Warning: Watermelon Chips Induce Love's Labours

“Come on ref! Do something, already!"

“These Cajuns got something spicy in their snow cones,” I think while I slide sideways, knee-bumping fans who are watching the stats board add another run for the visiting team.  

It’s the bottom of the third. Home team is losing, it’s hot, and I didn’t bring a cap or SPF.  I’m sucking on watermelon ice chips as if the chill will off-set the coming sunburn.

“Why did I spend $22.16 ($15 for tickets; $2 processing fee; $3 on-line processing fee; $2.16 print out fee (because my home printer broke for no apparent reason, and so I had to go to the neighborhood Fedex Office just 15 minutes before the game. (But, I got to feel the copygirl’s energy one more time.  (I hadn’t yet decided if she’s on our team.  Now, I know she’s not because she wasn’t at all interested in the fact that I was in a huge hurry to print my SOFTBALL tickets or let me know that she ‘would love to be there’))) for these misery-inducing seats?”

I think this thought about the time my body-hot lotion is pushing from my pores and lubricating the plastic arm rests. Now, my fluids are mixing with all kinds of other people’s fluids that have pushed out and resided here for decades.  But then—, I spy a pretty girl and the aria begins, and I have an answer to my question. 

"That’s why!”  

Yep, she’s pretty (with or without a ball cap), and those shorts are just the right length to wrap, like Saran cling, around her muscular thighs.  I’m going to take the liberty to infer that her eyes compliment golden hues that emanate from her tanned body parts, but my attentions are returning to a different area.  

“How did you know she was the one?” my future mother-in-law might ask after the wedding.

“It was her neck,” I would say with unyielding assurity.

Sure; why not?  This God-sculptured art is the embodiment of her strength and grace.  Her golden-brown velvety corridor facilitates for truth—from her crown to root chakra—connecting the omniscient universe and mother earth.  With all in alignment , she is fair, kind, and just with any and all who might cross her path.  What an incredible person she is.  A blind (wo)man would readily agree.  

“Girl, you gotta go with what you know,” I think when I reach for the last of the melting watermelon chips.  

I’ve started relationships on less, and I’ll follow the same intuitive voice through the tunnel of love and death.  

And, you?  What’s the most intrirguing body part that you (or a friend) have ever stalked, involuntarily?  

Moms Against McCarthyism

At the local rally (in March) for equal rights, I met a heterosexual man who wandered onto the courthouse lawn.  We’ll call him Colt.  We’ve become fast friends with texts about random thoughts and abstract realities.  Like me, he doesn’t fear that permanent harm will come from stepping into the other guy’s position and seeing the world through an antagonist’s eyes.  Many people do, and so humans have this devolution of empathy that runs rampant, circling our planet.  (For that reason, I’ve just finished the 5-Act script for Planet Puster’s Purple Problem which will explain everything and illuminate erroneous ideologies so that we can get on with our specie's evolution.  If you want to participate in the grand production of this animation, I need help with everything except the script—and maybe a bit of help with the script—so, just let me know where you (and a friend?) want to jump in.)

This past Friday, Colt invited me to a party to celebrate a gay man’s 60th birthday. They've been friends since adolescents or some few years after.  There were a collection of impressive resumes and genuine wit at this dinner party.  Many of them have been friends for three or more decades.  Two of the straight couples invited their gay adult child, one brought a boy and one sent a girl with her girlfriend.

Colt and I met the boy on the night of the rally about the time I was handing him a 2girls card.  The young man had overheard enough of our conversation to follow the impetus in his legs and ask for more of Colt’s predictions.  I was on my way out when this red head—let’s call him Tré— interrupted us, so I excused myself and forgot to hand him a 2girls card. 

A few months later, at this party, Tré and I are blocking the aisle to the food and fridge because we are in a heated debate about gay rights.  His mom (who I think is an attorney) was listening to our socio-political volleys. 

“We should have the right to marry, even if we chose not to exercise it,” Tré says.

“But do we want this right simply because we can’t have it? It’s not working for so many, why do we want to enter into something that binds us to laws and costly regulations?”

Trevor continues his point and I continue to say things that appear to startle his mom.  I’m playing devil’s advocate, but my ramblings are beginning to convince me that this institution is a pit filled with quick sand.  

“With marriage, we save money,” Tré says.

“Until we give it to divorce lawyers.”

“We should be able to have insurance and other securities.”

I applaud this position, remembering a few speakers at the rally who shared their stories about medical needs and adopted children.  And then, I confessed that I’ve not known those conundrums, and am not sure that the prime reason (for gays to marry) should be for medical benefits. 

“We should have the right to marry, even if we chose not to exercise it,” Tré reminds.

“It wasn’t a marriage certificate that perpetuated any of my former relationships.  Every morning when I woke up, I was there because I chose to be there. More, I knew that my partner chose to be there. For me, that was worth more than a court’s decree,” I said with resounding idealism.

The truth is, I'm done with this subject.  I wish it was already recorded in the history books with a chapter title, “When Humans Were Still Selfish.”  One of the other party goers—an attorney who swings for our team—popped into the conversation and said, “It’s only a matter of time.”  She added, “In a few years, it will be like the McCarthy era—politicians who opposed gay marriage will be back peddling and explaining ‘what they said isn’t what they meant.’” I toasted, taking a gulp of celebratory spirits.  

Tré—a lawyer or advocate in the making—wasn’t finished with the devil’s advocate in me.  I was pushing down my second Amstel Light.  He must have felt that he’d have me pinned within a few more ounces.  He threw the subject of ‘parenting’ out where it hovered in the air above the communal butcher block. 

“Wouldn’t it be better for a child to have two loving fathers, than parents who fight and don’t care about the child?” 

Here, the pseudo-Freudian in me tried to not focus on the word “fathers,” as I would have thought the default stereotype would go to mothers.  It occurred to me that Tré was revealing his role in parenting with a male partner.  I wanted to stay focused, so I addressed the meat of what he was saying.

“Gays aren’t inherently better people.  Today, the ones who choose parenting are grateful.  In a few generations, gays will take parenting for granted.”

I felt a rock land in the pit of his mother’s stomach.  I’m not sure why my statement had so much gravity, but she thanked me for the conversation—while I was leaving the party—, and that caused a rock to land in the pit of my stomach.  Was she thanking me for my rational point-of-view or offering a mother’s sweet hope to a cynic?  

She’s been on my mind all weekend.  I keep hearing descriptions of her own ceremony, and what this particular formality means to family members.  I keep hearing "all things should be equal," and how gays need to participate in the matrimonial milestone.  More, I keep hearing the murmurings of her desire.  Who wouldn’t want to see Tré—this beautiful idealist—hold hands before God and his family?  I imagine that she waits to hear the other man say, “I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health.  I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”  I would want that for Tré. What mother wouldn’t want to add this moment to her life's experiences...with each and every one of their children?  She waited and listened, holding her fortitude until I came around— though, it took me a couple of days. 

On this day, I thank moms for the (random) sweet hope they instill in idealists…and cynics.  Without you, we couldn’t perpetuate this necessary evolution or remember what this earth experiment is all about.

Guest Blogger #3: Four Lessons Learned

Rather than write about how to date, I thought I'd submit some valuable lessons I recently learned after the painful end of my relationship with the person I thought was “the one.” Maybe fellow readers may learn from my lessons or take some comfort, maybe not?

Lesson 1 – Please have the courage to not tell a person you love them if you do not really love them. Do not send them emails saying you love them sooooo much. Do not tell them you love them randomly while sitting across the room, while having sex, in texts, before going to bed. Do not tell a person you love them as if to mean you are “in love with them” when 8 months later you plan to tell them “I love you, but I'm not in love with you.” It brings false hope. Tell them you care about them or explain how you love them. The phrase, “I love you, but I'm not in love with you” brings such heartache.

Lesson 2 – Please do not ever end a relationship by disappearing. Do not tell someone you love and care about them as a friend and then not speak to them for a month. I understand that you don't know what to say. I understand you are also in pain, but disappearing makes things harder. This person you “love and care for,” who once held your love and affections, is now without everything you provided them emotionally. Abandoned and rejected.  

                   Relationships are interdependent. While codependency is not a healthy relationship, it does supply affections and the belief in love. To abandon someone with no explanation for a month (or worse...longer) doesn’t mean you’re more mature.  The one you promised love is left asking, “please say something???” This person has processed every emotional ending of the relationship [alone]; this person had decided to love you unconditionally because she always did. Though she knows it is over, she is trying to salvage your friendship because above everything, she always valued this...your friendship.

                  Please do not, then, reply and negate the entire relationship, invalidate every word of love and affection spoken, using words like “attachment” and “inexperienced” because it is too hard for you to admit what occurred, and it is easier for you to cut-off every emotion. To not be able to love and care enough to be a friend (after everything) is sad.

Lesson 3 – For those of us who are hurting...know that you were and are true and unconditional in your love, because you can forgive these actions and pray for her well-being, leaving out bitterness. You can no longer weep over the rejection. You are a better person and you have loved. No one can take that away from you. Never regret falling in love.

Lesson 4 – When you are ready to date again, when you find a true adult who can love you, she will:

·         accept you as you are

·         allow life and love to be what they are (the highs and lows) without trying to control outcomes

·         show affection without penalty or withholding and always with respect

·         appreciate you for your gifts and your faults (they will know you are human and not expect perfection)

·         be able to give you attention by observing and listening and being present in the relationship you share

Until you meet the right one, read about the "Five As" in "How to Be an Adult in Relationships".  I wish you the best.

- Shrink'd by Tennyson 

A Bit of Einstein's Energy in All of Us Celebrities

     With E=mc², we know that energy equals ( mass  x  speed of light )².  If this applies to all things with mass and thoughts harbor energy, then I ask the question—how much does a thought weigh? Perhaps someone will fill-in the missing part of the equation:
                     a thought = ( ?   x 2.99792458 )²
     With consideration for energy, a thought has enough vigor to put my lips and limbs into motion.  With mass, a thought has enough gravity to anchor an erroneous belief that builds negative emotions with much fervor. 

          …our real fears are the sounds of footsteps walking in the corridors of our minds, and
         [anxieties are the floating phantoms] they create.                         –  Truman Capote

Together, mass and energy have enough influence to attract Rationalization and Justification—two of the most notorious fellows.

     According to ‘Laboratory for Neuro Imaging,’ the average human has 70,000 thoughts a day. This might make you think your mind is busy, busy, busy, but I’ve come to suspect that there are rest stops—marked by red push pins—throughout my mind’s map.  These are stations where it meets Rationalization and Justification for drinks (and they probably order pizza, bulking up for more anchoring around).  Worse, I’ve watched my mental energy get stuck and become static—circling in its cage.  With this many thoughts going in and some not coming out, something’s gonna give.

       We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.          –  Oscar Wilde

     These days, my thoughts aren’t near as heavy.  It’s lunch and I’m sitting in the park, eating a Lebanese salad.  I feel good, so it’s safe for me to think about this time last year. With ‘now’ running parallel to ‘then’, I realize I’ve lost weight.  My memories and hopes are floating and agile, seeking better couplings.  But, I had to let go—of heavy thoughts and advantageous people—in order to be this fit.

      After a period of time, living as if you were someone else is no fun.    – Richard Chamberlain

     Over the past 10 years, I’ve hypothesized the weight of various thoughts.  The question pops up when there are thought clouds over me or an other, looming with complications and computations to filter through.  I’ve come to a simple conclusion. Experiences cause energy to flow, and then leave thin film residue.  Like plaque in an artery, these layers of experiential mass weigh my thoughts and lessen my powers.  The trick to life—it seems—is experiencing the unsolicited stuff (from everyone and everywhere), filtering it through, and releasing what isn’t beneficial.

     Wisdom is the daughter of experience.                                          – Leonardo da Vinci

     Today, an NBA athlete shared the wonderful display of shedding meta-mass…for all the world to see:

     It takes an enormous amount of energy to guard such a big secret.      – Jason Collins

Mr. Collins wasn’t blackmailed by a self-righteous stalker, and he didn’t apologize.  He freely released his truth, adding the profession of ‘athlete’ to these artists who preceded him.

     What’s changed?   Everything.  The new generation isn’t cowering with the usual suspects—Rationalization and Justification.  We introduced DADT because it was progress and soon struck it down because even it held back our species.  And, the younger ones are working their way through the muck that has weighed our souls and drained our powers.  They aren’t waiting, or asking permission, to participate in the next greatest evolution. 

     Things can change in an instant, so why not live truthfully?            – Jason Collins

     Today's hero silenced the usual suspects of yore.  What was the apocalyptic result?  His significant financial providers—including Nike—voiced support and friends had his back.  Whatever lucky man—who wins Jason’s heart—will share life’s spectrum of experiences with the man he loves (from really good floor seats).

     And your very flesh shall be a great poem.                                       – Walt Whitman

    If you have a freedom story to tell, we’d love to read it—whether you know you're a celebrity or not, “).

Riding a Tricycle, Holding Daisy Dukes

Alice

“Chazz, get up. Let’s take the dogs out.”

“No, I’m tired.”

“You never want to do anything. Why do you drive all this way to lay on my couch?” Alice asked.

“I don’t have this many stations on the other end of my remote. Besides, it’s good for the girls to visit.  When we were together...”

Alice’s phone rang and she answered it, cutting off a reminder of the beginning of a memory that was going to address the elephant that was cross-legged and smoking on top of the coffee table.

“Yeah, I do.  What time?” Alice spoke to the caller.

Pause.

“You know how to get here?”

Pause.

“Ok. The gate code is 1-2-3-4.”

Alice put her phone on the bar and then threw a pack of cigarettes at Chazz’s head.

“Get up.”

“Who was that?”

“It was Micki.  She’s coming over later. We’re going for beers.”

Micki

“I’ve got a date tonight,” Micki said to her ex after she hung up.

“Who?” Melinda asked.

“I used to work with her ex.  When Chazz and I lived in Houston.”

“Christy?”

“No—aye, veigh!” Micki glared. “Why do you always bring her up?”

“I wonder. You tell me why I always think of Christy when you talk about Houston.” Melinda leaned forward and bugged out her eyes.  She pushed her face toward Micki.  “Maybe, because she broke us up?”

“That’s not why we broke up.”

“She was the first of a few reasons why we didn’t break up.”

“You want to go there?”  Micki bugged her eyes and pushed forward before she pulled back with emphasis.  “Besides, we’re better as friends.  We don’t fight near as much. Right?” Micki pulled the top from a Lite—Psssssttt.  “Right.”

“Whatever.  Toss me one.”  Pssssstttt. “Who’s the new girl?  What’s her name—Chazz?”

“Her name’s not Chazz.  I worked with Chazz.  I’m talking about her ex, Alice,” Micki took the last gulp.

“That’s right.  I remember Chazz.  So, what’s up with this Alice?”

“She reminds me of Christy,”  Micki grinned and crushed the can.

“Aye, veigh!  I’m going to kill you!”

Chazz

“Now, I’m really, really tired,” Chazz was the last one up the stairs and into the apartment.
“You were tired the day you were born,” Alice said.

“I remember. I did a lot of work that day.”  Chazz stretched out and reached for the remote. “I’m going to watch tv while you and Micki go for beers.”

“No. You’re going with. You can’t just come here and lay around like when we were together.” Alice pulled the pillow from under Chazz’s head and then popped her with it. “You’re going for beers with us.”

“I brought a twelve pack,” Chazz pointed toward the kitchen.  “Besides, you don’t even drink.”

“I’m going to eat, and y’all drink.”

“I’m not going on a date with you and Micki.  Uh-uh, no way.”
“I’m not dating her, I don’t even know her.  We’re going for burgers.”

“She’s going for beer and you’re going for burgers.  That’s a date, going the wrong way on a trike.”

The Not-Date

Buzzzzzz

“Hello?”
“Hey- uh, Alice. Can you let me in?”
“The gate?”

“I forgot the code.”

“Hold on.”

Buzzzz.

Knock, knock.

“Who’s there?” Chazz smiled when she opened the door.

“What the—?  Oh, ‘hi Chazz.’ What are you doing here?”

“Taking a nap,” She lunged toward the couched and plopped. “We just walked the dogs.”

Alice was dressed except for her shoes. She bent to lace them and then straightened her new walking sweats. “Did you have trouble finding it?”

“I like those. Did you get them at Academy?” Micki asked. 

“Macy’s.”

“Oh,” Micki straightened. She looked around the apartment but stopped to stare at Chazz’ elongated comfortable stretch. “Yeah, I’ve been here before. I knew this girl last summer.  Have you ever been to the pool?”

Chazz stood. “You want a beer?”

“I drink anything that’s free.” Micki tugged on her UofH cap.
“Aren't we going for food?” Alice asked.

Micki caught the beer.  “You still know how to play 3 gulps?”

“I’m playing 6 gulps these days,” Chazz replied.

“Well, down the hatch.” Micki crushed the can and looked up, “What are you going to do?”

“Huh?” Chazz asked.
“While we’re gone.” Micki looked at Chazz.  “Do you lock up?”

The Date

“Chazz. Can you send back my tacos? I asked for chicken,” Alice asked. “Just get them in a to-go.”

“Sure.”

“Hey Chazz, what’ve you been up to since Houston?” Micki asked.

“Don’t you mean since last month when I gave you her number?” Chazz nodded toward Alice.

“I mean. Did you ever get a job?”

“No. I go to dinner with people who will pay my bill in exchange for sending back their food.” Chazz nods toward Alice.  “It’s only a part-time job, but it keeps me out of the dumpsters.”

“You don’t have to be a shit.  We were friends,” Micki said.

“Yeah—until you and Christy started going to Sonic for afternoon slushes.”

“Wow!” Alice looked at Micki with a renewed interest, “You were the one who broke up Chazz and Christy?”

“That wasn’t the reason they broke up,” Micki snapped.

“I’ll get the check,” Chazz raised her arm.

After the waitress split the bill, Alice went one way while Chazz and Micki headed to the parking lot.  One lit a cigarette, and they shared it.   

“You remember when Melinda and I broke up?” Micki asked while exhaling.

“Yeah?  But then you always went dancing,” Chazz replied.

“Right.  That’s my point. On Sunday morning, we’d always say, ‘Why doesn’t anyone ask me out?’”

“Because everyone thought you were still together.”

“Right.  You ever wonder about stuff like that?”

“No. I don’t care what other people think. ”

“You seein’ anyone?”

After the Not-Date-Date

“Great idea.  Thanks for making me drink $4 beers instead of free ones,” Chazz said.

“What was up with her?” Alice asked.

“She was pissed because you brought your ex on a date.”

“If she wanted it to be a date, she could have asked me out.”
“She called you and asked you out.”

“She said, ‘Do you want to get something to eat?’”

“That’s what people do at the beginning of a date.” Chazz leaned in for a hug and whistled for one of the two sisters, “Come Daisy.”

“Stay, Dukes.”

Smelling the Sky Like It was Yesterday

I grabbed a used pair of Levis from the hamper.  I did a full day of yard work on Saturday and assumed it was the pair that’s dedicated to pulling weeds and scooting against the earth.  But, I’d grabbed the pair that I wore Sunday when I took Sweet Georgia Brown and Cali Surfer Girl for a drag around LSU lake. 

It’s routine for me to get home, walk down the half flight of stairs and put on clothes for our immediate daily walk. There's no chance for negotiations. The two of them have formed a union chapter and know their rights.  They are staring and waiting for me to get on with what they’ve been waiting for since I put on my work clothes and left this morning.  

Cali doesn’t throw her head forward to beckon me out of the closet but moves toward my knees and smells the denim that’s wrapped around my thighs.  I think that’s weird, but I remember that she is smelling yesterday—the other dogs that brushed me, the pollen that’s everywhere, the air, and maybe even the sky. She’s half here and half back there on the path we explored.  This is the gift of a dog’s smell. 

I thought about how that experience is so much like sensations that humans bring to first dates.  Everything might be new, but former sights, and maybe smells, compete with “now.”

Benvenuto! Yin-dee-ton-rab, ยินดีต้อนรับ! Selamat Dating! Bienvenido! Willkommen!- You've Got Friends in Smoky Places

Dragging my bag into my most-often-visited Hampton, I see a couple that is smoking (cigarettes).  They are inhaling and then throwing back their heads to blow the smoke up and away.  For some reason, people who do this are most often smiling on their way down.  Isn’t that odd?

Usually, I abhor smokers because I had to hate the smell and residue in order to stop the habit that perpetuated for the length of a ski tip (+) 9.99 more years.  But watching the current strangers in this ritual, I was envious.

"Wouldn’t it be great if I had a partner and we shared a vice?" I thought.

#1 had vices but ours weren’t the same; #2 had very few; and, #3 was addicted to work which excluded me entirely.  So, I’ve never had a partner who might share my tailored vice.  #1, #2, & #3 (as well as my mom and siblings and bestys) would probably scream, “Thank the good Lord!”  I did have an unrelenting gerbil-motor that kept my body moving furiously forward during most of the waking hours.  I can’t imagine the nonsense I would have spun into if I had a like-minded partner.

Anyhoo, it seemed to me that this couple (and the various others that I’ve seen together at this very same entrance) gather there to share something special.  I’m really, really envious.  It’s not that I want a vice that’s going to kill me and my lover (unless we can die together because I’m still working through my co-D stuff), but it seems these guys channel life and put it right here, right now.  They aren’t thinking about tomorrow and the what-ifs; they are saying, “Let’s go have us time.”  I’m not saying it’s the best form of camaraderie, I’m just saying I finally get it. 

If you’re ready to tune me out because smoking leads to death—and there’s not much room for discussion—, I agree.  But there’s something to this  ritualistic simpatico. It reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend who is going through a divorce. 

“What poor guy will put up with her crap?”  He referenced his soon-to-be Ex.

“A guy who benefits from her vices,” I replied. "She'll find a guy who lets her do her thing so he can do his."

This led us to a discussion about ‘normal’.  He fought to acquire it for their family.  He couldn't understand the disconnect—the where, when, how of it. 

“She didn’t want your version of normal,” I said with a neutral tone. "She's still figuring out what that looks like for her."

She wanted anything but normal because that hinders the odyssey, and she’ll find a guy who is captaining his own peculiar little vessel.  He won’t mind that she’s not available and she won’t feel like she’s supposed to be doing something normal.  Together, they'll both have someone who isn’t creating an agenda that doesn’t fit.  

I guess what I’m trying to say is that couples who share compatible enough vices are living right here, right now.  Sure, they’re throwing all hell to the wind, but I could've used a bit more of that spirit in a previous relationship(s).  Going forward, my pursuit will be to create a vice that doesn’t steer my body toward a cancer center but doesn’t keep me horizontal on the couch after the nightly news. 

If this entry ping’d an old memory, send your comment or full story.  Certainly your vice has been a burden or a benefit; certainly you have a friend with a vice that is centering or riveting for her and the ones who watch.  Have I mentioned that you can use this space for telling stories about your friends’ fun and foibles?  

Speaking of friends with various ways, whoever set in motion “2500 Lesbian Linking Lands” you and your buddies who are abroad created a serious international peeps list.  Until recently, that particular link popped up with most of the newbies.  Some still check in to catch up on what’s going on.  In fact, this list of various visitors is a good representation of an average month:

It’s pretty awesome, huh? 

I’d like to welcome the latest arrivals: Italy, Thailand, Indonesia, Mexico, and Austria!  You’re in good company, “).

Single Girls, Post Here

If you're single and you read my ramblings about dating, you may have a list of things you want to say, or scream, to the lesbians around the globe- just in case the lot of them are listening and might want to date you.

When I was with #2,  two women told us a story of "when everything started getting serious."  They made a list of their own bad habits, and then they swapped lists for the lover to read.

"This is it.  If there's anything you can't live with, say so now," they declared.

I seem to remember things like "farts" and "burps" and other unfortunate behaviors that were on their lists.  I wouldn't have wanted to live with a few of those tendencies, but love has a way of overlooking one-dimensional warnings. Still, I thought they were brilliant for being so vulnerable and brave.

I often write a manifesto to my future serious girl (who hopefully is not too serious because I am often too serious and, upon colliding, we could implode or cause a preemptive evolution due solely to our combined pent up energy. (It would be selfish of us to implode but feel really good, probably)).  I list the important stuff when I'm idle and can refresh my short-term memory. However, this is the first version that can be cemented into actual words.

My Martin Luther declaration is socio-scientifically proofed by Myers-Briggs.  I am an INFJ.  It goes a bit like this:

      I is for Introvert- I probably need to be with an extrovert but you guys scare the **** out of me.
      Therefore, I am initially attracted to introverts. Eventually, one of us needs to go out and about and do
      something interesting (or club an extrovert and drag her/him/it back to the cave) if we are to share
      oxygen for eternity.  Let's flip for it.

     N is if iNtuitive- I see (behaviors) and hear (intentions) what no one else gets.  As my partner, you are
    expected to take me seriously when I talk about these things. Seriously.

     F is for Feeling- I will always root for the underdog unless they are scary extroverts or the voices in my
     head help me see and hear warnings that no one else is special enough to process.  If that happens, it's a
    good idea that you take me seriously or give me a reality check. Either/or is good.

     J is for Judgement- I am too often truthful  and have spent many years trying to find nicer ways to not say
    anything.

That's my hard to deal with stuff but here's my good stuff:


      I is for Introvert- I'm probably not going to dominate the conversation...ever.

     N is if iNtuitive- You can (financially and socially) benefit from this (less-than-common) aptitude if you
    don't have one of your own.

     F is for Feeling- If you tell me how my behavior makes you feel, I'll listen (whether I want to or not)
     because I'm wired that way.

     J is for Judgement- I don't beat around the bush which saves a lot of time, and you never have to guess
    where I stand on issues that effect the underdog or out-of-control extroverts.


But each time I go through my explanation of who I am, it changes a bit. This list is different than the one I made on Friday.  Maybe the words don't really matter.  They can represent what Myers-Briggs says I am, but I am always changing what's inside the letters.

I think it would be cool for you to grab a pen and make a list for yourself. It doesn't have to be based on anything formal like Myers-Briggs, just a declaration that rings true to you. Of course, it would be really cool of you to share it with us!

Who is Who Doesn't Matter...the Gays Win

Visiting with The Sums, it wasn’t long before Rob Portman’s recent announcement entered the conversation.  http://www.hawaiinewsnow.com/story/21654568/gay-marriage-senators-shift-gop-soul-searching

“What do you think?” Dim Sum asked.

“I think it’s like when we fought the civil war,” I said.

“How so?”
“Well—you had two groups who wanted different things, so they combined efforts to get what they wanted and then got something altogether different”.

I explained how the 19^th Century Republicans gathered disparate groups to sustain power.  Emancipation might not have been the goal of one ally or of scattered members in many, but that’s what happened before all was said and done.

So, the world learns of a dad-(R) who made an observation about his 3 children and then stood in front of the mirror.  “It’s not right that two of my three get to be free.”

Or maybe the ‘senator’ in him said, “My son is a constituent and I have a responsibility, as a member of the majority and as his senator, to protect members of the minority.”  That would have been very Jeffersonian of him.  But, probably that’s not at all what he said if he thought it at all.

I think he admitted something like, “I want my son to feel love and to be loved.”

So, the father-senator goes to the Republican powers that could permit such a public statement or they come to him—because these guys are really out of touch with their own allies and really, really out of touch with Americans who grew tired during 8 warring years of faux Christian bullying—, and they strike a deal.  Wham! The father-senator of a gay son matches powers with grand ol’ Republicans who want to have a revolutionary CPAC party and then roll out a convincing plan that they can actually be humane (before the next election).

“You see, it’s like the Civil War but different. Two bodies join powers to get what they want.  Who is zooming who doesn’t matter as long as the gays win. Horray!”

Dim Sum said she doesn’t buy it, and then Mr. Sum said that I was explaining “dialectic materialism.” He always says that I say things that I don’t say by tidying it up with a philosophical model.  It’s nice of him to share his intelligence and package my rambling into a digestible capsule.  I looked up dialectic materialism and said that if he was going to call me a communist, I’d much prefer to be a Hegel one than a Marx one.

What Mr. Sum meant was that Hegel put forth that humans who are in disagreement—thesis and antithesis—grow as a result of coming together.  This makes me wonder if/how/when I will benefit from the embrace with anti-thesis allies.

The undone dilemma that hung in the air was, “Where do we go from here?”  With Colorado breaking new ground and the grand ol’ partiers sobering up, will thesis and anti-thesis advocates all wake up one day and say, “Hooray and big whoop. The gays can get married.” And then Americans can fold the paper and crunch their dry toast and get on with their day. 

Our problem has always been that gays aren’t persecuted enough.  (Clearly, I’ve been sheltered but would love to receive rebuttals or full stories of hardships that I’ve not faced).  We’re not like the slaves or even like the blacks who pushed—for God-granted rights and change—during the Civil Rights Movement.  American gays of today can’t point to physical abuses on a grand scale or prejudices that keep us from meeting fundamental needs.  In many situations our careers and jobs are protected by self-selecting corporations who have set an ethical standard for those who might have been resistant for as long as it took Mississippi to ratify the 13^th Amendment. And, the majority of us can minimize our gay loveness so that the majority of the anti-thesis advocates are comfortable enough to remain in the room and share oxygen until the bar mitzvah, heterosexual wedding, or graduation is over.  We can stay in the closet if we just try a bit harder.  So, all of these do-gooder deeds (that come from the anti-thesis and thesis camps) absolutely work against my minority’s right for a monumental, earth-shattering civil rights evolution.  We need to get really mad about something and cause a big realization before the grand ol’ partiers comes over the hill, set up the keg, and haze us—even if we have to make something up.

For the most part, we don’t fight because we don’t have one.  We’ve spent a little over half a century hoping to peek over the top of the fence line and look with envy at the neighbor’s grass.  Our desire for civil unions beckons for membership in a clique that roots in nostalgia and lets snake-oil salesmen sell its essence.  50% of all marriages end in a divorce because no one can market the ointment, the panacea for getting along “until death we do part.”  Isn’t anyone suspicious that the grand ol’ partiers are allowing us to join an eroding norm?  This is going to cost me big money, I can feel it.

I need to ask my community, “Do we think that we’d do marriage better because we are super-humans?” I’m not; I don’t.  We want in their stupid clubhouse because they said we can’t be in it. We kick the base of the tree with our necks crooked and cramped up toward the sky, murmuring for something that statistics show is a 50-50 gamble.  

Now, there are some in our community who really want this right and have good reason to pursue documented protections.  They do the heavy lifting while willing-bodied good people like me pull out and dust off the camping fold-out chair so that I have a comfortable seat along the sidelines of the evolutionary parade.  Why? Because I know that equal rights are mine to receive for as long as the United States Constitution—that we’re all citing in court systems across the nation—is the same one that was signed by John Hancock. I’m waiting them out.   I know my rights and truth will be victorious in the end.  Certainly Mr. Sum has a grand name for this philosophical model.

“Lazy.”

“Let’s call it peaceful resistance—like the counter-sitters and bus-boycotters, like Ghandi,” I would offer over his magical giggle.  “All I need now is the opportunity to scrap with my soon-to-be allies.”

ترحيب, Bienvenu, Selamat Datang, Bari galu'st, Pari yegak, Sadarayen piligannawa, Ahla wa sahlan, Céad míle fáilte, ترحيب , Bine ai venit, Bienvenido, Ahlan wa sahlan and Khush āmdīd!

Some read my aunt’s story in “Love’s Gay Impressions.” After her funeral this month, I shared the link with the fabulous Buddy.  I pointed out the number of visitors who have peeped in from the Middle East.  I said in the message, “This is a sign that Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is history and people are free to be…!”  

Looking at the ones who have joined from the Middle East, from countries that penalize someone for saying in public “lesbian” or “gay,” and from countries where blogs are blocked, it’s obvious that some Westerners are launching their gay spirit into orbit and letting love decide where it will land.  You, being there and doing what you do, are contributing to the evolution.

Sure, the West has a long way to go.  Recently, an immigrant from India informed the state of Mississippi that it hadn’t ratified the 13^th Amendment.  (It’s the one that abolishes slavery).  This week, the President had to publicly state that prohibiting some citizens from some rights is completely unconstitutional.  And, there’s a viral video about a homophobe who ranted amidst passengers that got involved.  They clapped to support the open and loud protests of a confident gay man who braved the hate-spewer within the tight confines of a moving subway cabin.  It’s only a matter of time until humans hold other humans accountable for being humane.  

People all around the world are responding to and demanding their God-given and Spirit-driven freedom. The best part is—altruists are popping up and popping off for goodness sake.

Since the last “Lesbians Linking Lands,” another dozen countries peeped in: United Arab Emirates, Jamaica, Malaysia, Armenia, Sri Lanka, Lebanon, Ireland, Iraq, Romania, Puerto Rico, Egypt, and Pakistan.  To all of the new visitors, I say, ترحيب , Bienvenu, Selamat Datang,  Bari galu'st, Pari yegak, Sadarayen piligannawa, Ahla wa sahlan, Céad míle fáilte,  ترحيب , Bine ai venit, Bienvenido, Ahlan wa sahlan and  Khush āmdīd!

  

Wherever you are, be the “free” you wish to see in the world. You are part of this historical evolution, “)!