Vapor Trails

Dog Prayers

2007-04-26T14:40:00.000-07:00

I got home from Miami this afternoon. I had spent a couple of days at a law conference with my partner A in Miami, and of course you have to ask the question, why would anyone willingly spend time at a law conference if they did not have to, and the answer would be, because it's a free trip to Miami, stupid. A free trip to Miami, if it's not in July or August, is worth all of the talk of case facts and arguments over the finer points of the law. My partner had to deliver several seminars on just these topics, while I lounged beside the pool. Since A is a government lawyer, and not one of those highly paid defense lawyers, the perks are few and far between, so I don't have many chances to play the wife of leisure. I had to endure an evening of lawyer talk at a fabulous resort, but I also got the chance to take my wife out to dinner in South Beach, where we sat under palm trees far away from the stress of DC, and ate warm chocolate chip cookies with mint chocolate chip ice cream for dessert.

Not a bad trade.

During my stay in Miami, I got a phone call from friend Jules from Australia. She has recently relocated to Seattle, which is a hell of a lot closer than Melbourne. I don't know about you, but I always meet some fabulous people when I travel, and I always wish that I will keep these friends for a lifetime. I was particularly fond of my friends from Down Under, since I had spent nearly three months there, and practically gone native in that time. As the years went by, and e-mails became fewer and farther between, I gave up the hope that I would ever meet up with my mates from the other hemisphere. But Jules is here, and a trip to Seattle is entirely do-able and so my hope of keeping contact with friends from far-away places is not so far-fetched.

I got home around two, and immediately sorted through the mail, and cleaned out the fridge. I was only gone for three days, but it is a habit of mine to clean the fridge when I get home from travel, because in the past I have often had some unpleasant surprises when returning from vacation, such as getting up in the morning after a red-eye flight and pouring some really foul smelling milk into my Frosted Flakes and shoveling a huge spoonfull into my mouth before my olfactory glands were fully functioning. My first act upon arriving home was to discard all dairy products, and then go to the Safeway for something edible. It was surprising to me that even in my short absence, there were so many nasty things in the fridge. There were a couple of cartons of milk, and more than a few plastic wrapped packets that looked like my science experiments from high school. And even though one of those Saran Wrapped Wonders might have held the cure for cancer, I bravely chucked them into the kitchen trash, not wanting to take the risk of food poisoning, and the unpleasant prospect of having the heaves when I had to work in the morning.

I opened a beer and dialed my friend Jules in Seattle. She was after all of these years, just exactly as I had left her in Sydney, funny, happy, and completely real, which is the thing that I love and miss about all of my friends in Australia. She had arrived in the US a few weeks ago, and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of her stuff. We spent a bit of time catching up, and planning to meet up in Seattle in August. During the conversation, I learned that Jules' longtime companion, Doof the Amazing Oz Dog had gone missing on the farm and missed the trip to Seattle. Jules was on the verge of something very un-Australian, crying, and it distressed me in the extreme. I got off the phone with Jules, booked a flight to Seattle in August, and did something very out of character.

Okay, I have never admitted to believing in a god, but I have recently taken to carrying a rosary. It's a Catholic thing, and I'm not sure why, I'm still skeptical about the existence of a Devine Being, but I figure, these days, we mortals can use all the help we can get. My rosary popped out of my suitcase tangled in a few knots, and I almost stepped on it on my way to clean out the fridge. After hearing my friend Jules and her distress about Doof, I picked up the rosary, and said a few quick prayers for the lost canine. I have no idea if the prayers helped at all, but I get this feeling that Doof never wanted to go to Seattle, and is chasing some hot gurl dog in the woods, rather than sit at a Starbucks on a leash.

Doof is waiting for Jules at home, just like I waited for her here.

And everything is right in the universe.

The Involuntary Jerk of My Liberal Knee

2006-01-31T22:00:00.000-08:00

I came home from work tonight and my partner informed me that Cindy Sheehan had been arrested by the Capital police just before the State of the Union address. I wondered what the charges might have been, was she disturbing the peace, was she naked? It turns out that she was an invited guest and she was carted away on some charges that have yet to be announced. I wondered aloud if we are living in a police state? I know that sounds like some radical idea, but I'm curious, what were the charges?

The police in DC who show up to a crime scene 45 minutes after the crime happens were pretty swift to respond to the activist in the Halls of Congress. What sort of nation do we live in? We arrest the mother of a soldier who gave his life for his nation, and let the liar address the nation for forty minutes? Who is the criminal in this scenario? The man who lied to a nation, or the mother who lost her son? One is in jail, and the other free to commit more crimes.

What has happened to American Justice?

When You Can't Laugh

2006-01-30T14:43:00.000-08:00

There are times when my favorite remedy for depression is inapropriate. Funerals, are really bad times for laughter, although at mine, I hope someone remembers something funny that I said. When every branch of government falls into the hands of conservative influence, I can't really think of a joke that might be funny enough to stop me from feeling like weeping.

The lack of courage of the Democratic Party in voting to close the debate on Judge Alito is making me feel that I might never laugh again.

I can always make the joke about having perfect birth control, I'll never have to face an unwanted pregnancy. But for me, a child would not be an undue burden, I have all of the tools necessary to provide for a child, a good job, a stable partner, and good home, and great health insurance. My niece does not have those things yet. She's in her twenties, she's got a lot of things going for her, great education, a great job, but what if the man who provides the swimmer for that unborn child doesn't want to hang around to help with the actual life of the child? Women have so little control over the biological events in their lives, allowing them the big Veto seems just like common sense. While there are laws that are sometimes enforced to make men pay child support, there is no law stopping him from leaving his family to boink a twenty year old. An umbilical cord ties a woman to a child, but there is nothing to bind a man to his offspring.

Other things about the Alito confirmation that are not funny pertain to wierd laws about executive power in the government. I'm not a lawyer, but I totally get the reasons for separating Church and State, and having separate branches of government. There is no reason to have all three branches of government fall into the hands of men who have already proven themselves unable to even marshall the vast resources of government to save a person from drowning on the rooftop of a home in a state where poverty defines life and death. We are handing over the last branch of government to an Administration that lied to get us into a war, and was not even competant enough to win the illegal war.

Basically, we're fucked.

If you're hoping as I am that the Democrats will take back the House and Senate in November 2006, I'm here to tell you don't waste your energy. The Democrats just handed over your basic civil liberties to the Republicans without so much as a filibuster. Are the Democrats in on the great power give away? Did the people you support just give away your remaining rights as an individual?

This isn't the most horrible moment in American history. But it might just be the last chance we ever have for self determination.

The Road To Hell

2006-01-30T14:21:00.000-08:00

The road to hell is paved with.....a lot of really fun stuff. Since I am hellbound by the unfortunate circumstances of being born a lesbian, I figure the trip out to be worth eternal damnation. I have always been the black sheep, I was the first in the family to get kicked out of Catholic school, the first to get a tattoo, the first to smoke pot, and the only gay member of the family. Before I was married, I chased women energetically. Even in business, I'm referred to as the creative one. My partner A, is the complete opposite. She is completely by the book. She doesn't drink, she never smoked anything you couldn't purchase legally. She's highly educated, she has an important job, and she teaches at an Ivy League Law school. She pays her bills on time, she makes the bed in the morning, she returns videos on time, and she even pays her parking tickets. She drinks Decaf. She's a model citizen. Why she married me is a puzzle I may never solve, but I am smart enough not to question my good fortune. She does however have this one vice. She loves to gamble. Gambling was the one vice that I never acquired. There were never any casinos in Chicago, and I was much more interested in women or loud music anyway. The first time I ever saw a slot machine was with A. We took this romantic trip to some quaint town in southern Illinois. We stayed at this lovely B&B with a wood burning fireplace, and a massive hot tub. The next day when we came up for air, we strolled into town, and there on the banks of the river, was this old-fashioned river boat. We walked up the ramp and boarded the old vessel, and there was this huge party going on. It was all of these old ladies sitting at slot machines, some of them in between two machines, feeding quarters in as fast as their short arms would move. They were amazingly dextrous, dropping quarters, pulling the lever, the hand eye coordination was remarkable. And they were chain smoking. It was noisy and I could barely hear A over the sounds of bells ringing and coins dropping. She was steering towards a machine called "Lucky Horseshoes". She pulled out a twenty and fed it right into the machine. She began pulling the lever at lightning speed, and almost immediately pulled another twenty from her pocket to put into the machine. I looked on horrified thinking of the children starving in India and suggested we get lunch. She gave me another twenty, and asked me to get her a Scotch and water.

What? I walked up to the bar and demanded to see the manager to find out what he had done with my sensible wife. The manager was busy helping two elderly ladies carry these huge buckets of quarters to this huge change counter. I returned to A with her Scotch and water, and heard her shouting, "Double Diamonds! F-ing Cool!"

OMIGOD! My wife just said the F word. In PUBLIC! And loud! She grabbed the scotch out of my hand and handed me another twenty and pointed me to the machine at the bar. Where were these twenties coming from? The Devil? Wasn?t it a sin to gamble when there were so many hungry children in Africa? And what about the little old ladies chain smoking and carrying on? I began to say the Hail Mary, and A looked over at me like I had lost my mind. She accused me of jinxing her, and insisted that I have a beer and chill.

Look, you don't ever have to twist my arm to drink a beer, even on the road to hell.

I have since come to regard my wife's affection for gambling as a sign of human weakness much like my love of tobacco and beer. In fact, we just returned from a day trip to Atlantic City (her Christmas present from me, are we surely going to hell, like tomorrow?). She still sends me to the bar to get her a Scotch, and then gives me a couple of twenties to play the penny machines and drink beer. But slot machines have changed a bit, maybe to appeal more to those like me who will soon be little old ladies with time on their hands. I found this penny slot machine called Pharaoh?s Gold. If you won, the machine played that old Bangles song, "Walk Like An Egyptian". It lit up, and the mummies climbed out of the tombs and did the Egyptian dance. I had so much fun, I put $80 of my own money into it, and lost it. At 3 in the morning, A had to come and look for me, I was doing the dance on my little slot machine chair and ready for bed.

I'm already going to hell, it's been pre-determined. My partner A. is perfect, and she needs a bit of help on the way down. I figure her road to hell will be a bit more fun on the way down, and for me, if A chooses eternity with me, no matter where we end up, it will be heaven.

Respect Your Elders

2005-11-04T22:21:00.000-08:00

People older than me have taught me many things. Just about every important thing I've ever learned, I think I learned from someone older than me, someone who'd already been there. Important things, I mean things like manners, patience, how to fold your slacks so that you get that nice crease in the middle. I've always been respectful of old people, until just recently.

I manage a specialty foods store, not like a supermarket, but more like an import store. We have a lot of things that you can't get anywhere else, and a lot of food that comes from small artisan type producers. If you're looking for a Hershey bar, we won't have it. If you want fine Belgium chocolate, we can help you. My store is located in a neighborhood that is very mixed, we have a lot of diplomats, we have some really wealthy people from Foxhall road, and we have a large population of elderly folks who have lived in the neighborhood for years. Our prices are not cheap, but our food is high end. The elderly population finds it easy to shop at my store because they can walk there with no problem. Many of them were probably upper middle income earners when they had jobs, but now have seen everything from toilet paper to prescription drugs rise in price, while the steady Social Security check remains the same. I can understand why they might be a little cranky. I mean here they have lived by the rules, worked hard all of their lives, and in retirement when everything is supposed to be easy, they are wrapping the remnants of meals, four green beans, a slice of turkey, half a dinner roll in tin foil to put in the freezer and save for the end of the month when the checking account gets empty and there's nothing to eat. I'd be cranky, wouldn't you?

My Mom saves everything that she leaves on her plate and wraps it in foil. When the family gets together, we have a pot luck sort of dinner. There are six of us offspring, and most of my sisters are straight, and they married these guys who eat a lot. When the foil packets come out of the oven, and we all grab for the food, I often eye my sibling's plates to see if they got more roasted potatoes than I did, because in my packet there are only two. We sometimes trade packets, I'm not very fond of green beans, and my sister Mary won't eat beef. We are always very appreciative of Mom's cooking, we eat everything on our plates in like two minutes. After Mom falls asleep, we hit the late night drive up window at Taco Bell.

So I'm not insensitive to the challenges that confront my elderly customers. But one of our customer service people, Norma, has cultivated this following of high maintenance old people. There are five or six not very mobile, really old women who have to have us shop for them, and then deliver the groceries. When these women call, I give them to Norma, and she spends hours on the phone taking the orders. Norma is about the kindest person I have ever worked with, she talks to the ladies about the chemotherapy they are having, what sort of drugs they are taking, side effects, yada yada. She is so good with these people, that the building could be on fire, and she would stay on the phone until someone yanked her physically from her desk. She knows what kind of ice cream they like. If kindness gets you anything in the afterlife, Norma will have everything. But in this life, Norma gets eight hour days of complaining women who have no one to talk to.

One morning at six am, I answered the phone and a woman rasped, "Can I ssspeak to Nooorma..aaaa?"

I said, "Norma isn't here, can I help you with something?"

There was silence on the other end. I hung up the phone and made myself an espresso.

The phone rang again. A frail voice clinging to life said,"Doctor Micheals?"

I got a little freaked out, and said, "One moment please." and then I put her on hold.

I ran over to Linda who was setting up the coffee bar. "Linda, I think it's Mrs. Wheeler, one of Norma's ladies. I think she's dying! She's asking for Doctor Micheals. Should I send an ambulance?"

"Well where does she live?" Linda looked at me like I was crazy.

"I don't know, down the street somewhere in one of those old lady apartment buildings."

"How you gonna send an ambulance if you don't know where she lives?"

I quickly ran back to the phone, and shouted, "Mrs. Wheeler? What's your address? Mrs. Wheeler! Hello?"

Mrs Wheeler was gone. I put her on hold as she took her last breath. I killed her.

For months after, I wouldn't answer the phone. The rest of Norma's ladies still call on a regular basis. Today Mrs. East called and ordered a slew of groceries to be delivered. Norma spent 40 minutes on the phone getting her order and listening to complaints about bodily functions and imminent death. Mrs. East is a little forgetful because her doctors are tired of her complaining, and so they have prescribed heavy doses of pain killers and narcotics. We delivered the groceries, and Mrs. East called back screaming that she hadn't ordered any groceries, why were they delivered? She had forgotten that she placed the order. I passed the call to Norma. I went into my office to answer some e-mails, and I heard Norma yelling into the phone, "You now, you're not the only person in the universe who's sick! How'd you like to live in Africa and die from a mosquito bite? You think you're sick? We had this lady die last month WHILE SHE WAS ON HOLD!"

Click.

The phone rang a second later. it rang and rang and rang, and finally, I had to pick it up. It was Mrs. East. She wanted to speak to the manager.

"Okay, I'll try to find her." I put her on hold.

I couldn't find Norma.

I picked up the phone, and in the best receptionist voice I could muster, I said, "She's in a meeting. Can I take your number and have her call you?"

Click.

The phone rang again. I let it ring like twenty times. I finally picked it up, and Mrs West shouted,

"I want to speak to the MANAGER!"

"One moment please."

I put her on hold for so long, that I'm sure she forgot who she was speaking to. She might still actually be sitting there now, at one in the morning, asleep with the phone dangling from her hand.

We're all gonna be there someday, old, maybe alone, maybe a little crazy. Maybe we'll have to save those four green beans and two roasted potatoes from the beginning of the month when we had money in the bank. My elders always taught me that kindness doesn't cost you anything. And it's true up to a point. I'm good to my mother, I don't call her as often as I should, but when I do, I make her laugh. I try to buy her dinner, but when she insists on cooking, I eat the packets of frozen food and thank her for making me dinner. I listen to her bitch about her ankle, and the ants in the kitchen. When she starts telling me that George Bush is a great president, I listen for a few minutes until I can't take it anymore.

And then I put her on hold.

The Last Supper

2005-10-12T17:08:00.000-07:00

LThe last night in Florence, we had dinner at our favorite restaurant. What was special about this place was not so much that the food was exquisite, and the service prompt, but when we dined there, we felt welcome. In the last 4 years, I've been to Europe four times, and each time I go, I feel a little more anxious, a little less inclined to tell people where I'm from. This trip, I even considered buying a T-shirt with a big maple leaf on the front, so that no one would think I was an American. It's not like I'm ashamed of my country, I'm just not too proud of what we've become in recent years. In particular, I was really sensitive about our lack of concern for our own citizens in the recent disaster in the Gulf, and that the world had witnessed it on CNN. In the other Gulf, I was ashamed at our invasion and occupation of Iraq, and the shame of looting and torture. I figure that as a citizen of this country, I must shoulder the blame for these things, even though I am powerless to stop them, and I reason that some of the rude looks I get when I'm traveling are justified. I still travel, because it's my passion, I love to experience cultures and history, oh and I also love the food.

In my favorite restaurant, we were greeted like old friends in spite of the two years of separation, regardless of the two different languages and cultures. I was even given a recipe of the house special, Gnudi, a spinach and ricotta dumpling unlike anything I've tasted anywhere. Somewhere after dessert, the staff took me back in the kitchen where they gave me a hands on demo on how to prepare the lovely little things. Soon after I proudly emerged from the kitchen with my tiny little spinach dumpling on my plate, the bottle of Lemoncello was placed on the table. We partied hard, we of different cultures, different languages, both countries guilty of poor judgment and war crimes, one country that will be able to just pull up and leave, the other mired in a disaster of it's own making.

It was the perfect ending to a perfect trip. And I will miss Italy and my friends. My hope is that the regular people who feel powerless to stop the mistakes of those who have power will prevail, and the citizens of all the world will be able to share the beauty of all cultures over a great meal and a chilled bottle of Lemoncello.

Food For The Soul

2005-10-09T21:22:00.000-07:00

As one who continues to search for spirituality, I find a lot of comfort in the things of the body, rather than the things of the soul. Maybe that's my problem. My thinking is, "If it Tastes Good, Eat It", and I seldom worry about fat grams until the dessert is already winding it's way through my digestive system.

This dessert is only available in one restaurant in Florence. It's called Panna Cotta. You can find variations in just about every restaurant in Tuscany, but to experience the mouth watering Divine sensation of Panna Cotta at it's supreme excellence, you have to go to I'Toscono on Via Guelfa in Florence. There is no other dessert like it.

And the waitresses are totally hot.

My Italian Paradise

2005-10-09T21:06:00.000-07:00

Have you ever traveled to a place too beautiful for words? Cinque Terra is like that, the feeling you get from entering these five lovely towns is one of unreality, like you had walked onto a movie set. I'm not talented enough in my writing skills to describe the beauty of Cinque Terra, for that maybe poetry is appropriate. I'm just here to say that if you ever get the chance to see Cinque Terra, take it, it is one of the most lovely places in all of creation.

The Loose Thread, or Butch By Default

2005-07-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

In heterosexual relationships, there are usually two partners, although I have heard of relationships with more than two partners, most straight people I know have either a husband, or a wife. Since this is reality to them, this is how they often define alternative relationships. I have often been asked by well meaning straight people, "Which one of you is, uhmm, the man?" I then feel as if it is my duty to lesbians everywhere to educate these well meaning straight people and tell them that in a lesbian relationship there is no man. For breeders, this is a hard concept to swallow, (oops, that was completely unintended) because the very fabric of society is built around the idea of Penis Power. But fabric, like penises can become completely unwound with just a slight tug on a loose thread, and all of a sudden, there you are, not bound by marriage to some asshole who expects you to take the kids to school in the morning because you make less money than he does, but sitting in a pile of loose yarn, examining the truths that once bound you, and realizing that they have become with just a slight bit of pressure, just a pile of garbage that you should sweep up.

The penis is completely unnecessary. This is the thread that unravels society. Pull on it if you dare.

Without men, of course, there are naturally tasks that men traditionally do that need to be taken up by women. Who changes the tire? Who takes out the trash? Who steps on the spider crawling across the living room floor? In lesbian relationships, it is usually the butch. In my own relationship, it has been decidedly difficult to determine which one of us is butch. We both wear make-up. I have a purse, and A does not. I wear heels, and A does not. I know how to change a tire, A. does not. A. knows about things like duvet covers and I don't. I can cook, and A. can't. It's not really a competition, because knowing how to change a tire and knowing how to cook do not really constitute victory. Victory is defined as a happy relationship, no matter what your skills are. Skills contribute to partnership, skills are good. Still the question remains, who takes out the trash? Obviously, we both are skilled enough to do the job. In almost every relationship, trash duty falls to the butch.

So how can you tell who is the butch? If you are both kind of gurlie, then I have a fool proof way to determine who gets trash duty. It's a simple question.

Which one of you is more likely to pee outdoors?

Me personally, I don't care. If you have to pee, then you have to pee. It doesn't matter to me whether or not there is a designated place, I can't just hold it indefinitely, pee, once manufactured, must be expelled. I prefer a clean and sanitary restroom, but if one is not available, then expell it, I will. A, my partner has developed the skill of being able to hold it for miles until we drive by the Hyatt Regency, and have to stop for dinner, even though we're not hungry. It usually costs me $120 to stop to use the restroom and have dinner. Not only is it expensive, but now I am the designated butch, and not only do I have to cook, I have to take out the trash.

But hey, doesn't that give me a free pass to lay around and watch basketball on the weekends?

Do I Look Fat?

2005-06-17T18:01:00.000-07:00

It’s a relief to be out of the restaurant business. I don’t miss the high blood pressure one bit. I’m still in the food business, it would be impossible for me to stay away from food for any length of time. Once a foodie, always a foodie. It’s hereditary I think, when my family sits down to eat together, our food is still warm on our plates when we begin to plan the next meal. It’s an Italian thing, dinner to Italians is like a sacrament, the moment the meal reaches the table, a silence descends and all conversation halts. For the first ten minutes of the meal, the only human sounds one can hear are basic guttural noises, like Uhmmmmm, and oohh, the clicking of forks on plates and sounds of contentment. Near the end of the meal, someone will speak, usually asking for more bread and olive oil, or maybe it’s me, eyeing a sibling’s plate where a couple of goat cheese ravioli remain untouched, ( it annoys me to see pasta uneaten) and the whole table will hear me say, “Hey! You gonna eat that or what?”

I get really South Side when I’m around my family.

Anyway, like I was saying, I’m out of the restaurant business, but not out of the food business. I work in a specialty food store, and all day I am surrounded by fabulous pastries, fresh seafood, imports of all kinds, things that you can’t find at the grocery store. I try to maintain a healthy weight, (by healthy I figure that it’s at least 10 pounds over what my doctor tells me I should weigh, cause who wants to be a skinny bitch? Skinny bitches are no fun to hang out with because no matter where you want to go for dinner, they always end up eating something sensible and they never want to order dessert, so there is no sharing of every exotic item on the dessert menu. No one likes to date a skinny bitch, because they are always wanting to do things like running, or rock climbing. You get halfway up the rock, and realize that on top of this uninteresting mountain, they don’t even have a 7-11, all that exertion and no food afterwards. And I’m telling you right now, no one wants to sleep with a skinny bitch, cause there’s nothing to hold onto, it’s like f-ing a broomstick, what fun is that?!!). It’s always a struggle for me to maintain my weight, since my work is food, a good part of my waking moments are spent buying, selling, and tasting food. I’m a pretty good sales person, when I am answering a question a customer has about oh say, White Chocolate Ganache with Pistachios and Raspberries, I get totally Italian about it, my eyes get big, my arms start to wave in the air, and the customer buys two of them. My store is full of people just like me, we love food, and we are enthusiastic about our work. It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.

My doctor doesn’t understand my love of food. She’s from some Southeast Asian country, where they don’t have any. She’s a great doctor, she give me good drugs weather I need them or not, but she is kind of bossy. She has a voice like Margaret Cho’s mother, and as soon as I weigh in and have my blood pressure taken, she’s in my face with Mrs Cho’s voice saying,

“You so FAT! Why YOU SO FAT? WHAT YOU EAT?”

I don’t really think of myself as fat, but compared to her tiny frame, I guess I could be considered slightly overweight. My doctor is four feet tall and she weighs maybe 85 pounds. Jeez, I’m only a size ten, that’s not so bad. I mean, in the US, that’s considered average. I’m only considered fat in some third world country where the only thing to eat is rice and soybeans. Or in Paris, where the skinny bitches get to eat French pastry every day and not gain a pound. So what’s the problem? Doctor Cho is waiting for me to tell her what I’ve been eating, so I try to think about it.

Hmmnn…for breakfast, I had a pear and a cup of Wake the F UP coffee, but no half and half, and only a Sweet and Low. When I got to work, the Cheese Lady was all excited about the 6 year old Vermont Cheddar (she was waving her arms and jumping up and down), and she made me taste some, and I did, and it was fabulous, and then she encouraged me to have another taste, because it was really expensive, and she would not be giving it away again. So I ate a huge chunk, it was heavenly, and you really can’t tell from the first taste anyway, right? Then the Candy Lady cornered me wanting me to try the new chocolate from some micro chocolate producer in a tiny village in Switzerland. I tried to avoid it, but to avoid chocolate is just wrong, especially when the Candy Lady is waving it under your nose like some sweet smelling salts that will bring you back to life.

The chocolate was to die for.

I hid in the office for an hour, doing some payroll work, but soon had to intervene in a catering crisis. The kitchen had prepared a tray of sliced avocados way too early, and they were beginning to oxidize. The client was Mrs. Lascariest, who owns almost all of Mexico City, and a couple of good sized counties in Texas. If we sent the avocado tray to her house beginning to look brown, I would almost certainly have to spend at least an hour on the phone apologizing for the unforgivable mistake, and if I didn’t apologize just right, I would probably have to give her a huge discount just to get her off the phone. I decided that we needed new avocados, and we would leave the skin on, and garnish the hell out of the tray to make it look presentable. We did just that, but I was left with thirty pounds of avocados that were perfectly ripe, and just sitting there on the catering table, getting riper. I did what any foodie would do with ripe avocados, I made guacamole. I didn’t use a recipe, so I had to season it to taste. I didn’t get it quite right on the first try, I had to squeeze in a couple of limes and minced cilantro, but after several tastes, it turned out just right.

I went back in the office and I realized that I hadn’t eaten lunch! I wasn’t very hungry, so I ate a salad with blue cheese and Mandarin oranges with Citrus Vinaigrette. Very sensible. I went back to inputting payroll, but soon after I began, there was another crisis that needed my attention. The cooler in the bakery was running warm, and the pastry chef was worried about the quality of the Triple Chocolate Banana Tart. She brought a big slice with a spoon and set it right on my desk. I took a bite and thought it was just fine, but since I had taken a bite already, we couldn’t sell it, and I was forced to eat the whole thing!

Did I say that my job was tough?

My doctor was studying my face as I was thinking about the Triple Chocolate Banana Tart. I think my eyes got big, and I began to smile as if I were in a dream. She wrote furiously on her prescription pad and barked,

“No Chocolate! You too fat! You eat Chocolate, You DIE!”

Die? From Chocolate? Is that possible?

There are worse ways to go.

Camp Breeder

2005-06-14T14:52:00.000-07:00

I was reading a post by my friend Happy yesterday (I have to refer to her as Happy, because we have two ME's in the group now) and was intrigued by the idea that a person could change sexual orientation through hard work and prayer. I decided to check out some of the advice offered by people who had already been through THE CHANGE. I mean why not, there are all sorts of benefits to being straight, and besides, I wouldn't have to endure those weekly phone calls from my mother. She calls me every Sunday to tell me that she is still praying for the salvation of my immortal soul. Sometimes she goes off on the "Gay Marriage Causes the Collapse of Society and Other Really Bad Things" spiel. I try not to let the conversation go on long enough to have to listen to how everything that is wrong in the world is somehow my fault, but how long can you talk about the weather? Maybe if I could figure out how to change my orientation, my mother would talk to me about furniture, or we could exchange recipes just like mothers and daughters do on TV.

I didn't tell my partner A. that I was thinking of going through THE CHANGE. I figured that it wouldn't work, and if it did, then couldn't I just change back? Maybe if I really turned into a straight gurl, then my mother would get off my back. A. might not even notice. I have had a lot of practice pretending to be straight, how hard could it be to pretend to be gay? If the straight thing was really hard to shake, I could always rent the Tomb Raider movies. Angelina Jolie in those action outfits is enough to make even Anne Coulter question her orientation. (Okay, I'm not suggesting that we let Anne into the Family, she would have to first go on a shopping spree and get rid of those black patent leather shoes!) It didn't seem like such a bad thing to be straight, and if being straight would get my mother to back off, it might even be worth it. I'm sure I could fix any problems with A, we've been together for thirteen years, through what seemed like insurmountable problems. Unlike my mother, I'm sure she would love me no matter what.

She does already. Good thing for me.

I clicked on some of Happy's links. The Dobson link was particularly informative. If you pay the $250 entrance fee, you get all of your questions answered. The most common questions were already answered free of charge. The first one was this:

1. Am I going to Hell?

Answer: Yes. Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200. One "Get Out of Hell Free" pass can be purchased by donating $5000 to Focus On The Family. If you buy two, you can skip all of mandatory prayer, and go straight to heaven.

2. Is sex with straight men really awful?

Answer: Yes, but it only lasts for 5 minutes, and afterwards he falls sound asleep so you can catch the Leno show.

3. What should I do about all of my tattoos?

Answer: Repent!

4. Will being straight totally suck?

Answer: Find out by attending our seminar Change NOW 2005. For the low price of $499.99 you can win a Bible!

I really wanted the answer to the last question, and wished that it were not so expensive. I had the money, but I didn't have a week off from work to go to the seminar. Salvation was really inconvenient. And wow, it was expensive! But prayer and meditation were free, so I decided to give it a whirl. I began by visualizing a hetero life. I saw myself in heels. I was wearing a neatly ironed pink suit. I looked…..different. My hair was pulled back in a braid, and not one hair was out of place. I was wearing eye make-up. My tattoos were covered by long sleeves and a turtleneck collar. I was saying something….

"You know, I just love being a Breeder. The kids are so much fun!"

"Children! The Lord's gift to women!" She was also wearing a pink suit, but she was tall and blond, and her ass was….nice.
I was never really attracted before to the spiritual type, but maybe I was missing something?

"Oh and look! There's your husband!" She gestured to a middle aged bald guy walking up to greet us. That was my husband? I was sure that the brochure had shown a picture of the straight men, and they were better looking. In the pictures, didn't they all have hair? Trailing behind my husband were three small children. They had finger paint all over their tiny little hands. They were carrying these hand painted Jesus pictures and they saw me and rushed over to meet me. "Mommy! Jesus Loves YOU!" They ran to meet me with dirty fingers and snotty noses. I looked over at the blond in pink. The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Hey. There's this seminar later tonight. It's called "How to Resist the Urge to Cut Your Hair. Are you going?"

She raised her eyebrows and said, "I wouldn't miss it. It's the best workshop in the Camp."

And then the kids jumped all over me, getting my perfect pink suit all gritty with paint and dirt. They were screaming crazy things like, " I want my blanky! I have to go potty! Why don't I have a pee-pee like daddy? I'm hungry! My tummy hurts." I kept repeating to my self, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home….."

When I woke up, A. was squinting at me. "You're talking in your sleep. Are you okay?" I was so happy to see her.

"I am now." I said.

Smelling Like A Rose

2005-06-11T17:16:00.000-07:00

I’m having a weekend. I know it’s Thursday, and you can’t have a weekend in the middle of the week, but when you run a business that’s open seven days a week, you rarely get two days off in a row, so when you do, it’s like a mini vacation. There are some advantages to being off in the middle of the week. I can get in and out of the dry cleaners in less than ten minutes. There are not so many bicycles on the street. I’m all for sharing the road, but when some D-head on a bike pulls into the middle of the lane ahead of me going 5 mph, I feel like running his ass over. Buying shoes on a Wednesday is much easier than buying them on a Saturday. On Saturday there are at least 15 women in the shoe department waiting for the two salespeople that are willing to work weekends. You can see the sweat beads on their faces as they race to and from with stacks pf shoe boxes. When they stop momentarily at least ten women start shouting and waving, “I need this in a size seven! TAUPE or Charcoal Black!” The last time I shopped for shoes on a Saturday I was politely waiting my turn when some skinny bitch tried to shove in front of me. Unfortunately for the skinny bitch, I don’t move so easily. She tried a second time, and I gave her a Tank Gurl hip check that sent her all the way to the cash register. Hey, I’m a size ten; I don’t take any shit from size 4’s.

I should be in a better mood because of my weekend, but I’m not. The day started out just fine, I walked up to the Corner Bakery and bought a couple of newspapers and a large Americano and sat outside (where there were plenty of extra tables). I bought a New York Times, and The Guardian, because you can’t really trust the American News Media to give you the full story. The lead story today in both papers is of course the Tony Blair visit. What’s interesting about this visit is that it’s the first time that both of them publicly commented on the Downing Street Memo. Both declared the memo to be false, and of course we believe them.

End of story. Right?

Pretty much. You can bet your house that there won’t be any independent investigation. We know the facts. The facts haven’t changed since 2002, so we already know what happened. There’s nothing we can do about it. The time for acting was 2004, that time has passed. We can now enjoy the sight of victorious newly elected leaders of the free world tell bold faced lies to the rest of the world and there isn’t jack we can do about it. No Independent Counsel, no internal investigation that we can trust, no reason why we shouldn’t risk the lives of American service people just because we feel like it. For reasons unknown to even the parents and spouses of these dead Americans, we went to war. For reasons that have now been proven unfounded, our soldiers died. I wish that Tony Blair and George Bush would stand up like real leaders and tell the families of these fallen servicemen just why they have died.

Does it have three letters and begin with an O?

About me

2005-06-11T15:32:00.000-07:00

I hate writing bios. Who cares if I like music and gardening? We're not going to date, we're just going to share ideas.

If you haven't figured out that I'm a little left of center, you will as soon as you read The Blue Voice. If I hadn't been born gay, I might have ended up just like any other American, by now I would have a few children, my main concern would be keeping them out of trouble, and worrying about how to afford their education. But my life has taken a different path, we are not all born activists, some of us would rather be peacemakers, but growing up gay in America sets you apart from the rest of the country, and even sometimes members of your own family. I have been through what every other member of my community has lived through, the Aids crisis of the 80's and 90's, the struggle for equal rights, the hatred and violence of my fellow citizens.

For the past several years I have put aside my work for the gay community, I feel that we have many issues that are more pressing. I'm already married, to my partner of 13 years, and it doesn't really matter to me what the state thinks about it, if they leave me to pursue my own happiness, then I don't really care what anyone thinks about it. I'm more concerned with the environmental threats to our planet. I live in Washington DC, and you only need to drive by the Capitol to know that something's wrong. We live behind cement barricades. Helicopters fly so low that it sounds as if they might land on the roof. Evacuations happen so often, no one takes them seriously anymore. We have decided that war is the only option, and having spread the seeds of war, we now wait behind steel and concrete for our offspring to come home.

Don't worry, I am packed and ready to fly when the s**t hits the fan.

Sanctity of Life

2005-05-31T21:57:00.000-07:00

"We should not use public money to support the further destruction of human life,"

Okay that's what our fearless leader said about stem cell research. But haven't we used public money to destroy lives of Americans and Iraqis, and quite a lot of money, nearly $200 billion and counting? So it's okay to destroy some lives, but how does one determine which lives are expendable?

I'm not so sure about stem cell research, it all sounds really sci-fi to me. And I am a bit uneasy about the thought of some mad right wing scientist cloning someone like Tom Delay, or Dick Cheney, and allowing them to ferment somewhere in a test tube, until there were so many, that they burst from the labratory and took over the Senate and the House.

Oh...maybe that's how they did it.

On the other hand, it would be nice to be able to replace my worn out brain cells with brand new smarter brain cells, or grow myself a new set of boobs, more upright than my present pair. And it would be really useful to grow some new lungs, maybe a new set for everyone in the country, to replace the old ones that have been damaged from poor air quality and dangerous emissions.

The possibilities are endless.

Guns and Money

2005-05-25T19:36:00.000-07:00

Why are Americans so fascinated with guns and war? I'm including myself in this mix, I don't mean that I'm fascinated by war, not real war anyways, I prefer the Hollywood variety, with fake guns, fake blood, the kind where know one gets hurt, and in the end, the good guys win. I like a good action flick, ( I especially like both of the Tomb Raider films, cause wow, does Angelina Jolie look hot in those action outfits?) I much prefer action to those emotional chick flicks that my partner likes to watch. But in real life, guns scare me. People who own guns scare me. How do you know that they're not going to just flip out one day and start shooting at you? I would never own one myself, I would be too afraid I would shoot the windows out or something, or maybe shoot my foot off trying to figure out how to work it. I like to be a responsible citizen, I don’t drive drunk, and I don’t shoot guns.
Keeps the neighbors safe.
So anyway, today I log onto the Guardian, (that's a London newspaper, I read it because I can hardly ever get serious news in any of the American newspapers), and I read this article about a report produced by the Arms Trade Resource Center in New York which spells out pretty clearly that not only do Americans love their guns, but we love it when other countries buy our guns. In fact, we love selling guns so much, that we sell them to anyone, even some questionable states that might be considered, well…unstable. How do we know that these weapons will not someday be used against us? We haven’t always chosen our allies wisely, we all know that the US armed and trained Osama Bin Laden. We know that before both of the Gulf Wars, that we sold Saddam Hussein guns and WMDS. It is possible that those very same guns are the ones firing at our soldiers today.
“In 2003 alone, the Pentagon and the State Department delivered or licensed the delivery of 5.7 billion in weaponry to countries which can ill afford advanced weaponry; nations in the developing world saddled with debt and struggling with poverty.
Despite having some of the worlds strongest laws regulating the arms trade, almost half of these weapons went to countries plagued with ongoing conflicts and governed by undemocratic regimes with poor human rights records. In 2003, 2.7 billion in weaponry went to governments branded un-democratic by the State Department.”
What’s up with that?
Okay, I’m not sure if I understood this part of the article correctly, but it seems that we actually lend these countries the money to buy these weapons. I’m not sure how that makes any sort of business sense, if we lend them the money, then how are we even making a profit? Are we doing this as some sort of gesture? And the money lender, is an American military aid program called Foreign Military Financing, and I hope that it isn’t funded by American tax dollars, because that would mean…no…we’re not funding these sales are we? Because I have a real problem with selling weapons to countries like Saudi Arabia, (shit,19 of their guys killed 3000 of ours, and with our planes!) Pakistan, Afghanistan (you’ve got to be kidding!) Uzbekistan?
“Under FMF (Foreign Military Financing) recipients get outright US grants on the condition that they use the money to buy US weapons systems. The foreign countries get nearly free weapons (they incur the operating costs and additional expenses for parts and in some cases, training) and the money is churned back into the US defense industry.
I must have read this article incorrectly. There’s got to be some mistake. How can we, American tax payers, be subsidizing the sales of weaponry to a country like Afghanistan when most of the country is still controlled by warlords and the country is only one car bomb away from anarchy? We only have 18,000 troops in Afghanistan, and I sure wouldn’t want them to be looking down the barrels of a bunch of M-16’s courtesy of the American taxpayer. The same can be said for Pakistan, their leader, Musharref , (please don’t expect me to spell that correctly) has almost been blown up twice in the past year, and the Pakistan military has close ties to the Taliban. And they have nukes. So why exactly are we selling them weapons? Lending them the money to buy them? Is this some sort of insanity? A death wish? And Uzbekistan? I don’t even want to imagine.
Can somebody please tell me that I’m wrong?

2005-05-19T22:57:00.000-07:00

Tank Woman

When Is Nuclear Ever An Option?

2005-05-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

I was out in the back yard today, and I am happy to report that there is no mushroom cloud over the Capital. Apparently, reason has thus far prevailed, and we still have a Constitution. It is pretty safe to say that we're okay until tomorrow, I'm pretty sure all of our elected officials are off duty, and being wined and dined by the special interest group with the most money.

So, safe for the moment, in the comfort of my office chair, I can still speak my mind about the appalling things that are happening just across town. Basically, it's a power grab. The Republicans have us against the ropes, and the only thing between the Democrats and total defeat is the filibuster. If the analogy is boxing, the change in rules would amount to allowing the guy still standing to continue to kick the guy on the floor until he's unconscious. I hate boxing. Let me give you a different sports analogy. If you're in a soccer match (football in most of the civilized world), and there were 50 members on your team, and you were playing against an opposition of 55 members, the off-sides rule would become really important. If you eliminated the off-sides rule, and the offense could have as many players in the box as they wanted, the team defending the goal would lose, and lose badly.

What is at stake here, and I should totally feel more passionate about defending it, is the system of checks and balances in our government. I feel sort lukewarm about the whole argument because I still think that Americans should get to know in an intimate way, just what they voted for last November. Here's what they bought. On the up-side, there's no gay marriage. Never will be. On the down side, you can't sue large corporations for damages. You can't declare bankruptcy if you fall on hard times and unemployment. Your SUV will cost you more to drive, and it's not ever going to get cheaper. Oh yeah, if you're really poor, and not insured, you're on your own. Oh and your teenage daughter. If she gets pregnant because we're preaching abstinence while we're marketing sexy products to make her look more attractive, she's shit out of luck, and so are you if the Republicans get to vaporize the law-making process.

Oh and for the record, can you think of any name that’s less appropriate when speaking about our government, than nuclear option? The phrase gives us a whole new insight into just what the Republicans think of our system of checks and balances. I have to pass on to you this brilliant post on tomdispatch, (tom is amazing, and a mentor of mine, even though he doesn't know who I am), because it spells out so clearly just the lengths that this Administration will go to in order to consolidate power.

Nuclear Option.

Say it softly to yourselves, and think about the imagery that goes with it. Then think about Americans using it to destroy our law-making process. Is it a phrase that should ever be used when speaking about other Americans? I think it is a phrase that should not be used at all, not against our vilest enemies, not against anyone, but most certainly not against our fellow Americans.

I'm looking out my window, looking out over the Capital, and I am assured that for now all is well. But be wary of things that happen behind closed doors, in the dark of this rainy DC night, the deals that are being made right at this very moment that will never see the light of day.

Pay attention.

2005-05-19T20:34:00.000-07:00

Tank Woman

Further Foot Funk

2005-05-17T22:52:00.000-07:00

My partner, A, just came back from a writer's conference in New Orleans yesterday. When she leaves town on business, she usually brings me something back from where ever she has gone. It's almost always something to eat, which is the surest way to my heart. We spend the evening catching up, and when it comes time for gifts, she brings me two bags of my favorite coffee called "Wake The F UP!" It really does just what it advertises. Then she presents me with a jar of "Volcano" foot mask. I look at the label and read: "Afraid To Take Your Socks OFF?" Yikes! So she does find my feet offensive. And after all these years she still loves me. How Sweet! So I apply the foot mask and wrap my disgusting feet in a couple of layers of Saran Wrap, just like the directions say, and wait the required thirty minutes for my dismal dogs to emerge born again, oder free and refreshed. I get bored after 2 minutes of waiting, and hobble over to my computer. My feet make this squishing sound inside the Saran Wrap, and I am careful to avoid getting it on the rug. I log onto the Washington Post and read about the current Newsweek scandal that is the talk of the media.

When I read news stories that seem sort of wrong, I get this kind of nausea. It's like I have this BSometer in my gut that tells me when someone's trying to hose me. When Bush landed on the "Mission Accomplished" aircraft carrier, I almost ralphed. When ever I read about Bush trying to fix Social Security, I go immediately for the Tums. When the Administration speaks about democracy and freedom, I get the double whammy, I have to eat handfulls of Tums and drink soda water.

Whatever. So I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for my foot mask to dry and I'm reading this story about the Koran, and the toilets, and the riots, and after all of this violence, Newsweek retracts the story. Why did they do that? If it's already out there, how can you take it back? They're not saying it's not true, even the Pentagon isn't saying it's not true, they're saying that whoever confirmed it in the first place is hiding out in an office in Pentagon City about to shit himself because he told the truth. And now Newsweek is getting the same treatment that Dan Rather got last summer for the desertion story. No one in the Administration said it wasn't true, they focused on the documents as being untrue. NO one challenged the facts.

So what is happening here is that we are trying to shoot the messenger.
My gut is telling me that this is one of those instances where the Pentagon doesn't dispute the facts, instead they smear the person who comes forward with the facts. Yikes. I'm feeling kind of sick to my stomach. Oh no. The Tums are downstairs. My feet are encased in foot splooge and layers of cellophane. I can’t get downstairs to get to the Tums without leaving a trail of foot by-product all over the rug. I’m stuck with my nausea, and my Saran-wrapped feet. I look around for the waste basket in case of emergency, and courageously begin to remove the cellophane from my feet.

Oh Wow! They smell like cinnamon! Minty Fresh!

But in my gut, I can still smell the stench of something foul, and I’m pretty sure it’s not my feet.