So let's see.
Adam Lambert lost American Idol in lieu of milquetoast. However, another battle was lost---the right to gay marriage, no thanks to the Republican haters, many of them Black, who have this distorted view of what religion and morals are.
Carol Leifer and Pastor Miles MacPherson appeared on Larry King live on May 27 to amicably discuss the issue that a nation divided. Leifer, whom I did not know is a lesbian, has some interesting views about her situation, but the lovely thing about this is how the Pastor explains in his very conservative rhetoric the reasons marriage should be granted and permissible to a man and a woman.
See, and enjoy:
Here's the thing:
Let's see.
I'm going to go segment by segment and analyze this baby.
Leave it to a Black Reverend (oooh, what a Goth term!) to be all loving Prop Hate. After all, Black America has a long standing aversion to all things gay, queer, faggot, dyke, you name your term---they're all good. [It's the sole reason I'm still a tad 'arching my eyebrow' at our good ole' Prez. That slight sliver of the fucking phrase 'man and a woman.']
Okay. Stopping at the minute mark.
HOW ON EARTH IS THE NFL COMPARABLE TO GAY MARRIAGE? [Yes, I'm yelling. Too bad. You'd be yelling too. This is worse than Daisy of Love tonight on Chelsea Lately confusing "friends with benefits' with an actual health benefit plan given to her by a friend.]
No, Pastor, the definition of marriage doesn't exclude men and women who want to marry within their gender. No, the kids will NOT be harmed---it's H.A.T.R.E.D and I.N.T.O.L.E.R.A.N.C.E. that makes this a perpetual circle. You don't have to throw stones to make it hate.
not caring for its own and the Man leaving the house. Didn't happen in mine, but my father knew better, and even if it did happen, it's all in how you educate your child. Morals are morals. We are NOT amoral. I know I'm not---I work rather hard in Law Enforcement to 'Keep Them Crim'nals OFF the Skreets" and am as LOUD about my sexual proclivities down to my taste in leather because I don't give a DAMN, and even then---I got promoted. So what gives? You're going to tell me I can't raise a kid or marry a man whom I love?
How contentious: "I think they're PROBABLY doing a great job with their child." Followed by Carol's titter.
Here's a great example of a STRAIGHT couple getting into the rocky territory of hate and eventual divorce: Jon (the wimp) and Kate (the man-eating hydra) Gosselin. Eight children. On the telly, every week, cameras in their fucking faces even in intimate moments. That woman cannot stand her husband and berates him every chance she gets and he's just as bad for not standing for himself. Me? Sorry, ladies, I'm not misogynistic--far from it--but I would have gone Hispanic macho circa 1960, and one hand would have landed in the mouth. And if I were a woman in a lesbian partnership she'd be in the hospital. A man cannot take that much abuse, world without end Amen, and not snap.
And this is a STRAIGHT couple. Married. Benefits. Money from charities, the telly, her books (the first one ghostwritten, incidentally).
Why can't I have that? Not the hate, the perks of married life?
Yes, Guv'na, your views are lovable, but weren't you on your knees in front of Joe Weider in the 60s and 70s bobbing for steroids and loving that male culture that made you and runs rampant in the bodybuilding scene, gay or non-gay? It's an open secret. Yawning ova here.
Hey PASTOR. Jeffrey Dahmer grew up white, privileged, and with a 'normal' household. Look at how he turned out.
Can we explain this to me? I think I might have slipped my clutches.
Wait. Wait, wait, wait.
"The way God designed it?"
I did NOT know God was a designer. is this why gay men and women are trendier?
Pulease, PASTOR. Stop misconstruing these beliefs that mean nothing. I was forced the horrorshow that is the Bible as a kid by my very religious parents and from age 12 I didn't believe a single word of it. I knew and have known that there's a higher reality and no religion has it.
I do KNOW--note I don't say BELIEVE as it, to me, holds all this unto a higher strength and I for one ascribe to the knowledge that I am will personified--that time is rapidly changing. Look at how far we've come since the darker 80s when AIDs and the sense that we were these sad willowing freaks wilting under the Sun and the quilt and Randy Shilts. We're in the spotlight, we're a-a-a-all over the place. While I don't ascribe to riots and all that, I know that more people are coming into play that truly have tolerance for ALL kinds of people and will renege on Prop 8 in 2010.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Frogs!
A touching story with a lovely ending:
Tom is a guy that I met about a month back, although technically he'd come and "cruised" my profile every so often. He's not quite my type---he's short, albeit powerfully built, but olive-skinned where I go for the fair and blond---and I send exchanges via the website I go to (bigmusclebear.com).
Anyway, things lead to us swapping cell phone numbers. I'm vaguely interested, but figure, "Eh, there's not much traffic coming my way so this'll do." We text to meet on April 9 at my gym but it didn't work---I had to do an overnight shift and it wasn't going to happen. The following week we met, but apparently, he got there early. Somehow I kept feeling a bad sensation in the back of my neck, but i dismissed it as best as I could because I was already committed. He, however, seemed annoyed that I wasn't there to wait on him because I could tell it in his voice and I knew this would not go well. However, we somehow, strangely enough, wound up getting a little more eased in (this sounds so "Ease it in... easy now... it won't hurt.) and by the time I was headed to the mall to get me some jeans we were pretty thick and sucking face and other body-parts in the fitting room. I was as happy as a pig in mud that I had honored my sex.
Tom and I decided tentatively to meet the following week but I was clearly preoccupied with my friend Bob's surgery at Sloan-Kettering. I didn't hear from him until the day of the surgery, and we had an exchange I can only recall as being creepy: all the time I am telling him I'm at Sloan (he thought it was a guy's name; I had to remind him this is the name of the nation's premier cancer center) and that I'm in the middle of a pesky situation at the hospital. I don't go into details because well, I just met him and I don't go into details, period. Fuck off, newbie! I'm in trouble here! My pal Bob is under the cuchillo!
He begins sending these "would like to have your legs wrapped around me, mmm" texts that in a different time would have sent me flying out the door with a tent between my cargoes. Now, however, it made me cringe and I reply with, "this is not the time or place for me to be texting with you." He gets antsy and insecure---his texts become the garden-variety "please be honest. Do you have an interest in meeting me or not?"
When does telling a person you can't meet them because a loved one is in surgery equal to a brush off? I know some people might have used that as a getaway, but come on now. I'm not that evil. Anymore.
Anyway. That boils over but I have no interest in confabulating with a man who is that insecure, yet oddly, I remain in an "I'm easy" mode. Chalk it up to giving someone another chance at the batting-box (I think I got this term right. I don't speak sports). The little turn in this screw that never-was, is that guys who from the get-go are that needy are and will be a problem. Coming out of two abusive relationships, I have no interest in going that route again.
Ever.
One dud, blame my youth. Two duds? Well, maybe my fault but I still didn't know better; I was 23. But after an entire rinse cycle? Pushing 40?
Fuck no! Even my puppies were in hiding. I looked like I had female organs.
End this uncomfortable moment. Later in the month I text him in regards of possibly meeting up for a workout even though I'm in the middle of getting my bathroom done but could squeeze in a quick workout at the gym downtown. He states he has clients (he's a "masseuse"... and my eyebrow is arched in suspicion) and can't but would let me know. He didn't, but again texted me Sunday morning when I had had my morning planned as to coming over. He had not been in my plans---if you don't call me, I take it as something came up and have no reasons to keep up anything, especially when the appouintment wasn't on solid ground to begin with. When I replied that I was working on the bath (cleaning) he began text-demanding to know why I didn't reply to his text. I replied, "Wow. Because I wasn't near my phone?"
I by then had had enough. If this is starting---and mind you he has a RING on his finger so you tell me what's up with that scenario---can you imagine if we get deeper into something potentially serious?
I knew I wasn't attracted to him from the get-go for a reason. He's a jackass.
And fifty-three.
Which makes it a double disappointment, since by then a man should be content to be with his own self instead of trembling at the mere thought of rejection.
Why do I bother?
[Sigh.]
Tom is a guy that I met about a month back, although technically he'd come and "cruised" my profile every so often. He's not quite my type---he's short, albeit powerfully built, but olive-skinned where I go for the fair and blond---and I send exchanges via the website I go to (bigmusclebear.com).
Anyway, things lead to us swapping cell phone numbers. I'm vaguely interested, but figure, "Eh, there's not much traffic coming my way so this'll do." We text to meet on April 9 at my gym but it didn't work---I had to do an overnight shift and it wasn't going to happen. The following week we met, but apparently, he got there early. Somehow I kept feeling a bad sensation in the back of my neck, but i dismissed it as best as I could because I was already committed. He, however, seemed annoyed that I wasn't there to wait on him because I could tell it in his voice and I knew this would not go well. However, we somehow, strangely enough, wound up getting a little more eased in (this sounds so "Ease it in... easy now... it won't hurt.) and by the time I was headed to the mall to get me some jeans we were pretty thick and sucking face and other body-parts in the fitting room. I was as happy as a pig in mud that I had honored my sex.
Tom and I decided tentatively to meet the following week but I was clearly preoccupied with my friend Bob's surgery at Sloan-Kettering. I didn't hear from him until the day of the surgery, and we had an exchange I can only recall as being creepy: all the time I am telling him I'm at Sloan (he thought it was a guy's name; I had to remind him this is the name of the nation's premier cancer center) and that I'm in the middle of a pesky situation at the hospital. I don't go into details because well, I just met him and I don't go into details, period. Fuck off, newbie! I'm in trouble here! My pal Bob is under the cuchillo!
He begins sending these "would like to have your legs wrapped around me, mmm" texts that in a different time would have sent me flying out the door with a tent between my cargoes. Now, however, it made me cringe and I reply with, "this is not the time or place for me to be texting with you." He gets antsy and insecure---his texts become the garden-variety "please be honest. Do you have an interest in meeting me or not?"
When does telling a person you can't meet them because a loved one is in surgery equal to a brush off? I know some people might have used that as a getaway, but come on now. I'm not that evil. Anymore.
Anyway. That boils over but I have no interest in confabulating with a man who is that insecure, yet oddly, I remain in an "I'm easy" mode. Chalk it up to giving someone another chance at the batting-box (I think I got this term right. I don't speak sports). The little turn in this screw that never-was, is that guys who from the get-go are that needy are and will be a problem. Coming out of two abusive relationships, I have no interest in going that route again.
Ever.
One dud, blame my youth. Two duds? Well, maybe my fault but I still didn't know better; I was 23. But after an entire rinse cycle? Pushing 40?
Fuck no! Even my puppies were in hiding. I looked like I had female organs.
End this uncomfortable moment. Later in the month I text him in regards of possibly meeting up for a workout even though I'm in the middle of getting my bathroom done but could squeeze in a quick workout at the gym downtown. He states he has clients (he's a "masseuse"... and my eyebrow is arched in suspicion) and can't but would let me know. He didn't, but again texted me Sunday morning when I had had my morning planned as to coming over. He had not been in my plans---if you don't call me, I take it as something came up and have no reasons to keep up anything, especially when the appouintment wasn't on solid ground to begin with. When I replied that I was working on the bath (cleaning) he began text-demanding to know why I didn't reply to his text. I replied, "Wow. Because I wasn't near my phone?"
I by then had had enough. If this is starting---and mind you he has a RING on his finger so you tell me what's up with that scenario---can you imagine if we get deeper into something potentially serious?
I knew I wasn't attracted to him from the get-go for a reason. He's a jackass.
And fifty-three.
Which makes it a double disappointment, since by then a man should be content to be with his own self instead of trembling at the mere thought of rejection.
Why do I bother?
[Sigh.]
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Are Men Pigs?
On Swine Flu: does this mean I should be terrified of MEN? Because we know MEN are, essentially, PIGS.
I knew it. Just another ploy from the Gov'min to turn me straight. I can not be this sharp of a tack in life and have out-guessed the conspiracy right from the bat, as it unfolds. Then again, neither can this pencil I jammed into the palm of my hand be this sharp. Who knew that electric pencil sharpeners were still that effective?
Ouch.
I knew it. Just another ploy from the Gov'min to turn me straight. I can not be this sharp of a tack in life and have out-guessed the conspiracy right from the bat, as it unfolds. Then again, neither can this pencil I jammed into the palm of my hand be this sharp. Who knew that electric pencil sharpeners were still that effective?
Ouch.
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