Monday, November 30, 2009

Put the Turkey Away Until Next Year

I love November. It begins with me turning another year older during the Festival O'Pine, then ends with a certain snarky blogger deep in a food coma. Damn near perfection. So as the month of Turkey comes to a close, I pause to give thanks. I am truly the luckiest damn guy on the planet. I have a hubby who loves me like there's no tomorrow. And adorable child who alternately gazes lovingly at me or rolls his eyes so acrobatically I expect Cirque de Soleil to pop out of one.

I have a freakin' fantastic family. All full of crazy ass-ness and drama. But bursting at the seams with love and support. There has never been a moment in my family where I doubted I was loved and supported and encouraged.

And there are my friends. Wow, oh wow. I would put mine up against any on the planet. They define friendship. I have received so very much from my people. They encourage me, support me, pull my hair back when I'm throwing up cheap box wine, and tell me when I'm out of line. It is a true honor and privilege. And even though they are scattered hither and yon, we all make the effort. We keep in touch. We know what's what.

So, for me, every day is Thanksgiving. I can only hope that I'm able to return a fraction of the love and support that is given to me.

And to the three people who read this blog who don't fall into one of the above categories, special thanks to you. I hoist this one last turkey leg in your honor.

Have a Nice Day

Each day, my beloved takes our two dogs for a lovely long walk in the park across the street from our casa. If I’m not breathing last night’s tequila, I occasionally tag along. A good stretch of it is off-leash, so the dogs can frolic and run and burn off a bunch of energy. Energy that would otherwise manifest itself in the destruction of various household items and furniture.

It’s a nice park, full of nice people walking the dog. Everyone greets everyone else, says “hello” and “oh, isn’t your dog adorable.” “No, YOURS is!” “No, yours!”

You get the picture.

But every once in awhile, you pass someone and say good morning and they don’t reciprocate. Now, sure, maybe they just had a death in the family or their bunions are acting up, or their migas just aren’t sitting right. But would it fuckin’ kill you to smile and nod? I mean, seriously. The other day, this older woman looked as if it was taking every ounce of energy she had just to sort of scrunch her mouth when we said “good morning.” It was like she was completely incapable of expressing pleasure. Or politeness.

It’s not going to make your day any worse to acknowledge a pleasantry with one of your own. In fact it might make it better.

So I ran after her and kicked her really hard in the ass.

“I SAID ‘good morning.’” Maybe next time, she’ll be a little more sociable.

Monday, November 16, 2009


Inside every gay man is a teen girl trying to get out.

Friday I was doing my thang at the gym (read: whining about how heavy the princess smartbells are) when I overheard a snippet of conversation that had me giggling all weekend. One of the cute, tough female trainers had brought her daughter to work. And this kid is 6 going on 16, let me tell you. Cool little chick.

One of the cute, young gay boy trainers was keeping her company, and apparently they were having quite the in-depth conversation. The little girl said something I couldn’t hear, but the gay boy immediately responded with, “Ohmygod, I know!’ followed immediately by an eyeroll.

I laughed so hard that I considered it a complete ab workout. Thank God I had my flask in the gym bag for the cool down.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Prejean Hearts Palin

Well, it is called ATTACK OF THE STUPID PEOPLE after all.

When asked who her personal hero is, Prejean told Larry King it was Sarah Palin.

King asked if she would vote for Palin for President. Prejean said she thought Palin would "make a great President," but that "She's smart enough now to get out of that. She's doing great things."

Uh . . . ooookay . . . she's on a book tour and wishing for a talk show. I guess that does trump being President of the United States.

Dumb da dumb dumb.

Why Do Blonde Jokes Write Themselves, Part XXX

I SWEAR this will not turn into the Carrie Prejean blog, but I just finished watching a clip of her on Larry King last night and it was too rich to resist. The clip I saw had Larry asking why she had chosen to settle her lawsuit. Her response was that all discussions held in mediation were covered by a confidentiality agreement and she couldn’t discuss.

Larry probed—gently—and she accused him of being “inappropriate.”

That’s right. She can pose topless and make a sex tape, all while representing California as a beacon of beauty and purity. All while espousing her conservative Christian values. And trying to keep my ass off the gift registry. Talk about inappropriate!

Oh, I wanted Larry to go off on her. But she decided to pull a diva move and, after calling Larry inappropriate several more times, took off her mike. And sat there.

WTF? Hey Rocket Scientist, if you’re gonna pull the stunt, you’re supposed to leave the set, not just sit there being petulant. God, you don’t even know how to exit stage left? They even do that in pageants.

And come on, honey! Give us a break with the whole “confidentiality” thing. The whole world knows that while you were trying to bust the Miss California USA pageant’s balls, they whipped out a little clip of you apparently trying to teach your vagina sign language.

And given your steel-trap of a mind, I’m surprised you didn’t think to use that as a defense.

“Larry, not many people know, but I have a deaf vagina. It’s a very misunderstood condition. This video was actually part of a PSA shoot. I hope that by making the PSA public, I can shed some light on this very serious problem and help scores of women who are my fellow sufferers. Teaching my vagina sign-language is just one hands-on approach to ending the shame, and hopefully bringing more deaf vaginas into the light. Trust me Larry, tonight MILLIONS of women all across the world are trying to teach THEIR vaginas sign language. And I would like to think that I had a hand in that.”

Oh, Christian Barbie! Thank you for being the poster child for uninformed right wing bimbos all across our great land. I know a certain Miss Teen North Carolina who is thrilled that she’s off the hook.

Monday, November 9, 2009

So Right. So Wrong.

So, the offspring has a couple of friends—two brothers—who live across the street from his mom, where he spends most of his time. The kids are nice enough, I guess, although I suspect they are headed for major hooliganism based on my exposure to them. But the parents recently shared some info that has just made my skin crawl and my stomach turn every time I see them. Actually even if I just hear their name mentioned.

See, they let our boy’s mom know that they wouldn’t let their boys have sleepovers at our house for moral reasons. You know, because sleeping in the same house with a boring old gay couple is bound to scar the boys for life.

I’m guessing they think that once the lights go out, a ball-gag automatically drops from the bedroom ceilings like some over-the-top scene from Bruno.

They went on to say that, since the mom’s boyfriend was sleeping over and about to move in, their two sons wouldn’t be allowed sleepovers at HER house anymore either.

But I’m sick of these fucking retards calling themselves Christians, and claiming to live by their “Christian” ideals. They don’t mind the kids playing at our house. And they don’t mind drinking our beer and wine when they come to pick their borderline hooligan sons up from a playdate. But they don’t want to have to explain to their kids that people who aren’t married, and people of the same sex, actually HAVE sex. Or in these cases, sleep in the same bed. Because that’s ALL these kids would be aware of. That two adults went into a room together and came back out the next morning.

I’m dying to call the mother of the friends and tell her that OUR boy won’t be allowed to sleepover at their house because we don’t approve of their judgmental assiness. Or that we’re afraid their brand of Kumbaya just isn’t quite good enough.

Of course, I won’t because the only person that would suffer would be the only one I care about. And I care more about the child than I do the sand-breathers (think ostrich) his friends call Mom and Dad. Grr.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Warm AND Fashionable

For the last several days I’ve had this annoying cough. Last night I OD’d on Nyquil and today I feel like my head’s still swimming in the stuff. And since it’s kind of a nasty, rainy day, I’ve been pretty much parked on the couch with the TV on.

Sunday morning TV is pretty much the province of pitchmen. Most are selling Jesus, but some are selling even less useful crap. I barely even looked up when the Snuggie commercial came on, until I heard the whoreish looking model say, “I love my Snuggie, but when are you going to make a more stylish version for people like me?”

Before I could say, “You mean ‘whores?’” the voiceover informed me that “the wait is over.” And there before me magically appeared the two new patterns of Snuggie: leopard and zebra. So yes, I guess they did mean whores.

I laughed so hard I started coughing again. Are you fucking kidding me? What was THAT product development conversation like at Snuggie HQ?

“Well, we’ve been successful beyond all expectation with our line of cheap fleece blankets with arm holes. But so far we’ve limited ourselves to a fairly bland color palate.”

“But isn’t there ANY way to make this fucking thing uglier than it already is?”

“You know, there was this exotic lady in the trailer park where I grew up who always wore leopard or zebra print jumpsuits to get the mail. She chain smoked kool lights and she’d flick her ashes in an empty PBR can.”

Yeah. That.

Great idea, Snuggie brain trust. Now, may I recommend a product extension? We’ll call it the Wedgie . . .

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Showing Us How “Opposites” Do It

I don’t hate Carrie Prejean. I think she’s a vapid, narrow-minded Barbie doll, but I don’t hate her. I think she’s absolutely entitled to her opinion. But there is this recurring theme amongst these “moral” folk who think gay rights is the first sign of the apocalypse. They can’t seem to keep their morals in their pants.

Apparently, Ms. Prejean has dropped her lawsuit against the California pageant people after they showed her a copy of her own sex tape. That’s right, Miss Biblethumper apparently dropped her prejeans and took it like a missionary. On tape. Because that’s what good role models do, right? Talk about the Rapture.

Hypocrisy. Idiocy. Lies. Hatred. God Bless.

I don’t think that means what you think it means.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

The Dark Lord in Person

So I had a little Squeaky Fromme moment yesterday in the Austin airport. My amazingly wonderful Beloved was whisking me away for a surprise birthday celebration and we decided to grab a quick bite. There, in line for Salt Lick barbecue, was the devil himself, Karl Rove. So much for appetite.

As I watched the beady eyed fucker wait his turn, I ran through a series of scenarios in my head. I could just run up and kill him. Sure I'd wind up in prison, but the world would be a better place, no? Then I realized that's a bit like closing the barn door after the cows have gotten out. I mean, honestly, hasn't he pretty much connived himself into irrelevance?

So maybe an "accident" where I turn suddenly with a milkshake in my hand, dumping the entire contents of my glass on his traveling clothes. He'd either have to change clothes and shove his sticky ones in his bag, or travel sticky. Either way, an appealing option for my devious and vindictive mind.

Eventually, I settled on the perfect plan. I'd sidle up to him casually, then give him a big wet one right on the lips. Give him something gay to think about.

But wouldn't I really be the one who was punished in that scenario? Blechh! It would be like kissing the crypt keeper.

In the end, I simply ate my tacos and glared at the man responsible for the near downfall of our country and wished him a bad case of heartburn. God knows he gave us all one.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Should O'Pine Acquaintance Be Forgot

Happy New Year!!

Tomorrow is my birthday. For years now I have used my birthday as my new year—a time for thoughtful introspection. And turning 39 always brings about great reflection for me.

One thing I like to do is my resolutions. Things I’d like to change, do more of, experience, quit . . . just like January but without all the peer pressure. Near the top of my list is this lil ol’ bloggy thingy. Bit of a red-headed stepchild these days. So I’m determined to begin again. To share my warped perspective with the tens of people in my loyal cadre.

So, for me, today is New Year’s Eve!! Will there be champagne tonight? Probably. Will there be regrets tomorrow. Most definitely not. But there will be blogging.