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21st Century Lesbian Trailer Trash

These are the mad musings of a middle aged woman, dyke, nurse, poet. I have a dog, a cat, a mobile home, and delusions of grandeur.

Name:
Location: California, United States

Thursday, August 31, 2006

The Great Starbucks Caper of 2006

Sweet John at Old Grey Poet was enjoying a pleasant foray into his local Starbucks store when he playfully snapped a pic of his partner who caught him, in flagrante delicto, and snapped back with his camera phone. Moments later a young barista approached John to inform him that picture taking was not allowed inside a Starbucks store by company policy.

Neither the young man nor the store manager was able to explain the whys or the wherefores of this policy. So here's what I'm thinking:

Grab your cameras and your camera phones to invade your local Starbucks for a picture taking frenzy. Bring your friends. Bring your relatives. Implore your neighbors to join you in the caper.

Then, unload your cameras and flood the internet with snapshots of the ubiquitous coffee shop. Surely that will do irreparable harm to their business.

In the meantime, I intend to interview a few baristas and store managers to discover if this policy is in effect in all Starbucks stores or only those in Great Britain. Then I intend to ask them if anyone can explain the rationale behind this policy. Surely it displays a remarkably overweening sense of importance vis a vis the Starbucks logo.

If possible, I'll snap pictures of said subjects, promising internet fame.

Because I'm a Dyke

When I arrived home from work last night, there was a huge box outside my back door. It looked bigger than my back door. And I already knew that it weighed 67 pounds.

So I went inside, fed the dog and the cat, booted up the computer, and contemplated the wisdom of pouring a glass of wine before figuring out how to get the box inside the house.

What was it? A tube TV. 24 inches. With a DVD and a VCR built in.

Q. Why in the hell is she buying a tube tv?

A. Because it seems ridiculous to spend thousands on an LCD flat screen.

Q. At 57, why does she think she can lift and carry a 67 pound object designed to crash on the floor and break?

A. Because she likes to play Butch for a Day. It's what dykes do.

Q. But why a tube tv?

A. Because it's cheap and it fits my needs for the time being.

I went back outside after dark because I didn't want some old man offering to help me and then keeling over from a heart attack. And because if I was going to look like an idiot it would only be under the cover of darkness.

I eyeballed that sucker. I decided I could do it. I rolled it up the back steps and into the door. Then I opened the refrigerator door to give me enough space to get it through the kitchen. After that, all I had to do was drag it to the spot where it would rest in all of its glory.

Now all I need to do is order cable.

Listen. Y'all knew I was wierd going in so don't even comment on that one.

Now I'm late for work again. And I promised LavenderDE a venti decaf iced latte.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Would the Last Comic Standing

Please turn out the lights. Because when people like Rush Limbaugh and GWB are finished with us, we won't have a real country anymore. We'll all be sitting on a broke assed pile of cow manure, paying taxes and waiting for WalMart to rescue us from certain disaster.

And we had all better learn how to slaughter a cow if we want butter for our bread. Yes people. This is what was in my news this morning.

In
Media Matters Rush Limbaugh waxes poetic on the Poor & the Fat in America:

Summary: Rush Limbaugh blamed "the left" and the United Nations' Children Fund (UNICEF) for "the latest crisis" of "obesity among those who are impoverished," adding that Americans "[d]idn't teach them how to ... slaughter a cow to get the butter; we gave them the butter." Limbaugh also called the "Trick-or-Treat for UNICEF" campaign "[o]ne of the biggest scams on the face of the earth" because its goal was to "get everybody thinking the United Nations is feeding poor people."

I traveled on to Common Dreams where I found this gem by Naomi Klein:

Published on Monday, August 28, 2006
by CommonDreams.org
Pay To Be Saved: The Future of Disaster Response
by Naomi Klein

The Red Cross has just announced a new disaster-response partnership with Wal-Mart. When the next hurricane hits, it will be a co-production of Big Aid and Big Box.
This, apparently, is the lesson learned from the government's calamitous response to Hurricane Katrina: Businesses do disaster better...

Here's a snapshot of what could be in store in the not-too-distant future: helicopter rides off of rooftops in flooded cities ($5,000 a pop, $7,000 for families, pets included), bottled water and "meals ready to eat" ($50 per person, steep, but that's supply and demand) and a cot in a shelter with a portable shower (show us your biometric ID -- developed on a lucrative Homeland Security contract -- and we'll track you down later with the bill. Don't worry, we have ways: spying has been outsourced too).

The model, of course, is the U.S. healthcare system, in which the wealthy can access best-in-class treatment in spa-like environments while 46-million Americans lack health insurance. As emergency-response, the model is already at work in the global AIDS pandemic: private-sector prowess helped produce lifesaving drugs (with heavy public subsidies), then set prices so high that the vast majority of the world's infected cannot afford treatment.

Next are some snippets from Suzanne's rant on the ever humorous President of the United States:

In Maureen Dowd’s column, she reports on President Bush’s joke-y little visit to New Orleans yesterday, one year after Hurricane Katrina rained injustice on the city. Now, his bons mots were not all that funny - although they do offer up some good moments of “he-did-not just say that, did he? –but when he was approached by NBC news anchor Brian Williams, a truly funny exhange took place...

It would be cool if the American people would wake up and impeach this impish prankster, and then Last Comic Standing could scoop him up for your show. Watching him interact with the other comedians in the house will be gut-busting.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Laura Bush poo poos the idea that her hubby's response to Katrina hurt his image. Please, all of my straight grrl friends, disabuse me of the notion that heterosexuality clogs up your brain cells.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Olio of My Day

A dish of many ingredients. Potpourri. That's the internet for you. It just occurred to me that someone ought to invent a favorites list that rotates periodically.

I start at the top and rarely get to the bottom before I run out of time. There are so many delectable dishes on that list and I rarely get to all of them.

Badger got me started with her brilliant idea to tag all of history.

Then Cracker Lilo took me directly to my favorite place: Starbucks. Wouldn't you know that the Nutrition Nannies, as Lilo so fondly calls them, are sounding the alarm that Starbucks is marketing to the kids. Getting them hooked on the evils of caffeine. Like kids haven't been drinking coffee forever.

If I had a kid, I'd rather she get hooked on caffeine than on crystal meth. But hey. That's just me.

A blog that doesn't get nearly enough comments is Country Mouse City Mouse Adventures. This very young writer is delicate, sensitive, and funny. I particularly love her pieces on life at the Berry Farm.

Have I mentioned how much I love my trailer trash sister, On Silver Wings? She rocks. "I'm not a lesbian but I could be," is what she told me in an email. Love women with balls and attitude.

And this morning, Katy, otherwise known as Barnyard Mamma, had a fun idea over at Teacher in Heels.

If your life was to be made into a movie, what would the title be? And what would the opening scene look like?

My answer:

My Movie? An Unbalanced Life. No, that would be my book. The movie title would have to be more catchy.

The opening scene would include a stack of books, a cup of coffee, and a cigarette burning next to a computer monitor. Flashback to Woodstock and key Bob Dylan.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Mocha Momma's Blogiversary


A stack of diamond celebration rings from Tiffany & Co. for Mocha Momma. It is, after all, her Blog Anniversary. Being the spectacular human being and the True Princess of Quite Alot that she is, it is only fitting that her wish be granted.

I am also granting her a lifetime supply of an assortment of coffees from the best coffee purveyors. And a $50,000 Starbucks gift card. Hopefully, that will take her to retirement and beyond.

OK. So it's a little over the top. But did I tell you that I declared today National Mocha Momma Day? I stayed home to celebrate her bloggity goodness.

If you have not yet discovered this luscious Blog Queen, please take a look at the wit and wisdom that is Kelly. You'll be glad you did.

P.S. I had to edit this to add a Story People story for Kelly:

Underwear Parade

I think we should make all the flags in the parade out of long underwear, he said, because then only the really fun people will come.

Saturday, August 26, 2006

Something to Make You Angry

Slate Magazine has an article alerting us to the fact that a major drug company has drastically increased the cost of birth control pills, once sold for a penny a pack to publicly funded clinics:

No one much noticed, but thousands of family-planning clinics across the country went into a tailspin last month. They were reacting to a drastic price increase by Ortho-McNeil, a major supplier of birth-control pills and maker of the popular contraceptive patch. The company used to charge publicly funded clinics as little as a penny a pack for the pills. Then, as of July 1, the price of some pills jumped to more than $18 a pack. Ortho's move was apparently legal under federal pricing rules. But it's anybody's guess as to why the company chose to do this now, without giving the clinics any real notice.

Thanks to Bitch Ph.D. for the tip. Read more about her harrowing adventure with birth control here.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Ever Try to Eat Hot Buffalo Wings

dipped in ranch dressing and type on your computer keyboard at the same time? It's kind of what one might call a losing proposition. Don't even think there is anything ladylike about wiping the grease from your hands onto the keys and then onto your already greasy napkin.

I tried to post this morning but Blogger wasn't having any of that. I found, much to my dismay, that I could not even post comments on several of my Blogger Buddy sites. But I did find some gems while blog hopping.

Under the heading of Oh No He Didn't! From Jenn at
Reappropriate, this tidbit left me speechless:

This season, Survivor features 20 new cast-members trying to survive in harsh, untamed nature (completely authentic despite the well-fed six-man camera crew following sticking the camera in your face as you attempt to light kindling with two pieces of rock and a machete). Of note is the fact that this season marks the most diverse Survivor cast we've ever seen, with a whopping fifteen people of colour.

the twenty castmembers will be divided into four tribes... by "ethnicity"! (Burnett must think we're stupid if we think that "White", "African American", and "Asian American" are ethnicities. They're races; Burnett is just afraid of sounding politically incorrect, describing what he has nonetheless done).

Under the heading of There Just Might Be a New Sheriff in Town from Cheryl at No Ordinary Princess comes the story of Kinky Friedman. Can an odd Jewish boy with no clear political affiliations but a decidedly conservative bent grow up to be the governor of Texas? I doubt it but then what do I know?

Under the heading of New Age Philosophy and Let's All Feel Good, Michelle O'Neill at
Full-Soul-Ahead found a charming spot on the web called Story People.

She said she usually cried at least once each day not because she was sad, but because the world was so beautiful & life was so short.

You're the strangest person I ever met, she said & I said you too & we decided we'd know each other a long time.

Under the heading of I Never Damn Could Parse a Sentence, Scout at Neurotranscendence writes about bloggity grammar in a way that we can all understand. The woman is scary smart.
It's Friday. It's payday. Let's part-ay!

Thursday, August 24, 2006

D'oh!

This Homer Simpson moment is brought to you by Les Beans Costa Rita coffee. It's a good day to have a warm and mellow, full bodied woman sitting next to me.

Yesterday morning I was flying high and tight, lookin' good in my cream colored pants and white blouse with the little flowers embroidered on the cuffs and collar. I had even managed lipstick.

Next thing you know I was really flying. As in through the air. SPLAT! I was face down on the pavement.

The maintenance dude was first on the scene. I didn't get up because I wasn't sure if anything was broken. Plus, the right side of my face felt a little bit like road kill must feel.


Before I knew it, LavenderDE was on there, took a look at my face, and told someone to call 911. And there I am, in the middle of the parking lot, sprawled out like a doddering old drunk for all the world to see.

After a few minutes I was fairly certain nothing was broken other than my pride. And possibly my right pinky finger.


At least my sense of humor was still intact.

EMT: How old did you say you were? 42?

Me: I haven't even seen your face yet and already I know you're cute.

They bundled me onto the gurney and into the rig, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey complete with neck brace and back board.

After an exciting hour of being poked, prodded, examined and clucked over, I was released on my own recognizance. I didn't merit anything stronger than ibuprofen and an ice pack.

I returned to work in filthy clothing because it would have taken too much time out of my day to go home and change.

Ah, but my day wasn't over. After coming home feeling thankful over my sudden brush with certain life long road burn on my face, I took Jaz to drop off my DVD's and drive through Starbucks for a Banana coconut frappucino.

When I drove back into the drive of my little tin house, I miscalculated, scraping my front fender and bending the support thingie on my overhang.


Obviously, I should not have left home yesterday. But the Universe doesn't always tell you what's in store for you. So I tucked myself and the dog into bed with 800 mg. of Advil and a Flexeril left over from a previous injury, to sleep off the bad karma.


I have a bit of a shiner, a bump on my forehead, a scraped up right cheek, and a very sore pinky finger. Aside from that and a bit of residual soreness, I feel fine.

My car was not so lucky. Her minor damage won't go away on its own. Ditto for the bent support pole. All that and I didn't even earn a day off work.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

BlogWorld

Probably not the post you expect. But it is the one that you will get.

A question on my favorite message board this week is about the differences between blogs and message boards.

Personally, I have found that blogs can build community just as easily as message boards. In many instances they may be better tools for community building.

The place where I haunt message boards is rather unusual in its organization. All message boards are hosted and hosts are required to visit their boards a minimum of 3 times weekly.

The downside is that the Terms of Service are extremely strict. As a member there, who knew I said "fuck" until I started my blog?

Also, we lesbians are so closely monitored that whenever we begin to have fun with the topic of sex, the moderators are all over us like white on rice. And while the Christian right is allowed to slam us at will, we have to play nice when we talk about them. Not so on NursePam's blog.

So, I'm curious. What got you started blogging? If you blog, do you visit message boards? And which do you prefer?

Do you think that blogs build community? Is that one of the reasons that you blog?

Sunday, August 20, 2006

It Was So Innocent

Someone made a very innocent comment about me today. And it was a gut punch like I have not felt in quite some time.

For some reason, it took me back to the time my youngest sister would not speak to me. It was for a period of about 5 years. After the fact, she would not tell me what precipitated this.

I remember at one point that she was very angry with me, demanding to know who L. was. "Who is she to you? What does she mean to you?"

L. and I were lovers. I did not tell my sister this but it must have been quite apparent. She would not ask me at the time. Somehow, I think she thought that I had made a fool of her or betrayed her in some way by not telling her this. I suppose I will never know.

I do remember the terror at the thought of being rejected by my family. My mother was a clinical social worker. When I went home for the funeral, I noticed that she had quite a few books about homosexuality being a mental illness.

Somehow, that innocuous comment today brought into sharp focus this kaleidescope of pain. I rarely share it or show it.

L. left me saying that she "loved me but wasn't in love with me". My sister rejected me, in part because she felt rejected by my failure to share my truth with her.

The short answer to the comment/question is that I would rather be alone than to dive into that pool of pain again.

Me Me Me Me Meme

KMae tagged me for this. More or less. So here are 44 things about me that you can't wait to know.

1. How tall are you barefoot?
5'8" and a smidgen.

2. Have you ever been cheated on?
Most likely.

3. Do you own a gun?

No. I once had a gun. When I was in my early 20's and living in a slum apartment in Detroit's 13th precinct. Long story but the Black Panther living on the top floor outfitted all of the single women in the building with pistols.

4. What do you think of hot dogs?
Hot dogs are OK as long as they are grilled over an open flame and topped with mustard.

5. What's your favorite Christmas song?

O Holy Night

6. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?

You're kidding. Right? Coffee!

7. Do you do push-ups?
You're kidding. Right? Nevah!

8. Have you ever done ecstasy?
Yuk! No.

9. Do you like Disney World?
Never been. And even though I am 90 minutes from Disney Land, I have never been there either. My California cousin thinks I am some sort of troglogdyte from another planet.

10. Do you like the rain?
I love the rain.

11. Do you own a knife?

Other than the knives in my kitchen drawer? I don't think so.

12. What do you smell like?
Right now? Pretty ripe. Ordinarily like shampoo, flowers, and a faint whiff of smoke.

13. Do you have A.D.D.?
I seriously doubt it.

14. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.

This is one long ass meme.
Don't forget the laundry.
Are you going to be a slug all day?

15. Name the last 3 things you have bought today.
Nothing. I have not left the house and I have not shopped online.

16. Name five drinks you regularly drink.

Coffee, herbal tea (hot), water, iced tea, and fruit juices.

17. What time did you wake up today?

I think it was about 8:40.

18. Can you spell?
Usually.

19. Current worries?
Having my house in order when sis gets here.
Nursing shortage.

20. Current hate ?
Let's not go there.

21. Favorite place to be?
Home.

22. Least favorite place to be?

A crowded mall at Christmas time.

23. Where do you want to go?
Liverpool to visit Lynn and Kim.

24. Do you own slippers?
Several pair.

25. Where do you think you will be in 10 years?
Hopefully, still on the planet and out of nursing. Maybe semi retired and doing massage.

26. Do you burn or tan?
Burn.

27. Yellow or blue?

Blue. Yellow can be quite lovely in the right amounts. But too much jangles my nerves.

28. Would you give up your current life to be a pirate?

That depends. Do I get to keep all the girls?

29. Last time your cell rang?
Days ago. I only use it for work and I have the nurses trained to call my home phone. The company cell phone is a cheap piece of junk and the ring sends me through the roof.

30. What songs do you sing in theshower?

It's a Long Way to Tiperari. And Christmas carols.

31. What did you fear was going to get you at night as a child?
The bogey man who lived under the bed.

32. How much cash do you have on you?
About $90.00

33. Last thing that made you laugh?
The dog and the cat trying to dive bomb each other from the sofa.

34. Best bed sheets you had as a child?
We always had regular old white cotton sheets.

35. Worst injury you've ever had?
Probably when I hurt my back a couple of years ago. They put me through a gazillion tests and made me suffer for a year before doing something about the pain. I think this was the thought: She might have cancer. We have to let her live in agony until we know for sure what it is. (It was a compressed disc).

36. Where have you been out of US?
Germany, Switzerland, Canada, Mexico.

37. Who is your loudest friend?
Probably Dixie.

38. Who is your most silent friend?
I'm not sure I have any friends who are quiet.

39. Does someone have a crush on you?
Not that I know of.

40. Do you wish on stars?
Yes.

41. What song did you last hear?

I can't remember.

42. What song do you want played at your funeral?
Ave Maria.

43. What were you doing at 12:00 last night?

I think I was still reading at midnight.

44. First thought upon waking up this morning?

It's Sunday! Let's make coffee.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Spank the Dog

According to a poll reported in the New York Times, 50% of Americans believe that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction stashed somewhere. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

I'm not posting the link because I forgot to snag it and then the old 'puter crashed. But it's easy enough to find the NYT online if you're interested. My question is this: are Americans getting dumber? No need to give me an answer.

So, this morning, the dog proved me a liar and barked her fool head off in the kitchen at about 0630. Waving her head from side to side, whites of her eyes showing, she continued to bark for the sheer joy of barking.

I finally had to tap her on the butt with 2 fingers. That's all it takes to make her cower under the bed for about 15 minutes. And it is only the second time that I have resorted to something like that. Still, I felt huge and mean.

TGIF. I'm thinking I need to be sick on Monday.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Still swimming up from the depths of interrupted sleep, I am drinking Starbucks Komodo Dragon this morning. It's bold and flavorful; just the sort of coffee that might jump start my tired body.

The JonBenet Ramsey thing has everyone in a frenzy recently. I just don't know what to think. Not that I ever felt the need to blame her parents. I have simply never known quite what to think.

JonBenet is a kind of fairy tale for our times. A cautionary story about riches and beauty and the drive to succeed. We love to watch the train wreck of another person's life. Somehow, it makes us right. It makes us better. It proves that God will punish the wicked and reward the righteous.

For most, it doesn't matter who murdered the tiny beauty queen. In fact, we don't really want to know. Because in knowing the truth, we may find ourselves humbled. We may be forced to drop to our knees and beg forgiveness of a family we do not even know.

Or worse, we may be faced with the awful knowledge that we can be devastated by those whom we trust the most.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Ghosts

I hear the crystaline sound of breaking glass; light and musical in the back office. Laughing, they brush up the shards and then she speaks longingly of the hot green tea that she had been about to drink.

Hours later I awake from the dreamless sleep of exhaustion, those fragile shards lodged in my heart. In that place where motherhood took root but did not flower, I sense the familiar ache of loss. I can still feel the silken skin of her arms wrapped around my neck. Her small white hands pat my back as if to comfort me.

Her damp curls brush my cheek and the salt of her angry tears is on my lips. I feel the surprisingly sensual pull of her physical nearness. The slightly sour smell of her illness mixed with the sweet smell of lotion and shampoo.

Alone in that house with the child who would be mine. The hum and whir of her machines a lullabye that rock my sleep, still haunt my dreams.

The heavy quilt that grief has woven covers me some days like a shroud. She is alive and well and loved. Yet in that single moment, she is real only to me. Unknown by my family she exists in my memory as though she is only some fantasy of my childless yearning.

There was joy there somewhere. As she recedes further and further away from me, I try to remember the joy.

Karma

Doesn't it just stand to reason that after you have been awake for 28 hours straight, and have worked all night, because just as you were drifting off to sleep you received a phone call saying one of the nurses had to rush her husband to the emergency room; and after your neighbor accused your dog of waking her up in the ungodly wee hours of the morning, that you would arrive home only to find that the park has hired a tree trimmer, complete with woodchipper, to spend the day trimming all of the palm trees?

Payback is a(insert expletive here).

But you know what's really funny? Driving home, I realized that I left the house at midnight without remembering to turn off the alarm clock, which rings for a solid hour.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

I'll bet my dog barked her ass off. I half expected to be greeted by the local gendarmes.

They're not here yet. Nighty night all.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Dear Nasty Neighbor

Thank you for the anonymous note you left tucked in my back door. I found it when I arrived home after a 10 hour day at work and a trip to the grocery store.

In spidery, old lady script it reads:

Your dog is waking us up at 5:00 & 6:00 A.M. Please try to eliminate barking that early.

Sure. OK chickenshit nasty old bag. I have no idea who you are or where you live. The homes directly behind me and to one side of me are vacant. On the other side is a woman who gets up earlier than I. When she's home. The people in the 2 houses across the street from me have dogs.

You can nap all day bitch. And my dog doesn't bark other than a couple of times in the morning because she is so eager to eat. And for a couple of minutes in the evening until I can get inside my door after pulling into the driveway. Oh yeah. She barks a little from time to time when we rough house. Or when someone knocks on the door. And that, asshole, is her job.

How do you propose I eliminate barking? Bury her under my lemon tree? That would solve the problem.

By the way, the dog doesn't bark before 6 a.m. because I don't get up before 6 a.m. I would like to summon up some compassion for you. But your lack of courtesy and your inability to handle this like an adult make that difficult.

Get a life.

Ooooommmmmmmm

*gregorian chant playing softly in the background*

Minimi dominus matrim nobo pudenda!

Omni deus maximus no problemo!


Thanks to my bud Kitty Litter, I now have a plan for rest and relaxation. A way to soothe my ravaged soul and continue to be a productive citizen of the world with a Mona Lisa smile on my face.

You have to love this woman. She's the kid who sat in the back of the class and convinced you that it would be a good idea to throw spit balls at the math teacher.

She's the kid who taught you how to short sheet your sister and how to climb out of your bedroom window after dark when you were on restriction.

Let's hear it for the people who always make you laugh.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

A Woman's Brain

is a beautiful thing to behold. I cannot remember which blogger led me to this article from the San Francisco Chronicle but it's nothing that we didn't already know.

Louann Brizendine's feminist ideals were forged in the 1970s, so the UCSF neuropsychiatrist is aware that some parts of her new book, "The Female Brain," sound politically incorrect.

Such as the part about how a financially independent woman may talk about finding a soul mate, but when she meets a prospective mate her brain is subconsciously sizing up his portfolio. Or the part describing the withdrawal pains moms feel when they return to work and can no longer cop a hormonal high from breast-feeding their babies.


Brizendine talks about how men think about sex once every minute and women think about sex once every now and again. Well, we didn't need a neuropsychiatrist to tell us these things. Of course, what isn't mentioned in the article (and I don't know if it's mentioned in the book) is that college age people, male and female, think about sex all of the time.

What I know, without reading her book, is that women do not think like men. I knew this back in the late 60's or early 70's when we were all burning our bras. I grew up with 2 brothers for gosh sake. I had a father, a stepfather, grandfathers, uncles, male teachers, and male cousins. Believe me. They were different. And the frenzied height of the feminist movement never caused me to doubt that for one minute.

My interests lay in the idea of equal pay for equal work. In not being a second class citizen. In not being manipulated by being called a bitch, emotional, or unreasonable. It must be that time of the month. That was my cause.

There still remains within our culture the dichotomy of The Other. Us and Them. And it is alive and well in the idea of the superiority of the masculine.

This is where the causes of feminism, racism, and homophobia converge. As long as we insist on putting our energies into deciding which is better, and then subjugating the group(s) who are Other than ourselves, we take our energies away from saving the planet and the human race as a whole.

My jaded half surveys the news and says "We'll never make it there in time." But my hopeful side chooses to believe that the apocryphal tale of
The Hundredth Monkey is true.

I'm not ready to give up just yet.

Friday, August 11, 2006

But A Drop in That Bucket


called life. That's all it was. The corporate Hoo Haws got everyone all bent out of shape over nothing. Of course, our little facility handed over the most complete and organized records for the auditor. She was in and out in less than half a day and complimented us on our presentation.

That's because our management team has about 180 years experience behind us, as opposed to the sweet, young, and wet behind the ears teams at the other facilities in the corporation.

So what do you do after you win the race? Why, you leave work at noon on Friday with the boss and LavenderDE in tow. I didn't even say goodbye to the nurses. I just threw the weekend schedules their way, grabbed my purse, and ran.

We hit the Olive Garden for a glass of wine and a feast. I had the Chicken Giordino with the loveliest lemon sauce this side of heaven. Just on principle, and because I had promised myself, I drank half a glass of the house rose`. No drunkie drunkie. I had errands to run and I was already on the verge of crashing.

I hit the bookstore, the video store, and the pet store. This is where the doggie car seat, pictured above, fits in. Jaz now has her very own because she is incorrigible in the car. My last stop was Starbucks for my favorite standby: the mocha frapuccino with a ton of whipped cream.

I headed home to savor my frap and watch a very bad sci fi movie. The nurses have already called about 8 times. Apparently, my disappearing act caused them great anxiety.

Just call me sugar tit.

My Apologies

To all of my Bloggy Buddies whom I have not visited lately. I miss the fun.

Today is the big day. Yesterday, the corporate Hoo Haws made the boss so angry that she actually cried. I knew exactly how she felt. It was a screw this who needs you people and your stupid fucking job moment.

I told her the same thing I keep telling myself. Remember September. They're sending us to Hawaii on the company nickel. If we can't hang on for any other reason, we can hang for that.

I am on my way out the door and looking forward to one thing only today. That dinner and bottle of wine at the Olive Garden after the big brouhaha is over.

Bank loan my ass.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Financial Freedom

If you look on the left hand side of this blog, about halfway down, you will see a category of links entitled Women & Financial Freedom. It's something I have never truly achieved. Probably because I have never liked money.

It took me decades to recognize that money is about much more than filthy lucre. Money is about power and independence and having the means to do the things in life that one would like to do.

In my family, money was a dirty word and a family secret. I remember having to beg for money to buy Kotex when I was 15. Supposedly, I should have planned for this monthly event and saved for it. I don't remember the price of Kotex in 1964 but I do remember that my allowance was 70 cents a week. This was the event that caused my stepfather to realize that my allowance needed to be raised to $1.50.

That and a couple of other incidents served to take money and wrap it around a neat little package of guilt and shame for being female. In this respect, I can thank my parents for turning me into a flaming feminist.

They didn't understand money either, however. My stepfather, a privileged only child of older, well to do parents, thought that all of his problems were due to having too much money and resolved to live poor. Never mind that his parents bought his house and his car and bailed him out every Christmas.

My mother grew up on the heels of the depression. 'Nuff said there.

I dutifully walked through life with financial blinders on, believing that I was at the mercy of fate and circumstance.

Here is my advice: Don't go there. Women have as much capacity to understand money as do men. Educate yourself even if you don't yet have great earning power. Even if you don't like the idea of money. Even if you believe yourself to be financially retarded. Even if you don't have a job outside the home with a paycheck.

Even if money doesn't interest you.

You might win the lottery. But lottery winners who don't understand money are notorious for losing millions. I think that the trick just might be that you have to rule your money instead of letting your money, or your lack of it, rule you.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Wow!

My second ever seriously nasty, completely illiterate and psychotic comment from a wing nut fundie.

Now and forever consigned to the trash bin.

You don't scare me Wing Nut.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

More with the Dog. And Three a.m. Blues.

Could we do some sort of a jazzy riff with that? It has a nice ring to it. Something on the order of Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee:

Took my dog to the vet
They gave her a shot
Came back with more meds
And my dog she was hot...

I got the flea bitten, tree sniffin', moon howlin'
Wake me up at 3 a.m. blues................

Poor Jaz showed me her doggie bum last night and she had chewed around her tail until she drew blood. I am a bad doggie mom. I got myself out of bed and bathed her, then sprayed her li'l bum with a hydrocortisone spray.

This morning? More blood. Not good. I managed to get away from work about 3 p.m. and took her to the vet.

Let me digress. This vet was cute. As in cute. Late 30's with a long mop of frizzy, not quite strawberry blonde hair, freckles, tall and thin. She was wearing this really cute, long pencil skirt in a golden tan. Very nice.

LavenderDE agrees with me. Girls do this kind of thing better than boys.

She decided to get very aggressive with the skin problem. She gave Jaz a cortisone shot. She gave her an ear wash solution and neomycin drops for her ears. She gave her a salve for the little boogers around her nose. She gave her a new shampoo and an oral antibiotic because she has a bacterial overgrowth along with the yeast infection on her skin.

The dog is a happy grrl. The itch is gone and she is sleeping peacefully at my feet. So where does the 3 a.m. part come into all of this?

I'm doing another early morning playing like I'm a nurse gig. Actually, Nurse Debbie was more than kind and said I didn't have to be there until 5 to relieve her. Now that's team work.

So, it wouldn't be such a big deal if I didn't have this audit coming up on Friday. Thank the goddess for people like Nurse Angie and Nurse Josie who are going through charts like Ninja Nurses.

And that's the story of why I will not be here on Wednesday morning.

What I Have Learned From My Dog

It was a long and circuitous route this morning but I am confident that Michelle O'Neill will be happy to know that ultimately, she is responsible for the content of this morning's post.

Everything I have learned from my dog(s):

*How to make friends by sniffing butts.

*How to drop from frantic activity into a dead sleep in under 5 seconds.

*How to beg.

*Better ways to harass the cat.

*How to make a gourmet meal out of the trash bag.

*How to whine in a manner that is both cute and pitiful.

Which brings me to the subject of my family. I am sure they thought that by my mid 50's I would grow up to behave like an adult.

Unfortunately for them, the older I become, the more pleasure I derive from making people uncomfortable. Why wait until I'm 70 to wear purple? Life is short. I could be hit by a truck tomorrow.

Monday, August 07, 2006

The Dyke Discoveries

will have to wait. I am so not on time this morning. Typical for a Monday after taking numerous crisis calls from the facility.

It was my standard weekend of fear and loathing in east county, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This week will continue to be more of the same.

We have an auditor coming in on Friday to show just how well (or how badly) the nursing staff is performing. And a bank loan appears to rest on our performance.

I assume I will have to simply continue to fiddle while Rome burns and accept the outcome. But I can assure you, this week at the Funny Farm will not be pretty.

Happy Monday people.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Mommy Blogger Wars?

I considered doing a passionate post about the mommyblogger wars; the kind of post that is linked and quoted all around the blogosphere.

Then I thought, fuck it. I'm more interested in lesbians.

Don't get me wrong. I love mommybloggers. They do all sorts of very cool things and they can write like Virginia Woolf on speed. (That's a compliment).

Most of them seem to be IT folks, or professional journalists, or doctoral candidates. Or they own 3 businesses and bake brownies for the PTA all at the same time. They give me a horrendous case of Low Self Esteem. I could barely raise myself let alone a bunch of kids. And make another adult human happy at the same time? Ha ha ha.

They're all young enough to be my grandchildren and they homeschool while making blackberry jam and kneading whole grain bread dough.

Me? I can barely get in my 10 hours at work and then my only goal is to see if I can drink myself into a coma with my one glass of wine at night. I'm almost old enough to accomplish that much.

It's no wonder the feminists (and I count myself as one of them) want the mommybloggers to stop. They make us look bad. Frankly, I'm jealous. I'm jealous of their youth, their energy, their connectedness, and their creativity.

Rock on Mommy Bloggers. And never forget: the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.

Note to those who will feel obligated to point this out to me: I know that many mommybloggers are feminists and that not all career women are. And that you can be both a career woman and a mommy.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

The Breakfast Club


I'm sitting at my computer drinking a blend of Starbuck's Kali Kampung, and Les Beans Salvadore Dolly with my last few beans of Ethiopian Sophie thrown in for good measure. It's a dark, smooth blend with just the tiniest bit of a tang.

Patti and Desiree of
Les Beans coffee fame have a new blog featuring Lola Bean and recounting their travels to Pride festivals around Florida. I'm thinking they ought to head west next year. In fact, I'm thinking they ought to start their real life coffee house right here in Hillcrest (hereinafter referred to as Gay Town).

I have my new
Cafe 67 coffee mug. This is where I get frustrated with myself for not getting on the computer thing. A picture of the mug would be perfect here. It's a heavy black mug with a very cool pink and white logo. I'm stylin' and my coffee is hot.

The Cafe 67
link, by the way, ought to take you to the review I did over at Mr. Breakfast. Now here is a website to make a breakfast lover's heart go pitter pat. It's filled with recipes, message boards, and great places to eat. The next time I take a road trip, I'm going to map out my route by restaurants.

If someone would put a Cafe 67 next to a Les Beans coffee shop in Gay Town they would make a killing. The Silly Deli just ain't all that.

Friday, August 04, 2006

Wise Women

It just feels appropriate this morning to feature some wise women. We have had some rain here in SoCal. I'm drinking the inimitable Mon Ami Zoe. And it is by gosh, by golly, FRIDAY!

Worth watching:

My new favorite spiritual woman.

On Bill Moyers' Faith & Reason, airing Friday, August 4 at 9 p.m. on PBS, Pema Chödrön, whose teachings and writings on meditation have helped make Buddhism accessible to a broad Western audience, talks about how her own spiritual search led her to becoming a Buddhist nun. "Everybody has the potential, without exception - every living being has the potential to awaken."

Worth reading:

My new favorite poet found at
Matrifocus.

Eve, Afterwards
by Patricia Monaghan

We have a single photo from that night:
fresh from the pool, hair in wet ringlets,cuddled into identical white robes,
heads tilted together, glasses raised
in a toast to friendship as the sun
sets in a blaze of red behind us.

No one could mistake us for the girls
we were when we met, those wild ones
up north who drank beer from pitchers
and would dance with almost anyone
and rarely saw dawn from the daylight side.

In that photo, it's hard to see our eyes,
set in their thickets of tiny lines. But I remember:
how they still flame with joy and wildness and —
in you, my oldest friends — unquenchable desire.
I know our juice is richer now, more
intoxicating; our laughter is fuller-bodied
now but just as sweet; I understand that we
are growing into fullness just like aging vines.

Worth contemplating:

In-Between: Mother becoming Crone
by Nancy Vedder-Shults

Worth considering:

In the
American Prospect.

Send Up the Clowns
By Maud Newton

Issue Date: 02.05.06

It could probably be shown by facts and figures that there is no distinctly native criminal class except Congress,” Mark Twain once observed.

Have a blessed day.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Drop Out

Jaz and I have dropped out of obedience training. She remained at the bottom of the class. This was in part my fault and in part because she cannot or will not concentrate in class while surrounded by dozens of people and dogs strolling by the ring and peering in to say "Oh what a cute baby!"

By class 3, the instructor was no longer interested in her and forgot to come work with her while we were practicing "come" and loose leash walking around the store. I figured it was $99 well spent as I gleaned enough to work with her at home on the basics. A rocket scientist she will never be.

I did learn recently that she knows how to hump an arm, something I broke Maggie of by 5 months old by throwing her a teddy bear and teaching her how to hump the bear. This weekend I really need to shop for a teddy bear. Or some other very large stuffed animal with nice fur.

Today at the Funny Farm, I will be tearing out my hair while trying to fill all of the open shifts for the weekend. We had to let one of my favorite nurses go yesterday. Great nurse. Too much personal baggage. She went off on me and the other nurses 2 days in a row. I couldn't cover for her anymore.

And I'm out of work coffee. This means I will have to make a stop on my way and be more late than usual. I have no excuses. Disorganization is my middle name.

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Don't Ask

It's not quite 0230 and I am dressed and drinking my morning coffee. I'm splitting the night shift with a p.m. nurse who agreed (under some duress I might add) to stay until 3 a.m.

LavenderDE stayed to do the 3 to 11 shift in the "easy" cottage. That is to say there are 21 higher functioning residents who can usually tell you if you have given them the wrong medication. I told her to finish the evening meds a.s.a.p. and turn the keys over to another nurse by 10 at the latest.

We're too damn old for this kind of thing. But I'll still have to hang in today until certain key tasks are accomplished.

So why oh why am I wasting precious time writing on my blog? Who the hell else is going to listen to me whine?

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

The Middle Classization of Lesbian Life

OK. Middle classization is not a real word. But I am stunned, as I sit here this morning drinking my Les Beans Costa Rita coffee, to realize that there is an entire world of lesbians out there who would never find themselves sitting on my tin can ass front porch. They don't even have porches. They have verandahs.

That's not entirely correct because in my younger days I ended up at a few parties where I felt like I had once upon a time missed the boat and swimming to China would not get me on it.

Then I got to thinking. All of this talk about gay marriage and equal rights. There are lesbians out there who want nothing more than to be just like everyone else. Maybe I got into this lesbian thing for all of the wrong reasons. I never wanted to be like everyone else.

I always thought of lesbians as daring and different: She who dared to take the road less traveled.

Nursing is about the only thing I do that could be considered middle of the road. I wanted to grow up to be a cross between Judy Grahn and Mary Travers. I still want that.

I don't mind that people consider me eccentric. In fact, I am entertained by my eccentricities.

This is another hurried post that requires a later addition, complete with links. Because I just cannot wrap my head around this concept. I begin to feel a kinship with some of the feminists made crazy by the return to home and hearth by legions of women.

Huh?

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