Venti Anni...

It constantly blows my mind that I'm old enough to have things that happened 20 years ago. That I actually can utter statements like "Wow, that was 20 years ago". I don't feel old enough for that possibility, but here we sit, I am old enough, and I'm face to face with it being 20 years.

On Wednesday, April 30th, 2014, it will be 20 years since my friends Mari & Liz killed themselves. Twenty years. I swear to you, there are moments when I get a stab of pain over it that feels like it was last year, or last month, or sometimes even yesterday. I still do. And it's been 20 years. Spring is a weird time for me, I'm guessing that's the case for more people than just me. It's the end of winter, the lead into summer. But it also signifies the end of life for my 2 friends, and the beginning of a new kind of life for those of us left behind.

I say "left behind" because at the time, that's what it felt like. Like they had left us and frolicked off together to some greener pasture that we couldn't go to. And we were left gobsmacked, upset beyond anything we could comprehend, not understanding what had just happened, terrified of what life would be like with this pain, and what it would be like without them. Left behind. Do I still feel that way now? I don't think so. But there are too many unanswered questions for me to put my finger on exactly how I feel.


That's actually what led me to write this blog. My beautiful friend Anne, who was one of my partners in all of this pain, sent me a great article a couple of weeks ago: Confessions of a Suicide Survivor http://narrative.ly/survivors/confessions-of-a-suicide-survivor/ . I felt...some kind of way...after reading this because, even though it's been 20 years, I still have guilt, I still wonder what I could have done, and I still wonder why. The rational adult in me knows that it wasn't my fault, and that there is nothing I could have done, and I will never, ever know why. No matter how many times I beg the universe to bring them to my dreams to answer that question, I will never know why. The article validated me, because for many years now, among all the other "Whys" attached to suicide that I ask myself from time to time, I have been asking a couple new ones..."Why is this so hard for me to get over? Why does this still hurt like new sometimes?" As the author says "The expression 'time heals everything' does not often apply to suicide survivors." There's my why...doesn't matter how much time passes, the nerve is going to be exposed for the rest of my life.

It strikes me how much of my adult self was molded by their deaths. How much of my adult self was molded by the guilt of not being able to do anything, or stop them. I have ridden that guilt into basically every.single.friendship since then. I have worried about another friend of mine falling through the cracks, and I have loved my friends so fiercely, because I never again want to feel like I am not good enough at being a friend. Yes, I felt like I wasn't good enough at being a friend to Mari & Liz. Saying that feels good. Because I've been ashamed of feeling that way for so long, which...I don't think I should. It's a totally unsurprising way to feel when someone you love kills themselves. I felt like I wasn't good enough at being a friend to them. 

The silver lining to all of this has been my friendship with Anne, which was born out of the pain of losing Mari & Liz. We weren't close before then, now we're 20 years strong, and I look at our friendship as proof that Mari & Liz are watching out for us. Knowing that we would need each other over the years, knowing that when 20 years came around, we'd have an amazing friendship to celebrate alongside the commemoration of the beautiful friends that we'd lost.

Please don't misunderstand me, I am not unhappy, or miserable, I'm quite the opposite, actually. I have accumulated so much happiness in my life over the last 20 years, I feel a little bit like a hoarder. I selfishly wrote this for me, I needed to because I still think about this, it still hurts me, I still ache at their loss even though I'm not sure if we'd even still be friends today. And yes, I wonder about that.

I will spend a lot of my day tomorrow thinking about Mari & Liz, the days weeks and years afterwards. Thinking about specific moments in time with them, trying to remember the way their laughs sounded...god, I loved laughing with them. I'll spend time looking at the pictures I have of them, smiling at their smiles. I'll spend time talking to them. I will think about the people who held me up during that time, who held me up after, who still hold me up today. And I'll remember that it's not wrong to still feel this, I'll remember that it's not my fault, and I'll remember that I'm strong, I'm okay. And more than that, I'm happy.

We all have some learning to do...

I wrote the following blog a few weeks ago, and I needed to marinate on it for a bit, which is why it took me a minute to post it. But the time has come...


As you all know, I am a member of the LGBT community, I'm an L. Although I really consider myself a G, since I think G should mean all the G's, men and women, and I believe the L in "LGBT" is a little useless since it ends up separating the women from the men. And it feels stupid to separate us. I mean, if someone asks me "are you gay?" I never say "no, I'm a lesbian". I'm a G, through and through. A G that likes the L's(ladies). AnyLGBT, I am a member of this community, and I have long struggled with my feelings and my understanding of the T's that are part of it.

That probably sounds horrible, I feel horrible about it, and at times, I've been passionate about my feelings regarding the transgender community. For me, gay rights, the fight that *I'm* fighting, has always been about me being able to legally marry the woman I love, and for other gays to be able to legally marry the same-sex person that they love. I wondered what I had in common with the transgender community, since my understanding is that it's not about who they want to have sex with and marry, it's about which gender they identify with. It's about being born with parts that don't match what their brain says. I know that's a very simplified explanation, but I best understand things when they are made simple. But this is why I've struggled, because for me, my fight is absolutely about who I want to have sex with, it's absolutely about being able to legally marry the person that I want to have sex with. It has nothing to do with the plumbing I was born with. I've often come to the decision that our fight isn't the same, because if a trans person legally changes their sex, they can then enter into a heterosexual marriage. So...how is our fight the same? I wondered if the T community was thrown in with the G's simply because we're different from the heteros. I wondered if they even wanted to be there with us. I'm starting to realize that it doesn't matter that it's not the same fight, they are a community I *should* be fighting for, and a community that I'm proud be a part of.

Like most G's, I was floored by hearing President Obama talk about Stonewall in his inauguration speech, and then follow it up with this: "Our journey is not complete until our gay brothers and sisters are treated like anyone else under the law – for if we are truly created equal, then surely the love we commit to one another must be equal as well." I was a hot mess of snot and tears, trust. That was the first time a president mentioned us on a stage that big. It was incredible to hear, and something I will never forget. I was living in a state of bliss about it until I saw an article about an essay written by an 11 year old transgender girl in response to Obama's speech. I saw it, and I read it, and I started to have my eyes opened to just how fucking hard it is for the transgender community. I've thought that before, don't get me wrong. But it's been a passing thought, it never stuck with me. So after reading this essay written by this beautiful girl named Sadie, I started reading some more, searching out articles, I read something called "15 Things to Know About Being Transgender", I watched interviews and videos, mostly of a young girl named Jazz, who is a transgender 12 year old getting ready to start puberty, which, from what I recently read and heard, is a terrifying thought to a transgender child. Can you imagine? It's already scary as shit, but to go through it as a little girl who was unfortunately born with a penis, who, if allowed to enter into puberty without blocking the testosterone, will get a deep voice, will sprout hair...everywhere, it's unimaginable. Jazz loves mermaids. I mean, LOVES THEM. Wants to be one. Why? Because they have nothing "down there". And nothing down there is far more preferable than the penis she was born with.

I can't imagine how hard it must be to loathe your genitals. I can't even deal with the idea of hating my vagina...I mean, I hate mine once a month when it's an axe wound, but the rest of the time, I love it. I can't wrap my head around not ever wanting to look down at myself, or see myself naked in a mirror because what was down there didn't match with what was up here(you can't see me, but I just pointed to my crotch, and then to my head). This is what our transgender brothers and sisters deal with every.single.day. There are doctors who won't treat them, bathrooms they can't go into, sports teams that won't let them participate, and millions of people who won't open their minds and educate themselves. I was one of those people. I still don't fully understand, and I'm kind of thankful, because to fully understand is to be transgender, and that is a cross I'm not sure I'm strong enough to bear. What I do fully understand is how important it is to learn more so I can know more. How important it is to fight with them, stand up with them and next to them, and be open-minded about their struggle. And I also fully understand that any time there is a group of people that aren't being treated like everyone else because they are different, no matter what that difference is, that is *always* my fucking fight.

I encourage you to learn more if you don't know much. I encourage you to read Sadie's letter, and watch Jazz's story. Those are just 2 of the countless transgender people who are brave enough to live their truth. And I want to apologize to a community that I wasn't sure was mine...how happily wrong I was.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/01/23/transgender-girl-obama-speech_n_2533298.html

I Am Jazz
Part 1 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Wh6NecfMiE
Part 2 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nuoJEy70XjE
Part 3 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KwoYrYLtkJA


*if I thought coming out as gay was hard, I need to try and think about how hard it is to come out as transgender. But in saying that, my hope is that transgender people continue to come out, and hopefully at a more...rapid pace. The more people get to know you, the more they'll know your struggle, and the more they will fight to make it right. The more they know...the more we all know. Ugh, I guess NBC had the right idea with those PSA's...

Where does the good go

My life has been weird as shit lately, and this morning it caused me to go into a thought process that has me reeling a little bit. You know how there are two sides to every story? I mean, I shouldn't ask, that's a true statement, there are two sides to pretty much everything in this world. It shocks me that people can see the same situation in two totally opposite ways. And no, I'm not talking politics, or why some people think Two and a Half Men is funny when it absolutely isn't. I'm talking things that happen between people, discussions about things that happen between people, one on one kind of shit. I got to wondering what that's all about, these colossal differences in the way we see things, and started thinking about it in terms of my own life, in terms of my own sitches that are happening in my hemi(situations in my hemisphere for those of you that prefer full words).

We all tell ourselves things about ourselves that we come to believe about ourselves. I've always told myself that I was a funny person, a hard worker, kind of ethical, sort of moral, a pushover, supportive, giving, loving, nice...I really see myself as a good person. And I tell myself that. I know I can be catty, and gross, but I don't think I'm intentionally mean, and I don't think I'm attentionally mean(this is a phrase i just made up. like if you pull focus from someone when they are talking about something that they are struggling with to get the attention on yourself. another use would be if you do/say something that you don't believe to get attention from someone/many people at the cost of hurting a friend/loved one. i don't know. i kind of like it). Anytention, the bottom line for me is that I have always told myself I was a good person, and kind.

There have been a few sitches, and I won't say if they are personal or professional. I mean, maybe there's a few of each! Or two and one! Or one and two! Or three of a kind! Or ten of bunny! What? I don't know. But I was getting myself through these situations(sitches was starting to bug) by telling myself the things I believe about myself, and wondering how the differing side wasn't seeing these things I believe about myself, why they weren't taking these things I believe about myself into account and realizing that I was "right". Did they not see that I was a good person, and kind? When retelling the stories to the VERY few people I retold them to, my goodness, and my kindness, were at the center of these retellings. They were the things that I rested my argument on, my "rightness" on...the beliefs about myself made me know that what I was saying, what I believed to be true about myself, could not be argued with and therefore, I was "right". How could this be? How could anyone see anything different than what I see when I am a good person, and kind?

Because they were going into these situations thinking the same damn things about themselves. That they are a good person, and kind, so how could *I* not see that? How could *I* have such a different view of the situation? No one thinks they are a dick, right? No one really things that. And that's why people see the same situation very fucking differently. No one tells themselves "I am a huge fucking dick. And not the penetrating kind. The total asshole kind". Everyone tells themselves they are a good person, and kind. We tell ourselves things about ourselves that we believe about ourselves, and these are the beliefs that we take into every new room with us("room" now means situation because situation was starting to bug).

I'm not saying that people can't be good people, or kind. I'm not saying that I'm not good, or kind. I just am realizing that I have self-belief blinders on when I walk into different rooms. All of us do. I have told myself these things so much for so long, they have so many uses. They help heal my heart when it breaks, help console me when I make a bad choice, help calm me down when I think my world is over...these beliefs are there to protect me...from me. But sometimes, I can't see past them and get a clear view of the room that I'm in. I need to remember that a lot of the time? I'm in a room with someone who also thinks they are a good person, and kind, and they probably are, just like I probably am. Unless of course, I'm dealing with an actual dick. You know, the total asshole kind.

Another thing I need to remember? Is that sometimes good and kind people aren't going to see things the way I do, and that doesn't make me less good, or less kind, and that doesn't make them less good, or less kind. I need to remember that a person doesn't become evil simply by disagreeing with me. Unless of course, they are an actual dick. You know, the total asshole kind.




*This has given me a little pause. A little food for thought for myself. A "something to work on", if you will. Maybe I'm not as good of a person as I keep telling myself I am. Or as good of a person as I used to be. That's okay, it doesn't have to be permanent. Maybe I've let myself rest on that idea and started to slack off, rather than continue to work on it. I worked on it for a really long time, and I mean, that happens sometimes. We get good at something, we get cocky, we slack. Maybe these days? What I'm good at? Is not being a person, but being a liar. Time to pick up the slack :)

Chick-fil-Gay...

Oh, Chick-fil-A, ne'er has one of your crispy, greasy, breasts passed over my lips, yet somehow you are still giving me gastrointestinal issues that only the overeating of your food should bring about. As all of you above-ground dwellers have surely heard by now, there is controversy surrounding Chick-fil-A and the cities of Chicago and Boston. Last week, Chicago Alderman Joe Moreno made what had to be a tough decision by declaring his plans to block the development of a Chick-fil-A in the Logan Square neighborhood that he represents. The plan was backed by Mayor Rahm Emanuel, and now the backlash is being felt by both. Some nasty words and statements are being thrown around in response to this, and normally I would be blissfully unaware of them, but I made the mistake of reading the comments people posted at the bottom of some of the online articles. When will I learn? And by the way? There are some people out there that are straight bringin the cray. They make me sad and a little scared. Anyway, back to the breast at hand...mmmmm, hands on breasts...uh, sorry...

I have given this issue a lot of thought in the last week. I've gone back and forth, and forth and back. I believe in free speech, so unfortunately I believe that people have a right to disagree with gay marriage based on personal or religious-based beliefs. But I also believe that gay marriage isn't about the biblical definition of marriage, but rather the marriage as defined by each state individually. So that being said, I believe that Chick-fil-A president Dan Cathy has every right to run a Christian-based company that supports what he believes is the "traditional family". And he had every right to say that when it comes to having an anti-gay stance, his franchise was "guilty as charged". I think it was a bad decision, but I believe he had every right to say it. But I also believe that people have every right to stand up against that stance in any way that they see fit, which is what I believe Alderman Moreno is doing by saying "no" to them.

Lez be honest, we all knew that Chick-fil-A was a religious company, they're closed on Sundays for fists sake. I mean, they must be hardcore, because Sundays are one of the biggest days in terms of a need for hangover grease, so it's ballsy of them to stand firm and lose lots of hangover money. So, hearing the Christian thing was no big surprise. And a lot of us also know that they have donated millions and millions of dollars to anti-gay organizations over the years...millions. Not just one million, but millions. And "anti-gay" is being kind, they support organizations that would like to make "gay behavior" illegal, and would like to treat us as exports and just ship us out of the country. A lot of us know that, and based on that knowledge, I choose not to spend any of my money in any of those establishments. So I guess I also believe that consumers have a right to choose where they spend their money. This is why I was going back and forth and forth and back. I was fighting with myself internally, because I think consumers should decide where they spend their money. They can either go about things in a blissfully ignorant manner regarding the companies they support monetarily, or educate themselves about where the money goes, and choose to support places that support their own beliefs. BUT...big but, HUGE badonkadonk...I think what Alderman Moreno is doing in this case is the right thing to do.

The owners of the downtown Chicago Chick-fil-A are coming out saying that each franchise is independently owned and operated, which yes, they are. They've said that on an individual franchise level, they donate to a "wide variety of causes, including everything from churches to gay and lesbian organizations", which I don't doubt. You can be Christian and still like gays. You can be religious and still love a homo. I am a non-practicing Catholic, and what I mean by that is that I was baptized Catholic, raised Catholic, got confirmed, went to church, etc. I made the choice to stop going, initially because I was in my late teens and there was no fisting way I was waking up early to go to church. Eventually it was based on a lot of different reasons, mostly because of the Catholic church and their stance on homosexuality. Why the f*ck would I spend money and time supporting a religion that DOES NOT WANT ME and thinks I'm an abomination? Now, an argument has been made to me that there are certain Catholic churches that are very accepting of gay people. To that argument I say "so the f*ck what?". Just because some of the franchises under the Catholic church umbrella support a variety pack of people including gays and lesbians, does not change the fact that the huge-ass umbrella thinks I'm an abomination. And just like the Catholic church, just because a few of the franchises under the Chick-fil-A umbrella donate some of their dollars to a variety pack that includes gay & lesbian flavors, that doesn't change the fact that the huge-ass umbrella donates millions of dollars to causes that actively discriminate against gay people. That actively are spreading messages of hate about gay people. Actively. The money is working to help actively discriminate against tax paying citizens of this country who don't have equal rights. Shit is active.

The message that Chick-fil-A is sending, not just through Dan Cathy's words, but through their hefty anti-gay donations, is that same sex couples are not worthy of the same recognition that straight couples are. That gay couples are not deserving of the legal benefits, or rights, that are afforded to straight couples. That gay people are an abomination. The message that Alderman Moreno is sending is that he doesn't want to send THAT message to the people of Illinois, especially the ones that live in the neighborhood that he represents. He knows Chick-fil-A's message is a dangerous one, and what would he be saying to his people if he didn't say "no" to that kind of message? This is a man standing up for what he believes in. Intolerance and organizations that promote discrimination, and hate, are not going to be welcome in the neighborhood that he represents. And THAT is a message that I can stand with and support.

So Alderman Moreno, I thank you for your continued support of my community, as well as the human community. I applaud you for being able to make the hard decisions and stand by them.

And Chick-fil-A , if you don't want politics in your businesses, then keep your religion out of the chicken.


**This piece is obviously just my opinion, which I am entitled to. And if you disagree with my opinion, you are absolutely entitled to do so, but I'm not looking for a big ol fight, so if you try to engage me in one, you'll be ignored...and a pox will be put on your house**

Nobody said it was easy...

I think I'm sick of people trying to own "hard". I mean, everyone in the world knows hard. At some point, every.single.one of us has thought that life, and whatever particular experience we were dealing with in that moment, was hard. You know what? We were right. Every time we felt that or thought that, we were right. Regardless of  what it was we were dealing with, and regardless of how it stacked up to someone else's hard, in that moment we felt that way, life was hard and we were right. It is. Life is hard.

People tell me their hard a lot. And I mean "THEIR hard" not "THEY'RE hard". Though I am getting a lot more people telling me they're hard now that I've been sporting highlights on the regular. But like certain hams, I'm off the bone, so telling me *that* does nothing but make me giggle. And look to see if a tent is being pitched. Anyboner, people tell me about their hard, and I'm glad I can be someone that they feel they can trust with it. I like to think I'm not the kind of person that would follow up listening to their hard by saying "You think that's bad..." and launching into one of my hards, or even someone else's hard. I hate it when people do that to me, so I try not to do that to anyone else. I really try not to do that. When someone is going through something, and they've *trusted me* enough to bring it to me, share it with me, release some of the pressure of it to me, they deserve nothing but my sympathy for *their* situation, even though I've had hard, I know hard, and I know other people with hard. In those moments, one hard does not trump another hard, because we ALL have hard.

I'm not stupid, I know that there are people who have experienced things that I can't even imagine, have stood tall through some of the worst sh*t I could think of, and through stuff I might not even be able to think of because it's so horrible. I know that. I'm glad that so far, the hard that I've had hasn't destroyed me. So far, it hasn't been unimaginable. And maybe there is someone out there who, if they ever heard my hard, might find it a little unimaginable. But to me, it's not unimaginable, the hard that I've had to deal with. There are people whose lives I cannot imagine. But I get to decide that for myself, I shouldn't have to hear from someone else "you think what you're going through is bad...". None of us should have to hear that. Because it's not a contest. We have to stop making it a contest.

I talk about the luck in my life a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I bet it's probably annoying for some, and if you're one of those that gets annoyed by it, well stop stalking my blog, you twatbonnet! It's not that I've had an extremely easy life, it's just that every time something has been hard for me, I've made it through. Every.time. Even when I didn't want to, or shouldn't have, I've made it. And maybe I'm lucky because a lot of my hard stuff happened when I was younger, a late teen/early 20's-aged person. So these days, now that I've given myself a voice, it's easier to talk about the luck since the hard is farther away. When I think about my hard, which I do frequently, the luck is never far behind.

I'm not going to rattle off a list of all the hard in my life, because that's not really my style. I talk about that stuff when it seems appropriate, believe me, but laundry lists of negativity ain't my thing. Positivity, yes. Negativity, no. I'm just following the rules of basic English really. But for almost every "f*ck you, world!" moment that I've had, there is something good that I attach to it. For every decision that cost me something, there's one that gave me something else. I can't say for sure what the hardest moment in my life was, because I try not to make it a contest within myself either. I do want to give an example though, and if I'm giving an example, the one that really stands out for me is when 2 of my closest friends killed themselves my senior year of high school. They killed themselves and it set off a chain reaction in my life that could have gone way south, and very nearly did. I stopped going to school, failed or got an incomplete in all my classes that semester, which left me short on graduation credits, so I did not graduate with my friends, my peers, my class...class of '94 what what!!! So...drop out and f*ck school, or deal with the embarrassment of being a 5th year senior, and just f*cking do it? I just f*cking did it. I ended up making amazing friends, friends that I adore to this very day. I finally had a positive high school experience that involved actual schooling. And I ended up having great relationships with teachers, which was f*cking foreign to me back then(shout out to Ms Levine!!!). That year, which could have been, should have been embarrassing and f*cking horrible, ended up being one of the best years I've had. You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the Facts of Life, the Facts of Life...

Great. Now I'm thinking about Blair. Which is not the point. The point is, I'd rather spend more time thinking about the good that came out of everything hard. I do spend time thinking about the hard, I like to remember the people I've lost, and appreciate the experiences I've had. But I choose to spend more time thinking about the good, the luck. Out of this tremendously hard thing came this realization, or this friendship, or this overwhelming feeling of support. I let myself think about the hard things, but I make a *choice* to focus on the other stuff, the good stuff that came of it, the luck.

So if I seem happy to you, if you know people who seem happy a lot of the time, it's not because life has been easy, breezy, beautiful, Cover Girl, it's because of what we're choosing to focus on in those moments. Hell, we could be going through something hard right before your eyes, but our focus is on something good. And maybe that good is as simple as being in the presence of a friend. I know for me that's usually all it takes. I have my moments, we all have our moments. Sadly for some, their whole life is their moment, and what a miserable way to be. I'm a mostly happy person, mostly, but that's a choice I make every day. That's a choice. That I make. Every day. Because life is hard, I know hard, we all know hard. But we're all still here, aren't we? So why not make the most of it...

Pride (In the Name of Love)...

For the first time since I was 21 years old, I will not be attending Chicago's Pride Parade. Holy fucking shit. I feel like I just got kicked in the crotch, and not in a good way. I mean, I'm missing it for a completely valid, and completely debaucherous reason, I'm off to Las Vegas with 8 buxom.......men. That's right, I will be playing with the boys in LV during Pride Weekend, and don't ask me how that happened, but no doubt it will be epic. But I still kind of can't believe I'm missing the Pride Parade, my gay bread & butter.

I know I've talked extensively about my parents and their support of me and my fellow gays. I know I've told the story about my first Pride Parade, how my parents surprised me by walking in the parade with PFLAG, causing me cry uncontrollably, and when the people around us realized I had no idea they'd be there, they lost it too. I know I've talked about how my parents have walked with PFLAG almost every year since then. I know I've talked about how my mom is the president of the local chapter, my dad is a member, and they've attended endless conferences, meetings, traveled to Springfield multiple, all in support of the gay cause. I know I've talked about this. But I would like to take today to talk about someone who I haven't personally thanked, even though she has been there for 31 years of my life, and was my backbone the entire time I was coming out, and has continued that support ever since. My sister.

I don't know how I've never singled Emily out before now when writing one of my Bartles & James "Thanks for your support" blogs. I've thanked my parents, I've thanked my friends, and obviously, Emily is one of my friends, but she's so much more than that. Emily was the one by my side when I told my parents I was gay. Maybe not literally, I can't remember if she was in the room because I was practically blacked out with fear. But she was by my side. She was by my side when I started coming out to our friends, I can remember Christmas Eve that year, being in Keldra's bedroom with a few girls, telling them...Emily was by my side. She was by my side when I came out to my whole giant family, the silent support that I ALWAYS felt, have felt ever since. She was by my side when my parents came walking up to me during that first Pride Parade, she knew they would be there, she didn't say anything, but she knew she had to be there, she wanted to be there...for me...just like she always had been. She has been by my side at almost every Pride Parade since, wanting to be there for me, and wanting to be there for our other gay friends. She was by my side the day The Joyous One proposed to me, she helped set up the surprise, then gathered our friends at a bar to celebrate it afterwards. She was by my side when I "married" The Joyous One 8 years ago, she was with me all day, was with me all the days before that, she wrote and read an incredible speech for us. She was by my side the day The Joyous One and I got our legal civil union papers, and she stayed by my side for our day-long celebration. She was by my side the day my dad signed our papers and made us legal. She will be by my side this Sunday, even though neither of us will be at the Pride Parade...we'll both be thinking about it, and she will be by my side. And someday, when The Joyous One and I get legally married on a federal level, my sister Emily will be by my side. By my side, she is always by my side, no matter physically or not, she's always by my side.

I cannot begin to thank you, Emily. You have been the strength that holds my head up, the support that has let me to be myself, and the love that has allowed me to have no fear. You're the best "side dish" a sister could ever ask for.

Innie or outie?

And no, I'm not talking about belly buttons. Although maybe I should. I can fit a short stack of dimes into my belly button. I probably could do pennies, but it felt like a tight squeeze when I was testing coins. I was ambitious, I tried a quarter first because I figured my button was probably pretty stretchy, but alas, not stretchy enough for a quarter...or a nickel...and the penny was iffy. But the dime, well the dime was a good fit. Like the glass slipper to Cinderella's foot. Only more like a dime to a belly button. So yeah, I can fit dimes in my belly button. But that's not the main point of this...anymore.

Yesterday, Jim Parsons declared his membership to my church. A few days before that, Jillian Michaels had her membership confirmed, which lez-be-honest, was fantastic to hear, because although she has gay-face, she has fucking hot as hell gay-face, and our congregation could use some more caramel-y goodness. My god, the shine of her hair, the rasp of her voice, the ripple of her muscles, the throbbing of my...I mean, her um, veins. What I wouldn't give to lick her abs, among other...crap, I just blacked out. Sorry. So...what? Oh yeah, Jim and Jill, out of les closet.

The best part about this news, besides the hotness of Jillian, was that it...wasn't really news. At least not huge news, or mind blowing news. In fact, if you read the People article too fast, you wouldn't have even noticed the mention of Jillian's partner, some bitch named Heidi, who I'm sure is perfectly lovely, but Jillian's hair and muscles and hot face would go so much better with my curls and softness and cartoony looks...I LOVE YOU JILLIAN!!! Okay, I just splashed some water on my face, I'm fine. Anymuscle, the news wasn't earth shattering, it was more matter-of-fact than anything, and THAT'S the huge news.

I've long been a believer in the need for being "out". And by "long" I mean I decided this like, 3 years ago, and ever since then I talk about it a lot and I'm sure I've written about it before. Whatever. Harvey Milk has been my inspiration in this. He said "If they know us, they can't vote against us" and I absolutely believe this to be the truth. Coming out is the only way they'll know us. It's a terrifying process initially, and one that never truly ends, but my Gaga, it gets easier each time. There was one group of girls in particular who were older than me, and pretty, and fun, and just...they made me a little nervous. We became friends when I was just a puppy-queer, and I was terrified about being gay in front of them. But you know what? They could not have been more amazing to me. They could not have treated me with more kindness. And we could not have had more of a fahckin ball together. And I was out and gay the whole time we were friends. Any time I get nervous now, I think about those girls and that time in my life and I know it'll be gravy. Fahck, gravy...on Jillan's abs. It'd have to be low fat gravy, naturally, but still, lickin gravy off Jillian's abs. Abtastic. I need more water...

The more out we are, the less scary and hard it becomes, and the less "news" it will make when someone famous joins our congregation. I'm hopeful that down the line, it won't even be news, it will just be. Gay will be the new normal. I mean, if 70 can be the new 30, then gay can be the new normal. Fahck, maybe someday, coming out as straight will be news...because you know me, I think everyone is queer and bisexual and unfortunately, society needs to see sexuality as something that is black and white when really, it's the grayest fucking thing in the world, but that's a rant for a different time. Catch me after a few whiskeys, that's the perfect time(insert wink here).

"If they know us, they can't vote against us"...come on queers, let's introduce ourselves.


Oh, and I love you, Jillian.

TGI...shut the f*ck up

I hate the expression "TGIF", and I use it all the time. I used it just this morning, when greeting my friend Beth on IM. First f*cking thing out of my mouth. Not "good morning", not "hi", not "Community was hilarious last night!", I led with "TGIF". I'm fairly certain I lead with this word-wedgie in at least one cyber-conversation every.single.f*cking.Friday. TGIF.

I blame ABC for pounding that phrase into my brain back in the 90's, when shows like Full House, Just the Ten Of Us, and Boy Meets World ruled Friday nights. I can remember being excited about TGIF, not because I was Thanking God It was Friday, but because I couldn't wait to see what sort of pickle DJ Tanner might get into. Oh hell naw, I think I may have even sung along with the TGIF theme song! That makes me sad.

Nowadays, we beleaguered working stiffs TGIF every Friday, don't we? We look forward to Friday night every Monday morning. All day Sunday, I can see The Joyous One slipping into her Sunday night depression. It's a sad time, the end of the weekend. A sad, sad time. We see things as the end of something, and are not able to see past it. I mean, thousands of people have said this, this sentiment is echoed on t-shirts, quote walls, quote websites, all over the place, but I think I'm just starting to get it now. Without ends, there are no beginnings, we need ends so that something new can start. Circle of life, Hakuna Matata, and all that shit. My god I hate the Lion King. Anymustafa, I'm all for allowing myself a little sadness at the end of stuff, like a hot dog for example. But I need to be getting more excited about the end signifying the start of something else, like a Choco Taco. The end of my hot dog means I get to start on a Choco Taco...the end of my Choco Taco means the start of my Sleepytime Waltz...the end of my Sleepytime Waltz means the beginning of actual sleep...the end of my sleep means the beginning of a new day...etc etc etc. You get my point...which is Choco Tacos are awesome. Or something.

My wonderful friend Jessica always encourages me to look forward to something every day. She'll ask "what are you looking forward to today?", and it gives me pause. It forces me to think about my day, my night, my life, dissect it, examine it, poke it, shake it, and find something, anything, to be excited about, and every day I do, even if it's just going home from work. But that's okay because somedays, that's all that it takes. I've often been told I get excited by the little things, but the truth is, in my world, nothing is little. This is where my childlike exuberance, my refusal to grow up(read:immaturity), has served me well.

So TGIF, f*ck you. I'm not going to Thank God for *just* you anymore. I'm going to keep finding ways to make every day a day to TG for. I'm going to take walks, read books, listen to music, scratch my back, go out for dinner, hit golf balls, see movies, wash sheets, call friends, visit my niece, use my All-Clad frying pan, go home from work, greet birds, look around, laugh about farts, eat Choco Tacos, I'm gonna fill my weeks up with things to look forward to, no matter what they are, and every day...every day, I'ma Thank God It's Today...TGIT...which of course I read as "TIT"...aaaaaand scene.

Soft Cell...

Crap, I'm sensitive. I have known this for awhile, but I've had one of those weeks where it feels like a spotlight is being shown right on that ripple in my force field. I say that as if I don't have thousands of ripples in my force field, because...literally, there has to be thousands of ripples. In my force field. The way I'm saying this has me wondering what I'm actually talking about when I say "ripples in my force field", and my God, the word "ripples" makes me think of both Kelly Ripa and nipples. What am I talking about? I was going to use the term "chink in my armor", but after that Jeremy Lin-cident, where that sportswriter was fired because he used the headline "Chink in the Armor" when referencing a bad game by Mr. Lin, who just happens to be Chinese, and woops! racist...I'm never using that statement again. Except for when talking about that sportswriter who got fired for using "Chink in the Armor" for his story about Jeremy Lin. So yeah, my sensitivity: it is a huge ripple in my force field. Kelly Ripa. Nipples.


I wonder why I feel this way. Why I feel like it's a weakness in my otherwise super human bulletproof hard candy shell. I mean, where do I get off thinking I have a super human bulletproof hard candy shell? Seriously? Where did this idea, this notion, come from? I'm a hard ass? Really? I don't think so. I don't think I ever have been like, a "for real" hard ass. Not ever in my life. Now that I'm thinking about it, I think it's my face! I think I have a snotty face when it's in it's normal position, therefore making me seem like I'm some sort of badass. Or making me seem "hard".


To be fair, there was a period of time through high school where I was an absolutely horrible piece of shit. My parents, sister, teachers, strangers who I threw eggs at, they all can attest to this. I was miserable for a lovely stretch of time that must have felt like an eternity to some people. And yes, I admittedly did not care about much, I lied, I did unspeakable things, I was mean...let's be honest, I was a true c*nt. But I think when you average it all out, my childhood, teen years, twenties, and now...I'm more sensitive than anything, and I always have been.


I've had a few friends tell me that before they met me, they thought I was mean, and were maybe a little scared of me. While this did puff up my already sizeable chest, it didn't take long for them to realize that I'm pretty much cotton candy. Soft, sugary, I dissolve in water, and make children crazy. On the real though, I'm soft as shit. Or cotton candy. While shit is in fact soft, it does not smell pleasant, and I'm one of those people who smells awesome most of the time. I lost myself again...


Right, I'm sensitive. How does one change that trait about oneself? Is "oneself" a real word? I don't mind that I cry at everything, tearing up happens on the regular with me, and I'm fine with it. I actually like crying. I think it's healthy. But maybe I'm too sensitive. I've seen that it can lead to a certain...ugliness in me. An ugliness tainted with insecurity, and snottiness, because what you just said hurt me, but you didn't mean for it to hurt me, but it did, probably because I'm sensitive, and that's weak, right? And I feel it happening, I feel the words bubbling up in me that I know are the wrong words to say, I know this, and they won't help anything, and FAHCK! I just said them, and now I can't take them back, and I'm wounded, scrambling, cursing myself because I know what I've done and why, and FAHCK! this hurts, and how do I explain why it hurts, because now I'm not being talked to, or I'm angry, and I don't want to talk, and I'm angry with myself because again, I know, I did this, I know, and I'm hurt, I'm hurt, I'm hurt, and I'm hurt because I'm too fucking sensitive, and I've just essentially diarrhea'd on myself and am standing alone in a mess not knowing how to clean it.


Maybe I take things too personally. Am I sensitive, or do I take things too personally? Or is it both? I'm not looking for answers(unless, of course, you've got some), I just...guess I needed to write this. I cry a lot. I like to be held, either by a person, or by words, it doesn't matter, I like to be held. I'm sensitive to a lot of things, and to a lot of things that don't have *anything* to do with me. Which means I take things personally. And I shouldn't. But I do. And those two things, sensitivity and TIP(taking it personally), are like, beer before liquor, they make me sick, and ugly with puke face. And I'm sorry to those of you who have been caught in that with me, and...it's Thursday, May 3rd. And this is how I feel today.

Time won't give me time...

I've been thinking a lot about time lately. Time. It's our most precious commodity. It's one of, if not the greatest gift we have to give, and the greatest gift we can get. We always wish we had more of it. We crave time. I'm starting to think if I could hoard anything, it would be time. Time has become my drug. I get all crazy when I don't have it, lash out if I feel it's been wasted, cry when I wish I had more. I'd like to shoot up some time, inject it right into my veins, into my loved ones veins, then we could sit around in a huge, comfy, multi-room house getting high on time with each other. Time. I want more of it.

Time is the best thing anyone could ever give me. I think it's all I really want from anyone. I just want time with you. A cup of coffee. A beer. A walk down the street. I just want time. A laugh or two. A quick hug. An hour if you've got it. Just time. An afternoon at the zoo. A concert. A honk and a wave. Please, sir, can you spare me some time? A shared meal. A sleepover. A lifetime of friendship. Time is all I could ever need, or hope for.

I hope I can stop thinking of time as "wasted". It's not "wasted" if I listen to a new song, or make up a joke, or think about someone I love. It's only "wasted" if I sit in anger with it. I can't begin to express how grateful I am for the time that has been given to me, the time that has been spent with me. I hope that I've given time as greatly as I've gotten it.


Now that you've read this, you've just given me your time, which is all I could ever need, or hope for, from you. And I don't know how to thank you for that.

This has got to stop...

So last month I saw a movie called "Bullied". It was about a boy who was tormented, tortured, and bullied throughout his junior high and high school career. He was called names like "faggot" and "queer", he was beaten, teased, tortured, all because of the assumption that he was gay. He went to his administrators and was told on both the junior high and high school level that maybe if he didn't act so gay he wouldn't get picked on. He was also told that "boys will be boys".

After the movie, there was a discussion in which I found out that a boy at Julian Jr. High recently was pushed down a flight of stairs by someone who had been bullying him, also under the assumption that he was gay. He was hospitalized for a week. I'm not sure how he is now, his parents were at the screening of the movie, and at the time said he was doing okay, so I hope that still is the case. But this boy, teased and called "faggot" and "queer" and pushed down a flight of stairs because people think he's gay, does not even identify as homosexual. In fact, most people bullied for supposedly being "faggots" or "queers" in junior high and high school don't identify as homosexual later in life. They simply are smaller than the other boys, or they like doing theater, or they might not like wearing dresses like the other girls, or they like playing sports, so the assumption is that they are gay. And the answer to that is to bully them, beat them up, spit on them, call them names, and push them down flights of stairs. What are we teaching our children? Cuz from here, it doesn't look like we're teaching them enough.

These words can be poison, and they are infecting the lives of innocent kids every.single.day. Bullying doesn't "build character", it kills potential, and it kills people. The next time you're at a sporting event, and you feel the urge to call a player, or a ref, or a fan of the opposite team a "faggot", think about your son being called that as he's cornered by a group of kids knocking his books on the floor and kicking him as he goes to get them. The next time you want to call something "gay" because you feel it's stupid, or it didn't work out in your favor, think about your child seeing that written on their locker and all the kids pointing and laughing at them. The next time you feel yourself wanting to kid around with you pals, and call each other "queers", "homos" and "fags", think about your kid being called those same things, but being surrounded by kids who aren't saying it "all in good fun". The next time you want to ask the girl who is wearing a sweater vest in the bathroom of the Cubby Bear if she's a "fucking dyke or something", think about your daughter being asked that while spit on as she walks through the lunchroom.

I'm not innocent in any of this. I've used these words "all in good fun", and even in anger. But it starts with us, it has to, and we have to change this. We have to be aware of what we're saying and how we're acting in front of our kids. Bullying isn't natural, kids learn it from what they see in their adults. If they see you bullying, they will bully. If they see you standing up to bullying, they will stand up. "Monkey see monkey do" is the most true statement of all time.

I hope someday these words can be empowering. I hope one day to take these words back. I hope to be called "gay" because it's related to awesome things, not stupid things. I hope that someday, every one of my queer brothers and sisters will be as proud of being called a "queer" as I am. I hope that your kids don't ever get called these names in any way other than positive. I hope that if they see someone saying these words with venom that they stand up and say "no". I hope that if you see someone saying these words with venom, you will stand up and say "no". We have to be better monkeys to our kids.

I urge you to find out if the schools around you have a bullying policy, and if not, that you force them to come up with one. Tell the kids in your life that there is NOTHING wrong with being gay, that it is just as natural as anything else, if you need help getting the point across, or want to do some dancing while you tell them, put on "Born This Way". And if you believe that there is something wrong with being gay, then get the f*ck off my blog and out of my life.



**I know there are kids who are bullied for other reasons, being gay is just something I happen to know about and therefore something I feel confident speaking about.

Arty, arty, we like to party...

So I've never really been huge into art. I don't know what to make of some of the things I see, I don't understand what some artists are trying to say with their pieces, I sometimes feel like anything can be art, so therefore I wonder if anything is actually art...or maybe everything is...including me...since I was created...by something other than me. Anyabstract, art is not something I ever really considered. I know when I like a painting, and know when I want that painting on my wall, and that's about as far as art and I have gotten...not even to first base.

For the past 3 years now, my friend Jessica and I have been talking about going to the Art Institute. Yeah, I know that's a long time to discuss something as easy to get to as the Art Institute, but life and boozy good times kept getting in the way of the learning. After 3 years of all talk, no action(gee, that sounds like some high school relationships...HEY OH!!!), today is the day that we finally made that learny-shit happen.

Jess led me through the 'stute, I basically told her I was her bitch and she could just lead me around like a dog. I was surprised at how literally she took this, showing up with a dog collar and a leash, but J is literal like that. She took me from favorite thing to favorite wing, starting with Contemporary, ending with Impressionists. She wanted me to see the things she liked, show me some stuff she thought I would like, and just give me a great taste of the art world. We were getting ready to leave when she remembered there was one more painting she wanted to show me. She couldn't remember exactly where it was, so we were going to skip it when we saw an information desk. PS...the lady at the 2nd floor Information Desk right outside of the area where that park painting made soley of dots is had me wishing that she had been my teacher throughout my life because she taught me the ins and outs of the museum in under 2 minutes. Seriously, I don't think I've learned more so quickly in all my life. So thank you, stranger lady with the mad teaching skillz...thank you.

This right here, this is the painting that Jessica wanted to show me. This painting, upon first glance, gave me the willies. It's big, and tall, and dark, and scary, and there's a woman's withered hand just visible near the side, and it's from your point of view as you look at it, so that's you looking at the door, at the eerie, tall, dark door. While I was creeped out by this, I was also somehow drawn to it...mesmerized...creepmerized, I suppose. As I stared at it, Jessica told me the name of the painting: That Which I Did Not Do I Should Have Done(The Door) by Ivan Albright.

We walked out of the museum through the ancient Buddhist statues, we talked about the painting some more, and she said something like "Yeah bro, it's like, I never want to be an old lady, with that hand, holding that handkerchief thinking about the things I should have done, but didn't. I mean, he could called that painting 'I tried my best', but coming at it from the negative, it's a much different thing"...dag, she's right.

That painting, that's what regret looks like. That's what not sending your resume to the job you've always wanted but been too scared to try looks like. That's what saying "no" to skydiving looks like. That's what deciding not to go to college because you're too old looks like. That's what not enjoying a meal in a restaurant by yourself looks like. That's what not finding something to look forward to every day looks like. That's what deciding not to take the vacation looks like. That's what missing a legendary concert because you don't like crowds looks like. That's what being moved by someone but being embarrassed to tell them looks like. That's what walking by the celebrity without saying "hi" looks like. That's what not giving someone that last hug looks like. That's what living in a constant state of negativity looks like. That's what being scared of holding babies looks like. That's what being scared of rejection looks like. That's what not laughing loudly and raucously looks like. That's what not getting the tattoo because your grandma will hate it looks like. That's what putting off the Second City writing classes looks like. That's what not telling your parents you love them looks like. That's what not telling anyone you love them looks like.

That painting, that is what regret looks like. A stunning, and deeply moving painting of what regret looks like. I highly recommend you check it out next time you're there. And I highly recommend you don't become what that painting looks like. I know I'm going to try my best...

Buck-wild...

I've never really understood the whole "gonna go to Starbucks, hang out and do...stuff" thing. Mostly because the "stuff" is generally school stuff, studying stuff, alone with your thoughts stuff, writing a novel stuff...the kind of stuff that one might easily be distracted from anytime the blender went off, or the barista shouted out someones order. PS, is that what coffee people like to be called? Baristas? I'm not sure that I've ever used that word until now. Probably because I'm currently sitting in a Starbucks and otherwise wouldn't have occasion to use that word. And do people actually say that? "Pardon me, barista, can you leave room for cream?" That word just smacks of a snotty attitude. *Author's note: my apologies to anyone who uses that word on the regular. Love you guys!* Anylatte, to me, Starbucks as a place to do "stuff" never made sense to me. Until now.

I'm sitting in a Starbucks right now, doing "stuff", that "stuff" being writing this boog and it just....it feels right. There's my pal Jess sitting across from me, people to watch, conversations to listen to, music that's boppin my head, delicious things for my nose to smell(unless a hobo comes in here and sits by me, then all bets are off. But who am I kidding, hobos can't afford Starbucks. Not even a River Forest hobo!) There's a lot of potential material here!

As I look around at my fellow Bucksers, I kind of want to make up scenarios about what their story is. Like the couple right outside the window, who happen to be facing me and who keep catching me staring at them. *Second author's note: In defense of my staring, I need y'all to know I am an out-the-window starer, I'm doglike in that respect. It's not my fault they positioned themselves directly in my line of vision!* But I wonder what their deal is, random shopping trip to the Men's Wearhouse, got thirsty for a Pike's Place Roast? Romantic stroll down Harlem, hey let's pop into Starbucks? Last stop on a first date? Oh shit, they just caught me staring at them kiss. And now they're leaving. I think it's safe to say they're now wondering what my perverted deal is. *Third author's note: I'm not really a pervert, I just play one in the movies.*

Okay, and the young man talking at his laptop...my guess is he's a college student from someplace international, someplace exotic, and he's Skyping with his family, telling them all about the thesis he's writing about something college-y and hard to pronounce. Or he loves "Just My Imagination" and is simply rockin out.

Hmmm...I'm really curious about the new group that just moved in consisting of 2 older couples and a younger gentleman, who have just said a prayer before snacking on bagels and coffee. And now they're talking about camping. The younger guy has pushed his chair away from the table a little, and is not participating in the camping discussion. What is happening? Oh my god, what if he was kidnapped by these people while they were all camping! Don't drink that coffee, fella! I think that you've been kidnapped and they are drugging your coffee! They're going to make you the pool boy in their weird religious summer camp for the elderly!!! Okay, now I'm letting my imagination run wild...

How about the man reading the newspaper with no coffee or any other sort of Starbucks product anywhere near him. I wonder if his power is out because he couldn't afford to pay the bill this month, you know, money has been tight ever since his son Jonesy got out of the slammer, and that no-goodnik hasn't gotten a job on account of his useless hand, thanks to a shiv-fight he got in that jacked up the tendon in his thumb. So this poor shlub has been workin two jobs to support him and his boy Jonesy, only he got laid of from the Port-a-Potty job for showing up drunk last week, but how else was he supposed to get through those long days of cleaning the filthiest of other people's filth? So when he lost the Port-a-Potty job, he had to make some decisions, some hard decisions, lights or booze...booze wins every time. And once the lights were shut off, he was feeling out of the loop, so he headed to a place where he knew there would be lights and an opportunity to catch up current events, so here he is.

Wow, I really got into that last one...I need a minute.

Point is, I get it, I get the whole going to Starbucks to do "stuff" thing. I mean, shit, if I hadn't come, I wouldn't be bopping along to Jackie Wilson, writing about nonsense, and I think I speak for all 2 of you who read this when I say thank you, Starbucks, thank you.

You want a scene? I'll show you a scene...

I want to throw a tantrum, a balls-to-the-wall, throat shredding, fling-myself-onto-the-floor, scream-till-my-eyes-feel-like-they're-going-to-pop-out tantrum. I want to do this, and I only want to have to sheepishly say "I'm sorry" after I'm through, then fall asleep on my couch, because obviously I'll be plum-tuckered out from my tantrum. I don't want to have to worry about my wife wanting to talk about it, I don't want to worry about my friends defriending me or taking a break from me, I don't want to worry about explaining myself, or being made to feel crazy, or foolish...I just want to throw this tantrum, flip my shit, say sorry, and have that be it.

When you're a kid, you throw the tantrum because you don't understand something, or things haven't gone your way, and you don't get why. Can't that still happen to us as adults? I know for me, sometimes I simply don't know what's wrong. Sometimes what's wrong are feelings I don't understand, or a fear I have about things that can't be changed, or just a general irritation with my inability to not want to throw a tantrum.

Nowadays, us adults, we're expected to talk about it, try and figure out the root of our anger, bring up things from the past to get to bottom of the present. As much as I love that idea in theory, it doesn't always work. Tell me what the eff good talking about some of this stuff will do? Maybe I don't want to just suck it up and be an adult about it, I want to be a child about it. I think we're doing ourselves a disservice if we don't allow ourselves to occasionally experience the pure joy of anger. We allow ourselves to feel the pureness of every other emotion, so why not anger? Tantrums are the most natural and pure reaction to things that upset us, things that we don't understand, and so long as we're not throwing them at a rapid pace, I think tantrums should be considered gifts from God.

I know, I know, they're childish and immature, but you know what? I like being childish and immature. I love to swing, and play with Legos, and tease, and get tucked in, and have a Slurpee, and eat french toast cut into tiny pieces the way my mom used to cut it for me...I like things that remind me of being childish...tantrums included.

If I had an extra closet, I think I would pad it with gym mats and put a bunch of pillows in there, and stuff to kick. Then, whenever I felt like this, I would go into my tantrum closet and just lose my mind. And I know there are plenty of you out there who would be getting in line right behind me...

It's about gayin time...

So La Ga's new single, "Born This Way" dropped today. As many of you know, I am a HUGE La Ga fan, I'm totally a Little Monster, though I do need to work on putting up my claws and showing my teeth. I look a little silly doing it, probably because I'm not doing it with the reckless abandon that a Little Monster should. Regardless, I worship at the altar of La Ga, her concerts are my church, her message my religion, she is my higher power...I love everything about her.

I've been eagerly awaiting the new single, I've been reading all the articles about it, read the lyrics, read comment boards, read everything I could get my grubby monster claws on in anticipation of today. As I was driving this morning, my nipples pinged as the DJ announced it, and I heard it, I finally heard it...top to bottom heard it. My friends, I was not disappointed. As I listened to the music and the lyrics and bopped my head along, I heard this song, and I felt...validated. I felt so effing validated. At 34 years old and openly gay for 13 of those years, no, I do not NEED a song by the world's biggest pop star to validate me. But at 34 years old, knowing this song was about me and for me and full of love for me, shit, it felt good. And I felt validated. At 34 years old knowing that some of my younger cousins, or children of my friends would have this song as their anthem, have this song validate them, be about them, for them and full of love for them...shit, it felt good. This is the anthem.

Yes, there have been songs before "Born This Way" that have had a similar message, one that embraces everyone and all, recently there was "Firework" by Katy Perry, and "F***in Perfect" by P!nk. Not as recently "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilara, and the song that "Born This Way" is being compared to, "Express Yourself", by Madonna. But they aren't "Born This Way".

Never has the message "we, all of us, are BORN THIS WAY" been more clear. It's for ALL of us, even though described as a "love letter to the gays", it's for ALL of us. Every single person on this planet was born this way, each of us came into the world the way we are. Sure, we can be shaped and molded as we go along, but we are born who we are. And yes, we are all a "Firework", we are all "F***in Perfect", most of us are "Beautiful" and you should absolutely "Express Yourself". But until today, no one but La Ga has ever made it a priority to nail the most important point on the head, that we were all, every one of us, "Born This Way". That is the message, that is the anthem.



For all of you who want to hate, and say it's just a new "Express Yourself", go ahead and hate. You'll hate no matter what I say to you because likely, you were born that way...and isn't that the message? Isn't that the anthem?

The Luck Starts Here...

Have you ever had a near-death experience? I don't think I have. I mean, I know I've been in situations that could have gone horribly wrong, but I don't consider those "near-death" experiences. I was in a car accident that could have gone wrong. I jaywalk a lot which can always go wrong. I've choked on a piece of steak. I've drunkenly slipped on ice and fallen like a sack 'o flour, which could have gone wrong. You won't hear me say that any of those were "near-death" experiences. But actually, shit, when we're being honest, aren't we all technically "near-death" at every moment? If things like jaywalking can go wrong, aren't we near-death every time we wake up? Anyreaper, though creepy and morbid, that's not what I want to be talking about here.

I've noticed that right after someone talks about their near-death experiences, the next thing out of their mouth is "I'm lucky to be alive". It happened on Oprah this morning, Wynonna was talking about her two near-death experiences and followed them up with "I'm lucky to be alive". Interesting. But not really. I've noticed that people tend to say the right things when faced w/ death and near-death..."This makes me realize how precious life is. I won't take things for granted. I'm so lucky to be alive". Well I don't know about the rest of you, but my luck started November 30th, 1976, when I was born healthy. My luck at being alive is 34 years old. I am lucky every. single. day. And not just on days when I'm jaywalking and cheating death. Luck is something every one of us is born with, simply because we were born.

This also makes me think of all the times in my life when I've wished not to be alive, times as a child or as a teenager when I would say "I didn't ask to be born". What an asshole thing to think and an even more asshole thing to say. No, I didn't ask to be born, but someone sure done asked for me. My parents asked for me, they asked to be blessed(snerk) with a gift that ended up being me, something they may have decided against had they met teenage me first. No wonder they asked for another gift. But regardless, they asked for me. My sister and I, we are the miracles my parents asked for. We are miracles. I am a miracle. Someone asked for me. Someone asked for us all. How lucky I am. How lucky we are.

Luck. We're born with it, it's something we have, it's a part of us, it's ours every day because we're alive. Every day I am alive, I am lucky because I get to walk outside, I get to see a tree, a bird, a dog, I get to read words, be touched, feel my heart beat, pick a booger, smile, listen to a song, have a memory, miss someone, hear a voice, take a shower. Every day I get to be a daughter, a sister, a wife, and know love. Every day I get to be a friend, have a friend, share my life, and laugh like crazy. Every day I am alive, I am lucky.

And yes, every day I pick a booger.

Truths...

Recently, my friend's mom died. I'm overcome with sadness for her. I'm at a loss, I don't know what to do. I've known her for 21 years, and for the first time I have no idea what to say to her. All I wish I could do is fix her. I want my hug to be as comfortable as a mother's hug, since that's what she's missing now more than ever. I want to sit on the couch with her and rock her as she cries and have that be enough. But it's not.

I want to fix people when they are broken. I thought this was a good thing, a nice thing, but it's an unrealistic thing. I can't fix anyone. Nothing I can say to someone will fix them. Nothing I can do for someone will fix them. No joke I can tell will make someone laugh all their troubles away. I can't fix anyone.

I'm completely and utterly co-dependent in my relationships. I have a desperate need to be needed. It's quite possible that I am only attracted to people who appear to be in a place of need. I've always always thought that I was just a good person, a good friend, and that I had a desire to help people, to try and make their lives better. And I might be, all of that could very well be true...but the real story, the headline to this, is that I need to be needed to feel any sort of self-worth. It all comes from a good place, a good heart...I truly want to be something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I want to bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life that I'm blessed to be a part of. But I need to be needed. You've never seen someone as happy as I am when The Joyous One is sick, because she needs me. Someone as fiercely independent and responsible as The Joyous One needing someone like me, so irresponsible, so co-dependent...why wouldn't that bring me to happy? I need to be needed.

Don't misunderstand me, I'm not implying that I somehow wish for bad things to fall on the people in my life so I can be needed, so I can try to fix them. Like I said before, I can't fix anyone. I want my people to be happy, and I want to be a part of getting them there. I want to be the light that they see when everything is dark. I want to put a smile on their face. I want my invitation to hang out to be the thing that gets them out of the house. I want to be something utterly impossible. The biggest problem? Me saying "I WANT"...because it's not about me. That's selfish, and that's not me.

I need to change this. I need to stop trying so hard, because when I try too hard, I ruin it. When I try too hard, my natural compassion becomes unnatural...forced...not me. I need to flip the script here, and start hoping for things, instead of wanting, desiring. Hope is spiritual. Want is greedy.

I hope that when I hug my friend whose mom just died, she gets some comfort out of that. I hope that when we spend time together, it brings her some relief and takes her mind off things for a moment. I hope I am something positive in the lives of the people I care about. I hope I can bring support, and laughter, and impressive dancing to every life I'm blessed to be a part of. I hope that when The Joyous One is sick, I take care of her well.

I hope for my friends happiness. I hope I can add to that in their life. I hope that I can be something they see as a light, something they can go towards to get out of the dark. I hope I can bring a smile to their face. I hope my invitation to hang out is something they consider. I hope I can be something utterly possible.

Dan Savage Just Keeps Getting Better...

For those of you who don't know, Dan Savage is an author, journalist, and writer of an internationally syndicated advice column about sex and relationships. Recently, after the upswing in gay teenage suicides, Dan and his partner started the "It Gets Better Project", in which gay adults tell gay kids that yes, it will get better, just stay alive and you'll see that it does get better. I read Dan's column from time to time, it makes me laugh, makes me think, and every now and again makes me uncomfortable. The following column just made proud. In light of all the bullying that's been taking place which has led to the death of too many kids, I thought Dan's response to L.R. was right on target. He managed to put onto "paper" what a lot of us gays(and gay supporters) would like to say, but usually end up screwing up due to the foaming of the mouth caused by anger and ignorance...at least that's what happens to me. I hope you take the time to read this, and also to visit http://www.itgetsbetterproject.com/. Thank you,

Meta Kroker


Dan-
I heard an interview with you about your It Gets Better campaign. I was saddened and frustrated with your comments regarding people of faith and their perpetuation of bullying. As someone who loves the Lord and does not support gay marriage, I can honestly say I was heartbroken to hear about the young man who took his own life.

If your message is that we should not judge people based on their sexual preference, how do you justify judging entire groups of people for any other reason (including their faith)? There is no part of me that took any pleasure in what happened to that young man.

To that end, to imply that I would somehow encourage my children to mock, hurt, or intimidate another person for any reason is completely unfounded and offensive. Being a follower of Christ is, above all things, a recognition that we are all imperfect, fallible, and in desperate need of a savior. We cannot believe that we are better or more worthy than other people.

Please consider your viewpoint, and please be more careful with your words in the future.
L.R.

Dan's response:

I'm sorry your feelings were hurt by my comments.

No, wait. I'm not. Gay kids are dying. So let's try to keep things in perspective: Fuck your feelings.

A question: Do you "support" atheist marriage? Interfaith marriage? Divorce and remarriage? All are legal, all go against Christian and/or traditional ideas about marriage, and yet there's no "Christian" movement to deny marriage rights to atheists or people marrying outside their respective faiths or people divorcing and remarrying. Why the hell not?

Sorry, L.R., but so long as you support the denial of marriage rights to same-sex couples, it's clear that you do believe that some people—straight people—are "better or more worthy" than others.

And—sorry—but you are partly responsible for the bullying and physical violence being visited on vulnerable LGBT children. The kids of people who see gay people as sinful or damaged or disordered and unworthy of full civil equality—even if those people strive to express their bigotry in the politest possible way (at least when they happen to be addressing a gay person)—learn to see gay people as sinful, damaged, disordered, and unworthy. And while there may not be any gay adults or couples where you live, or at your church, or in your workplace, I promise you that there are gay and lesbian children in your schools. And while you can only attack gays and lesbians at the ballot box, nice and impersonally, your children have the option of attacking actual gays and lesbians, in person, in real time.

Real gay and lesbian children. Not political abstractions, not "sinners." Gay and lesbian children.

Try to keep up: The dehumanizing bigotries that fall from the lips of "faithful Christians," and the lies about us that vomit out from the pulpits of churches that "faithful Christians" drag their kids to on Sundays, give your children license to verbally abuse, humiliate, and condemn the gay children they encounter at school. And many of your children—having listened to Mom and Dad talk about how gay marriage is a threat to family and how gay sex makes their magic sky friend Jesus cry—feel justified in physically abusing the LGBT children they encounter in their schools. You don't have to explicitly "encourage [your] children to mock, hurt, or intimidate" queer kids. Your encouragement—along with your hatred and fear—is implicit.

It's here, it's clear, and we're seeing the fruits of it: dead children.

Oh, and those same dehumanizing bigotries that fill your straight children with hate? They fill your gay children with suicidal despair. And you have the nerve to ask me to be more careful with my words?

Did that hurt to hear? Good. But it couldn't have hurt nearly as much as what was said and done to Asher Brown and Justin Aaberg and Billy Lucas and Cody Barker and Seth Walsh—day in, day out for years—at schools filled with bigoted little monsters created not in the image of a loving God, but in the image of the hateful and false "followers of Christ" they call Mom and Dad.

READ MORE FROM DAN SAVAGE AT: www.TheStranger.com/SavageLove

I just love Dan Savage, and I'm so glad he's on my side...

Huh, maybe it was a hate crime...

Yesterday after work, I was making the grocery store rounds to buy up supplies for my famous tuna melts. And no, that's not a euphemism for anything, you pigs, I truly was buying vegetables and tuna and english muffins. You see, my seriously pregnant friend Annie was coming over for dinner, and she loves tuna melts and I make a truly outstanding tuna melt. The more I write "tuna melt", the more disgusting and euphemism-y it starts to sound. Anyfishy, I had just finished hitting the Jewel for the muffins(heh), the cheese, etc and was fixing to hit the Whole Foods for the tuna.

Off topic(and I've already forgotten what the topic is, but I'm sure I'll get back to it in roundabout fashion), as I pulled into the parking lot, there was a couple playing the most vigorous public game of tonsil hockey that I have ever seen, leaned up against a parked car. I think they were playing for the Suckley Cup. Seriously, faces mashing, over-the-clothes fondling, the voyuer/porn director in me wanted to walk right up to them and be like "Now, grab his ass. Caress her boob...circular-like, uh huh. Okay tilt your head to the right a little, let him bite your neck. Yeah, that's nice. Do you mind if I take some snaps?"...but I refrained. I can just imagine my mother reading this last part and saying to my dad "Your daughter's a real pig, you know that right?" Or just going right to the source and calling me..."I read your blog. You're a real pig, you know that?"...this pig's for you, Momma! Wait, what was I talking about? Oh right, Whole Foods...

So, I head into Whole Foods, make a beeline for the tuna, grab what I need and head to the register. I'm standing there, entranced by some new juice they were displaying nearby, my mind roaming with thoughts of reusable grocery bags and should I buy yet another one, when all of the sudden I feel something bang into my rear bumper. No, not of my car dummies, I'm talkin bout my ass. Startled, I looked around to see what has just rammed me in ba-donk-a-donk and I see a cart rolling away from me, looking suspicious. It appeared that my solid rear bumper was no real match for the shopping cart, cuz that sucka was nearly at the entrance of the chip aisle. Big ups to my big butt. Slightly embarrassed, I said "Well alright then. That was...interesting." A lady the next aisle over who saw the whole thing started giggling a little, which only contributed to my embarrassment. Then she told me that some guy had been pushing the cart, let go of it and ran out of the store. She suggested that maybe he had an emergency and didn't realize the cart was still rolling. I jokingly said "Or maybe it's someone who doesn't like me very much and rammed me with their cart...hahahahahahehe..hmmmm" Joking had turned into "what if..", and I started to really think that maybe this was some man who didn't care for me and flung his cart recklessly in my general direction, hoping to clip my Achilles or trip me or something. I racked my brain, thinking of who could it be, wondering who had I wronged in the past, or who might have a vendetta against me. Sure, I'm in the Geh Mafia, married to the Gehdmuddah, but I thought that was joke between me and my gehs.

I was still thinking about who attacked me as I left the Whole Foods, my ears were at full attention, listening for the sound of a revving motor as I crossed the street. My eyes were alert, scanning the people in the parking, hoping to catch some questionable activity. As I scanned, my eyes picked up the Parking Lot Porn stars, still locked in a full embrace. I tilted my head, said "Wow. Good for them" and all hate crime was forgotten as I started to sing "Parking Lot Makeout"

Gaga for La Ga...

I have not been able to stop picking up my banana and singing the beginning of "Telephone" into it (if you don't know who sings "Telephone", get out of my life). It started at my parents house this morning, when I asked my mom if I could take a banana and she made the mistake of telling me "yes". I immediately grabbed it, put it up to my ear and sang "Hello, hello baby you called I can't hear a thing. I ain't got no service in the club you see...see. Wh-wh-wh-what did you say? Oh you're breakin up on me. Sorry I cannot hear you I'm kinda busy...k-kinda busy. K-kinda busy. Sorry I cannot hear you I'm kinda busy." She stared at me with a blank look, I decided I wanted a different banana, so I chose another and did it again. More blank staring. I decided again that I wanted a different banana (listen, I'm not a fan of banana-bruising, so I'm kinda picky about my bananas. That's probably why I'm off the bananas permanently...HEY OH!!!!), so I selected one more and started the routine again to which I got a prompt "Will you shut up?" from my mother. Cue blank staring from me.

Fast forward to work, I set my banana on my desk, caught a glimpse of it an hour later, picked it up and..."Hello hello baby..." Throughout the morning and early afternoon this happened at least 7 more times until about 15 minutes ago, when I ate the banana. Guess I'll have to move on the the stapler. Or...wait for it...the telephone...