Harriet Sweet Harriet

It's Contagious

2008-10-07T19:56:00.000-07:00

So, apparently, John McCain took note from Sarah Palin - question answering optional! Shame on him.

Window Dressing

2008-09-15T20:38:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin would not take questions from the press...

Um, pardon me, but isn't it customary, when one is named a Vice-Presidential candidate and one is particularly unknown to the public at large, to actually TAKE questions from reporters? It appears that this is a McCain strategy -- keep Palin to a tight script with the same

A Vice-Presidential candidate who will not accept questions from reporters?

One Smart Scot, Er, American

2008-09-15T16:16:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdRVQ4xwwmQ

Craig Ferguson is truly remarkable.

Free the New Jersey Four

2008-09-06T22:06:00.000-07:00

If you needed any additional evidence to convince you that the justice system doesn't always actually provide "justice," read about these women.

Back off, bitch!

2008-09-05T19:57:00.000-07:00

My better half and I, catching the end of the Republican National Convention so we can keep our friends close but our enemies closer, heard Heart's 70s anthem blasting as McCain awkwardly tried to decide whether he should stand next to his wife or his ticket-mate Sarah Palin (Uh, do I stand here? Or here? Do I wave? Oh honey, stand over here, sorry!) and we were confused. "Is that Heart?" E wondered aloud. "Why are they playing that?" I asked, indignantly.

Since then, the ladies are speaking up and out: HEART issued a statement against the Republican Party stealing and using their song:

"Sarah Palin's views and values in NO WAY represent us as American women. We ask that our song 'Barracuda' no longer be used to promote her image. The song 'Barracuda' was written in the late 70s as a scathing rant against the soulless, corporate nature of the music business, particularly for women. (The 'barracuda' represented the business.) While Heart did not and would not authorize the use of their song at the RNC, there's irony in Republican strategists' choice to make use of it there."

Take that!

Cartoon card from kittykittybangbang, who reblogged from someplace else. Thanks!

Baking With My Grandma

2008-08-26T19:27:00.000-07:00

My mom went away last weekend, so I traveled down to T-town to stay with my Grandma. She's 88, and while she is in reasonably good health for her age she really shouldn't be alone for an entire weekend. She uses a walker to get around, and so my mom was concerned that my Grandma might fall or something might happen. Better safe than...well, you know.

Grandma and I had an action-packed weekend. I got down there at about 10 PM Friday, after working late and fighting traffic (which included a car chase, which I only learned later. So THAT explained the multiple flipped over cars and the 10 police cars lined up on the side of I-5!). We stayed up late chatting, not getting ready to hit the hay until midnight. The next morning, I popped out of bed at 8 AM in full-on granddaughter mode - I made my grandma's morning pot of tea, got dressed, and ran out to the store to pick up the last-minute things we needed to bake bread. Yes...bread. My grandma said several weeks ago that she wanted to make bread the next time I came to T-town; this somehow evolved into me wanting to make bread. I'm not against bread, but it wasn't my idea to bake on an 80 degree weekend.

Once back from the store, we made breakfast and then got to the business of baking. My grandma couldn't find the cookbook containing the bread recipe, but she found a recipe for "Ice Box Rolls" which seemed to be a great second choice.

We mixed and stirred. We punched down and kneaded. The dough rose, and it rose again. We put it in the "ice box" for the night, and the next morning...the rolls you see in the photo. Light yet substantial, yeasty and tasty. We had them with breakfast sausage patties. I had one with strawberry jam. Since returning home, I've had a couple with the strawberry freezer jam handmade by my best pal KP. They are, plainly, fabulous!

The rest of the weekend...we went out to lunch and visited a fruit stand. I did some minor housekeeping for my mom - some laundry, changing lightbulbs (My grandma said, "JP, how are you going to get up there and change those bulbs?" I said, "Grandma, I'm going to walk over to the light fixture, reach up my hand, and take the bulb out!" She laughed so hard she had to sit down. I'm at least 6 inches taller than my grandma, but I think some times she forgets that), washing dishes. I felt better than I have in a while (pain in the arse sciatica) and I got a lot accomplished.

I'm thinking of making cinnamon rolls with the rest of the dough...my co-workers will love me forever if I do. A good reason to do it!

What I've Been Doing

2008-08-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

1. Parenting two incredibly needy small dogs:http://ultravioley.blogspot.com/.

2. Dealing with a literally pain in the ass type injury that apparently is introducing me to my late-30s. This is what prevented me from dealing with #4, below, myself.

3. Working.

4. Mourning my bed of pansies, which the grass cutting and weeding man pulled out, saying they "Couldn't tell the difference" between flowers and weeds.

5. Avoiding preparing for the class I am about to teach in a couple of weeks. Don't worry - I taught it last year and so my procrastination is more about refinement than acutal prep.

6. Trying to stay cool despite the almost-100 degree heat here in Seattle (where, of course, air conditioning is scarce and fans are weak and small).

Where I'm From

2008-07-25T19:38:00.000-07:00

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
The Midland
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The South
The West
Boston
North Central
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

It's true!

Thanks, Mobeta!

No Fun Weekend

2008-07-20T18:40:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday, our little Violet had double-knee surgery. She came home on Thursday, and my partner and I have been on doggie nursemaid duty 24 hours a day since then.

Violey is keeping her own account of the surgery at http://www.ultravioley.blogspot.com/.

Thursday night was my better half's turn to stay awake. She was basically up with Vi most of that night, because I had court on Friday. Then, Friday night was my turn - and it was positively awful.

Up all night, Vi and I went from the couch to the recliner and back again, trying to get comfortable. Whenever I tried to get Vi to settle down in her dog bed, she'd whine and cry. Did she need to pee? Did her legs hurt? Impossible to tell. I took her outside about 5 times in the night, and each time she flailed around like a lame fawn, even with my hands under her belly to hold her up. At 7:30 when my partner got up, I was at the end of my rope. I was exhausted, and sore all over. The ache I've had in my left hip and leg for the last week (pinched nerve? pulled muscle?) was sounding off loudly ache, ache, ache, and I couldn't stop myself...I cried, saying I didn't think I was taking good enough care of sweet Violey. My partner put me to bed, and let me sleep for several hours.

We dragged ourselves, and Violey, back to the vet Saturday afternoon. The vet assured us that she looked good. We let her know that Violey had been eating well, but just not peeing or sleeping for very long. The vet determined that the lack of sleep was due to pain, and adjusted Violey's meds. As for the peeing, of course Vi let loose all over the vet and the vet tech when they took her in the back to ultrasound her bladder.

Once back home, Violey actually peed in her own backyard (with the help of a pillowcase held under her belly like a sling) - but that was over 24 hours ago at this point, and she hasn't done it again since then. So, of course, we're worried again. The upped pain meds seem to have her more comfortable, and she did sleep for about 5 hours last night.

However, now that we told the vet Violey was eating well, she's made liars of us and this morning would only eat vanilla yogurt. Tonight she ate a little wet food, but mostly more vanilla yogurt.

I have to work tomorrow and Tuesday, so my partner will stay home with Violey. Then, it's my turn. I hope we all can get some sleep, and that Violey's legs are healing in there...

"Too Fat" to be Pregnant?

2008-07-13T08:30:00.000-07:00

Have you seen the "Idea Lab" article by Annie Murphy Paul in today's New York Times Magazine, called "Too Fat and Pregnant"? Basically, fat women having babies is not only the cause of (oh, no, can you believe it?) some medical centers actually obtaining equipment sufficient to actually weigh, test, and care for pregnant women who are "morbidly obese," but fat pregnant women may actually be "not just where the obesity epidemic has ended up, but where it begins" (horrors! I just knew those pesky fat women were to blame for so many people being so darn fat today!)

As a fat woman currently trying to get my doctor to sign a permission slip for my partner and I to obtain sperm from a sperm bank, this article illustrates all of my fears about dealing with the medical industry. Should I be denied such permission because I am "morbidly obese" even though I am otherwise healthy? Will there some day be special rules about which women are allowed to be and remain pregnant and which aren't? Should my freedom of reproductive choice stop short of me being able to try to become pregnant because I have to actually obtain sperm elsewhere, whereas if my partner was male and had sperm we could happily try to become pregnant as often as we liked without anyone being the wiser?

Or should we just make sure that the medical equipment available to care for fat pregnant women remains too small, and the medical instruments available to doctors for use stay too flimsy, and that the medical care available to fat pregnant women remains so generally inadequate that such pregnancies are even "higher risk" and less likely to be carried to term? After all, don't we need to stem the tide of the obesity epidemic by any means necessary?

Wii Fit Hates Me

2008-07-05T14:02:00.000-07:00

On the issue of the Wii Fit - I recently bought this for my partner, who loves video games and wanted it badly. I'd read that the board involved had a weight limit of 350 (not enough for me) but I figured hey, if I wanted to take a chance of breaking the board by using it, that was my prerogative, right? WRONG.

While my (substantially smaller than me) partner registered her Wii and did the body test (and was highly, highly annoyed that she was compelled to put in a weight loss goal and that all of the little comments are directed toward weight loss), I can't even try to join in. Apparently, if you exceed the Wii Fit weight limit, the damn thing won't even let you register your Mii or even attempt to participate in any of the games/exercises!

The freaking program steals my Mii from the plaza, though, and peppers me here and there in the crowd to cheer and umpire and coach throughout the games. I can watch, but not play! How does that help me meet MY fitness goals?

I originally posted this comment on www.bigfatblog.com

Another me!

2008-07-04T23:16:00.000-07:00

It's Me!

2008-06-19T19:59:00.000-07:00

I Need A Fix

2008-04-21T19:22:00.000-07:00

Oh, those earnest days at K College, piling gals from the WRC into Amy's beige Hyundai for the trek from Kalamazoo to Ann Arbor to see Ani DiFranco at The Ark. Is it possible that was really 15 years ago? Christ, I'm old.

Wednesday my better half and I will amble down to the Moore to see Ani - and I need it! I'm looking forward to hanging out with a room full of 30something feminists for a couple hours...it's been too long.

America Disappoints Me, Again.

2008-03-12T21:59:00.001-07:00

OK, so this isn't politics. But it is still political.

We proved tonight that America isn't ready for a gay American Idol. I'm not surprised that the judges and host are all too chicken shit to own up to the fact that homophobia may well be the reason that first Danny, and now David, have been voted off. I'm not generally one for victim-blaming, but oh how I wish one of the contestants themselves had grabbed the microphone to say:

"Yeah, I was voted off because I'm too flamey for middle America! You can't handle me!"

or

"Too bad my voice wasn't more important than my history of stripping for dudes! I mean, isn't this a singing competition?"

America, you stink.

It's In the Mail

2008-02-12T21:31:00.000-08:00

It doesn't mean anything to the State of Washington, but the fact I just voted for a woman on a Presidential nomination election ballot means a lot to me.

Dear Super Delegates:

2008-02-11T13:21:00.001-08:00

I am a voting Democrat from the 46th District, and I am writing to ask that you please support Hillary Clinton's nomination for the Office of President of the United States. Ms. Clinton's concrete plan to reverse the damage the Bush administration has done to this country is practical and pragmatic; she has the know-how and the political clout to get this done.

I understand that it may be appealing to join the Obama parade at this point. After all, everyone loves a party. But our country is in crisis, and he simply isn't ready to be our Commander in Chief.

Please, as a "super delegate," support Hillary Clinton.

We Went A-Caucusing

2008-02-09T17:24:00.000-08:00

First, let me say that while Democracy is exciting, it is also exhausting. 5 hours after we first pulled up to the Wilson Pacific School to attend the 46th District Democratic Caucus, my voice is hoarse, my throat is sore, and my ass is signed up to be a Hillary Clinton delegate to the District & King County Democratic Caucus in April.

It was a madhouse. My better half and I arrived early, and were the first folks to sign up noting "Clinton" in the candidate of choice boxes. We felt outnumbered for a while - the Obama people were more visible, with T-shirts and stickers. Here's to organization; it makes a difference. I did wonder how fair it is that the people who were actually telling people where to sign and where to sit or stand were obviously entrenched in Obama-fever. I mean, at the polls aren't poll workers prohibited from wearing a candidate's T-shirt, just for the appearance of fairness?

Anyway, once underway, my precinct alone had 111 people. There were probably over 600 of us in the school gym - it was loud and crazy, and I felt bad for the few elderly people who clearly felt crushed and who couldn't quite hear what was going on. Individuals spoke up for Hillary, Barack, and Dennis (yes, Dennis - a couple of us, including my better half, called out "ok, who's for Ralph Nader? Nader supporters, stand up!" harkening back to all those votes wasted 8 years ago).

There were no microphones, no bullhorns, no podiums and, until we started hollering at each other and warming the place up, no heat. I get that this is grassroots community action going on - but people, please! Couldn't we have a set of smaller rooms so people could break up into precincts and actually discuss and debate civilly? Or microphones so no one went hoarse screaming to be heard?

We Hillary Clinton supporters knew we were outnumbered, but we held on. We emphasized the manner in which Clinton has already been tested - and passed; that although it's trendy to call her "divisive," she's actually been quite adept at crossing the aisle and making successful deals in the Senate; that she has concrete plans for how to get out of Iraq, how to made health care available to all, and how be make our country greener.

The Barack Obama supporters sang about "change," about him being a "uniting force," and about how this is a new time, a new day. There wasn't a lot of there there, and not for the first time I found myself saying that it's a "the Emperor wears no clothes" situation. Obama is just a man - nay, just a politician, just like the rest of the candidates. His speechwriters won't be in office if he's elected, he will be. And he's both untested and unsure.

When I pointed out that Barack thought nothing of getting in bed with the Southern Baptists and evangelicals, appealing to the homophobia of that region in order to be palatable to the more conservative South, some jackass shouted "Hillary stayed in bed with Bill for more votes!" Um, ok. Like that's worse? Or even as bad as what Obama did not 4 months ago? A woman stays with her unfaithful husband (who just happens to be the most powerful man in the world, and his affairs just happened to be played out on world-wide television for all to see) sublimating her own pride to preserve the family and its political clout. A man, vyying to become the most powerful man in the world, swings the door wide open for all the crazy right-wing Bible bangers, saying, "Hey, come on into the Democratic party and join us! Who cares if you're a hate-monger or a bigot, as long as you vote for me?!" Now, which scenario is morally bankrupt? More corrupt?

Yeah. I thought so. At least the former didn't get the Democratic Party in debt to the devil. The latter has, or will, if Obama gets elected and has to pay those bigots back in political kind.

And about that "she voted for the war in Iraq" shtick. As a good friend pointed out to me today, Obama wasn't even in the Senate for that vote! It isn't like he voted no. We have no idea what he would have done in that climate in the US Senate at that time. And, more importantly, Obama has no idea what he would have done. As of 2004 Obama said that "on paper" his position on the war was the same as George W. Bush's. Further, when asked what he would have voted regarding Congressional authorization to spend funds on military action, he said he didn't know.

So. At best he hedged his bets, not committing to a position because the wind was starting to change regarding public opinion of Iraq; at worst, he was aligned with George W. in 2004 but now touts himself the "anti-war" candidate, disingenuously. The fact of the matter is, his Congressional voting record on Iraq is substantially the same as Clinton's. And, see the above paragraph - in my opinion, pandering to hatemongers and homophobes not 4 months ago is so much worse than being swept up in the fervor for military action back when--let's be honest--the only people against the war were those of us left-wingers who are, for the most part, always against any war or military action.

I look at the cultish Obama fever sweeping the country right now and I'm afraid. Haven't we just lived through (some of us - so many have not made it) 8 years of the "aw shucks, we can do this" kind of down-home talking guy you'd like to have a beer with? Have we learned nothing?

Why don't we care about substance? Why are we so enamored of flash?

The group-think going on right now is quite amazing and disturbing. I could see the "undecideds" yesterday looking to the Obama camp, and looking to the Clinton camp, and simply moving toward the bigger, louder camp. Everyone loves a party, right?

It looks like Hillary Clinton isn't winning the majority of Washington State's delegates right now - but I am holding out that she'll pull this thing off in the end by maintaining more delegates over the long-term. Deep down, we have to know better not to be dazzled by bullshit.

I just hope enough of us go out to our caucuses and our polls to make that difference.

She's The One

2008-02-09T17:02:00.000-08:00

In the words of Robin Morgan:

Me? I support Hillary Rodham because she’s the best qualified of all candidates running in both parties. I support her because her progressive politics are as strong as her proven ability to withstand what will be a massive right-wing assault in the general election. I support her because she knows how to get us out of Iraq. I support her because she’s refreshingly thoughtful, and I’m bloodied from eight years of a jolly “uniter” with ejaculatory politics. I needn’t agree with her on every point. I agree with the 97 percent of her positions that are identical with Obama’s—and the few where hers are both more practical and to the left of his (like health care). I support her because she’s already smashed the first-lady stereotype and made history as a fine senator, because I believe she will continue to make history not only as the first US woman president, but as a great US president. The Women's Media Center

Hillary Is My Homegirl

2008-02-05T22:08:00.000-08:00

I am so sick of the mainstream media--not the mention the good liberals of Seattle--pretending that the fact that a woman is a viable candidate for the office of President of the United States isn't a monumentous event. It's bad enough that gender is ignored these days (in the eye-rolling "Aren't we, like, so over this already?" sort of way) even as women still have to be better than in order to be considered equal to. But don't you for one minute more dare to diminish the importance of this moment in history.

The fact that Obama is male is far more important in this campaign than the fact that he is African-American. A woman with his experience and background simply would not be considered a viable candidate. He is imbued with a presumption of competence that women don't benefit from yet. Media pundits and the "average Joe" alike have railed against Clinton for her hair, her dress, the sound of her voice, and the fact she stayed with her unfaithful husband. Does Obama suffer from the same scrutiny? Of course not. Some parts of his life are just off limits. He's a man, after all.

But when someone tries to bring gender to the fore, the conversation is cut short--a kind of "oh, you wanna play the hierarchy of oppression game?" swagger starts up. Fine, ok, I get it. But to acknowledge that gender still matters does not negate that race matters also. And, if it's a contest, Black men won the right to vote in this country in 1870. Women of any color didn't get that right until a generation later, in 1920. Women's rights have lagged behind civil rights for men of color in this country in undeniable ways. Sexism is still acceptable in this country, in ways that racism is not - people aren't embarrassed to be sexist, for example. They at least know better than to be out and proud with their racism. Sexists, though, can be as loud as they like and they still always get a laugh from a crowd.

I'm tired of calls of "identity politics" when people of color dare to vote for or endorse Clinton. I'm sick of people chanting for "change" and talking about how "divisive" Clinton is. Did anyone see Bill Maher the other night, when some Republican asshole started pontificating in response to the question of "Why is Hillary Clinton so divisive?" Well, he started blabbing about health care and how she dared to get involved in a "really important" issue and "overstretch" her role...essentially saying that bitch didn't know her place and that she dared to take on a serious issue when we all know that First Ladies are supposed to be planning charity balls and appearing on the Today show talking about literacy. Heaven forbid she has a brain and she tried to get something done.

The fact of the matter is that some people perceive Clinton as divisive because she's female, and because she doesn't know "her place." I mean, the very gall. She's ambitious, keen, and sharp as a motherfucking tack. If she were a man, they'd be building statues in her honor. Instead, they're falling in line behind the newest sexy thing, the dude with the silver tongue who can orate like nobody's business. A sweet talker does not a competent President make.

Listen up, people. We're talking about candidates for the office of President of the United States of America. This isn't a radical, left-wing position we're filling here. The fact, though, that this position could be filled by a woman in 2008 is pretty fucking radical, and if you think that doesn't matter, well, then you don't know shit about politics.

Where I've Been

2007-12-07T20:10:00.000-08:00

It's true. In the last couple of months, ever since my better half brought a Wii home unexpectedly (honestly, I didn't even know what it was when she walked in with it) I've been a bit obsessed. I practiced "guitar" and "bass," I chose my Judy Nails character and dressed her up, I beat Slash in a boss battle.

As of now, I've gotten through all of the songs on "easy." I tried one song on "intermediate" and sucked royally. I practiced so hard I had to take Advil for the pain in my fingers. I'm sure that I'm becoming highly annoying to my better half and to our poor dogs, both of whom sit on the couch watching me with their heads cocked and their ears at half-mast.

Rock on!

Always a Bridesmaid

2007-07-23T18:49:00.000-07:00

Starting this week, same sex couples in Washington State can sign up for a limited "Domestic Partnership," which I am trying to muster up some happiness about. My partner and I can now make end-of-life and other health care decisions for each other; theoretically, the little plastic card the State of Washington will be sending us will serve as a "pass" guaranteeing that neither of us will ever have to face the horrifying reality of being excluded from the other's hospital room in a time of crisis, or treated as "less than" the family members we are in the event of a health emergency. Hip, hip, hooray. Right?

I can't help the incredible frustration I feel about it, though. It's less than what we want. It's less than marriage. Hell, it's still a lot less than the "civil unions" and "domestic partnerships" that a few other states offer to gay and lesbian couples. But, I just don't feel like we've won some huge victory here. I know, I know. The passage of the law that allows for this limited domestic partnership possibility took countless hours of work, strife, and was only achieved by the thousands and thousands of hours contributed to the various activities leading up to it -- like the marriage equality case (which ultimately failed in WA), and the de facto parentage case (which succeeded for many while falling short for the petitioner and the child in who's name the case was brought). So, I get it. This is a big deal, a big step, and I should be thrilled.

But, mostly, I am sad. I just read the latest post over at Orangette, in which Molly waxes beautifully poetic about the last days counting down to her wedding, and it makes me want to cry. Sure, in some respect the tears are because her words are moving and any joy like that will touch a person and evoke emotion. But, for the most part, my tears are of frustration, anger, and from being excluded from a tradition and a process that is instantly recognizable the world over. I admit it. I am a feminist, and a lesbian. And I want a wedding, I want a marriage, and I want the rest of the world around me to recognize it and, more so, to share in the joy of it.

I can't have that. My partner and I have been together, in an exclusive and committed relationship, for over 11 years. My partner is wonderfully funny, smart, and brings a zest to my life that otherwise would not exist. But she and I can't get married. We can have a ceremony, and I am sure our friends would come and be happy and it would be lovely. But it wouldn't be a wedding, and the world wouldn't recognize us as married. Instead, I read the New York Times wedding announcements and fume over the couples who have been together 3 years, 2 years, 6 months, and yet they can get married. They aren't any more committed or in love than I am. They're just straight. That's the only difference between us. And yes, OK, so the NYT includes gay couples and lesbian couples. But unless those couples live in and have a ceremony in Massachusetts or another country where marriage equality exists, they are not getting married and cannot get married.

This is compounded by the fact that my partner and I had a ceremony once. In Portland, Oregon, during the short window that Multnomah County issued marriage licenses for same sex couples. It was beautiful, in the backyard of the woman officiating -- we'd only just met her, in our attempt to find someone with some Jewish affiliation to preside -- and at the time, we thought it was a wedding. We signed papers. We took pictures. My mom was there, and my partner's parents were present via speakerphone. We registered. Good friends and lovely family members sent us gifts. Of course, some short months later our marriage -- and that of thousands of other couples who flocked to Portland to "make it legal" -- was invalidated. Simple as that. One day, we were married (well, whatever that meant -- we were "married" maybe in the State of Oregon but our marriage was unrecognized anywhere else), and then another day, we were not. I was driving back to my office from the courthouse in Seattle, after a hearing, and the NPR announcer interrupted the regular scheduled programming to tell me that the Oregon Supreme Court had ruled that my marriage, and all the others from that brief sweet window of time, was invalid. Invalid. It didn't exist; they didn't exist. Multnomah County sent us our money back.

Now, years later, I fill out a one-pager listing my name and address, and I pledge that my partner and I are both over 18, that we live together, that we aren't married to or in a domestic partnership with anyone else, that we are not related by blood, and that we are both the same sex. For my trouble, and my $50 fee, I will have some assurance that should my partner's chronic illness flare up, and should she end up in the hospital, I will get the pleasure and the privilege of reenacting that scene from "Terms of Endearment" when, inevitably, my dear one's medication comes later than the latest wave of pain. Or, maybe I won't...I mean, what if the emergency room visit takes place in Podunk nowhere, WA, where the one nurse on duty is a lifelong member of the Christian Coalition or Focus on the Family? Or across state lines in Idaho or Montana, or in another state that does not recognize domestic partnerships, civil unions, or anything homo? It means nothing then. Not worth the paper it's printed on, I'm sure.

I'm worn out. I have little other response than It isn't fair. How can I muster up happiness at being allowed the maybe-ability to make very specifically named medical decisions for my partner, when the mere fact of being "allowed" such limited rights is a constant reminder of the many, many rights we are denied? How can I be happy, and smile, and buy one more gift off one more registration for the next couple of straight friends who decide to get married, when they are joining a club from which my partner and I are specifically excluded?

My partner and I have woken up next to each other, taken care of each other, laughed with each other and fought with each other for over 11 years. We would ace "The Newlywed Game." We know what book the other person is reading, and we know what programs to record for the other person from cable TV. We know what the other person will order from a menu without saying anything. We are a couple -- no more and no less than any of those straight couples in last Sunday's New York Times. No more, no less than Molly and her groom over at Orangette. Just not recognized in the same way. And maybe it won't ever be in my lifetime.

So, for now, I will have a little plastic card that I can carry in my wallet which will hopefully ensure that (God forbid) if one of us ends up in the hospital, the other one won't be excluded from decision-making or from the hospital room. I know it will remind me that we can't get married. I am hoping, though, that the former will mean more.

Thank you to PinkCakeBox for the loan of this lovely photo. If you are in the New York / New Jersey area, get a cake from her!

Violet Update

2007-07-13T21:23:00.001-07:00

.
. How cute is she?

She's 6 months old now, and over 4 pounds, if you can believe that. She's doubled in size.

Was It Really Two Months Ago?

2007-07-13T21:08:00.000-07:00

Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

2007-05-16T21:23:00.000-07:00

From Post Secret.

I'm Turning Violet!

2007-04-25T19:41:00.000-07:00

Introducing the latest addition to the household...VIOLET, a 4 month old Chi/Terrier mix. The others are adjusting to this little girl, who likes to zoom zoom zoom around the house!

Book Worm

2007-03-18T20:42:00.000-07:00

Spent Sunday mid-afternoon in a local (albeit chain) bookstore. I suppose "chain" blots out "local." The point being, though, that we didn't have to stray too far from home to spend the afternoon book-browsing.

Having read a recent post by a dear desert-dwelling friend, who'd recently received a stash of new pages from Amazon, I was inspired. You'll find me in the "literature" section, usually checking to see if there's anything new by some of my favorite authors: Ellen Gilchrist (I saw her read once at the Elliott Bay Book Company in Seattle, and now whenever I read her books I hear her slow, Southern lilt in my head - a bonus); Marge Piercy (I read Braided Lives in approximately 1990, and thought I would never be the same. Maybe I'm not); Alice Hoffman (OK. I admit. I, too, have a hard time swallowing the "slightly but cleverly paranormal" aspects in some contemporary fiction, but I just can't help myself in the case of Alice Hoffman); Joyce Carol Oates (I first read Because It Is Bitter and Because It Is My Heart in late high school/early college, simply because of the title. I was a bit punk rock and thought the title was pure genius. I kept reading because she's a great writer. Now, if only she weren't so painfully thin). Usually there isn't anything new (I mean, apart from the utterly prolific Ms. Oates, how often does a new book by one's favorite author actually appear? Once every two years or so, at best) but that doesn't stop me from looking.

Today I came home with the following: Big Island of Hawaii (Moon Handbook); Intuition by Allegra Goodman (I read everything I can find from her, but nothing so far has surpassed the fabulous Kaaterskill Falls. I keep hoping.); Fruit of the Lemon by Andrea Levy (I read a review of this a while back, but don't believe I've ever read anything she's written before); The Night Watch by Sara Waters (this despite the bad reviews I've seen - after all, Fingersmith! Tipping the Velvet! Affinity! How can she go wrong now?); A Taxonomy of Barnacles by Galt Niederhoffer (I am intrigued by the comparisons between this fictional family and the historical Mitfords, as well as the more timely Minots); and, last but certainly not least, The Illustrated Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, illustrated graphic novel-style by Dame Darcy (I simply could not pass up this version of one of my all-time favorite novels). Only last night I finished Before You Know Kindness by Chris Bohjalian (a truth about me: I cannot pass up any story set in a New England summer home. Pathetic, but very true).

One complaint about the big-box chain bookstore... Wait. First, I must admit that this place employed me the summer between college and that crappy first year of law school, back when the big-box bookstore was a brand new entity, and the fact that so many books were, suddenly, instantaneously available even in the suburbs far outweighed the fact that the mammoth chain store would systematically put ma and pop type bookstores across the country out of business.

Back to the complaint...when I worked for this company, the bookstores boasted, and were known for, comfy chairs which encouraged browsers to sit and stay a while. It was kind of a big thing, the library/salon feel the company went for and, in some remote fashion, achieved. People came and picked up a pile of books, then settled in one of the padded, comfy chairs and decided which of the stack to purchase. Today, I went in search of one of those chairs, and this is what I found:

What the hell? I tried to post a photo of two luxurious, buttery leather reading chairs, roped off by those bastards at the big box bookstore. But it won't upload! Damn!

It would have been good.

Yoga While Fat! It Rocks!

2007-03-10T19:25:00.000-08:00

A tribute to Patricia at Whole Life Yoga. I just finished her "Yoga for Round Bodies" class, and I loved it.

Ordinarily, embarking upon anything remotely athletic would fill me with apprehension. OK, not entirely true. I've been working with the most fabulous Jay Holby for a while now, and he's helped me realize that, indeed, my body is pretty strong and capable in the exercise and physical activity department (and that some athletic straight men are perfectly kind to clumsy fat lesbians. I'm fairly certain this would be true even if I weren't paying him). I even go to the gym to work with Jay - a place that, several years ago, I would never have stepped foot in for fear of some jackass feeling the need to make himself feel better by ridiculing me.

Anyway: I admit I was a bit afraid when my dear Boo gave me a certificate to the Yoga for Round Bodies class for Hanukkah. Her body, not so round. I would be attending it solo.

Patricia helped me feel at ease immediately. She's all about using extra mats, bolsters, and yoga blankets for comfort and assistance. She also helped everyone in the class be comfortable with our individual abilities, and to push ourselves gently. There was no competition; no humiliation because I can't really do a "bridge." Just encouragement to relax, figure out what my body can do, and enjoy it. It was great to get my mind to quiet down a bit, even for an hour and a half a week, and to just breathe and move during that time.

I really appreciate Patricia's teaching style, and the fact that she's dedicated her yoga instruction to encouraging us round folk to get on the mat.

Unfortunately, Tracy (the owner of Whole Life Yoga) hasn't scheduled this class for the current quarter. It won't be offered again until May. Are there really not enough willing round bodies to fill another class? I doubt that's the case. Come on, Tracy - make room for this class more often.

Thank you to fuchur for posting this photo on flikr for public use.

OK, I Get It: You Don't Like Dick

2007-03-06T21:07:00.000-08:00

I am so freaking sick of the homophobic banter between Ryan "Really, I Don't Like Dick" Seacrest and Simon "I'm so straight I can call men 'Sweetheart'" Cowell on American Idol. OK, already. We get it. You aren't gay. Shut the fuck up already.

Ryan is the worst offender. Simon calls Ryan "sweetheart" in a sarcastic manner, and Ryan practically puffs up his chest and turns caveman in response. Simon says something about a male contestant's eyes and Ryan says "Ooooh, gazing into his eyes! What's going on here?" as if any mention of another male's body parts (however benign the mention, and however benign the body part) is invitation to a flashback to some 6th grade playground battle. While Ryan's comments are said with a smile, I half expect him to break out with a "Smear the queer!" and tackle someone in a testosterone-driven mania.

I can't really tell if Simon is an active or reluctant participant in this banter. He, for the most part, seems annoyed by Ryan's comments. I don't understand, though; if he's truly annoyed, why he doesn't call Ryan on it? After all, isn't Simon the no holds barred, tell it like it is AI judge? Or does that only apply to making fun of fat contestants?

I don't give a rat's ass whether you choose to fuck women or men, Ryan. But picking up any comment or mention that might possibly, in some alternate universe, be construed to violate your apparently strict hyper-heterosexual code and responding to it as if you are a too-dumb-to-know-any-better 11 year old redneck is tiring. I'm sorry you feel you need to uber-prove yourself by playing out some locker room "I'm not gay, I'm really really not gay, and I'm going to prove it by reminding everyone exactly how gross I think people being gay is at every opportunity!" role play.

I'm sorry if kissing Teri Hatcher in front of the stalker-azzi didn't quite convince the world of your heterosexual status. If you're looking for a like-minded female to match up with, perhaps Ann Coulter is available. I hear she likes to denigrate straight people by calling them slang terms for gay to insult them ("Wait! Here's a zinger! I'll call him queer or fag! That will really humiliate him!"). A match made in heaven, clearly.

I'm sorry that you're so concerned that the world believe you're straight that you are willing to parade your middle school anti-gay sarcasm in front of us every week on TV. But, please. I tune in to this pop culture guilty pleasure to hear the singers and to berate "America" for its voting patterns. Not to hear Ryan Seacrest's homophobic "comic" banter.

Ryan, please stop. It isn't funny, and it isn't necessary.

The photo is from the AP. Please don't sue, arrest, or otherwise penalize me for it.

Bliss!

2007-02-19T18:59:00.000-08:00

Bliss, this weekend, was 24 hours at The Willows Lodge with my dear better half. The fireplace! The 800 thread count sheets! The beef tenderloin at The Barking Frog! The lodge dog, Ruthie! The chicken paintings on the walls! The peaceful grounds! The wine tasting!

And, most important: 24 hours of rest and relaxation with my dearest one.

We needed that!

Weekend Cat Blogging: INTRODUCING CLAIRE

2007-02-04T18:02:00.000-08:00

This is CLAIRE. She is probably around 7 years old, and she is the apple of my better half's eye. She has silky rabbit fur, glowing yellow-green eyes that don't miss a thing, a bent (I call it "broken") stubby tail, and, in the words of our favorite vet Dr. Crow, a "spectacular nose dent," which you can actually see in this photo.

Claire can usually be found sleeping atop a heating pad on my partner's lap, on the recliner in the living room. Lately, she likes to curl up on the old couch (we are waiting for a friend to come pick it up); she threatens not to let it leave our house, now that she's discovered it.

Although I originally spotted Claire (then called "Nefertiti") at Meow, she is pretty clearly my partner's cat. She favors her, and that's just the way it is. The two of them are thick as thieves, period.

We chose Claire in part because of her sad story: she'd been found in a ditch either with her kittens or just about ready to give birth to them, and all of the kittens were adopted out. Poor Mama Claire was left behind--everyone loved the cute babies, but no one wanted the tired out mother! Well, we did, and so we took her home.

We had Claire for about a week when I made the offhand comment, "It's like not even having a second cat." Claire pretty much spent her days and nights sleeping on the back of a cushy chair in the living room of our apartment back then--no meowing, no playing, not much of anything. Of course, about a day later we realized her lethargy wasn't just evidence of a shy nature...my partner discovered millet bumps on Claire's forehead, and little raw sores on her body under her fur. Many vet trips later, the diagnosis was excessive vaccinations (for some reason she'd been given repeated shots, from the records Meow had given us) and a food allergy. So she ate "duck and pea" food for a while, and we kept an eye on her. Eventually, the sores healed up, the millet bumps went away, and Claire emerged as the playful, smart, loving kitty who we know and love today.

Claire also pretty much civilized our other cat, the bad blue Harriet. Harriet used to stalk my partner (once she even drew blood, wrapping her mouth around the bottom of my partner's foot!) around the house, and was generally a brat. She didn't know how to clean herself, nor do what we call "paws for the cause" (that kneading that cats do when they purr and are getting ready to make themselves at home). Claire changed all that. She taught Harriet how to be a cat, basically. Now our kittens are both pretty wonderful.

This is the first time I've posted about Claire, which is what I mean by "introducing" her. She's been a furry member of our family for about 6 years now, and while she's the oldest of our fuzzy brood, she is the middle "child" (first we adopted Harriet from a pet shelter in Bremerton, then less than a year later we adopted Claire...then, 4 years ago, we adopted Auggie the Yorkie).

So, a Sunday tribute to Claire! I sometimes make sarcastic comments about how my partner would save Claire rather than me if our house caught on fire--but, given Claire's sweet nature, I can hardly blame her.

11 Mile & Little Mack

2007-01-28T19:59:00.000-08:00

My current favorite playlist - a celebration of those dreary high school years (which, looking back, were pretty horrible, but also pretty good. My friends rocked - in all of their bookish, nerdy, dyed black hair, aerosol-hairspray-using, Honors European History-taking, white socks and Doc Martens-wearing glory).

-Charlotte Sometimes The Cure
-John, I’m Only Dancing David Bowie
-Punk Rock Girl The Dead Milkmen
-Hold Back the Rain Duran Duran
-I Do Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians
-Hey Jealousy The Gin Blossoms
-It’ a Shame About Ray The Lemonheads
-Don’t Dream It’s Over Crowded House
-Down By the Water PJ Harvey
-Roxanne The Police
-Pride (In the Name of Love) U2

These songs remind me of the following: hanging out in the Greenwood Elementary School playground and/or the Jefferson Middle School tennis courts after dark, looking up at the stars; driving around in MK's Blazer, and later in his rehabbed squad car; talking on the phone while sitting on the edge of the bathtub in my grandmother's house, the curly white phone cord smushed in the door frame and pulled to its longest possible length; sitting in the dark on the marching band bus next to CG, listening to the Cure and talking about getting out of there; ratting out JMcD's hair, the ruckus we caused in our high school by merely becoming good friends, and JC and I taking JMcD and SS to the Shelter to dance (oh, that rush of going to "downtown Detroit" and running across the parking lot to get through the door in time to get the lower cover price); sneaking some of the boys in to the drive in by hiding them in the "way back" of JMcK's parents' station wagon, then all of us lined up across the car's massive hood, arms 'round each other so we wouldn't fall off, torn between watching the movie and watching the stars...

My memory of much of high school is hazy, at best. It's a wonder that this iPod thing has the power to take me back.

Brick House

2007-01-23T20:31:00.000-08:00

I stopped at the drugstore today on the way home from work, and was shamed by a 5 year old girl in the store. Seriously. She was chatting chatting in a kind of bratty way, walking through the store with her mother (who was ignoring her) and as the girl got closer to me I heard her saying "You have a big belly, don't you? You have a big, big belly, don't you?" And I said, "Well, yes, I do," in a pretty normal voice.

Then she said, "You look really really big. You look big." And I said, "Uh huh, ok," and tried to catch her mother's eye to get this little brat, who was getting louder and louder, under control. Of course, her mom acted like nothing was happening. The girl said "You are super big!" quite loudly, and I said, "Yes, and you are super annoying!" just as loud. Her mother gave me a dirty look, and pulled her in the opposite direction. The clerk standing the next aisle over snorted, but I am not sure at what.

So. I was reduced to a snark-off with a preschooler today. I stood there for a minute after, perfectly still, pretending to continue to look at the lip gloss. What to do? I stood, for a minute, then I walked away and continued shopping, and literally waited til the girl left to go to that part of the store.

In a perfect world, I suppose I would have engaged the girl in fun conversation about how people come in all shapes and sizes. Or, maybe in a perfect world the girl's freaking mother would have stepped in and done that for me. I just can't stop thinking about it, though - the girl was 5 goddamned years old. I am fairly certain I'm not the first fat woman she's ever seen. Why is it ok for her to call out my size without her mom intervening? And why does it bother me so?

Thanks to the seemingly freaky and highly talented "toastycakes" for posting this public photo on flickr. Thanks for sharing.

Barking At The Moon

2007-01-16T20:20:00.000-08:00

Ok, not really. But this little dog is barking at the cold, that's for certain. It's ass scratching cold here in Seattle; we're all bundled up and trying to stay warm. Hot chocolate for everyone!

Kids Today

2007-01-05T21:51:00.000-08:00

Jesus H. mother of Christ, I feel old. Recently given an IPOD from my better half, I find myself feeling a bit like, say, my grandmother trying to utilize email (which, by the way, she doesn't. She doesn't even have an answering machine). Perhaps my family carries the "perpetually behind the times"gene? Who knows; suffice it to say that I had to actually go out and buy a "how to use your IPOD" book, containing screen shots, just so I could figure out how to work the damn thing. I was, I admit, relieved to find (when I freaking had to look online when I couldn't figure it out) that there is not--indeed there is not--an "on/off" button for the bastard.

The bastard thing is dangerous, too. Having signed up with the iTunes Store, it's too freaking simple to buy music. With a "click," I suddenly own music from Panic! At The Disco, Cyndi Lauper, Betty, and the Hooters. Yes, OK, I admit it, the Hooters. Blame it on my days as a Durannie and a band geek; I was vulnerable back then, and recently I had a hankerin' for their version of "Time After Time," which of course was easily available via iTunes. This bastard iPod has thrown me into nostalgia land, a bit. Something--a commercial, a bit of overheard conversation, having a dear friend from high school visit--will remind me of a band or of a song that I haven't heard in years and yes, you know what happens...it's JP to the Internet scouring for downloadable memories.

So I've managed to import some CDs, download a few albums (I get a strange pleasure from the fact that it's apparently OK again to call them "albums"), and create a playlist. I'm going to have to find some agreeable 14 year old, though, to help me with any more sophisticated maneuvers.

That reminds me! Orchestral Manoeuvers in the Dark! I wonder if "If You Leave" is available on iTunes??

Birthday Boy - Birthday Boy

2006-12-29T10:09:00.000-08:00

Birthday Boy - he's 4!

Hair Hysteria

2006-12-16T14:03:00.000-08:00

If it were, say, 1985-1994, I would be thrilled. As it is, it's 2006, I am 35, and every time I look in the mirror I'm a little taken aback. In the photo it isn't bad; in real life, my head has a floating mercurochrome aura. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe it will fade. But I've got a bad case of hair hysteria, and until the Aveda clove shampoo and conditioner works its magic... We shall see.

SagiFuckinTtarius

2006-12-09T08:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I turned 35. It was lovely.

You see, for the last several years, for some reason, my birthday (December 8) seemed to be peppered with minor personal little black clouds of one kind or another. Strife with parents (my mother forgot to call, or was she mad about something and so deliberately didn't call?), and other things that I frankly can't remember but which made the days immediately prior to the big 3-5 smattered with a bit of, well, not dread but more like slight amounts of sad distress. So this week, while my birthday approached and I was busy with work and home stuff, I had in the back of my mind some excitement about my birthday but also some slight amounts of sad distress.

Then, the day arrived. Up before the alarm went off, greeted by my surprisingly friendly for that time of the morning cats and my surprisingly awake for that time of the morning partner, even had time for cinnamon toast before leaving for work. A little flowered gift bag containing a very pretty beaded necklace from my dear assistant and friend awaited me on my desk, and 10:30 AM brought on a mid-morning cupcake snack from my bosses and co-workers, complete with singing and birthday candle. MMmmmm, cupcakes!

Dinner at Restaurant Zoe in Belltown capped off the day. I'd read about this restaurant now and then over the last year or so, and visited its website (tantalized for the most part, I admit, by the tasty sounding drinks made with gin and lime!) from time to time with the hope of someday actually walking through the door. Finally, we went, and it was wonderful. The pear salad with prosciutto and onion; the beef coulet atop crushed potatoes; the rice pudding crepe with chocolate cherry ice cream. "Y" to the "um," people. This was fabulous.

The maitre 'd started our evening by noting that he'd heard a "fellow Sagittarius" was at the table. I didn't see that long-desired minty limey ginny drink on the menu, so I asked if I could have one of their featured non-alcoholic drinks with gin added -- "we have just the drink for you," said our bubbly and beautifully flamey waiter, "it's called the Delicious, and it is." Of course, I ordered two. Tart, sweet, that juniper ginny undertone that stays with you all night as a reminder of the celebration.

The chef/owner, Scott Staples, visited our table several times over the course of the evening...just to check in, to wish me a Happy Birthday, and to offer to hang up my jacket, which while on the back of my chair was getting stepped on. Sometimes dining gourmet feels faux, yes? You know, stiff waiters, mystery ingredients, hushed conversations. Not at Zoe. It was comfortable, loud, friendly, and I wasn't even afraid to request that my beef be prepared medium rather than medium rare. And they were polite enough to accommodate my request.

And then, the presentation of the present by Ms. Better Half. It was wonderful, too, as she is. High tech, something I've yearned for, thoughtful, and surely to provide hours and hours of entertainment. I love it, and her.

Happy Birthday to me, and to all of my fellow and sister Sagittarians out in the world!

(The title, by the way: reference to what a dear and outrageous friend of mine once put on a birthday cake for me and another dear friend of ours, many years ago).

Thank you to CHOTDA for posting her beautiful cupcake photos on Flickr, and for allowing for the noncommercial display of this photo.

A Little Bit of Snow

2006-11-29T22:10:00.000-08:00

It's not often that I experience that Midwest winter feeling anymore - stepping gingerly on flat feet to test the slip-factor; that tingly-tight feeling in the nose when breathing in; feeling deliberately and brightly awake because of the cold air all around. In fact, I don't think I've experienced that back in Michigan kind of cold in years. It's somewhat reassuring to experience winter again - real winter, scraping the windshield winter - even though I admit I was relieved that my office was closed yesterday and I didn't have to go to work.

It isn't that I am afraid to drive in the snow. I'm from Detroit, friends; I know how to drive in the snow. It's the lack of sanders and salt trucks, the dearth of snow plows, and the plethora of driving over the speed limit as if the laws of physics don't apply to them folks that make me happy to snuggle in and stay put.

Of course, watching my little man hop about in three inches of snow is a kick, too.

Thanks to Nicole Critchley for posting this photo online at KOMO TV and sharing it with the world.

I Love A Rainy Night

2006-11-06T18:01:00.000-08:00

.
And I do. Maybe not so much late last Saturday night, driving back to Seattle from seeing a movie with my dearest friend, when I made my way up 167 (would it kill someone to install some streetlights?) in the middle of what seemed like a monsoon. But yes, on nights like this evening, sitting in my cozy home in my cozy neighborhood, with laptop and small dog on my lap...what could be better than listening to the rain fall over the kitchen skylights?
Thank you to Puja on FLICKR for use of the lovely photo.

My Heart Goes Out to Hawaii

2006-10-15T20:57:00.000-07:00

How sad and scary, to read about the earthquake that hit the Hawaiian Islands this morning! I've been thinking about wanting to go back there lately, as my last post indicates. My thoughts go out to everyone there; I hope you are ok, and that you recover well. Viva Hawaii!

Getting Back...To the Swan

2006-10-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

We walked down the steps to the beckoning salt pool, two vacationers celebrating their 10th anniversary in paradise. Every time, I think without fail, I would stop to watch the swan. As swans are prone to be, this one was elegant, solitary, simply lovely. The coi in its pond--large, plump, splashes of orange white and black--kept the swan company, or at least gave it something to watch.

That vacation was about 5 years overdue, and whoa, do I want to get back there. With our move (we are still surrounded by boxes and likely will be for quite some time given our schedules), all of the repairs our house needs, and the various insanities going on at each of our respective workplaces, we probably won't get out for another real vacation for another 5 years. But when things get stressful, and I'm tired, and not feeling that great (like right now), I think of that swan and send it a hello. I'll get back there some day.

We made it!

2006-09-23T16:12:00.000-07:00

It's true. At times, I didn't think we would. But, we're in the new place (still surrounded by boxes) and the townhouse has been sold (cross your fingers, still 8 days for the buyers' funding to be secured). Our new home sweet home is not without its issues--our floor guy messed up some of the boards, turns out we need a new roof not just some patching, and we've already had to install a new furnace. Home sweet home!

We Sent Him Away!

2006-09-04T00:09:00.000-07:00

Only for a little while, and it's for his own good. And, he's staying with The Nanny (Ms. Harris), whom we believe he loves.

We move for real in 6 days. Tomorrow, we're having movers come to take many of our boxes, and pieces of furniture, and stuff we're donating to Goodwill, and put them in our garage. "Why would you do that?" You may ask. Well, because our townhouse is small, our clutter is large, and we're at that point in packing where there's hardly room for one more box in here. We hope to show the townhouse this week (scream!!) and we've got to get some stuff out of here in order for the place to look presentable.

And what about The Yorkie? Well, he's a handful, to be sure. And we're worried that during all the hubub our little man might get scared, bite a mover, turn into the tasmanian devil (as he's prone to do when men are around) or something worse. So, I packed up his monogrammed and embroidered Yorkie bag and we dropped him off at The Nanny's house this evening. My better half walked him up to The Nanny's door, and was the Yorkie sad? No! Tail wagging (whole body wagging, really), paws up and scratching at the door, he couldn't get in the door fast enough. Is it The Nanny, or her adorable Scotties, that he finds so engaging?

It'll be an early morning tomorrow. Wish us luck!

Progress!

2006-08-28T19:44:00.000-07:00

We are getting packed up. Slowly, but with gusto! I pledge - never again! We are going to grow old in our new house, and never ever move house again!

And In It Even Still

2006-08-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

Slowly making progress. Not enough room to really put boxes together, in some rooms. Argh!!

Still Buried Under It

2006-08-16T19:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, it's true. We've hardly made any progress with the decluttering and the packing. With working, all the back and forth appointments to arrange things for the new house, and just plain lethargy, we haven't made progress. I am trying to avoid a useless swim in the "I suck and can't get anything done" pool, but I really really just want to go upstairs, finish the novel I am reading, and then go to sleep early.

Oh, and P.S. Those motherf***ing developers put the decks on the monster houses overhanging our backyard today. It's appalling. I just know some self-important software millionaires will move in and spend all evening every evening talking talking talking on their cell phones while drinking martinis on those decks. Will they notice when the olive pits they spit out land on my head, on my dog, on my bedroom window? Have I mentioned the decks are right above my backyard? This is a good time to remind myself that I am moving to get away from exactly that.

I have to go pack now.

I have a confession to make

2006-08-12T09:39:00.000-07:00

Some time over the last 10 years, my partner and I have become clutter bugs. I don't know why. We've made various attempts at de-cluttering, including hiring an organizer for a day. That helped for a while, but the clutter slowly (actually, quickly) reappeared. Now, it's gotten so bad that we've decided to just screw it, and move. [No, the photo is not of our actual clutter. It's an open photo of someone else's clutter from flicka.]

Ok, so the clutter isn't the thing prompting us to move (no, it's moreso the monstrous million dollar townhouses that a bastard "we're improving the community by building houses you can see from two miles away" Mt. Baker landbaron development company is building directly behind our house that's really sending us packing) but I have to admit: at times, I've wanted to light a match, toss it down, and walk away from it all.

I'm hopeful that the move will help us, literally, leave all this clutter behind us. We're separating out the stuff we don't want to take with us, so we don't move a bunch of crap we don't actually use. (Like the boxes and boxes of books, papers, and toiletries that have been sitting in our second bedroom for three years since we moved in here).

In the meantime, we now have about 27 hours before a real estate agent comes to our house to look around, tell us what we have to fix before listing the house, and giving us a recommendation for a listing price. If we haven't un-cluttered in 3 years, how can we do it in 27 hours? AARRGGHH! If you hear screaming echoing from Mt. Baker to Beacon Hill, then through downtown up to Queen Anne and Magnolia, don't worry: it's just me!

It's Him Again

2006-08-04T20:09:00.000-07:00

Dear boy.

The Sweetest Boy

2006-08-03T21:18:00.000-07:00

It's been a horrible week. The Washington State Supreme Court bowed to antiquated bigotry and pegged the queers as Enemy #1 of marriage (tell me, has your straight marriage directly felt the impact of the lovely backyard ceremony my beloved and I experienced March 19, 2004 in Portland? I didn't think so.) and upheld this state's so-called DOMA law. Then, a mentally ill Muslim-turned-Christian anti-Semite opened fire at Seattle's Jewish Federation offices, killing one woman and injuring five more. If that weren't enough, Hollywood's favorite nutjob let loose an anti-Semitic tirade when arrested for drunk driving, which not so subtly suggests that his lameass movie really was the product of his Jew-hating, Holocaust-denying, shriveled pathetic turd of a heart.

Times like this, I like to stare into the baby brown eyes of the sweetest boy I know and try to forget. The dear AG, as we like to call him, defends his territory, and loves his queer Jewish mommies. He may be small, but he'll rip out the throat of any bumpkin who treads on us. He doesn't judge, doesn't blame, and he's always happy to see us when we get home. For those reasons and more, we love him. VIVA AG!

Health & What I Put in My Mouth

2006-07-29T23:53:00.000-07:00

I love food. It, unfortunately, doesn't love me very much. I am facing some, shall we say, challenges in the health arena just now.

Up until about 2 years ago, I considered myself quite healthy aside from the fact that I've been overweight all my life. Then, I went on a "crash" liquid diet (through the HMR program). I lost 35 pounds, and then my gall bladder. Then I gained it all back (not the gall bladder, though. That's still missing).

Both of my parents have been diagnosed as having Type 2 Diabetes in the last several years, as well. My dad just had open heart surgery (see the post before last). My mom has heart damage as a result of taking phen/fen in an attempt to lose weight herself some moons ago. Given the health considerations of my parents, I went to see a doctor who specializes in working with two ends of the health and activity spectrum--very overweight folks on one end, and high performance athletes on the other end. Recent blood tests have revealed that I am insulin resistant, which is the pit-stop on the way to Type 2 Diabetes-ville. I'm taking medication, but haven't really noticed any difference in how I feel or in my weight.

I'm 34. I have a wonderful partner of 10 years, 2 cats and a dog, a great job, lots of friends, and--simply put--a lot to live for. Over the last year, I've been working out about twice per week with a trainer, and I've been making better food choices through meal planning. Despite my better habits, I have only lost a few pounds. My doctor now says there is "something off" in my thyroid levels, and so it's back to the doctor for me the week of August 7th. I know, I know. It's every fat person's dream to have a thyroid disorder--or so a hateful endocrinologist told me when I was 16.

We'll see what the doctor says, but in the meantime, my delightful partner has started a blog to document and process our adventure in treating my health issues with better, possibly vegan, food choices. It's so much easier to do what I've always done than it is to change, you know? But for my family, and for myself, I am trying and I'll continue to try.

Shame in Seattle

2006-07-28T18:30:00.000-07:00

Sitting here listening to the news of the latest hate crime in my state - a shooter opens fire in the Jewish Federation building downtown this afternoon - I am appalled. News reporters talk about "what set off the suspect" as if any act, any word, any happening in that man's life would or could possibly justify walking into a building and taking aim. They say "Jewish people, be extra careful tonight" without any trace of irony or any acknowledgment of how ridiculous that suggestion is... Are we supposed to feel better that it was "one person" and not some orchestrated terrorist act? This makes me want to bray, or howl, or sob. My thoughts go out to the victims and their families. Shame in Seattle. Let's see how this city responds.

Thanks to Doc Kozzak for posting this photo on flickr and sharing it with the world.

Travel, but no vacation.

2006-07-26T22:04:00.000-07:00

It's that time in life when parents start requiring some extra care in the health arena. My dad had emergency bypass surgery last Friday--chest pains, unsuccessful angioplasty, a last-minute flight for me back to the Midwest, a week-long stay for him in the hospital. He's back home now, and recovering, but how scary was that? Seeing a parent so vulnerable tilts the world a bit. I'm exhausted, and still scared, and ever hopeful.

The Namesake

2006-07-17T20:58:00.000-07:00

Introducing Harriet. This is the gal. She's persnickety, aloof, and beautiful. She will ignore you one minute, and zero in on you the next. You'll see her question-mark tail poking up on the horizon, and the next thing you know, this sleek double-coated silver mouse-mouse face is in for the kill. The purring, the drooling, the tapping on your face with her mauvey paw pads... She is, in a word, divine.

Lies and the Liars Who Tell Them

2006-07-15T18:53:00.000-07:00

I’m reading The Fabulist by Stephen Glass. Talk about an unreliable narrator; I’m ¾ of the way through the book and I haven’t gained any insight at all regarding his experience. OK, so he fell apart when he was first found out. Uh huh, I get it that his book is a novel not a memoir (and heaven forbid we confuse or conflate the two). But still. Give me a reason to finish this book!

As Mr. Glass tells it, he wrote his fictionalized articles, passed them off as based in fact, and went along his merry way creating and writing and writing and creating, without much thought about it until he got caught. But isn’t telling a web of elaborate lies more complicated than that? Isn’t the liar afraid all the time that she will be discovered? Isn’t he terrified that someone will see one miniscule loose thread hanging, and pull?

I understand that some create their own version of reality, and really believe it. I see this in cases I work on – someone has told herself the same version of the same story so many times that she really believes the story she’s telling. But lying in the written word seems different than lying in life. Not to say better or worse, but just different. If you lie to your friends, your loved ones, the barista at your local coffee shop, it seems to me you’d have to constantly monitor and track what information you give to whom, and remember it. Then you would have to run interference between those people, because if they compare stories with each other, you could be found out. But to essentially write fiction and publish it as truth—why and how did Mr. Glass think no one would ever know?

Once published, the writer has zero control over the product. You can’t monitor where that information goes, and try to control what other information follows. Sure, people may want to believe what they read. Yes, when you earn someone’s trust at the outset it may be easier to deceive that person later. But to falsify sources and invent events, and then to put that information in a magazine article and try to pass it off as the truth, well, I'm on page 219 and I still wonder: what were you thinking?

Happy Birthday...

2006-07-12T22:01:00.000-07:00

No, not to me. Happy Birthday to this blog. I admit, it lacks focus--as do I. I am new to this whole blogging and posting world, so I hope anyone who actually reads this forgives the novice. Oh, please, another over-stimulated yahoo blathering on and on, online, you might be thinking. And you might be right.