 children - now that's entertainment! Who wouldn't pay to see the antics of that lot? Shore excursions is definitely another way to go. They're charging $30 per person to walk from the pier in Provincetown to the Pilgrim Monument - probably a distance of 1/4 mile. There's no food involved, no transportation and admission to the monument is actually $7 to all those not traveling on the HMS Surcharge. I can guide that tour with my eyes closed and I'll do it for soda. You buy me soda on board, I'll get you to the monument with no bogus "sightseeing tour" for the price of admission. I don't know - it just seems wrong when homos swindle other homos. We pretty much feel that we want to leave that to you straight republican christian right types so that we can just stereotype you and blame our ills on your lot. Whatever happened to a little good ol' hetero Jimmy Bakker fraud? |
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