pigeon hole

It is ridiculous that anyone in their right mind would insinuate that it is anti-feminist to not back Hillary Clinton. To say that I should support a candidate because she is a woman is as sophomoric an idea as supporting Obama because he is black.

Would you vote for Ann Coulter if she were running?

Thank you to MB for forwarding me this link.

crushing on the cynic

Ballad
by Sonia Sanchez

forgive me if i laugh
you are so sure of love
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.

the rain exploding
in the air is love
the grass excreting her
green wax is love
and stones remembering
past steps is love,
but you. you are too young
for love
and i too old.

once. what does it matter
when or who, i knew
of love.
i fixed my body
under his and went
to sleep in love
all trace of me
was wiped away

forgive me if i smile
young heiress of a naked dream
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.

homophobic Loudoun

I have probably written this before - if so, than sorry.

My smallers have a gay aunt. They love their gay aunt. They loved her before she was their gay aunt and was just their aunt. That is in fact all they see her as. They also know that their aunt has this fantastic, completely wonderful, partner. We did not like their aunt's first couple girlfriends, but a couple years ago we knew that that she had found a real keeper, and they now live together in the house they bought and we get to see them for most holidays and random here and there visits.

I believe it was last year when Loudoun County pulled a student written play from the one act line up of plays to be performed in a local high school, because it had an implied gay kiss. Not an actual kiss mind you. They start to lean in, and then the lights go out. It went through a huge brou ha ha in order to get its chance. Now the cause of the homophobic tornado are two cute chinstrap penguins that decide to become parents. The big news is that they are both males. Two guys! They are boooooyyyyysssss. This has become enough of a reason to have the book Tango Makes Three pulled from the shelves. Granted, there are many people fighting this decision, but it will do no good.

I asked Small if he knew any other kids with gay parents or relatives, and he said that his friends and he never talk about it. Then he thought for a moment and said 'But I know a lot of kids who's parents are divorced.'

Right. That is perfect. Hello? Hello!? Can we please wake up a little here! Hello Loudoun County and all you other backwards counties that still cling to this caveman mentality! Wake up! The true story of two little penguins who learn to feel connected to each other enough to raise a chick is not a detriment to young minds. You who make the decision to withhold these books. You, yes, YOU are the detriment.

This is getting so tired and old. Enough already. The argument is old, and the worry is old, and the fear of same sex couples is just tired and silly. It is time to just let it go so we can spend those lengthy school board meetings doing some real work.

I am so frustrated.

please please vote

But while the world has changed around us, too often our government has stood still. Our faith has been shaken, but the people running Washington aren't willing to make us believe again.
It's the timidity - the smallness - of our politics that's holding us back right now. The idea that some problems are just too big to handle, and if you just ignore them, sooner or later, they'll go away.

…this is our time.
Our time to make a mark on history.
Our time to write a new chapter in the American story.

-Barack Obama

not talking about the primary

The smallers like to put on plays for us. They sometimes get really into it and write scripts and compose music. Most of the time it is a free wheeling improv type thing. With out a doubt, they always go on too long. This past weekend they treated us to The Lion, The Frog, and The Elephant.

The cast:
Lion - Small
Frog - Smaller
Elephant - Smallest


We have all of these costumes in our dress up box. Smallest only agreed to do the play if she could wear a pink sparkly crown on top of her elephant head.

I will not try to recreate the play, I will simply give you the best quotes.

Lion: Are we ready? Ok guys stop shaking your butts at the audience. Well this is just awkward.

Frog: I am having a hard time playing this harmonica without opposable thumbs.

Elephant: Can we stop the play, I have to poop, and I can't get out of this elephant suit.


Living room theatre, there is nothing like it.

super vote

granulated or powder don't matter to me

I need a sugar daddy, or a sugar mama, hell anyone that wants to pour some sugar on me. Someone to take me here...














Someone to take me to see its over 260 waterfalls pouring down in a thunderous mist that creates constant rainbows. Iguazu is waiting for me and you, sugar person.

While we are at it could we go to Tikal and Petra? I promise to be charming and keep the witty banter coming.

get that black hole a burger

Last week I wrote a post about waiting for a friend to die. Stage 4 cancer. 14 months of hanging on. She ended up dying two days ago. It was a relief. I went to her memorial yesterday after work and smallers, and before dialect coaching and seeing friends. I did not post what I had written. It was sentimental and the self editor in me took over. So like many posts, it sits in draft form in blogger as a kind of marker for me about what was going on with my life that was not fodder for web consumption.

What is it about sending our electronic words out into the cavernous digital void that leaves us feeling protected? It is so open and scary. I worry all the time about sharing too much. Do you? Cavernous digital void, do you worry about sharing too much? No you don't. You greedy, insatiable bastard. The bigger question is, why do so many feel the need to feed the void?

Anyone?

Anyone?

tin foil stars

I need Karen Carpenter today and its not even noon.

well articulated

Smalls say what we say. They just do. That whole 'don't say what mommy said' thing does not work.

This can be adorable...

Me: (As I am walking out the door) Love you guys, see you in the morning.

Smallest: (At the top of the stairs in her pinky princess nightgown) Bye Mommy, break a leg. (Pause) But not literally.

Or funny...

Me: (Under my breath) I am so tired of this frickin' school paperwork.

Smaller: (To the tune of la cucharacha as he dances around the kitchen) Frickin' frickin', frickin' frickin', frickin' frickin' frickin'.

Or just plain evil...

Me: For the love of all that is holy, will you please, sometime before the next continental shift, do your homework.

Small: (Completely calm as he gives me the verbal finger) Whatever. You are so over dramatic.


Literally frickin' whatever.

no, i don't want a pony

Amazingly Bhutto's assassination is what has given me the wake up slap across the face about our own political future. Maybe it was her whole live free or die attitude. I have not written about the primary, my most recent local election, or our current political happenings as of late, not from lack of material obviously. I have been in the most jaded funk of my life when it comes to politics. Whether it be the complete exhaustion in thinking about what Bush has done to this country, or the political rhetoric from the primary campaigns, or the commercialization of this country's government, I have been unable to find the wake up call until now. One of my friends says it's because I am a true idealist as well as a true cynic. That may be, but there is no political party for idealists. Especially one that would ever get elected. But there are moments of idealism, and leaders that can still inspire me. Listening to Obama speak after his Iowa win reestablished my big time crush on him. No, I do not want to do him, I have a crush on his intellect, his slight evocation of MLK, his relaxed composure. I went back and read Obama's June 2006 speech about faith and politics. His reasoning, his eloquence in that speech inspired me when I first read it and it still does. I need to keep looking for reasons to believe in our leaders. I know this sounds exceptionally starry eyed. Like our next president will come floating in on a wave of rainbows and sunshine. Well screw that. I will gladly take an insightful, thoughtful vision of our future. I am up for hearing about working together to make our world better and I will try to check my cynicism long enough to help out.

she did it anyway

I started to write something about Bhutto yesterday. It painted her with too much perfection, so I stopped. Whenever people die, or even more so when they are murdered, we want to remember them better than they were. She was not perfect. She was at times questionable, polarizing and imperious. Given that, she was also ballsy, courageous, patriotic and unwavering in her belief of what her country could become. In my whole life I will never live a day as bravely as she did. Here's to you, Former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, you crazy, bad ass, defiant, brilliant, blaze of glory.

he's electric

Have I mentioned that Small saved up his money since his last birthday and through the summer to buy an electric guitar? Well if I have not mentioned it, he did. I am a horrible guitar player, mr. hpmelon is a decent one (except for his refusal to play B chords - not sure what that is about), so I was unsure how Small would fair with his new instrument. I taught him his first two chords, mr. hpmelon taught him two more, then I gave him my old chord book, and it was like fucking lightning. He just figured the thing out.

Small is downstairs jamming with his dad and Smaller (harmonica) right now and I watched him for the last 15 minutes with a huge grin on my face. Maybe its how well he plays in such a short time, maybe its how, without even realizing it, he stands with a relaxed, cooler than the rest of the world, its about the music, stance. Maybe it's how he has not let me cut his hair for months so it's shaggy and grunge and ultra hip. Maybe its the Led Zeppelin t-shirt, or the way he holds his guitar and hangs his head down a little when he has a hard chord progression. Maybe its that when he sings his voice becomes a little deeper, but still is totally boy. Whatever it is, I can't stop smiling when I watch him like this. Pride? I think its pride. Pride that aches because he is moving forward so quickly.

I can forgive him anything when I see him like this. How great that smalls have moments in life that make us forgive all the other shit that they pull.

Have a happy holiday folks.

turn it upside down

What are you excited to watch? I find at this time of year, the other 'blah' that I face is my inability to get excited about any theatre that is out there. That is not to say that there is not really great stuff to watch, just that when I feel like hibernating I tend to not make a great audience member. So to try and combat my doldrums I would love to hear, from anyone out there, what your favorite shows running are. Oh hell, give me your top five from the year.

calling the snowflake

Last week when it snowed the smallers were in a complete frenzy the night before. They are full on into the 'get out of school at all costs' mindset. So the mere idea of snow sent them into a whirling dervish of snow preparation activity. I am not talking snow pants and mittens. I am talking worshipping winter gods and creating rituals to those newly formed deities. This is the chant they do while stomping around in a circle and alternating their hands and upper torsos up and down.

"Hooa heya snowa heya, hooa heya snowa heya."

They do this for about five minutes. Then they run and get ice from the freezer and flush it down the toilet. Evidently the quickest way to get their frozen offering to the gods of wintry precipitation is through the shitter.

Then back to the chant.

"Hooa heya, snowa heya, hooa heya snowa heya."

Now comes the one on one worship. They take turns. They kneel toward the window and bow as they pray.

Small: Oh snow gods. We do not want to go to school tomorrow. Please send us at least three inches of snow. That is all I ask. Three inches, oh great snow gods. If three inches is completely impossible, please, oh great snow gods, please send ice so the buses cannot drive. Please, I beg of you great and wonderful snow gods.

Smaller: Oh great and good looking snow gods, please make it snow. Snoooooooooooooow. Snooooooooow. We neeeeeeeeeeeeeeed snoooooooooooow. You are so good looking. Give us snooooooooooow.

Smallest: I want snow.

Smallest is still working on her delivery evidently. Lastly they gather together and put their hands in the center and yell "Go snow!" When all this was finished they high fived each other on a job well done and fell into bed expecting the best. The next morning there was a two hour delay and the three agreed that they had not prayed hard enough and that next time, more ice was needed down the toilet as well.

My little pagans.

maybe four a.m.

Be Near Me
by Faiz Ahmed Faiz Translated by Naomi Lazard

Be near me now,
My tormenter, my love, be near me—
At this hour when night comes down,
When, having drunk from the gash of sunset, darkness comes
With the balm of musk in its hands, its diamond lancets,
When it comes with cries of lamentation,
with laughter with songs;
Its blue-gray anklets of pain clinking with every step.
At this hour when hearts, deep in their hiding places,
Have begun to hope once more, when they start their vigil
For hands still enfolded in sleeves;
When wine being poured makes the sound
of inconsolable children
who, though you try with all your heart,
cannot be soothed.
When whatever you want to do cannot be done,
When nothing is of any use;
—At this hour when night comes down,
When night comes, dragging its long face,
dressed in mourning,
Be with me,
My tormenter, my love, be near me.

even with a minivan

MILF stands for Mom I'd Like to Fuck. So sweet. Endearing really. This term has become standard in our modern day lexicon, has it not? Well as a mom, and as an individual who has had this term used about my person, I want to make sure that everyone knows that this degenerate feminist, likes being called a MILF.

I know I am not supposed to. I know it really supports the assumption that once you are a mom, you could not possibly just be fuckable. You have to be fuckable for a mom. Right? Like we have to overcome the wear and tear to try and keep up with the unprocreating hotties. I recently had a discussion with a mom who had a lengthy tirade about the term MILF. How offensive it was, how degrading. I just could not buy into it. Maybe its because I like that the term makes the exception. I like that it gives me two distinctions. Mother and good looking. Yes, it is vanity people. I know that. Stop rolling your eyes. But it is damn hard to be a mom. It is work I tell you and I like getting credit for being one. I also enjoy being called hot, whether by mr. hpmelon, or by the random guy in the bar who yelled it out way to loudly and embarrassed me... but only for a minute.

down with

You guys know THE MAN right? THE MAN. The one who gets you down. Well THE MAN gets me down too. I also happen to know where THE MAN lives. He lives on a compound in Northern Virginia. About 25 minutes from our nation's capitol. I know this because I have been there. THE MAN sucks in human beings and turns them into drones. THE MAN sucks out your soul and leaves you black and vacant on the inside.

I know all these things because I took a contract position with THE MAN and he pays a pretty good hourly rate for my soul. Now, so far, I have been able to retain said soul by working from home. Yes, I am still telecommuting (hallelujah) and it looks like most of December will be the same. I had a close call yesterday. I went to see THE MAN, and parked in his 2000 car garage. But when I waded through the land of cubes and got to to my designated 'box of boredom' there was coffee percolating there and the desktop was full of creamer and sugar and such. There was no phone, no PC cables - nada. So I said 'later' to THE MAN and came back home. Immediately jumped out of my slacks and into sweats and thanked the bureaucracy of THE MAN for keeping me from THE MAN's house a little longer.

Phew.

the angst, love it

Black Petal
by Li-Young Lee

I never claimed night fathered me.
that was my dead brother talking in his sleep.
I keep him under my pillow, a dear wish
that colors my laughing and crying.

I never said the wind, remembering nothing,
leaves so many rooms unaccounted for,
continual farewell must ransom
the unmistakable fragrance
our human days afford.

It was my brother, little candle in the pulpit,
reading out loud to all of earth
from the book of night.

He died too young to learn his name.
Now he answers to Vacant Boat,
Burning Wing, My Black Petal.

Ask him who his mother is. He'll declare the birds
have eaten the path home, but each of us
joins night's ongoing story
wherever night overtakes him,
the heart astonished to find belonging
and thanks answering thanks.

Ask if he's hungry or thirsty,
he'll say he's the bread come to pass
and draw you a map
to the twelve secret hips of honey.

Does someone want to know the way to spring?
He'll remind you
the flower was never meant to survive
the fruit's triumph.

He says an apple's most secret cargo
is the enduring odor of a human childhood,
our mother's linen pressed and stored, our father's voice
walking through the rooms.

He says he's forgiven our sister
for playing dead and making him cry
those afternoons we were left alone in the house.

And when clocks frighten me with their long hair,
and when I spy the wind's numerous hands
in the orchard unfastening
first the petals from the buds,
then the perfume from the flesh,

my dead brother ministers to me. His voice
weighs nothing
but the far years between
stars in their massive dying,

and I grow quiet hearing
how many of both of our tomorrows
lie waiting inside it to be born.

i heard that

There are certain behaviors one should avoid in the auditioning room. Some, perhaps, are unavoidable. At my most recent audition one of the other women auditioning, farted. An audible fart. The auditor heard it. We all heard it. She was not embarrassed. She said a simple 'excuse me' and went on looking over her sides. I chalked it up to a natural occurrence. It is natural after all. These things do happen. But I thought how much I would hate being the auditor in that moment. Maybe it is because I have a tendency toward a 5 year old's humour. Maybe because fart jokes are a staple in my conversations with my smallers. But maybe it is because it is hard to forget any behavior in the auditioning room, that is not positive. It is hard to let go of a moment that does not reflect well on a person. Not that flatulence reflects poorly, but I dare say it is not stellar. It is easy to let it color the rest of the audition.

I hope she did really well and helped them forget.