Don’t ask me why

Last week my son dumped about a half a gallon of paint in the hall closet.  The best way to clean that up is with a ripped up cereal box used as a scoop, FYI.  My fridge is freezing fruit, so I probably need a new one.  I had to barter with my oldest son for the use of my stereo.  My ex-husband is refusing to pay child support for reasons best known to himself.   Guess what, kids???  My life is still fantabulous.  That’s a word because I said so.   My 9yo is dancing in his sister’s wedges… I know Dozer would have a shit fit if he were here.  Tugs is also trying to teach me fight blocks in the wedge.  Shine on, my beautiful boy.  At Casa Gypsy, the Situation’s Normal, All Fucked Up.

Ever want something so bad you can actually taste it??  Miss Shannon has a business opportunity right now that is just shy of impossible.  I’m reminding myself that nothing is impossible in this wide world…. Let’s cliché for a hot second… Mind over matter, if there’s a will there’s a way, if you can think it, you can do it.   Please send me any extra faith, trust and pixie dust you have on hand.   I could really use it, just about now.  My sister says, “Start ticking.”   Which means, scratch your brain and make it happen.   I’m going to do my damnedest to make this work.  I’m scared of this step, so I’m going to do it afraid, and I will either succeed or fail.   Every hand’s a winner and every hand’s a loser… It’s not just the luck of the draw, it’s about what you’re willing to sacrifice and how well you wear your game face.

When I opened the daycare nine years ago, I was shaking in my boots.  Lots of things in life are just a gamble.   Lately, I’ve really felt like I’m out of aces… but I’m currently trying to open my heart and mind to more spirituality so I’m presently telling myself that The Powers That Be (Whatever you call that; Spirit, Gaia, Jesus or Allah… I rather suspect they are one and the same.)  Anyway… that entity closes doors, opens others and sometimes leaves nothing but a fox hole to crawl out of.  Miss Shannon can army crawl with the best, she has already been through several layers of hell and surely, it’s gotta be up from here.  Ha!  Don’t kid yourself, it can always be worse, just like it can always be better.   The trick is just to roll with the punches… and shoot for better.  Better is…well, better.

Now, as ever, if I want something done, I do it myself.    For whatever reason, the song I’m channeling is Billy Joel’s Don’t Ask Me Why.  Don’t ask for favors, don’t talk to strangers, don’t ask me why.  I kind of know why… I’m about to take a leap of faith in myself, without any real assurance about having a soft place to fall.   Newsflash… there isn’t really a soft place to fall when you’re a single mom entirely dependent on yourself.  If I fuck this up, there will be hell to pay at a level I can’t afford.  That’s why I’m going to do it afraid. I’m not waiting for answers, I’ll take my chances…don’t ask me why.  Don’t ask me why.


#METOO…. There are people shaking their heads because women are doing this.  I’m proud of you.  Those of us who have been victimized in every way are here to tell you… you didn’t do anything wrong.  This is not your fault.  You didn’t ask for it: I don’t care how hot you looked, how much you drank or that you dared be walking down a street at night.  Your body belongs to you and nobody has the right to force you into being touched in a way you do not like.  That was what the doctor said to me, “At what age were you when someone touched you in a way you did not like?”  I couldn’t answer then, but I’d venture to guess it was three or four.  I was a “hot to trot” toddler.  See how stupid that sounds?

In my experience, once you’ve been victimized, you are more likely to experience abusive behaviors again.  Statistics agree with me… and maybe you have gotten it into your head that you are doing something that compels others to harm you.  Like maybe you caused it, you’re asking for it.  Nu-uh.  What’s happening is that you have a certain hurt about you and abusers look for that.  They deliberately seek it out because you become an easier target… I swear, I think they smell it, like the rabid beasts they are.  We compartmentalize this because that, my friends, is how you survive.  Do whatever you must, beloveds… survive.  Thrive.  That night does not define you.


One night, Dozer and I were having too many drinks and singing songs and I said something or other that compelled him to ask me if I have been raped.  My response was… well, yeah.  Not one woman that I know intimately hasn’t been, this is a reality to me.  I knew he was one of the good ones because it hurt and shocked him.  I’m proud of him, personally, because he knows it doesn’t make me less.  Miss Shannon has very little shame but along the way, there have been fellows who tried to make me find some.  Dozer has never done that and I am profoundly grateful.  Sooner or later, you will find someone who can just accept you as you are.  Your rough edges are the thing that make you sparkle.  Shine on, baby.

I feel a compulsion to say that good girls go to heaven and bad girls go everywhere… I want you to be a bad bitch… the kind that takes no prisoners when it comes to standing up for herself.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  I found my power through my fairly shitty experiences… Nothing and no one can take away who and what I am.  Forgive yourself and find your shine.  On your journey, you take all of Miss Shannon’s love.


I made coleslaw tonight, which brings me to Sweet Annie… She was my Grandma.  I probably take after her more than just about anyone else in my family.  She’s who gave me my love of cooking, which is an art, people.  I made my coleslaw in a food processor which I think she’d probably disapprove of.  I was teaching Tuggy to do it… he’s about the age I was when she taught me.  I remember her telling me that there are no short cuts, and you have to be the best at whatever you present.  Sweet Annie is why- to this day – I travel bike runs with play it up powder, argon oil and a brush.  And eyeliner, you just need it, girls!  A healthy desire to present your best self to the world is a good thing.

Until it’s not, of course.  When your image is more important than your self-worth, when you have to pretend… when you would rather walk on glass than continue to do whatever it is you’re doing…. Maybe it’s gone too far.  I really believe that shame is the tie that binds and chokes us.  Back in the day, I never wanted anyone to know that I was experiencing abuse because I was sure they’d think less of me.  You know, because I’d said…Ooh, ooh, pick me!!  Most people experience abusive relationships between the ages of 18 and 24… I’m here to tell you, you are still just young and dumb then.  Sometimes, you’re just trapped.  You can’t see anyway out so you just keep on keeping on.  If God doesn’t open a door, there is a window somewhere with your name on it.  You never, ever have to stay.

This is not exclusively a woman’s problem.  Yes, more women are victimized than men… 1 in 3, vs 1 in 4… but men tend to have extra shame about being abused by their partner, so that may be underreported.   Your common sense is telling you why that is, so I’m not going to insult your intelligence.  Are you aware that there are 3800 animal shelters in the US?  There’s 1500 dv shelters…next to none accept men or teenaged boys.  I’ve got nothing against the animal kingdom (unless it’s in the rodent family) but stop asking why people stay.  Even if your family is willing to help, that might not be a safe place to go…. You know what’s safe for you, in your situation.   Just…. always be looking for an escape route.

If your loved one isn’t safe at home, stop being mad at them.   They need your support, not your condemnation.  Not very long ago, I watched someone very near and dear to me being horribly verbally and financially abused.  I had little doubt that it would eventually escalate to physical violence, it wouldn’t surprise me if I just didn’t know about it.  I wanted to shake her.  I wanted to say what my mother said to me…. “Don’t you know how much I love you??  How can you let this go on??”  Unlike my mom, who meant well… I knew that I couldn’t dig in my heels.  I had to be a soft place to fall, I couldn’t be the one to deny her one iota of her power.  Kid… never in my life have I been so goddamned powerless or so very grateful at an outcome.  Whatever you’re going through, survive by any means necessary.  I want you to live long enough to tell your mother you love her, too.


Happy October… I love the fall.  The colors alone are fabulous… along with the return of sweatshirts, stews and my ability to bake increases with the cooling temperatures.  For me, it’s also a time of raising awareness for domestic violence.  Twenty people every minute are injured by an intimate partner.  Every minute.  Only 34% of them will seek medical attention for their injuries, which might make you think it’s not so bad.  Unfortunately, it’s more common that they are prevented from seeking care by their batterer or are too ashamed of having walked into a door again.  An average of 200,000 emergency calls are made daily in this country… and those are just the ones that make it to the phone.  Not one time did I ever call the police, not even on spinal fracture day.

I’m feeling survivor-ish today, so I want to talk about what comes after.  When you are no longer walking on eggshells, when you are no longer in any imminent danger.  You’re still broken.  At least, I’m still broken, following many years of therapy, groups, etc.  I have PTSD and sometimes the way I see the world is skewed.  Like… Not so very long ago, I found myself deeply, profoundly attracted to a fellow.  The kind of attracted where their soul calls to you.  He was a batterer.  Now, Miss Shannon can usually smell a batterer at forty paces.  I knew that this fellow I found myself just wanting to play with was bad for me, exactly the sort that would cause me grievous bodily harm and still I responded to him.   Feelings are neither right nor wrong, they just are.  This is where your higher order thinking comes in…. every decision you make is a choice.  I choose to not follow the yellow brick road again.  I choose safety and good sense.  I choose me.

Sometimes they call the PTSD that evolves from DV Battered Women’s Syndrome.  The reality is that if somebody hits you in the head while demanding you proclaim the sky purple enough times, eventually you get to seeing a purple sky.  To a good extent, it’s the path of least resistance that keeps you alive.  I will not apologize that I have scars… I earned them.  I will not be ashamed that I still falter now and then… I’ll be proud that I can see the danger and walk the other way.   I fight like a girl… I use whatever means necessary to survive.  Recognizing that I was caught in a cycle that just kept circling the drain was only a little piece of getting out of it… You have to look for the part where you’re cutting your own throat and put down the knife.  A whole lot of domestic violence is psychological.  You develop coping mechanisms that help you survive, but those same things are a hinderance later.

My therapist would have said this is a psychological response to a pattern of systemic abuse.  He would be correct… but, fact is, I have enough education to know not to follow the primrose path.  It will not end well, I know it, and it’s on me if I am stupid enough to do it anyway.  Once again… my momma raises gypsies, tramps and thieves… never fools.  What I am saying is that you, too, have to decide.  Are you going to continue to tolerate whatever Mr. Not So Right throws your way??  Or will you stand… for yourself, for your brothers and sisters who no longer have a voice, for the right to live violence free?  For your kids, who sure the hell didn’t choose to live in a war zone?  I can’t answer any of this for you.  I will say this… survive another day.   Give me a call… I got you… your ride, your court petitions… whatever you need, baby.  If anyone, ever, had had those things for me, I would have got out a whole lot sooner.  I actually have a rescue scheduled for next week.  Please pray I survive it and the victim and her kids do, too.

Dance 10, Looks 3

So I needed a new door.  Remember:  you can either have a million children or a million dollars, you cannot have both.  So, Brother Neil installed a solid slab door that was fairly inexpensive but was also unfinished.  Initially, I thought I’d paint it white, despite the aforementioned million children.  It rapidly became apparent that this was an error in judgement, so I got out the handy dandy internet and googled door colors for a brick house.  I settled on burgundy because I thought it would look nice.  Yes, my friends, the whore of Babylon just painted her front door red.   It looks like hell, despite waiting between coats and everything.  It is my current belief that the extreme 90 degree temperatures at the end of September might be the culprit, (No global warming here, folks) so I’m waiting until the weekend.  Here’s my Whore Door:

While I was outside taking that picture, I heard a group of girls teasing one another… I don’t know entirely what it was about, but the words “tits and ass” were clearly heard and dammit, now that song from A Chorus Line is in my head.  Grab a cab, c’mon, see the wizard on Park and Seventy-third…I want plastic surgery.  Honestly, if I had more cash I’d probably get a whole lot of work done… starting with my eyes and working my way down.  A whole lot of the time it’s not how you feel, it’s how you look… At least if you’re a single, approaching middle aged woman. APPROACHING.  I’m not there yet.  Guys don’t have this problem, because no matter how they look, they feel good.  Note to self:  Must work out this utter personal satisfaction.  Also, find a way to eradicate the song trolls in your brain.  And lose twenty pounds.  Bitch.

Just to top off my day, I needed to go to open house for my nine-year-old.  Remember, I have Tits and Ass, bought myself a fancy pair going through my head while I’m plastering a fake smile on my face because I know hardly anyone in the room and this is the 947th time I’ve been to an open house.  Not much changes and I continue to know where the exits are.  I got through the whole thing, incident free and then…. I just had to say hello to the teacher.  A parent I know, who seems like a nice enough guy, is trying to take a picture of something and the teacher pulls me over and announces, “Oh, he’s taking a picture!!”  A hush falls over the room.  That poor bastard starts just panicking… No, no, that’d be creepy… I’m not taking her picture…and that was awkward.  It’s the sort of thing I never really know how to maneuver.  Better, yet… I need to call this guy in the near future about a project I’m working on.  Awesome.

Little Pink Houses for you and me

So… not a lot has been happening on these hallowed pages because I’ve been really inside my own head.  My mantra lately is that I am Switzerland. I don’t have a whole lot to give right now.   I’ve been dealing with the tangled threads of bad decisions.  Often these are things that result from life choices made before I knew what that even meant.  I tend to get into verbal altercations when I state my opinions, both political and personal.   I usually blame that on the fact that I hang out with Dozer a lot, he’s especially conservative. People never used to get mad when I wanted to feed the little poor kids and I continue to fail to understand why that’s a bad thing.   I tend to have a more flexible view of the universe, but I must have touched a nerve or twenty, because recently, someone (Not Dozer) told me I just shouldn’t talk about these things… sorry, sunshine, this is my space and I will continue to use it as I see fit.  Come pay my rent and then we can talk about your level of input in to my life.

I think it’s funny that the very people who are defending the KKK’s right to free speech would like folks like me to please shut our mouths.  Miss Shannon finds all hate groups abhorrent.  I don’t care if you are blanketly hating other races, religions or sexual identity. I hate what they say, but I also defend their right to say it.   It irks the living shit out of me to see football players take a knee during the national anthem… and that, my friends is free speech. That’s part of the foundation of America, land that I love.  I don’t have to like it.  Matter of fact, a whole lot of the time, it shocks the hell out of me to hear the vile things people really, sincerely believe.  Not only do they believe it… they think Jesus Christ rode down on a chariot (or maybe an uber, Miss Shannon is not on that invite list, thus cannot be certain) to give out the Good News.  Here’s what I know:  The God in the King James version I read did not hate people based on their skin.  That guy supported feeding the poor, widows, etc.

Lately I feel like there is a disturbing level of hatred for the poor…  people who are middle class or upper class actually think they put themselves where they are, pulling themselves up by their boot straps and making something of themselves.  There were people who taught you things, made sure you went to bed with a full belly , who gave a damn and helped you find opportunities….not everybody has that.  Those same people say that if kids would apply themselves, they’d be successful.  That is not always true.  I can personally attest that when the spelling test comes before free lunch, you just don’t do as well.  Let’s talk about Maslow for a hot second… physical needs must be met before you can ever attain higher fulfillment.  I say… maybe try leveling the playing field.  Let’s give all the children a pencil… and, by all that is good and holy in this world, please stop assuming their origin is their destination.

Miss Shannon is moderately successful.  When I say moderately, I mean that I’m never going to get rich raising kids… but I get such an emotional return.  Most of the time, I can pay my bills.  I place the credit for that on the fact that I had a friend, far more fortunate than I, who thought I had potential.  Everybody has potential, but not everybody knows that.    I was lucky… someone with world knowledge took an interest in me and told me so, repeatedly and taught me things I would never have learned otherwise.  To escape poverty, you must first know that’s a thing that can happen.   I take things like racism and classism personally… my family has some gorgeous babies that came in a darker shade.    I love those kids.  Prejudice is based on ignorance and fear.   The belief that you are more valuable than someone else based on your zip code or skin tone is foolish hubris.





I would now like to thank every veteran of this nation for giving me the right to say all that.  I continue to appreciate the fact that I am not wearing a burqa and I am grateful that football players can kneel.  I am even grudgingly grateful that asshats like the KKK can mire on down in their own filth.  Ain’t that America??  Home of the free…. Because of the brave.

The clouds in my coffee

 It’s mid September, which means it’s almost October.  Yay for pink and purple hair…and here comes discussions of domestic violence that suck the life out of me like fluorescent overhead lighting.   If you thought that it’s my idea of a good time, you are mistaken.  This year, I am going to put a little focus on the aftermath, because that is what currently alters my world view. Maybe I’ll even tell you why rodents are a trigger for me.  Then again, no… there are some things we just never fully disclose.  This is also in my mind on account of that compression fracture in my spine, which is making itself acutely known, reminding me of how it got there.  Now, that’s a gift that keeps on giving!  No worries, I’ll never forget that guy… no matter how much I’d like to. We’re also redecorating at Casa Gypsy, so here’s one of this week’s projects:

For whatever reason, the song on repeat in my head is Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.”  It reminds me of loved ones.  How’s that for a fucked up world view?  Anyway, if you’ve ever seen Inside Out, you know there are little trolls in your brain that send jingles.  My trolls usually like to send a song that fits how I’m feeling, though sometimes the little bastards send things like Elmo’s World (Admit it, you just went Dah Dah ta Dah, Elmo’s World!!)  Anyway, when a song is really stuck in my head, it means something.  Often, like now, I know what it means.  And that is mostly ok because it really is just clouds in my coffee.  Here’s the hamper I am forcing to live a little longer:

Anyway… I’ll just keep singing Carly Simon and upcycling junk.  In other news, I shit you not, someone actually stole my rosemary plant.  I can’t make this stuff up… but only the plant, not the pot.  Whaaat?  It had to be Plant Lady, except that one was doing well.  If there is a fruit loop in fifty mile radius, I will find and attract them.  Since I haven’t got time for the pain, I’ll make do with what I have and that’s a hell of a lot.  Lots of pretty babies, a nice home and a thriving business.  Not bad for a girl who was raised on a farm in abject poverty and sporting a minor spinal fracture.  Think on this:  In a world where we all want a magical solution to everything, while refusing to believe that magic exists;  maybe just create your own.

Finally, if you are part of the tribe that needs to be heard and remembered, this little blog is the place to be.  I will tell your story… and I’m on your side.  If you are a survivor or your loved one is a victim that has been permanently silenced, tell me your story.  I will represent your voice to the best of my ability.  As in, I only edit for grammar.  Our silence gives our abusers power… so let your voice be heard.  It really does make a difference.  I can honestly say that I have been told that this blog helped someone leave, find resources, etc.  Using my experiences to help others has been healing for me.  Maybe it’ll heal you, too.


So… I solemnly swear, I am up to no good.  I’m redecorating (because I redecorate instead of move.  Gypsy magic, try it sometime.)  which means I’m trying to create various craft projects that will work in a room that I painted terra-cotta.  For men… that means the color of those orangish clay pots. The ladies already knew that.   Why doesn’t anyone talk me down??  Oh yeah, I’m the only grown up here.  My little projects are disastrous just now, because you live and you learn.  Also… they’ll be fine in the end, because if it’s not fine, it’s not the end.  Get a mantra, people.  Since I have decided to leave well enough alone, I thought I’d chat with all of you.   Just for kicks, the geneticist that is supposed to make sweeping pronouncements that will profoundly affect my little zebra’s life just decided she’d like to work part time instead of full time.  Thus, the appointment I’ve been awaiting for the last three months has been canceled and he’s on a wait list.  So… back to Shriners, who will see him in February.  It’s August.  When I completely lost my marbles, it wasn’t because I think anything will really be different after the appointment.  A little guidance would be useful, but nothing is going to fundamentally change.  It’s just one more thing to handle alone… Somebody send me a little Gypsy magic for that, please and thank you.

The thing about being a single parent is that there’s never quite enough to go around and everyone lets you know it.  In my world, there aren’t a whole lot of people with the temerity to actually address this sort of thing to me, but there a handful of battle axes that can’t leave well enough alone.  Most days, I can just shake my head and know that happy people don’t run around trying to destroy other people.  Thus… I get to keep my high road. My mama didn’t raise any fools – gypsies, tramps and thieves??  You bet your happy ass, but not a fool in the bunch.   Guess what?  I could have done better.  I yelled at times when I shouldn’t have and sometimes threw up my hands in defeat.  I really can’t fix a hell of a lot, because sometimes everything just sucks and you just have to go through it.  Having successfully kept these people alive and not serial killers, I’m pretty sure, anyway, nor have they ever been homeless or hungry, this is my advice.  If you love them with every fiber of your being, and I know you do, not being perfect won’t matter.  It will be enough.

I’ve spent the last (nearly) twenty-two years of my life raising good little Americans.  Patriotic, kind, share your last bag of pinto beans kind of humans… My oldest boy has always toyed with the idea of joining the military.  We’re a Marine Corps family… and that’s where he’s looking. (A recruiter met with him last week, without me, making Officer Recruiter public enemy #1.)  I’m not surprised… he likes the big guns (pointed at my heart, bang bang, shoot ‘em, like a firing squad) My son is too young to remember 9-11, and can only remember our nation at war.  A year from now, I know I will put my baby, who used to stalk my eggs so he could “hatch” them by throwing them on my kitchen floor, on some sort of transport to Paris Island.  I’ll be proud and terrified, because I’m old enough to know that humans have an expiration date that is arbitrary.  I wish I was still telling him to color on paper, not walls.

My oldest daughter told me, tonight, about singing in public for the first time in a long time since the fellow she married ripped her up and made her feel small about it.  She gets that from me… both marrying bastards and singing out loud… Given enough time, she’ll collect most of herself back.  Immediately following this story, our Marine candidate was ready to throw down with a trucker who was feeling a little lecherous toward her on Route 20… lol… I’m not sure when my boy became a man, but he seems to have just about arrived.  My younger daughter is going to bless me with a grandson any day now… I promise, he will come out and you are going to rock motherhood.   The two little ones are still finding themselves, and they have all the time in the world.  I haven’t raised any rocket scientists, doctors or lawyers.  Instead, I raised good people… the kind who will pull over if you’re broke down, who will listen in the grocery store when you’ve just been diagnosed with a fatal disease and who will write a blank check for this country because their soul tells them they ought to.  Raising these fine human beings has been the pleasure of my life, and I am proud of every single one.

When you’re bogged down with the minutia, sometimes it’s just too much.  Like any single parent, it’s kind of the deal, part of committing yourself to a tiny human until they are ready to go forth and be.  It’s ok to fall down, so long as you keep getting back up, even if you are doing that by digging your nails into the furniture to keep yourself upright.  Obviously, Miss Shannon has had a rough week.  Instead of letting it eat at me,  I’m going to keep on keeping on and be proud that I alluded to songs from three different genres, because it makes me happy in my heart.  Take your joy where you can find it.

Charlie Daniels, scary bikers and melanin

Miss Shannon saw Charlie Daniels in concert last week.  For me, his music signifies a time when there was far less stress in my life… Back when Brother Neil was just my erstwhile brother, not the pastor who prays for my immortal soul for a variety of excellent reasons, including but not limited to the fact that I have a couple of sphinx statues and a little Isis bust.  (Miss Shannon is a history buff… I really love Ancient Egypt.  Isis remains my favorite goddess and it irritates the living shit out of me that such a cool chick has had her name pilfered by asshats.)  Charlie Daniels is drinking games like Asshole, Chinese fire drills and my friend Holly, who I miss.  Preachin’, Prayin, Singin’…. Down on the public square.

We rode the bikes and went with friends of Dozer’s… they are very nice people who are way, way above my pay grade.  Being his helpful self, Dozer tried to hook me up with the male half to get my fairly yucky shower redone (Holy Cannoli, dude, do you not know I’m broke??)  Please know that YouTube teaches literally everything and Miss Shannon will master the magic of tile placement by the end of this year.  I did learn that the thing at the bottom is named a shower tray and there is no way around bringing the shower stall down to the studs.  The ugly shower has been good enough for five years, ever since my fantabulous ex-husband cut a hole in the shower wall to change the freaking handle.  Have mercy.  Kind of like the time he cut a hole in the sewer pipe.  God love him, he was not a handy fellow and caused me a whole lot of trouble.  The Devil Went Down to Georgia with the sole intent of making me nuts with that guy…. Lucifer was supremely successful in that endeavor.

Have I ever mentioned that Dozer the marshmallow looks a little scary??  He’s a very large man with a bald head and a pretty good beard… The biker beard sucked me in, because I like my men like I like my coffee… light and not sweet at all.  So this big kid is standing in front of us and Dozer decides to ask him to step off the curb so I can see over him.  That poor kid pissed his pants for the entire rest of the concert while his Ma gave Dozer the stink eye the entire time.  His daddy just sat there hoping Doze wouldn’t hurt them, lol… I actually felt a little sorry for the yuppy boy.  Bikers never scare me… I’ve spent time with the best and worst of that world… watch the probies and the chicks… the guys are never your problem, unless you’re their old lady in which case it could go a lot of ways.  In my situation, you get yelled at in the early morning about socks and other miscellaneous things that don’t matter.

At the end of the day, you know what matters???  The love of a good person, the people around you that count and a really good cheesecake.  All that other stuff us extraneous.  What happened in Charlottesville sickens me.  It’s not about statues and flags.  It’s about a culture of hate that lends itself to the degradation of other human beings because someone doesn’t like their skin tone or some other trait they are born with.   I can’t teach you to be a good person, to harbor a little goodness and mercy in your heart for other humans.  I can ask you to consider looking past the surface… like the yuppies seated in front of us at that concert, shaking in their lawn seats because they decided they feared Dozer.   There are things in this world that should make you quake, but skin isn’t one of them.  Peace on Earth is just beyond the fear.




Tweet Tweet, Mr. President

I’m sure you know all the things I would say about banning trans people from the military… Heaven forbid a willing, able bodied individual have the willingness to write a blank check on behalf of all the idiots in this country should you not like something about their genitals.  Why the fuck is this even in question?  You don’t want to pay for gender reassignment surgery?  No problem… don’t pay for it.   You also don’t want to pay for birth control, or anything you deem unsavory.  Nobody ever bitches about flipping for Viagara, though, do they?  A large portion of the crazy drama insanity in this country would disappear if people would mind their own damned business.

I have a difficult to hear thing to say to our pals way to the right…. Your religion teaches tolerance.  That word means acceptance.  I’m trying hard to break it down so the words are small enough to understand.  Jesus said, “Let he who is without sin throw the first stone.”  What he was going for there was that humans aren’t qualified to judge each other.  Original sin and all that.  I don’t care how many times a week you pray, you are still a fallible human being riddled with imperfection, just like the rest of us.  Biblical scholars are with me on this.  At the end of the day, there are so many common activities that are not necessarily Bible approved…. Premarital sex, eating pork, divorce, cheating on your taxes… all of these activities are considered a sin.  Who died and put you in charge of which sin is more or less sinful?   I would hope that God has bigger fish to fry than where Adam and Steve are storing their combat boots.  Maybe He does, maybe He prefers a good steak, maybe He’s kicking it on a porch swing because the throne isn’t comfy.  Maybe this isn’t a hill to die on.  I can’t answer with any authority because Heaven isn’t taking my calls… My copy of the bible suggests that you are responsible for yourself rather than policing other people’s spiritual wellbeing by forming a lynch mob to chase down everyone who uses their genitals in a way you do not like.

Curtesy of the right, the angry and the democratic party’s foolishness, we now have a fellow running our country who thinks it’s ok to tweet whatever the heck floats through his mind at any given time.  Bless his heart, this is likely the very best he’s got to give.  Some guys are suave and debonair, some are swavee and deboner.  All of this is like the potty issues of the last couple of years… It deeply saddens me to watch the sheeple stampede in whatever phobic direction some guy in a suit points them at.  LGBTQ people are just like straight people… (forgive me, friends, I’m trying to teach) think of it like a kink.  You are getting your panties in a bunch over how others achieve sexual gratification.  Are you this angry about a foot fetish or an interest in hot wax?  Believe it or not, regardless of what anyone is doing with their genitals, it is not your business unless they’re doing it with a child, in which case a lynch mob is fine by me.

Let’s solve many world problems right here and now:  Mind your own business.  Be kind to others.  It’s that easy, friends.  Also, Twitter is not a good platform for the President to make pronouncements.  Dear lord, man, for the love of all that is good in this world…. Please stop tweeting.  Let’s pretend you’re the leader of the free world and you hold yourself to a higher standard than my teenage kids.