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ENDA is not a violation of the fundies First Amendment rights

The Wife heard an interesting tid bit on the radio that Focus on the Family is crying that ENDA (Employee Non-Discrimination Act) violates their First Amendment Rights to freedom of religion. They've been griping about this for some time actually. Apparently Focus on the Family is too busy gay bashing to really understand what, precisely, the First Amendment protects. The short answer is it doesn't completely protect you in the workplace. The far right attempted to use this same tired argument against racial discrimination and sexual harassment ... it didn't work.

I spoke to the Paternal Unit, nationally recognized free speech expert Paul McMasters, who didn't use all the profanity I wanted to but basically agreed that Focus on the Family is way off base. He pointed me in the direction of numerous articles showing how a blogger's free speech OUTSIDE the workplace could be controlled by his or her employer. Read, you can get fired for what you say publicly if your boss doesn't like it.

Now, let's do a little check up here: the government can make no law governing your speech or religious practices. It's a bit more complicated when it comes to your boss. Especially if your boss isn't the Federal Government.

Dear Old Dad pointed me to this article, by lawyer David Hudson, on religious freedom in the workplace. The important take aways from the article are as follows:

*Public employees have the protections of the First Amendment and Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the major federal anti-discrimination law that covers virtually all public and private employers with 15 or more full-time employees. Employees in the executive branch of the federal government are also covered by the "White House Guidelines on Religious Exercise and Religious Expression in the Federal Workplace."

*Title VII generally prohibits an employer from discriminating against employees on the basis of race, color, sex, national origin or religion. Under Title VII, an employer must reasonably accommodate an employee’s religion unless doing so would create an “undue hardship.”

*The First Amendment's free-speech and free-exercises clause also protect public employees’ religious speech. The free-exercise clause provides that the government may not prevent individuals from freely practicing their religious faith. Public employees do not forfeit all of their free-exercise rights when they take a government job. If a government employer or workplace rule targets an employee’s religious speech and causes a substantial burden on his or her religious faith, it can be justified only if the employer shows a compelling interest. More often employer policies do not intentionally target an employee’s religious faith but have an incidental impact.

*In litigation, many public employers assert that they silenced an employee’s religious expression to avoid an establishment-clause conflict. The argument is that if the employer allows employees to speak about their religious faith on the job, the public will believe that the employer is sanctioning or endorsing the religious views.

You'll note all of that pertains to public employers. Private sector employers can have even more restrictions on their employees behavior in the workplace. They cannot, however, discriminate on the basis of race, color, sex or national origin. ENDA simply aims to add sexual orientation and gender identity to that.

If you attempted to file suit against your employer because you felt that your boss's hiring of a Native American, Latino, African-American, fill in the ethnicity here person, violated your First Amendment rights you'd be laughed out of court. Likewise, while your boss can't keep you from going to church he or she can regulate what you say about it in the office.

Gay people in the workforce are not going to keep anyone from praying or going to church. Therefore they really can't hurt anyone's religious freedoms. The Focus on the Family folks are still entitled to their "gay is evil" opinion but they won't be able use it to discriminate against the drag queen in the cube next to them.

Save Bryce

As I was listening to OutQ on XM, Michelangelo Signorile was taking calls on the plight of 23 year old Bryce Faulkner. Faulkner is a pre-med student from El Dorado, Arkansas. His mother just found out he was gay and apparently isn't too happy about it.

According to the Rev. Brett Harris's website, Faulkner's family has threatened to take away their support of his college education and nearly everything else if he doesn't get "cured."(WARNING: You may want to turn the volume down on your computer, the Rev. Harris has lots of sounds on his site when you arrive)

Bryce Faulkner is a bright young pre-med student who, like many in college, was totally dependent upon his parents for survival. His car, his cell phone, his education, even his job was all connected to his parents purse strings. Bryce was making plans to come out to his parents, but before he had the opportunity to carry out these plans, his mother found his email password and discovered communications between he and his lover Travis Of Green Bay, Wisconsin. As any person from the south, especially those whom have a conservative fundamentalist family and has come out of the closet knows, the family can become quite volatile in their reaction to the news. Bryce is no exception to this. In order to manipulate Bryce into accepting "treatment" for his homosexuality, they took away everything and left him the choice of becoming homeless and destitute or going into therapy. As anyone can imagine, this wasn't much of a choice. Being in the closet in a small town left him no one to speak to or to seek help to get him through the transition from the closet and into the light of day. His family took away every resource he had and left him with no phone to call for help, a car to drive to any help that might be out there and no money to even take a bus to Wisconsin to be with his lover. The program he is going into is a 14 month program, one of the most severe and intense of these kinds of programs.

Bryce and Travis love one another deeply. The very reason Bryce was going to come out of the closet was in order to move closer to Travis because they wish to spend the rest of their lives together. Anyone who loves another can understand the turmoil and deep pain Travis is feeling right now. Having someone you love manipulated into pretending the love you share is an affront to God and unacceptable. Being manipulated into being cloistered away for over a year of intense brain washing techniques that tell you your homosexuality is a choice, your love is unnatural and you will sent to a place of fire and brimstone unless you submit to their philosophical interpretation of theology. Anyone one who has even the slightest knowledge of programs like those offered by Exodus International (a group that believes homosexuality is a choice and can be changed through prayer and counseling) can be spiritually demoralizing, psychologically destructive and emotionally devastating. As a person who has had someone close to them go through this kind of treatment, I make it my mission to help anyone who is forced to go into this kind of misguided and ill-informed rehabilitation programs.

Harris doesn't indicate where this deprogramming is going to take place, but the site has gotten a lot of notice and has spawned a FaceBook group as well as a Twitter account. According to the FaceBook page, the Faulkner's have threatened Harris with litigation saying they're being slandered. So far it's all a good deal of they said vs. they said, but none-the-less compelling stuff.

Many of us are or know folks who have family like this: deeply religious to the point they've decided it's their job to do God's judgment. All I can say is if parents attempted to stop their child from being left-handed or brown-eyed they'd be the ones being carted off to some form of deprogramming. Being gay, lesbian, queer, bi or trans-gendered is a TRAIT. It isn't something we choose. It isn't a lifestyle "choice." It's WHO WE ARE. GET USED TO IT. WE AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE.

Ahem. Stepping off the soap box now.

Frankly, if there are mental health professionals performing any sort of deprogramming they ought to have their license revoked for participating in junk science. My guess is that, more likely, poor Bryce has been sent to some religious institution that will "deprogram" him straight into a lifetime of self-destructive behavior.

Massachusetts sues over DOMA

FINALLY! The state of Massachusetts is suing the Federal Government over DOMA. From AP:

BOSTON (AP) — Massachusetts is suing the federal government over a law that defines marriage as a union between a man and a woman.

State Attorney General Martha Coakley filed the lawsuit Wednesday in federal court in Boston. It says the federal Defense of Marriage Act interferes with the right of Massachusetts to define marriage as it sees fit.

The 1996 federal law denies federal recognition of gay marriage. Massachusetts was the first state to allow the practice.

The Boston-based Gay & Lesbian Advocates & Defenders has already sued over the federal law. It says it discriminates against gay couples and is unconstitutional because it denies them access to federal benefits that other married couples receive.

Getting married?

If you're planning a wedding, you're likely finding lots of dreck for same-sex couples out there on the web. Most of us find bits and pieces here and there and look to straight sites for guidance and it just doesn't work. Never fear, help is on the way.

Check out queerwedding.com. The web master and her partner just got married and she decided to help other couples plan their perfect ceremony. The site is still a work in progress. She's looking for any and all advice or info folks have to share.

I'll provide a link to her site on the side bar so you can easily go there and keep up with the progress!

Kris Dresen: comic genius

If you've been around this site for awhile you know I'm one of those late bloomers, came out at 35. When I was coming out, of course I was ravaging teh interwebz for anything and everything lesbian. I came across a rare gem in all that mess: Kris Dresen.

Dresen is a comic artist and she creates inky tableaus of we lesbians at our best and at our worst. And sometimes, she makes a serious funny. Follow the link, I guarantee you've experienced that conversation if not witnessed it.

In defense of hate speech, or what do you have against lima beans Les?

A recent poll suggests we as a country believe hate is on the rise. Rasmussen Reports’ study suggests the recent shooting at the Holocaust Museum and the assassination of a late term abortion doctor are likely contributors to the general feeling tensions are on the rise.

Public policy seems contradictory to that for the LGBTQ community. Barney Frank has introduced a version of ENDA that includes the Trans community. Seven states have legalized gay marriage. The Obama administration has made a nod towards benefits towards same-sex partners. It would seem that we’re gaining acceptance more and more.

But there always seems some backlash. The two incidents noted above aside, we had our own look at bald-faced bigotry when the Neo-Nazi’s showed up to protest Pride. There protest merely succeeded in making the event a success for the GLO organizers. But the hate-mongers' message was not missed.

Hate is still alive and well.

Attempts to quell the hate abound. Local lawmaker Sara Lampe has worked, so far unsuccessfully, to pass anti-bullying legislation. There are also many who wish to pass laws banning hate speech. The argument is we stop the hate speech before it escalates into violence.

I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. Stopping hate-fueled speech won’t stop the hate. The root cause here is the hate not the speech. That hate is going to exist whether the haters are silent or the loudest bigots on the block.

Let’s pretend for a minute I hate lima beans. Ok, no pretending, I REALLY hate lima beans. And I bitch all the time about what a scourge on the vegetable world lima beans are and how I’d like to burn every field that produces lima beans. Governor Nixon hears my rants and decides I’m a danger to Missouri’s farmers and passes a law that I’m not allowed to even say the word lima bean. That may shut me up, but it certainly won’t make me quit hating lima beans, or avoiding lima beans or even smashing them when I think no one is looking. In fact, it’s liable to make that behavior worse.

Yes those signs and words the Neo-Nazi’s brought to our Pride hurt and were hard to hear. But I’m glad they showed up. I’m glad they showed their faces. I’m glad I was able to look them in the eye. Because like it or not, now they can’t hate in a vacuum where we’re just a bunch of faceless fags.

Further, knowing they are around helps all of us to be vigilant. More importantly, law enforcement knows they are around. There were several of those young men whose FBI portfolio was created or got fatter that day. And at the very least, the speech gives them a vent for the vitriol they feel. While that vent isn’t enough for some, it’s enough for most.

This country has a long-standing tradition of allowing, accepting and even encouraging dissent, even when that dissent is difficult to hear. Dissent is the sincerest form of patriotism because without a flow of ideas, good and bad, this country may as well cease to exist. In a nation that is for the people, of the people and by the people there are going to be a wildly diverse collection of ideas and opinions. And those are surely going to clash from time to time.

Traditional marriage explained

Hilarious

Pride and Prejudice

GLO’s annual PrideFest has always been a hot topic and not always in a positive way. Many in our community believe GLO mismanages the event and holds it back. The members of this year’s Pride committee set out to quiet those complaints.

Full disclosure, until a few weeks ago, I was a member of the committee. I left for personal reasons, I spread myself way too thin the last year. The Wife has often commented I need to stop trying to save the world long enough to spend some time with her. I can’t argue with that.

I also strongly felt the Pride Committee was over ambitious this year. However, I will say this year’s Pride was much better attended and planned than last year’s event. I suspect that’s due more to the attention the Nazi’s brought to the event than the organizers.

Cabaret was well advertised. Pride was not. At least until Roger Ray got an opportunity to grand stand over the Nazi’s coming to protest.

There were more vendors. PROMO, APO and several church groups were out in full force and likely got some much needed exposure. In addition to the drag entertainment, the committee was able to get live music. The last act, Summer Osborne, kept the party going until 9:20.

I was also pleased to see Jeanette Oxford there, she is an out state lawmaker. She came to help PROMO’s cause. She also got a chance to talk to Cory De Vera from the News-Leader. Sadly, Ms. De Vera didn’t really use much of that interview and chose to focus on the protest instead.

There are three out lawmakers in Missouri. It’s a great story. But I’m sure for the News-Leader it’s a bit too edgy.

And I’m not saying the protest wasn’t newsworthy. At least KOLR 10 and the News-Leader covered it, which is more than can be said for KY-3 and KSPR. Which is sad, because I know the big news is the triple murder in Cole Camp, but given the shooting at the Holocaust Museum this past week, the Nazi’s protesting is also a good story those outlets chose to miss.

However, GLO needs a lot of work in the public relations arena. They can hardly advertise a major event like Pride and didn’t do a whole lot to get their own message out about the folks protesting the event. I hope they can get better at that because it’s really hurting the organization.

GLO offers a lot of great services, from support groups to movie nights. Yet, very few in our community take advantage of it. Sure you can chalk some of it up to people not wanting to hang out on Commercial Street but most of it comes down to poor marketing. Granted, GLO is a volunteer organization and that can be a challenge.

Reaction from the crowd attending Pride was mixed. I heard everything from Pride was better than last year to “This sucks.”

From my vantage point, it seemed most folks were enjoying themselves but Pride was still mostly the same, just with a few more vendors and some loud mouths. And truthfully, unless the GLO Board sees fit to court more business support and run Pride more like the Black Tie affair, it will likely never be more than a big party next to the GLO Center.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with it being a big party next to the GLO Center, but it all comes down to what the Community wants. Which is also problematic because we as a community are SO good at being divided and often our own in-fighting does far more damage than a protest by a fringe group.

The Nazi's are coming, don't hide

Roger Ray’s heart is in the right place. In his latest editorial in the News-Leader, Dr. Ray calls for the Queen City community to come out and stand up to the Nazi Group planning to protest this Sunday’s Pride event.

To quote the good doctor:

The day I read in the News-Leader that our Human Rights Commission was being cut from the city's budget, I was also handed a notice published by the local neo-Nazi group, the National Socialist Movement, announcing their intentions to disrupt this weekend's Pride Fest (Sunday, 1 to 8 p.m., on Commercial Street).

The plight of the gay community in Springfield has certainly improved over the past decade, but we are a long way from being the kind of city that is so free of racial, gender and sexual prejudice that we can close down our Human Rights Commission. But in the absence of a city-funded office to advocate for the targets of discrimination and hate crimes, persons of conscience must become increasingly willing to publicly and visibly stand up in defense of the rights of minorities in Springfield.

As we learned in the 2001 incident in which a local black man was stabbed by neo-Nazi skinheads in a Denny's restaurant, the perpetrators of these hate crimes can be difficult to apprehend when they are acting in a group. It took nearly three years to find and charge those responsible for the knife attack on Maurice Wilson. We are fortunate that the attackers were found and identified at all because these gangs tend to move their members around the country to avoid detection and apprehension since one flabby, tattooed bald guy with bad teeth looks a lot like other dentally challenged, heavily tattooed, hairless, unemployed, corpulent men.

I had been invited to speak at the Pride Fest and was weighing that invitation against an invitation to go to a friend's lake house. The thought of a gang of thugs in black uniforms, decorated with red swastikas attempting to disrupt the Pride Fest sealed my decision. The stated goal of this little gang of terrorists is to "let the homosexuals know that they are not welcome in our town and that we will not tolerate their "celebration"."(sic)

I’ll reserve from commenting on the good doctor’s decision to not go to his friend’s lake house.

I do applaud Dr. Ray’s appeal that the straight community join us at our Pride celebration. We welcome all who support us to the party, and Nazi’s or no, it should be a good time. I think we can all agree that the more we stop dividing things between gay and straight the more we can accomplish together.

But back to the matter at hand, I saw the same flyer Dr. Ray did. I think he’s taking things a twee bit out of context. Yes, the Nazi’s are coming to Pride, to protest. They have a First Amendment right to do so. But let’s examine some hard facts:

1. Pride is being held on private property. There will be police there. The Nazi’s won’t be allowed on said private property.
2. The public property the Nazi’s will have available to protest on is a sidewalk. A small, crumbling sad stretch of sidewalk on Commercial Street where few of the Pride celebrants will even be able to see them.

So if the Nazi’s disrupt Pride it’s because we LET them. What irks me beyond measure about Roger Ray’s over-exuberant attempt at help is it gives the Nazi’s just what they want, they now think we’re afraid of them.

Well, we aren’t afraid of a few Nazi’s Dr. Ray. I’ve read the National Socialist Movement’s literature. Yes, they’re a scary group who believe in the most horrible bigotry imaginable. But the Nazi’s also know there are going to be cops there and none of them want to get arrested. They just want to make enough noise and nuisance that one of us queers gets out of line and slugs one of them. Then they can show the world what reprobates we are.

Do. Not. Give. Them. The. Pleasure.

I challenge each and everyone of you to outright ignore them and if you must speak to them, let honey drip from your tongue. Do not give them the satisfaction of thinking for one nanosecond you give a rat’s ass about their worthless bigotry. The minute you take their bait, we all lose.

Gay Clout

In the movie “Angels In America,” Roy Cohn’s character scoffs that in years of trying homosexuals have been unable to pass an equal rights amendment. He says this is because they lack clout. And it often feels we are relegated to a second class citizenship.

Only seven states allow gay marriage. In 30+ states, we can still be fired from jobs and evicted from homes. We cannot sponsor people from abroad as spouses. The refrain “marriage is between a man and a woman” has even issued forth from a beauty queen’s lips …

…and it bit her in the ass.

It would seem our cloutless status may be changing. But forcing Miss California to rethink her words is child’s play compared to the “clout” we wield economically. As proponents of Prop 8 found, we aren’t without gay teeth and will bite.

When the list of major donors to Prop 8 became public, many of the businesses who gave their financial support to the initiative found their gay patrons no longer supporting them. In some cases, these businesses found themselves with a host of picketers outside their doors. The reaction may not have had a public policy impact immediately, but I’m sure those folks are thinking really hard about publicly supporting something of that nature in the future.

Our pocket books may have an even greater impact on the issue of Gay Marriage. In the June 3 edition of Newsweek, the magazine reports that Massachucetts has seen a positive economic impact from same-sex marriage:

In the five years since legalizing same-sex marriage, Massachusetts has gained $111 million in spending from gay weddings, according to a new study published by UCLA's Williams Institute, which studies sexual-orientation law and public policy. "That's money buying flowers, hotels, caterers, hiring a band—all the things that go into a wedding," explains M. V. Lee Badgett, a coauthor of the study.

On a recent trip to Kansas City, I picked up the gay weekly paper there and learned KC is actively courting same-sex newly weds from Iowa to honeymoon there.

If the UCLA study’s numbers are right, at $7400 per wedding, few states can afford not legalize same-sex marriage or at the very least civil unions. If they don’t, they’re costing their states tens of thousands of dollars … given that 10 percent of us are gay.

In fact, Congress evaluated the issue back in 2004 and came to the conclusion that if all 50 states legalized same-sex marriage the federal government would see tax revenues of $1billion. The simple fact of the matter is there are lots of gay dollars to be had out there and so far seven states have a monopoly on that revenue.

Human nature being what it is, I can’t imagine many states will continue to let those states be the sole beneficiaries. It may be queer as a three dollar bill, but those queer Benjamins still spend at Wal Mart.

Gwedded!

Where have I been?

Well, for starters I got married. Or had a commitment ceremony. However you choose to look at it the GF is now the Wife.

The morning of our ceremony we had some last minute details to work out. Of course a trip to Wal Mart was involved. As we sashayed in, the Wife saw a former classmate from high school.

She didn’t want to talk to this person, not someone she was close with and I think there might have even been the hint of fear that this person would be judgmental about us. But then the Wife announced, “If we had more time I think I would go up and inform her that we’re getting gay married today.”

And that’s when we decided, it’s not enough to say we’re married. We have to tell people we’re GAY married.

My mother, bless her heart, only had one high speed come apart that day … the cake lady was late and the cake was wrong. Now, not dreadfully wrong. It didn’t say, “Happy Wedding Brent and Trish,” like a certain item did at my first marriage.

No the cake lady got two of the layers mixed up so that the chocolate layer was smaller than the Creamcicle layer and in Mom’s eyes that was a crime. I think she was ready to go after the lady with an ice pick.

But the ceremony was lovely. Very small, just family. My blond twin performed the nuptials, then we all ate too much cake and drank really good champagne.

And then, because I love the Wife, we went for beers and to the cage fights at the Shrine. Ah romance.

The Wife enjoyed herself immensely. I had fun but was so worn out from all the wedding prep, I fell asleep in one of those oh so comfy chairs. Ahem.

Moving on.

I’ve also been working on some other personal projects, oh and I once again have the Vulcan Death Flu, not to be confused with the H1N1 virus. No this is just general hacking, wheezing and swallowing dozens of Mucinex, chased with the Wife’s magic chicken noodle soup.

So once I’m completely back on my feet, I’ll be back to the snark you’ve come to know and love. I’ve got a smackdown coming on Fedora as well as a rather famous barbeque joint in KC, but praise for an amazing pizza joint there.

And a word of congrats to the seven states where gay marriage is now a reality legally. Let’s face it, there are those of us who don’t need the government’s blessings over our union, but it is the right thing … and bit by bit we’re losing small battles but winning the war.

Life lessons in a road trip

I eased back in the passenger seat of the GF’s car, glancing at my bare knee prickly stray hairs stood in contrast on my pale skin. I started to fuss but reminded myself, “We’re on vacation.” Well, not exactly.

Weekend getaway?

Kind of.

You’re over-thinking it, Les.

One of the GF’s cousin’s was getting married this past weekend and in a weird but welcome bit of good karma, the GF had a free hotel room. This meant we got to have weekend in Kansas City for cheap. Yay!

It was a chance for us to sleep in without intervention from the felines or the canine. It would be my first trip there since I was a kid. It was a chance to eat some real barbeque. It was a chance to relax.

Yeah. Right. Me? Relax?

Ask anyone who knows me, I can be a rather uptight so and so. I hate clutter. I plan everything … to death. Spontanaeity is something I’m working on in therapy. Which explains the fretting over the three stray hairs on my knee. My neuroses are well care for.

But I had decided, for once, to try to relax and just go with the flow. We only had one place we really had to be and the rest of the weekend was open to possibility. A rare treat for the two of us.

The GF had been uncharacteristically quiet when she burst forth with, “Are you ok with pizza for lunch? We’re about 35 miles from our destination and I just thought of a place to eat.”

I was amazed. I’d been so busy mentally chewing on my own minutia I had no idea most of our road trip was over. The trip was far shorter than I expected.

“Sure,” I said, “I’m good with whatever.”

I could tell from the sly sidelong glance I got she wasn’t convinced. I am an unrepentant foodie and I’m loathe to go to chain restaurants. Sure, when nothing else better presents itself I’ll go to an Applebee’s but I’m bound to be fussy about it. However, pizza is a safe zone for me because usually anywhere you go there’s a decent Mom and Pop pizza joint.

The GF plugged an address into her TomTom (lesbians and their tech toys) and 40 minutes later we were sitting in a delightful little place called Minsky’s Pizza. It’s a local chain in Kansas City that started out life in the 70’s. I’m fairly certain we visited the original one given the age of the building and fixtures. It was definitely my kind of place. The GF was tickled she’d found something that made us both happy.

As I glanced around the restaurant, I noticed the pre-teen birthday lunch at the table next to us. It brought back a flood of memories of my own pre-teen pizza parties that were nearly always at Pizza Hut. Back then I loved to go to Pizza Hut, the mere thought of it now makes my gut churn.

I dimly wondered when I got to be such an uppity so and so until the pizza came. My faith was renewed in the Mom and Pop chain. There were hunks of tomato in the sauce and the cheese on the pizza was real mozzarella. I decided I was picky, not uppity.

After we got to our hotel and changed, we made our way over to the park where the nuptials were to take place. I was excited when we got there because the park was on a lake that is the home waters to the University of Kansas rowing team. I was a coxswain in high school and since we were early I made the GF find the boathouse.

So far it had been a delightful and restful afternoon.

We met up with the inlaws and made our way into the recreation hall where the wedding was to take place. It was a beautiful stone and wood structure built in the 40s overlooking the lake, a lovely place to get married.

The GF always cries at weddings and had her tissue at the ready. She wound up using it to stifle giggles when the preacher kept mispronouncing the groom’s name. None-the-less the bride and the ceremony were lovely and when it was over the tension dam broke.

Weddings are stressful things, which is sad, because they should be happy celebrations. They usually are eventually, but up to the point of the reception everyone’s pucker factor -- guests included – is at squeeze factor ten.

There was a young lad at the wedding named Junior. I didn’t figure out who Junior was until half way through dinner, but I was well aware of his presence the minute the Bride and Groom walked out of the hall. As far as I could tell, Junior had run after them because his mother was yelling at him.

It was obvious that Junior was just done with all this wedding nonsense. He was ready to party and he didn’t have time for pleasantries such as dinner and cake.

I was reminded of my first wedding. I pretty much felt like Junior did. I really didn’t want to be dressed up and sit through all this hoopla. I wanted to eat cake and dance. This notion went over like a lead balloon with the maternal unit.

In fact, as I looked around the wedding I was attending I was overcome with the notion my mother would be completely appalled. This wedding was very free form and fairly casual. My mother would see it as unorganized. More to the point, my mother wouldn’t be in control of it.

My mom had complete control of my first wedding. I was glad of it too, I was entirely too busy starting a new job and settling into cohabitation with my now ex-husband. And, truthfully, she was thrilled to do it. I’ve always thought my mother could be a professional wedding planner but she’s only ever been interested in planning mine.

A lump formed in my throat as I thought of our upcoming big day. While I fully admit to having a wide control freak streak myself, as I’ve aged I’ve grown a little less fussy. And I really HATE overly formal.

Sure, it’s fine to put on the glad rags and go out on the town now and again but with time and one wedding behind me it’s very clear to me that formality isn’t the important part of a wedding. In fact, that’s all a wedding is, a mere formality.

But tell that to my overly formal mother.

Formal Maternal Unit aside, I think this time our wedding will be more about the GF and I celebrating our commitment to each other rather than what color of napkins to use and do the flowers match our hair. And because it’s unfair to ask the Maternal Unit to completely bend to my will, she got control of the flowers and the cake. So it will at least be a wedding she’s happy with as well.

Reflecting on all this, I began to relax, enjoy the wedding we were attending and allow myself just a twee bit of pride for going with the flow. That’s about the time the tornado sirens started.

Suddenly an erstwhile Park Ranger was in the room informing all of us we had to go to the basement of the building, “Right now.” This sentiment was echoed rather loudly by the Mother of the Bride who carries way more weight than THAT guy.

Relaxed ran straight for the basement and neuroses quickly took its place. The GF hates crowds, even more so in small enclosed places. I’m not fond of either, but when confronted with a tornado in any place other than my own home where I know where all the emergency stuff is? Well, hello basket case!

We steadfastly ignored the Park Ranger and Mother of the Bride. The GF was furtively looking out the window while trying to keep me from hyperventilating She mentioned needing a beer about then.

Beer? Keg. There’s a keg at this party and it’s in a stone enclosure on this floor that would probably withstand … “Well, honey let’s go get you a beer!”

The GF frequently looks at me as though I’ve grown a third head. I explained my logic and finally got her over there. And we both consumed a barley pop. I don’t know if it relaxed me or not but it didn’t hurt.

Fortunately for the Newlyweds the bad weather blew over and everybody, even Junior, could go back to the festivities. The GF and I said our goodbyes and decided to hit the casino. It was at that point we realized we’re old farts.

Twenty minutes and $30 into our gambling we knew we’d had too much day. The GF cashed out while I stood there silently cursing the penny slots. At least one of us had come out ahead.

We hardly slept, I think both of us were missing those felines and canine we were so sure always kept us up. We had a wonderful breakfast at First Watch the next morning and headed for home. The trip was fun, tornado drill aside, but it’s always good to be home … where I promptly got sick but it’s NOT the Swine Flu.

Not the Pig Flu and Unwashed Humanity

I do not have the Swine Flu, or excuse me, our government wants it referred to as the H1N1 virus. They’ve requested that so that pig farmers aren’t unduly harmed by bad press. I think most of us know that little name change, at this late stage in the game, is going to be of little or no help to pig farmers so I’ll move on.

I am sick, but I don’t have Swine Flu. I have verified this with a medical professional after being asked to do so by my employer. Apparently, Springfield is rife with illness, given the full waiting room and the weary doctors at Urgent Care, but so far none of us has the Swine Flu. Its NOT the Swine Flu.

I am a frequent flyer at Cox’s Urgent Care. Having switched jobs and thereby insurance companies and thereby network providers, I have only just now secured a primary care physician … who can’t see me until May 19. Since making this appointment, I’ve required medical care twice.

Good thing Urgent Care is there.

So far this year, I’ve had to visit for asthma issues, a scratched cornea, a dizzy spell and now Not the Swine Flu.

The first time I ever visited Cox’s Urgent Care, I wasn’t the patient. A friend was sick and the nurse they assigned to her is, I’ll just say it, hateful. In my other sojourns there, I’ve had this nurse myself and I at first wrote her behavior off to having bad day. Now I’ve had three encounters with her where she has just been hateful, so yeah hateful.

Beyond that, though, the staff there seem courteous, knowledgeable and efficient. I was in and out today in about two hours and that was with a friend, who also has Not the Swine Flu, needing to get checked out as well. He’d never been and marveled at how quickly and how well things went.

As we talked further, he mentioned he was unable to get into his primary care doctor for the check out. It caused us both to wonder is this one of the things we’re coming to in the healthcare industry, one now only sees one’s primary care doctor for routine items. If you’re sick, they don’t have time for you just go to Urgent Care then follow up with your regular doc. Let’s them get two copays out of you in some cases at the very least.

In some cases, it saves the long drawn out visit to your regular doctor. I find usually the wait is longer than they tell you and what should take an hour usually takes two or three. For something a simple as needing to see if you’ve got sinus infection, Urgent Care is often more efficient anyway.

The waiting room at Urgent Care is also vastly more entertaining.

Today’s cast of characters included: Small Screaming Child,Tanorexic Woman with a bad case of overexposed midsection,Overprotective Mom, Really Sick Woman Who Just Should Have Gone to the Emergency Room and the Car Accident Victims featuring Billy Joe Ray Bob.

I can’t help it, anytime I’m confronted with colorful humanity I find myself sitting there writing back stories for all of them. I’m even guilty of eavesdropping to help fill in the colorful details. But today, I didn’t even need to.

Woman Who Just Should Have Gone To ER was in the back about five minutes when they called the ambulance. She came in and went back to a room about the same time I did, I was only back there fifteen minutes. When I came back out to the waiting room to wait for my friend, the EMTs we’re milling around waiting to transport her.

I settled in and watched as Overprotective Mom and Overprotective Dad tried to cram into the Triage Room with their ill daughter. The nurses convinced them no harm would come to their daughter the three point two minutes it would take them to take her temperature and blood pressure. Mom stalked back to her waiting room chair and seethed, while Dad just looked uncomfortable holding his teen daughter’s blanket and pillow.

I felt ridiculously sorry for the young lady. I remember when my parents were like that … wait, they still are. The only reason I got to go to Urgent Care alone today was because I didn’t tell them I was going until after I went.

Tanorexic woman was also there with her Dad. He just sat there looking glum while she frightened the rest of us with her Velour track suit and exposed midriff. She looked irritated by Small Screaming Child and the only thing seemingly wrong with her was a really bad attitude.

The Car Accident Victims are those people who making sweeping generalizations true. They are the Ozarkers that cause most of us to cringe when we hear uppity East Coasters talking about them. We all get that odd feeling of being angry at those folks who are picking on them and thanking God we’re not wearing blue jean shorts with suspenders.

That’s precisely what Billy Joe Ray Bob was wearing. He was also using his outside voice to talk to his Momma who was a whole foot away from him. In short order, I had heard the harrowing tale that was their fender bender, watched Sis begrudgingly be wheeled off in a wheel chair and left to listen to Billy Joe Ray Bob recount his version of events of Carl Edwards’ wreck this past weekend.

Urgent Care, NASCAR and Not Swine Flu, does it get more absurd than that?

Bullied to death

An 11 year old boy from Springfield, MA committed suicide last week after countless taunts that he was gay. In fact, Carl Walker-Hoover didn't identify as gay but his mother found him hanging by an extension cord after she'd repeatedly appealed to her son's school to do something about the abuse.

From the ABC NEWS article:

Carl's suicide comes about a year after California eighth-grader Lawrence King was shot and killed by a fellow student in his classroom for supposedly being gay.

In response, GLSEN has launched a multipronged education campaign to fight the use of anti-gay language and bullying.

Its annual Day of Silence, started at the University of Virginia in 1996 with 150 students, has now grown to more than 7,500 middle and high schools nationwide. Participants draw attention to LGBT issues by not speaking for a day.

Since October, GLSEN (Gay Lesbian Straight Education Network) has aired thousands of public service messages, "Think Before You Speak," to reduce the use of the slur, "That's so gay."

"When you are in elementary school, one of the first things you learn is the feeling of hurt when you are called 'gay' or 'fag,'" said Presgraves. "It doesn't matter if you are gay or straight. The term 'gay' has become synonymous with "uncool."

"The expression 'That's so gay' is one of the most heard in school, and students recognize it as derogatory," he said.

Carl would have turned 12 on this year's Day of Silence, April 17.

While Carl didn't identify as gay, studies indicate suicide rates among LGBT teens are higher than their heterosexual peers. Suicide rates among kids Carl's age are lower, but are reportedly on the rise.

Locally, Springfield Representative Sara Lampe has been actively working towards anti-bullying legislation.

Ladies' woman

Fiction for your Friday is a bit early this week ...

She told me she liked women. Originally, this seemed like really good news. I was all about women who liked women, especially attractive ones. I like women. Hey great minds!

Well, not so much.

The more I spent time with her, the more I noticed her noticing women. And talking about women. Women who weren’t me. Yet that were was always that reassuring, “But I find you attractive,” disclaimer. So it was ok. It had to be.

Right.

At first, I found her frequent out of town trips and insistences we do things with our own friends separately refreshing. It can get suffocating being with a person who merges into you, who get hurts if you want a night out with your buds or you just want to hide in your safety zone and read a book. I thought it was healthy.

It wasn’t.

At first, we spent more and more time apart. Then, it felt like we were apart when we were in the same room. Then, this lover of women wanted no part of my touching her. She was having her period. Her breath was bad. My breath was bad. The sheets were the wrong color.

I swam the river denial. She was just going through a phase. We moved a bit fast, so things need to slow down and then they’ll even out. We’re meant to be and if I’m just patient, if I am her rock, she’ll drift back to me.

As she floated out into the ocean of her own desires.

There was no evidence, no defining moment, no righteous declaration. There was only the sinking feeling I’d been left behind. She never had to admit her guilt, she was not capable of feeling it. Why should she? Some infatuations don’t turn out.

They turn towards a new infatuation.

I can’t even be angry, for the same has happened to me too. There is a spark of interest that can only fan the smallest, brief flash. The fire can’t be sustained by a bit of paper that floats into the flame.

If you’re lucky, after several good tries, you meet someone who transcends the initial infatuation. Her spark hits some form of love accelerant and the fire grows bright and hot. In time, it dims but slows into a steady, warm glow.

She told me she likes women. But after awhile, she told me she just liked me.

Domestic partnership registry in Columbia

Just days after Iowa overturned their ban on same sex marriage, Columbia, MO made a baby step in that direction. The City Council unanimously voted for a Domestic Partnership registry.

The registry, which would allow unmarried couples to register as partners, is open to couples of any sexual orientation for a $25 fee. But most of the people who testified spoke of the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community’s need for such a registry.

The registry, administered through the Columbia/Boone County Department of Public Health and Human Services, would not obligate employers to give domestic partner benefits or force hospitals to allow partners access to patients, but it would serve as proof of partnership for institutions that already recognize those relationships.

While this step is a far cry from Iowa's momentous decision, here's hoping our own new City Council members take steps in this same direction.

For all you late bloomers out there

In the interest of community, I started a message board for women who have come out later in life. I've run into a number of us in my travels and I decided it was high time those of us who are local had a virtual place to congregate. Hopefully we'll even have an actual place to congregate and talk soon.

And even if you aren't a late bloomer, just struggling with being gay in the Queen City or just looking for some new friends feel free to stop by. The site is QueenCityLesbigaggle.myfreeforum.org.

Her assed

I have a love/hate relationship with MySpace. Sure it’s a good way to keep in touch with friends and there’s all those great quizzes and tests to pass the time. But it’s also very cliquish and has the maturity level of the ninth grade … and there’s all those quizzes and tests that are such time vampires. Ahem.

One of MySpace’s latest tools to keep up with your friends is a little application that compares your Friends List with the Friends List of the people ON your Friends list. Say that three times fast. The application then coughs up people you might know in common that you haven’t already “friended.”

In theory, I’m sure this little app is very useful and sometimes helpful. However, in the incestuous lesbian dating world it can also be painful.

I wandered into the living room yesterday afternoon and the GF was chuckling. “Guess who MySpace thinks I might want to friend?”

Tired from a workout, I shrugged. She gave me a few hints. I was a bit slow on the uptake but then it dawned on me that it was HER.

In our dating lives, we all have that one “special” someone. The person we regret ever having thought was worthy of our time or even just hot. The person you may have had sex with twice, but gave you a lifetime of grief. In other words, HER.

I shook my head. “What picture did she have up?”I asked bemusedly.

The GF chuckled, “Her posterior in a short skirt.”

A number of wry remarks tumbled forth in my brain before I said, “So she’s showing her good side?”

I love the smell of patchouli in the morning

I was barely awake, pre-coffee and just trying to prepare my breakfast sandwich in the break room at work. Why do they ALWAYS sneak up on me at those moments?

A co-worker meandered in and loudly sniffed the air. She looked pointedly at me.

“Are you wearing patchouli?”

I could hear Maggie Bitter groaning in sympathy. (And yes I know only Karen gets that joke)

“No,” I said, hoping that would end it. I’m such a foolish dyke.

She stepped closer, “Are you sure? I swear I smell patchouli.”

While I don’t wear patchouli, I do use a sea salt soap that has a very distinct fragrance. I told her as much, prompting her to grab my shirt and take a big whiff.

“It smells really nice,” she said, and then gave me a look.

I wanted to scream, “Do you NOT have the first concept of personal space?? Do you not see the BAND on my left hand? We’re you dropped on your head as an infant??!”

But even I know discretion is the better part of valor. I told her about the store where I got it and told her how to get there. Then I grabbed my sandwich from the microwave and ran.

I’ve been taking a breakfast that doesn’t have to be heated these days. It’s just safer that way.

A year older and bitchier

Oh, hello. Yes, I know, where the hell have I been? All apologies, but my time hasn’t exactly been my own of late. That and I had a birthday last week.

The GF and I went out for a celebratory birthday dinner as a matter of fact. She took me to Kai, because that’s my favorite place and she’s cool like that.

We arrived a few minutes early and our table wasn’t ready. We went to the bar, as instructed, to wait. A few minutes later another couple came and sat next to us.

The man started in immediately, “Did you see what those idiots in California are doing? The voters voted against Prop 8 and now they’re fighting it …” he trailed off because at this point I was staring at him. He looked at his feet. Fortunately, the hostess came and got him and took him to his table.

Unfortunately, when they came and got us, they put us at the table right next to him. If you’ve never been to Kai, the tables are mere inches apart. It’s a cozy place.

This could be a story about discrimination or being treated poorly by some jackass straight man, but I’m happy to report it isn’t.

Instead of being intimidated and uncomfortable, the GF and I continued our conversation. We traversed a number of current topics and when Jackass wasn’t treating our waiter like dirt he was glowering that we two uppity lesbians were proving that we were just a couple just like he and his wife.

Then the hostess brought an obviously gay man and his female dining partner up and seated them at the next table. By now, Jackass was fuming. He continued to take his ire out on the waiter.

The final straw was when our food was brought to the table. Of course, two of our dishes were flaming and Jackass’s wife could not help but ask us what they were. He glared at her as if her talking to us might give her a case of the gay.

He barked at the waiter to bring his check. They had barely finished eating. While I didn’t clap when he left, I did chuckle loudly.

And speaking of married couples, I mentioned I’d been a twee busy of late. The GF and I are in the process of planning a commitment ceremony. Now, now, no ugly emails about burying the lead.

The announcement comes lately and quietly in the post for a reason. It’s going to be a very quiet event. The GF and I are, as a friend quipped, not exactly people people. We’re having a very small ceremony with just family at my parents' home. We plan to celebrate big with friends a little later on this summer.

Fighting Prop 8

Arguments went before the California Supreme Court to overturn Proposition 8 Thursday. California’s gay marriage ban is being closely watched by Gay Rights Advocates and opponents alike. Interviewed on NPR Thursday morning, San Francisco mayor Gavin Newsom remarked that Prop 8 is dangerous because it took away rights from the 18,000 gay and lesbian couples married while gay marriage was legal in the state.

Newsom asserts that is a dangerous precedent to set, "If in this country a simple majority of people can start stripping away the rights of a protected class in the minority, that's a pretty alarming thing," Newsom said.

The backlash to Prop 8 was swift. Gay Rights Advocates protested loudly, and when the listed of donors to supporters of Prop 8 was published, the protesting and boycotting got specific.

Donors interviewed were shocked when their businesses that had thriving gay client bases suddenly dried up and picketers showed up. Once person even said he was surprised because they previously had good relations with gay customers.

To which I can only reply, “Really.”

Major donors to campaigns are always reported. This is not new. And if you expected to support something that controversial and not show up in the news you’re just about too dumb to breathe.

There are a lot of gay folk in California. They also have good deal of disposable income. Sadly they didn’t spend it working to defeat Prop 8, but at least they’re voting with their dollars now and probably in a way that is far more detrimental to gay rights opponents.

Flora, fauna, fisticuffs and peach vajayjay

I’ve had one of those days where I find myself glad to be at the tail end of it. I was hard at work when I had the odd sensation of something moving across my foot. I jerked my head to one side and then caught movement out of the corner of one eye. The movement turned out to be a brown field mouse scampering across my office floor.

A beat later I put two and two together and realized the sensation on my foot had been, well, vermin. I am proud to say I didn’t scream … but only because I was too slow to realize what had happened.

This would more or less set the tone for my day.

After work, I had some business to conduct at a local florist. As I pulled into a parking space, I noticed a commotion at the far end of the lot. Two men were having a fist fight. Apparently, someone pissed someone else off in traffic and they decided to settle it mano y mano … except for one guy decided to settle the altercation with a hatchet he pulled from his truck.

It was at that point we all pulled out our cell phones, made note of license plates and got louder in our shouts for the two of them to cut it the fuck out. They then sped out of the parking lot and, speaking of vermin, the cops showed up fifteen minutes later.

Later still, I had to make a run to the charming and lovely Battlefield Mall to purchase some lotion because of the dry winter air. I had the GF with me. The GF LOATHES Bath and Body Works … and with good reason they stopped carrying her favorite Jasmine Vanilla Conditioner, the VERMIN.

By the time we left the store, she was in full on rant about how she couldn’t understand why they stopped carrying something that was pleasant hair conditioner in favor of carrying a products that would make your vajayjay smell like peaches … the GF is always quotable when I least expect it.

We capped the evening off by nearly running into even more vermin. Rounding the corner into our neighborhood, the GF ended her Bath and Body Works rant abruptly to shout, “Deer. Deer! DEER!!!!”

Fortunately, the VW stops on a dime. Actually, I think we stopped so suddenly we may have gone BACK in time. But we learned something important: while deer may not be too afraid of cars, they REALLY aren’t fond of the squealing of car brakes. Scattered like so many leaves and we made it home safe and sound.

I’m off to have shower, but I’m going to smell like mint instead of peaches. Heh.

Everybody run, the homecoming queen is in DRAG!

I’m proud to announce that my alma mater did something so uncharacteristically liberal I nearly fainted. Well, let me back up, liberal for the time I was there. I suppose now it’s no big deal.

To wit, George Mason University elected a man as their homecoming queen. Junior Ryan Allen, a self-professed drag queen, was elected homecoming queen by Mason students earlier this month. And as you can see from the photo he makes a fetching young lass.



When I attended Mason, it was a staunchly conservative school. In fact, I wrote an article for the student paper there when the Gay and Lesbian student union was vandalized. Amazingly, even in an area as large as Metropolitan Washington, DC it was still hard to be gay in the early 90s.

I was very much in the closet then. I didn’t understand half the things I was thinking and feeling. Seems perhaps my college was having a similar identity crisis?

Now, if the Yahoo article is to be believed, gold ol’ GMU has gotten right progressive in it’s values. The Republican student quoted didn’t even seem too phased. Better still the school’s publicity wonk characterized the institution as being “very comfortable” with the election of Allen.

Mason, you’ve come a long way baby.

Why you shouldn't start dating near V day.

After looking at Les Bian's rant-driven post on Valentine's day, I find myself coming to the same conclusion. Please understand as my disclaimer that while Les was dressed in black and chowing on Chinese last year, I was right on the couch with her. Miserable. Kinda pissed, even.

That said...

This is my first Vday with a boyfriend. With a relationship. Ever. And unfortunately, I am SO ready for the day to be over. It probably didn't help that my partner is working this weekend...and I can't enjoy his company. But that's okay...he's been around for nearly a year, anyway.

Valentine's day means little to me. Perhaps that's because my parents, in their infinite wisdom, choose the "most romantic day of the year" to be married. Yeah, you can commence gagging and dry heaves. God knows I have YEARS of experience on that now. To boot, my one and only sibling was born nearly two years to the day after their wedding.

Know how many Valentine's days in my entire life have EVER been remotely about me? If you guess anything above zero, you're overestimating.

To boot, my partner and I are nearly to our one-year anniversary. He became a little nervous about how to navigate Vday this first year. I'm pretty much a romantic at heart--I read entirely too much, and while Hollywood has influenced my view of romance, literature holds the primary responsibility for my misguided understanding of love. The conversation went something like this:

"So, I have part of your Valentine's present ready."

"Ohhhhh-kayyyyyy. Whatja get me?"

"Right. Like I'm just going to tell you. Do I look dumb or something? Don't answer that."

"Well, whatja get me, anyway?"

"I'm not telling you. But it's fitting."

I can sort of tell when panic sets in, despite his protestations; his voice gets tighter. After a rousing 30-second game of "Why won't you tell me?/Why do you need to know?", I ended the conversation with the mother of all responses.

"Are you asking because you want to know, or so you can know what to get me?"

"No. Maybe. Ummm...."

"Uh-huh. I thought so. Sweetie, darling, love of my life, I don't care what you get me." Bold-faced LIE. "I just want to know you put a little thought into it." TRUTH. (The effective way to lie is to follow it up with absolute truth.)

He mumbled something...or grumbled. I can't really tell.

"Okay, point." I let loose on the parent's anniversary/birthday thing. "The truth is I really just want you to acknolwedge I'm important to you and that there's a romantic attachment here. That's it. Other than that, you're not getting a clue from me."

"So this is a test. Great."

"Not a test, no. Kinda. I just am saying that if it seems a bit cliche, you're probably on track."

"Crap."

For the record, he asked the next day where I'd like to sit--hypothetically, of course--if we were to go to the theatre.

But this brought up a conundrum. Why would someone make such a big deal about a holiday like this? Yes, it has religious roots--I was raised Catholic, I know a tad about St. Valentine. But it's totally commercialized, not unlike Christmas, Halloween, and Easter. I'd much rather celebrate our anniversary, anyway. It's more important to me.

Keep your romance out of the commercial pressure cooker

I’m most definitely NOT going out for Valentine’s Day. Look, just a year ago I was still dressing in black and eating Chinese food in protest of the holiday. So consider that your disclaimer for this post.

I find Valentine’s Day, at least the way we’ve come to celebrate it, makes a mockery out of love in because many feel pressured into proving their love to their mate and always falling short of expectations.

How is that romantic?

The folks at Hallmark, the florist and the jewelers got together, through brilliant marketing, and made Valentine’s Day the commercial monster it is. The idea, you see, is to prove your love by spending hundreds if not thousands of bucks on candy, flowers, jewelry and cards.

So, love = money? What?

It’s high time we all stop feeling the pressure to spend tons of money to prove we care.

While I won’t go so far as to criticize those companies for trying to make a buck, that is the American way, I will go far enough to say that spending money in and of itself does not equate love. In fact, there are many ways to show love without spending a dime and often those things are far more priceless than the biggest rock you can purchase.

A backrub, pitching in with the housework, taking your partner to the doctor, listening when he/she has a problem, going for a walk together … all of those things cost no money but show you care. And they’re also things you should be doing on a daily basis, not just this one magical day. Like all living things, love needs nurturing. It needs tending constantly.

While special occasions like Valentine’s Day are a great opportunity to celebrate your love, you shouldn’t feel pressured into spending a crap ton of money. Far too often, I hear tales of paramours going out for an “intimate” dinner on Valentine’s where they had to book months in advance, spend a ridiculous sum of money only to find themselves packed into a corner with goo gobs of other lovers.

Not exactly intimate is it?

Florists have to jack up their prices because of demand, as do jewelry and candy stores. It all quickly devolves into an expensive, high pressure debacle and it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to do it all.

No where is it written that you have to conform to the notion you have to buy a bunch of expensive stuff and an expensive dinner to be a loving partner.

I realize its February, but it won’t be overly cold this weekend. You and your sweetie could go to the zoo or the park. You could go to the movies and have lunch. Lunch places will still be crowded but not nearly as nutty as they will be at night. You could even go bowling. You could even simply just stay home. That can be quite sexy and loving in its own right. It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you take time out to do something you both enjoy together.

Things I learned this week

From the rugby practice I went to:
Spectating rugby can be as much of a contact sport as the actual sport. Surprisingly, a rugby ball to the face hurts less than you think it might.

From my blond twin:
Broccoli does not belong in breakfast. This point cannot be emphasized enough.

From my girlfriend:
I have a slight problem with hooded sweatshirts. I apparently own thirteen that I actually wear. More are lurking wadded in the closet. The GF is staging an intervention.

From my own experience:
The period before my period causes me to want to eat an entire case of Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs.

What marriage do you want?

Probably, I won't say anything new here, and that's okay. Still, I want to rant about the marriage concept the predominant culture seems so inclined to "protect." And if we actually looked at those silly things called "facts", everyone might notice that maybe--just possibly--nobody would want marriage in the first place.

Please understand, before I get started and before you send angry emails to me or to Les Bian, I'm a full advocate of equal rights. It won't be equal until it's 100% equal, as far as I'm concerned. But we're arguing over a term that may not be of interest to any of us, if we really understood it.

Let's say, for the poor sake of argument, we wish to fight for marriage equal to that indicated in Scripture. I don't think any of us who want marriage rights for the LGBT community really want that for ourselves. And if we do, our partners may disagree with the option on other grounds! Let's start at the very beginning, because if Julie Andrews taught good gay boys and lesbian girls anything, the beginning is a very good place to start!

Adam and Eve. The only reason they ended up together is because otherwise Adam would've resorted to beastiality. I somehow doubt that'll fly for most of the LGBT community.

Abram (Abraham) and Sarai (Sarah). Okay. That'd be all right, if we totally ignore how Abraham had sex with Sarai's servant girl in order to have an heir. By the way, that's what eventually led to the split between the Israelites and the much-later followers of Islam. Do we really want that in our mix? I'm thinking no.

Samson and Delilah. Okay. Bad example from the outset. She tricks him so she can cut off his masculinity...in the form of his hair. This one's self-explanatory. (Men everywhere just crossed their legs while considering this one.)

Joseph and Mary. I'd probably go for this, but we might want to be a little cautious. According to Catholic lore, Joseph got no nookie. Ever. I'm guessing that won't go over well. (I don't even think heterosexuals would go for that option.)

The Wedding at Cana. Really great party. We know nothing of the marriage that followed. NEXT.

We can't even mention Jesus. According to traditional understanding, Jesus was a loner. Now, there are a few theologians who argued differently...some even positing that Jesus may have been gay. Hence the whole thing about John being a "beloved disciple". Still, that's no concrete example of what marriage is or should be.

If we are to look to Scripture as a guide--and I'm speaking to the men for a moment, here--there's the whole Joshua and David thing. Vaguely, I recall something being mentioned about "closer than a brother." Looking at linguistics, "brother" was often considered WAY more than what we mean now. In addition the option of sharing parents, the term would equally equate the closest male companion of a male (or, in fewer cases, a female). In some cultures, "brother" or "sister" even referred to one's spouse.

So maybe we decide Scripture's not the best source. That's okay, too. Let's go to history and see how marriage looked.

Marriage as a contract. Purely a legal term, we want only to be able to take our partner's property, and be able to have control over their rights. Generally, this aligns pretty closely with what we seem to be arguing for with "civil unions." The only problem with this idea is that is has nothing to do with love or a recognition of commitment. It's purely a legal concept and could be annulled.

Marriage as a relationship. Add to the contract concept that we are a committed couple. Okay, that works. Except that even with marriage identified as a "special relationship", it doesn't say anything about the historical or traditional concepts of marriage. When marriage was seen as a special relationship, men often had additional women for sexual gratification. While this appeals to some, I'm guessing there will be people in an uproar over that.

We can also add to this the ideas of polygamy (or rarer cases of polygyny). That throws a big kink into our hose of marriage. Personally, that doesn't appeal to me--but if it works for other people...I guess they have their own battle to fight.

History shows that Marriage as a sacramental union didn't really happen until sometime between the 11th and 13th Centuries. The argument is over a term that wasn't in existence a LOT longer than it HAS been in exsitence. (You know, if you consider a few hundred thousand years a "long time", that is.)

Let's understand where we are now:

• Marriage is a person-to-person thing...not like it was when it originated as a family-to-family contract.
• States can choose to acknolwedge any contract they so choose.
• The church only acts as an agent of the state in the matter of marriage. They serve merely as a witness.
• We're arguing over a church-based understanding of a term, not a legal understanding.

All this is to say simply: Do we really want marriage, as it's been traditionally defined? Do we want to be equated with people who can get divorced so easily, when we are hoping for a lifetime commitment? Do we want to have a term that carries the baggage of cheaters, abandonment, and the other negative concepts?

As a spiritual/religious person, yeah. I do. I want to be able to look at my partner, know he's mine in both my eyes and God's. That's a personal understanding, between me, my partner, and God.

I want my church to recognize our relationship as special, as blessed, and as fully committed. But that's my argument with my church. Not the state.

I want my family to recognize us as a unit, one pair that is always a pair, not simply two seperate entities who get sexual release from one another. (Though somehow, I kind of doubt my family even wants to think about me having sex. Period. Male or female doesn't matter here. I'm pretty sure they think I'm still chaste, despite having been partnered nearly a year!) And despite all that, that's my argument with my family.

More than anything, I want my state and my country to admit that my partner and I deserve equal rights under the banner of the law. We deserve to be able to visit one another in a hospital without hassles. We deserve to be able to interview for positions without the fear of discrimination based solely on our sexual preferences, just like any other couple.*** We deserve being able to get health coverage for one another through our jobs, just like any other couple.

Maybe it would simply be better if we did go to Switzerland's form of the argument. Take marriage out of legal vocabulary. EVERYONE gets civil unions. That's it. You want a "marriage", something sanctified by your church? Take that part up with your church, and fight with them for that concept. If you want equal rights under the law, fight with your state and your country.

And a note to church leaders who might be reading this--though I doubt that's a likelihood. If you want to get involved in the debate, that's fine by me. But before you do, check your tax-exempt status with the IRS, and start paying taxes like me. You can preach all you want about "saving marriage" then, and be a taxpaying person doing it. Otherwise, keep it to yourself or your after-service coffee & donught hour. Leave my bedroom out of this...I don't come to your church and tell you who you can't sleep with. Don't come to my state and tell me who I can't sleep with.

(I'm a bit bitter today. It's been a rough week.)

***As a total aside...while typing that line, I immediately went to the gutter. If you aren't mad about nondiscrimination policies, consider this. A guy who likes it when his girlfriend uses toys on him doesn't get discriminated against for that, but in some work environments, you can be discriminated against for being a boy who likes boys or a girl who likes girls. Glorious, ain't it?

Straight Talk from the Angry Dyke

If I never hear the words, “If only we as a community would stop/start (insert whatever gay activity is deemed inappropriate at the moment or whatever heteronormative fad is pressing) the straight community would take us seriously,” it will be too soon. As silly as it is, “We’re here. We’re queer. Get used to it,” is far more empowering and a MUCH better message to send.

I’m going to put it bluntly gang, we need to respect ourselves. We bitch and piss and moan about how everyone looks down on us and thinks we’re degenerates and treats us as second class citizens. And do you know why? Because a large number of us believe that’s how we deserve to be treated.

Now don’t go sending me piles of angry emails about how we deserve the same rights as straight folk and we’re being underrepresented and unrecognized … yes, you’re right, we absolutely are. Yes, we need to fight for our rights and organize and work together. Don’t think for a moment I’m disputing that.

My point is we have to start presenting a public face that says, “Yes, I’m gay and I’m fine with it. In fact, I’m proud of who I am. I’m a relevant, righteous and respected member of my community and if you have a problem with me, well that’s YOUR problem.” People respect people who respect themselves.

I’m not saying we have it easy. No one denies we’ve had hate and discontent shoved down our throats throughout the ages. And that’s not going to change. What can change is how we react to it.

All too often, rather than argue and fight back against those who slander and malign us we just whimper about how badly we’re treated. Cut that garbage out right this instant.

Stop asking for respect. Expect it. Stop begging for tolerance. Demand it. Stop hoping we’re going to gain equality and rights. Fight for what is rightfully yours to begin with.

All of this starts with self-respect. Love you for who you are and MOST of the rest of the world will follow.

Flirtatious voting and other oddities

Women hit on me in restrooms. Sure, the first few times it happened it freaked me out. Then it just became one of those things that happened with frightening regularity.

Not long after I first came out, a very drunk, straight woman tried to make out with me in the loo at Martha’s. She wrapped her arms around me, declared my beauty and was just about to kiss me when I saw this sheepish looking guy standing in the doorway. She whipped around to see what I was looking at.

“Oh, him? He’s just my husband.”

Yeah. That was awkward.

Upon reflection, I realize that I never get hit on in a normal fashion. Women flirt with me at work (again in the can), at the dry cleaners, and there was even that memorable gal who chatted me up over tomatillos at the grocery. I’m not the kind of girl who gets play just hanging out at the bar or some place one would typically go to meet someone.

Today, I got hit on at my polling place. I went to do my civic duty, vote on the sales tax and try to pick one of the mayoral candidates that wasn’t crazy … not sure I was successful, but let’s hope I picked the lesser of numerous evils.

I digress.

As I was leaving, I made my way across the parking lot and there was a large pile of snow between me and my car. I had my boots on, so I commenced scaling.

Then I heard this sultry voice behind me, “You think that snow is hard enough to hold us up?”

I turned to see a tall, dark-haired woman in workout gear. She flashed me a large smile and gave me the once over. Ugh.

And of course this has gotten worse since I got in a relationship. What is it about unavailability that makes one more attractive? Further, I wasn’t even looking all that attractive. I’d had a full day at the office, was disheveled and was dressed in what can only be describe as early tree (lots of brown).

She was giving me this weird look like she half-expected I was going to help her over the berm of snow in some chivalrous gesture.

Yeah, right. She was far taller and in far better shape than I. Given we were at a school and her workout gear, I kind of wondered if she was the P.E. teacher. Because stereotypes are funny because they’re based in fact. Sigh.

Mac Girl Goes PC, Hell Freezes Over, Girlfriend Annoyed

GF: Really? You're going to blog about your new computer?

Me: What?

GF: Nothing in your world can be validated unless you blog about it, huh?

So yes, it's true. My beloved Mac iBook kind of bit the dust. So I bought one those mini-laptop thingies.

Shh ... I secretly like it. The Minibook weighs like three pounds and is the size of a hardback book. It's wireless and I can carry it anywhere ... which might prove to be quite interesting.

Especially since it's so small the cats think it's their blogging device. I left the machine unattended for five minutes only to come back to find Captain poised in front of it.

Captain: YOOOOWWWWWLLLL.

Me: But it's my computer.

Captain: ROOOOWWWLLLL! FFFT.

Ok, so maybe I'll be adding Disgruntled Pussy posts here as well.

The Lesbigaggle invades Hinode

I went out with my adopted kid sister and her girlfriend last night. We decide Hibachi was the order of the evening so we went to Hinode. Hinode is kid sis’s FAVORITE place to eat and I must admit I do love the Hibachi Scallops.

As it was Friday, the place was packed. We were seated at a grill table with two older straight couples. The waitress did us a favor by placing us on the opposite end of the table, as it was immediately apparent the seven of us had nothing in common. These folks were very uptight.

The one older woman, who was wearing what appeared to be a dead poodle dyed brown around her neck, had this pinched expression on her face. It truly looked as though she had to go through life smelling a cat turd.

We settled in and placed our orders. The hijinx began immediately. I noticed a woman helping her elderly mother back to the Ladies’ Room. Grandma looked like she probably would have been able to get around fine if it weren’t for the seven inch wedge sneaker contraptions she was wearing on her feet.

I nudged Sis, “Did you SEE those shoes?”

Sis, being quite the shoe aficionado, whirled, “Where?”

I explained the woman had just gone into the Loo. So for the next five minutes our heads kept swiveling around every time there was movement in that direction.

Sis’s girlfriend quipped, “You two look like hyenas on the prowl for prey.”

Sis nudged me and said, “Yeah, you get the weak one.”

At the end of the table, Poodle Woman arched a contemptuous eyebrow.

When our chef came out, he looked like he was about 13 and said his name was Scott. Scott was about as close to being Asian as I am (and there’s a reason they call me the Irish Hand Grenade) and he was having technical difficulties with the grill. He informed us it’d be a few minutes before it would warm up.

At that moment, one of the older male codgers at the end of the table came to life. “What kind of Japanese name is Scott?” He said guffawing at his own comedic brilliance. It was my turn to arch the angry brow.

He continued to berate poor Scott until he changed Scott’s name to Chuck, because that sounded German. And THAT was HILARIOUS. Not so much.

Finally, Scott got to making hibachi and we all fell back into conversation. Sis started asking me about Portland, ME. I spent a lot of time in Maine during my straight incarceration. It really is a cool city.

I told Sis as much then warned, “But you don’t want to go this time of year. You’ll freeze your hooter scooter off.”

Why is it, just as you say something really provocative or embarrassing, when you think the noise of the restaurant will shield you, some how at that moment it just gets quiet?

Yeah. It got quiet.

Scott’s head whipped around, nearly losing his spatula and perhaps a zucchini, “WHAT did you say?”

Sis and her girlfriend were collapsed in gales of laughter. So it was down to me.

Sis made a joke about me not being right in the head. I followed it up with, “Well, the hospital GAVE me a PASS.”

Scott was cracking up. We were cracking up. The geriatrics at the end of the table were NOT amused.

They were now all eyeing us in that way some straight people do, when they realize they’re being confronted with The Gays. My friends and I don’t make a point of pointing out who we are but we aren’t ashamed either. We’re obviously lesbians and sometimes I think it really troubles people that we’re so OK with it.

Sis giggled, “They just figured us out … kind of. The one with that poodle thing is mentally checking through her Dyke Diagram and wondering where our flannel is but is convinced because we talked about dogs and there was a mention of a cat.”

I chortled, drawing more attention to us and cast my eyes down embarrassed. Then I looked right back up and smiled directly at Poodle Woman. There was a lot I wanted to say:

No, I don’t give a damn you don’t approve of me or my friends. I’d hate to live in that stuffed shirt prison you call a life. I laugh and I love and I know who I am which I’m gathering is a far cry from who you are. So pay attention to your own kind down there who’ve made just a big of an ass of themselves as we have and leave us be.

It was her turn to be uncomfortable and she did turn her attention back to her group. I guess the Irish Hand Grenade can still be menacing.
Scott was just relieved the attention was off of him for the moment and gave us some extra steak. I like that kid.

Pride

I watched the last strands of sobriety drowning in my beer. Shifting on my barstool I offered up a prayer or made a wish, whatever would work, to please just make it stop hurting. Even copious amounts of alcohol weren’t making me numb.

It wasn’t even the brutal way she dumped me. Even before I’d met her in person, I knew she was trouble. Something in the way she cocked her head in her online photo, something in the way her emails read … I knew. I knew it was over before it began. Yet I couldn’t help myself.

I ran headlong towards all sorts of things that were bad for me then. I was smoking too much, drinking too much and loving someone completely incapable of loving me back. Somewhere, Logic was shouting very loudly at me that I was a complete idiot who needed to pull herself together. But Ego had turned Logic’s volume down.

Ego is a bitch.

I thought about pouring my heart out to the attractive bartender, but Ego had turned my volume down too.

Fortunately, Ego was taking a nap when I was talking to my therapist a few days later. I guess I’m a backstabber because I was running Ego down pretty good while she wasn’t around to defend herself.

Ego let me think I could make someone love me. Ego let me think I could keep being gay quiet from those who didn’t want to know. Ego let me think I could handle the eventual collapse of that house of cards. Logic knew better, but Ego wouldn’t listen.

“You’re awfully hard on yourself,” my therapist said.

Logic shrugged my shoulders and said, “I walked into this with open eyes. I knew I’d get hammered. I’ve no right to be surprised.”

“I’ll grant you that,” she said, “but you don’t think you deserve it do you?”

It was, of course, at that moment our time was up. I wandered out into the bright sunshine and behind the wheel of the car. As I drove, Emotion welled up and started clamoring for a vacation from all this.

Emotion, bless her heart, was battling my broken heart as well as Ego’s detachment from reality after I’d lost my job. Emotion had been working really hard to assuage grief and shore up Ego, but she was fighting a losing battle.

“Hiatus,” she whispered in my ear. “We need a break from all this.”

For a long time, I’d been thinking of just what I wanted to say to the one who broke my heart. Something more coherent and less full of vitriol than our last exchange. Logic and Emotion were both in agreement it would have no impact. It was, sadly, at that point Ego woke up.

I braced myself for the loud argument I was sure would ensue. But somehow, Logic and Emotion got it together and gave Ego an out. Put simply, it was time to say goodbye.

Time to say goodbye to unhealthy habits, unhealthy situations and unhealthy people. It was time to embrace the people, places and practices that were positive and supportive. It was also time grow up and stop expecting good things to just appear and work on making them happen.

The bad job was easy, it was gone and I was looking at a much greener pasture. I crumpled up my last package of smokes and shoved it in the trashcan. I sold some of that writing I’d been hiding on my hard drive. I made time for some of the people I’d been neglecting.

Logic and Emotion also came together to pen a letter to my heartbreaker. It wasn’t angry but not overly contrite either. Its most salient point was goodbye. I actually smiled when I hit send.

Ego had gone on permanent hiatus and Pride had taken her place. With the shadows of those dark days receding, I decided I was only going to try to focus on the things that filled me with hope and promise. I was only going to surround myself with the people who made me smile. I was only going to do the things that filled me with a sense of Pride.

Dykes with forks: I'm sick of Progresso Edition

I have cabin fever. After coming home from work early on Monday, I never made it out of the neighborhood on Tuesday. Oh sure, I got out to try and put ice melt on the driveway so I could drive to work. Which resulted in my falling.

But then, the mere act of waking up often results in my falling. I digress.

The weekend is upon us and I figure the rest of y’all have thoughts towards finally escaping the house, so I give you a very special Dykes With Forks, Dear God I’m Sick of Progresso Edition.

We’ll start with the bad news first. Usually, I give a restaurant at least two tries before I write it off entirely. This is not something I’ll do for Rivals Casual Grill on Glenstone. As the girlfriend says, “The food sure is bad, but at least it costs a lot.”

The girlfriend had ribs and I had a burger. We should have known we were in trouble when the ribs came out with a steak knife. Eek. Don’t know about y’all, but those of us what spent time in the South know ribs are supposed to just fall off the bone when you look at ‘em cross. These ribs darn near needed a chainsaw to separate them from the bone.

The bacon cheeseburger tasted a bit like barbeque-flavored sawdust with some strips of leather tossed on for color. The cost for our meal, with tip was about $35. As I said, I generally give a place two shots but given our waitress completely ignored us, couldn’t tell me what the beer specials were and seated us right in a draft despite the establishment not being too crowded … I’m not feeling too charitable.

The good news, Pan Asia on Walnut between Campbell and South rocks the cat box. The place is small, quiet and as yet doesn’t have a liquor license but the food is delicious and the prices are great. So far I’ve sampled the Ginger Chicken, the Chicken Pad Thai and the BoBon. All of which are phenomenal. The girlfriend has also had the Pad Thai and the Cashew Chicken. Her only complaint was the Cashew Chicken was a little too salty. We’re also big fans of their Crab Rangoons and California Rolls.

We’ve eaten there at least four times and the tab has never been over $30 with tip. Well worth the trip downtown and, given I’m getting old and crotchedy, the quiet atmosphere doesn’t hurt. Quiet that is except when I drag the lesbigaggle there … in which case there’s a racket.

Adventures in plumbing, or how to know she really cares

No Fiction for Your Friday this week, but in this case I think you'll find fact is far funnier than fiction:

I am not butch. Androgynous maybe, but butch not so much. I like shoes and cosmetics way too much to be a self-respecting butch lesbian. I am, however, that lesbian who feels empowered enough to try and fix the stuff that breaks around my house.

And as we all know, Harriet Homeowner always lands herself in hot water.

I am, of course, referring to the incident all those who know me refer to as “The Great Toilet Paper Caper.” For those of you new to my world, the story goes something to the effect of: I got it in my head I was going to change the toilet paper holder in our bathroom. I purchased the new hardware, got my tools and sauntered into the bathroom to be Ms. Fix It.

I got fixed all right … right between the cabinet and the commode. I had to lie on my back to get at the old hardware and through arduous torques on the screwdriver, wedged myself in. Of course, I did what any confident, independent woman would do in a situation like this. I freaked the fuck out.

The girlfriend was on the job in Joplin, not due home for several hours. My cell phone was precisely out of reach on the cabinet above me. Just as I was about to have a thermonuclear meltdown, the Hamdog wandered in and started licking my bare foot. It tickled. A lot. Which resulted in squirming, squirming to a degree I was able to wriggle free.

I solemnly swore not to undertake anymore bathroom projects. Even to the effect of studiously ignoring the fact that the hall bath toilet had started to run longer than it should when flushed. Basically, every third time it gets used, the lid has to come off the cistern and the ball has to be manually lifted.

I wake promptly at 4:45 a.m. every day to get the pooch’s food together, give him his shot and get myself ready in time to be at the job by 6:00 a.m. Needless to say, I’m less than alert at that time. This morning was no different other than the girlfriend was feeling a little puny and I wanted to let her sleep a little longer. After all, this is the woman who bakes me chocolate cake when I’m a crabby, premenstrual mess. She is to be kept happy.

So I was trying to be quiet. TRYING operative word.

I slipped into the hall bath, home of the runny toilet, to take care of some business in hopes of staying quiet. I then proceeded to go into our room to take a shower in the master bath. ( Why I thought it would be quieter to pee in one room and then shower in the room where she was sleeping is beyond me, but see above: not terribly alert.)

When I got out of the shower I could still hear the other toilet running.

“Well hell,” I said under my breath and walked briskly out, towel wrapped around me. I noticed the girlfriend was still sleeping. As I rounded the corner and heard water splashing on the floor, all pretense of being quiet left me.

I’m told I made a sound roughly like a wounded, off-key banshee as I saw over an inch of water running onto the bathroom floor and out into the hallway. The sound propelled the girlfriend out of bed. She later told me the one thought running through her head was, “Someone better be dead for this much damn racket.”

Sick, bleary-eyed and startled, I don’t think she was quite prepared for the naked, yelling maniac trying to sop up buckets of water with nothing but a pale lavender towel. But after living with me all this time, she’s become used to the roller coaster ride that is me pre-coffee.

“Just go finish getting ready. You have to go to work,” she said calmly.

Because one of the other things she’s learned being with me is the best way to stop a full on freak out is to get me distracted. Work was a buzzword for me this morning. My annual review was today.

Like a robot following a command, I abruptly turned and went right back to our bathroom to finish getting ready.

And this is one of the billion reasons I love this woman. Even ill and hardly conscious, she’s able to manage my insanity. If I could have her sainted, I surely would. But in the meantime, I think I’ll fix that toilet. Alert the authorities.

FemeNazis at Library Station

This little tid bit in the News-Leader made my stomach churn:

Around 30 members and supporters of the National Socialist Movement came to the Library Station on Saturday night to listen to speeches and take questions from opponents and potential recruits.

It would seem the National Socialist Movement (read Nazi Nutjobs) is upset that the white race doesn't get its due. Sigh. Really. Further, they take issue with those who support diversity saying that we don't really support diversity if we want to interbreed because then we wouldn't be diverse.

I'll give you a second to wrap your head around THAT logic.

Further, the group calls for all immigrants to be deported either peaceably or by force. Oh, and there's no room in the U.S. for Jews or homos.

Not that I'm particularly surprised by this group's beliefs, but wow. 1957 called, they'd like their racism and lynchings back, thanks.

I make light, but the reason I'm even giving these imbeciles the time of day is because these are the kinds of idiots we need to be on the look out for. I know, I know. It gets wearing just dealing with the cranky Baptists and AG's who want to fix us. But these gals, kids, might just want to do us harm and we've got no one to stand up for us but ourselves.

Knowledge is power.

Biting diabetes back

Continuing with the bitter theme, our own Disgruntled Whistle Pig has a gripe or two of her own.

My dog is a portly fellow. Ever since we had him neutered he has had issues with his weight. Early last spring, I began to suspect his thyroid might be the culprit. When I took him to the vet on an unrelated issue, they immediately landed in the middle of my back about my “morbidly obese” dog.

Ham dog was 70 pounds, which is WAY overweight for his breed. I’d cut him back to two cups of food a day and a couple of slices of very thin lunchmeat turkey. His weight hadn’t budged. When I suggested to the vet he had a thyroid problem, the vet insisted it was my fault and said I should put him on a vegetable soup diet.

No. I’m not kidding.

I’ll spare you the details except to say, it REALLY didn’t work.

Just after Christmas he started drinking an obscene amount of water and having accidents in the house. This is totally unlike my dog so I took him to the vet, a different vet.

Within moments of having a urine sample taken, I was told they suspected he was diabetic but a blood test was needed to confirm. I agreed and asked if a thyroid test was in that round of blood work. The vet said no, but that he could run that test if I’d like

Oh yeah. I’d like.

Sure enough, now diabetic, Ham dog also has a thyroid problem. I can’t help but wonder if this simple test had been done months ago when I’d asked if he might not have become diabetic. The vet tells me that once we get his weight down he may be able to go off his twice daily insulin shots.

On the positive side, I’m now taking Hamish to the Grant Avenue Veterinary Clinic and I’m thrilled with them. They couldn’t be nicer and have taken very good care of my baby.

Grant Avenue is located at 1037 S. Grant Avenue, 417-869-1581, if you’re in the market for a vet.

While I’m not naming the vet who suggested the soup diet, because my hope is that all the staff at that office aren’t that daft, if you want to know where not to go please email me. I’ll be glad to share the details.

Hammy is now doing quite well with his shots and his thyroid meds. He's biting the disease that bit him He's lost two more pounds since has last vet visit a week ago. He's also my happy, peppy, bouncy puppy again and I couldn't be more relieved.