Liberal? Why, yes. Yes I am.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

My name

I'm watching and NCIS marathon with my mom, and OMG there's a guest character with MY NAME! I have an unusual French name. I never hear it, except when in reference to myself or my Gramma. This is HUGE in my world.

Just HUGE.

Saturday, December 20, 2008


I've written enough blog posts that I now have "older" posts.

This is a big thing for me.

Don't judge.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Some Satisfaction

I've got sex on the brain.

Sex and the inevitable circumstance that follows.

Little know fact about Me: Pregnancy is damn sexy. My own (hypothetical, of course), those of other women. Not so much of other men. In my funky little mind, sex and all that it entails "in the heat of the moment" (yes, go on, hum the melody. I'll wait.) almost always accompanies ideals of expanding bellies.

And it's always a turn on, or an amplification of my already turned-on state of mind.

The real twist in my noodle right now concerns my current state of unsatisfied fits. I don't know from where it's wandered, nor when perhaps it may wander back...


That's not entirely true. I may have some passing infatuation with my "new" roommate.

He's not bad looking. Hell, in the face he's down right adorable, what with his clear, water-blue eyes, dark brown hair, and just dashing smile. He's well read, has a fan-effing-tastic voice(deep and rich), he's worldly (ish), sweet as can be, and can cook as well as if not (dare I say) better than my mother. He's a breath of fresh air after a month of crass and cigar smoke.


He's three years younger than I am (HUMONGOUS STICKING POINT). He's uptight (There was this thing, about his facebook... blah blah blah). He's got NO self confidence. He might be the clingy type (I get the vibe). He's NOT well versed in his pop, at all. He's huh-AIRY (humongous turnoff), and a total doughboy. He's admitted he's not well-endowed, and he's not well practiced, if you know what I mean. Last, but not least, he's apposed to surrogacy. Total deal breaker, that one (as if the other points were merely fence posts).

But he is cute, and he is there, and I haven't had a semi decent adult relationship in a year (some may argue ever), and I'm edging in on forty-two months celibate.

So, to recap, I've got sex on the brain...

Ooo, and an appointment at nine in the morning to have my eyes done...
Good lawd, what was I thinking?!

Go to bed, go to bed, go to bed.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Common sense

If your child is playing happily but not necessarily quietly, yelling at him from the other side of the library is not going to help.

Just an observation.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

The 8,000 pound pink elephant

You know, the one with the white polka dots and tye-dyed, four foot wing span?
The one sitting in the middle of the room?

Yeah, me neither.

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Paternal Religious Reason

Pop dragged me to his singles group tonight. Okay, okay, okay, "dragged" is a little harsh. He asked, and I agreed. I knew it would make him happy, and every now and then I try to do things to make him happy.

Little back story for the confuddled:

Poppa, my biological father, is a born-again Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian. He eats, sleeps, and breathes Christ the Savior. So does his wife. Every detail about everyday is Jesus this and Christ that. This is a turn off.

Poppa is a born-again Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian.

I am so not. I'm a recently confirmed Catholic, but this is not about my religion, this is about Poppa and Singles Group.

Enough backstory, back to the story:

He's persistent. I don't care how many times I tell him no, he insists that I accompany him on these excursion. "Go to this with me." "Go to that with me." I usually go because it's the only way I can spend time with him. He will not pass on fellowship to spend quality time with his first born (or any subsequent born). I'm also a spectator, and I enjoy watching other people. Call it amatuer anthropology, if you will. Even if I don't agree with these people, I'll gladly meet them half way to understanding (I'd appreciate the same consideration every once in a while, but alas, another tale-and battle-for another time). Anyway, I went to singles, and listen to more FECs discuss Jesus Christ and how He inhabits every moment of every day.

It was as utterly uncomfortable as every other time I "participate" in his religious goings-on. Though this time, nobody told me I was going to Hell, so I guess that's a plus.

I resigned myself to outsider status years ago. This evening was no different.

I don't even remember the point of this post. Just blowing off steam.

Friday, November 14, 2008

Paternal Telepathy

Sometimes I know when my Poppa is talking about me, because snippets of modern Christian music roll around in my ears like day old pool water. Just one or two lines from late night Time Life collection commercials.

This will, of course, require some explanation. However, I have to work early tomorrow and it's already wuh-ay past my bedtime.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

My real pursuits.

Who am I kidding? I'm not the uber-eloquent politico wordsmith I fancy myself. So I'm giving up on the endeavor all together (hey, that rhymes!). Instead, I'll spend my blogging bandwidth just yakking away about the ickle thoughts that scamper across my under stimulated mind.

Ahhhh, freedom.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Some discretionary spending

The Pentagon is waiting for dear Donny Rumsfeld's commissioned portrait to be delivered.

At a...wait let me check...$46,790 price tag.

Double You. Tee. Eff.

Somebody paid $46,790 to paint THIS nozzle?

Let me say it again. Double You. Tee. Eff.

Wednesday, April 9, 2008

A slightly pregnant man.

It's late. I can't sleep. I feel like shit. I'm off my meds.
And THIS is what's got me riled.

First, let me make one point clear: I fully sympathize with the plight of the transgender community. If I woke up tomorrow (banking, of course, that I will fall asleep tonight) to find my boobs gone and this extra appendage between my legs, I doubt my subsequent freak-out would not soon be matched. I can't say I would miss Aunt Flo, but let's face it: I'm a chick. A chick who can act like a dude, but a chick none the less. I like being a chick (most of the time), and I'd like to stay a chick for the rest of this life time.

With that said, Thomas Beatie's pregnancy DOES NOT COUNT.

Yes, Mr. Beatie, you were born in the wrong body. BUT, you were born with the equipment necessary to the task at hand. This is not the medical marvel people think it is. This is not even a noteworthy scientific accomplishment.

And that, my friends, is because Mr. Beatie here WAS BORN WITH CHICK PARTS.

From the belly button up, you're now a dude, dude. But from the belly button down, you're still a chick. And therefore, you really haven't earned the right to call yourself "a pregnant man."

Now, if they'd finished removing all the unnecessary pieces and added those few necessary ones, and THEN knocked him up...well, that would be damned impressive. Better yet, had this fellow started his days on Earth as a fellow, he would be my hero, not to mention the hero of women everywhere (and possibly the bane of many, many men).

However, they (and when I say they I mean the doctors) only did half a job on Mr. Beatie, so he's really only half a guy, biologically speaking, making this pregnancy a cheat.

Yes Mr. Beatie, you cheated. There, I said it.

You don't make me sick because you're a dude who used to be a chick. You don't really make me sick at all, and, you know, best of luck with the proud poppa gig that will soon consume your every waking moment - sleeping ones too.

You just don't really count as any sort of medical pioneer anything. Sorry.


(yes, I completely plagarized the title from a 1972 French film. Yes, I recommend it. This one has a real life pregnant man. I mean as real life as the movies can be.)