Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

If I Were

Do you know Gillian at the Dreaming Press? She is one of the neatest gals I know. She has done this meme, "If I Were" and I am copycatting her here. Try and stop me, bitches. ;-)

Here goes!

If I were a month, I would be November. After the trick or treaters go home, the real witches walk the earth. Under a yellow moon, you'll see us pass by with our black cat familiars.

If I were a day, I would be the winter solstice. I know I was probably supposed to say a day of the week, but you know how I get.

If I were a time of day, I would be early morning. I almost said sunset, because I love that, too, but early morning is so full of promise. It's quiet and fresh and I love it.

If I were a font, I would be Helvetica. It's a little different, slightly goth-y, and the word sounds other-worldly and feminine. 

If I were a sea animal, I would be a mermaid. I would be ridiculously beautiful and impossible to catch. Hey, sailor....*laffin*

If I were a direction, I would be true north. That way, my love could always find me.

If I were a piece of furniture, I would be a baby grand piano. Shiny and black and in perfect tune, I would bring joy by both sight and sound. I would belong to some soft rocker chick and she would find so many songs in my smooth and eager keys.

If I were a liquid, I would be mango juice, in a tall glass on a table outside. 

If I were a gemstone, I would be onyx. Some of my layers would be constant, others ever changing.

If I were a tree, I would be an apple tree with beautiful white blossoms. Lovers would kiss beneath my sheltering branches.

If I were a tool, I would be an axe held in a sure and accurate hand.

If I were a flower, I would be a white lily. I would know love by brides and mystery by death.

If I were an element of weather, I would be a summer storm. The dark sky would be my hair, the lightning my eyes, the thunder my passion and the rain my love.

If I were a musical instrument, other than the baby grand I already wrote about, I would be a black electric guitar. I would belong to a young woman who had been told she could never play me well enough. Together, we would prove them all wrong.

If I were a color, I would be red, baby. Bold, beautiful, sexy red.

If I were emotion, I would be passion. 

If I were a fruit, I would be an apple. I would be temptation for the weak, poison for the cruel, nourishment for the hungry and a gift for teachers. 

If I were a sound, I would be the sound of the wind through the trees, reminding everyone that the unseen is real and the world around them is a living, moving entity.

If I were an element, I would be air. I would be filled with birds.

If I were a car, I would be a classic Detroit muscle car. I would belong to a girl, and I would be her body when she needed to be bigger, stronger, faster, bolder.

If I were food, I would be lasagna. I would be served on a bright white china plate and set upon a clean checkered table cloth in a cozy restaurant. I would be created especially for the joy of a dark haired woman in a white dress whose lover will propose before I am gone. 

If I were a place, I would be a bakery. I would smell wonderful. I would offer joy.

If I were a material, I would be silk. I would come all the way from China, just to please someone's skin.

If I were a taste, I would be the intimate taste of the woman I love.

If I were a scent, I would be the scent of night blooming jasmine, simply because it is my favorite.

If I were a body part, I would be a woman's vulva, and I would be smug about it. 

If I were a song, I would be a ballad, sung in Spanish, in a garden, on a summer night. 

If I were a bird, I would be a white dove. I would belong to a black-haired woman. She would tell me why she is crying, and my beauty would make her less sad.

If I were a gift, I would be made of silver.

If I were a city, I would be San Antonio, Texas. A river would flow through my heart.

If I were a door, I would be the door to home, my handle held by a weary and grateful hand.

If I were a pair of shoes, I would be a pair of Curves sneakers. Someone would go walking in me. 

If I were a poem, I would be one of my own poems. I would give myself to someone I love; to light her heart, and also my own. 

If you would like to do this little meme, consider yourself invited. :-)


Permanent Squirrel And Magpie

(being a joke within a rhyme)

This is the story of Permanent Squirrel and Magpie--

One can't stop talking,

The other can't die.

It's somewhat like the story of Dream Baby and Coffee Sheep--

One can't wake up,

The other can't sleep.

Magpie said to Dream Baby, "You listen so well! It's quite extraordinary!"

Permanent Squirrel whispered to Coffee Sheep,

"She's not hearing a word. She's simply asleep."

How many lesbians does it take to change a light?

17 would be the answer that is right.

1 to change the bulb,

15 to write about it all,

And 1 to film the documentary.

Permanent Squirrel said, "You're killing me with this stuff."

Magpie decided that she'd rambled quite enough.

Dream Baby woke up

And put Coffee Sheep to bed;

Then all four went back inside

Of Fireblossom's head.

Monday, March 29, 2010


For the next breath,
Like years
Falling backwards
Into a lifetime,

For the next heart beat,
Essential as kisses
Flowing inward
Then out to fingertips,

For the next idea,
Like vapor
Over a coffee cup,
Floating upward,
To lips that are

Like the next moment,
Full of

For what you might say next,
Falling backwards
Into life,
Through the blood,
Through desire
To the moment when a name changes everything,
Because it is the right name--

For the next
Heart beat,

Trust it,
Let go,
Into what is coming,
Ready or not...

That it won't be long until it's here.

Sunday, March 28, 2010


(For G.)

When you were little,

Did you ever walk out in a summer field

In the morning?

Were you ever just a wet-sneakered girl

With your shins in the shadows of the tall grass

And your face loving the warmth of the early, angled sun?

Did you smell the earth,

Ponder a cloud,

Or discover a ladybug and hold her in your hand?

You knew that home would still be there behind you, later

When you were ready to go back.

You were not going to live among the grass stalks forever;

You were only a little girl

Wandering through a single day in June.

Sweet woman,

Long before these foundations were laid,

You were loved.

Do you ever wonder

Where is the one who cares?

Will they come?

Will they stay?

Will they not turn away again and leave?

It's just a summer day, Sugar.

You are here only for a while,

And home will still be there ahead of you, later

When you are ready to go back.

Meme Overkill or It's All About Meeeeeeee!

Oh my gosh. It's happ-en-inggggggggg's Sunday and I missed church for the umpty billionth straight time. I'm so gonna burn. Sings: baby baby baby light my fie-uh! *dances*

I have to do something good to make up for it. *thinks*...... *thinks hard*.....  I know! I could buy subs to Elle and Marie Claire for disadvantaged girls in French Outer Noplace, and receive a photgraph of them reading it in the mail. Yes! But wait, NO! I can just see myself, six months from now, walking down the street in the capital city of Saint Sunscreen, and seeing some presumptuous little witch standing in front of a bodega wearing my same earrings. And then there would be a screaming, hair-pulling catfight in the middle of the street, with both of us bludgeoning each other about the head and body with rolled up copies of the Special Love Your Hair Issue. I'm exhausted beforehand.

SooOOooooo, I have another idea. Oh shut up. Just because the last one involved court appearances and heavy fines, doesn't mean anything. I have decided to do memes! The Kreative Blogger Meme was given to me by the stunningly gorgeous and always interesting Sharon Chaline at Sharoninwonderland. The second I ripped off from, er, I meant to say, admiringly acquired from Senorita. I did this in a shameless attempt to become one of her "snozzleberries, "pancakes", all the things her readers get to be. So sue me; I bet it works! Eat my pancake make-up, bitches, I'm in with the in crowd, and stuff. 

Now for the memes.

For Sharon's Kreativ Blogger Meme, I have to say seven things about myself. *closes eyes and goes, "i DO believe in memes, i DO i DO i DO!"....*

1. Unless it is a dangling participle, if it is broken, I can't fix it. This is why Goddess, in Her infinite wisdom, created men. Unfortunately, I don't know what to do with them, either. I have learned NOT to say, "Wow, it's weird looking. It reminds me a little bit of Babar the elephant. Can you eat peanuts with it?" 


2. The funniest film I have ever seen is Laurel & Hardy's "Big Business." Our heroes go around Los Angeles trying to sell Christmas trees from their car. It isn't going well. Then they get into a hysterical tit for tat with a homeowner. He destroys their car while they destroy his house. No, Steven Seagal isn't in it. It's funneeeeeee! 

3. I absolutely love the Kia Sorrento commercial with the child's toys from the back seat going around bowling and getting tattoos and stuff. How ya like me now? Oh yeah....

4. Mama Zen's is my favorite blog and always has been. This is one of the immutable laws of the universe. That, and the fact that once a week I will plug in the coffee maker but forget to switch it on. Hey Shay, how about a nice cold cup of... nothing. Niiiiiiiice. *smax forehead*

5. The first LP I ever bought for myself was Chicago II. I know. I know. I have been living with the shame ever since. 

6. My current favorite song is Train's "Soul Sister." Thank you, Gabi. I love you so much it's ridonkulous. Gabi is the only person I know who is both an inspiration and the owner of dogs with secret retractable opposable thumbs. Her pugs have gone global, preparing everything from Asian to PBJs when she isn't at home. I'm buying them little chef's hats. I so am. 

7. I have chosen not to take that first drink of anything containing alcohol today. The fact that I have a choice in the matter astounds me, and activates the little gratitude feelers in my forehead. Thank you, Goddess. Lead on, Woman!

Okay, asleep yet? No? Hellllllllp, I'm talking and I can't shut up. I'm getting... so... dizzy....someone... make me...stoppppp.......

Or not. 

I can see that the hardiest among you have stayed alive by eating the bark from trees and fashioning crude strappy sandals from animal hides and twine. Come with me, then, into the world of Senorita's strangely STD-like meme. (hey, she said that, not me. I'm just Fireblossom, girl reporter.)


Things I won't ever be:

1. A Tea Partyer.

2. Straight. (What happens if I go like this with it? Did I hurt you? Okay okay, I'll stop.)

3. Conventional. (Sorry, Mom! But the Rick Warren book makes a wonderful doorstopper.)

4. A Methodist. (Again, I mean. ZZzzzzzzz.)

5. A scrapbooker. (I won't even try it. Not even once. I'm afraid I might not be able to stop, or that I would commit a social faux pas and huff the glue or something.)

Things I refuse to give up:

1. My subscription to Curve magazine. Lesbian culture. Taking over. With our agenda. Everyone in plaid flannel shirts and bad haircuts by the year 2015. ;-)

2. Suzie Q's. Keep your carrot sticks. Leave me alone. 

3. My soul. Many have tried and failed to kill it or change it.  That's them, behind me, with the Excedrin headaches. How ya like me now? Oh yeah.... *dances*

4. My sentimental war trophies. Cards. Presents from women who loved me and thought I was wonderful, at least until their show came on or they went back to men or they stopped huffing Mile Maker Supreme or whatever. *sniff* I keep all that stuff. 

5. My sobriety. For any reason whatsoever. 

Things I won't be doing any time soon:

1. Watching Glenn Beck. As his brains turn into thousands of tiny scrubbing bubbles, he can flip upside down and use that godawful hair to get out the really tough stains in bath tubs and fixtures. What a dumbass.

2. Buying a brand new yellow VW beetle with a black rag top. But I'd like to. 

3. Taking my Joan Jett "Ladies of the 80s" Barbie doll that I got from Twin out of my living room. I love that thing! Ohhhhhh... now I don't hardly know her. But I think I could love her. Crimson and cloverrrrrrr. (insert audio clip of dogs howling) . Joan. *swoooooon*

4. Playing the lottery. I will make my life different if it needs to be different, thank you very much. I would rather place my faith in myself than in Powerball.

5. Spending 24 hours at a luxury hotel with Eva Larue. But I wish I were!

And finally, things I am thankful for: 

1. chocolate

2. dark chocolate

3. chicas who call me on the telephone

4. people who comment on my posts

5. my dog Bosco, who is the best dog in the entire world, so there. My role is to serve him. Yes, it's true. I'm the help!

Wowww, you made it all the way to the end. I'm impressed! A kotc for you. I do love ya, you know that, right? Uh huh, I mean YOU, Ily. Talon. Secretia. Patty. Mac. Ellen. Vesper. Tammy. All my dear and wonderful readers. Mwah!


Saturday, March 27, 2010

The Sinful Green Bean

The sinful green bean grows up in a beautiful garden, with other green beans.

It is naked, and yet not ashamed.

Everything it needs is there--



Nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium.

Still, the rebellious, disobedient and very sinful green bean is not content.

It wants to go to New York, Paris, Rio and Las Vegas.

It wants some fine Peruvian cocaine.

It wants a semi-automatic handgun.

It wants a lap dance.

The hand of God reaches down and picks the wicked little green bean and casts it into a basket with other lost legumes.

The sinful green bean is flash-frozen and put inside a sunless place.

"Godammit," says the green bean, who among its other sins, has developed a potty mouth.

Eventually, the willful and wayward green bean is cooked inside a casserole.

Oh misery of heat and suffering!

The sinful green bean was youthful, slender and blessed, but its covetous and selfish nature sent it on a nightmare journey into pyrex hell.

Remember this, when you want something that isn't yours,

Or more than is your lot in life.

Be righteous--

Don't become the devil's side dish.

Go in peace, but come back next week when Fireblossom's nondenominational brimstone church presents:

"The Disrespectful Putty Knife."

Thursday, March 25, 2010


Do any of you watch the television show "Mercy" on Wednesday nights at 8 o'clock on NBC? I just discovered it about a month ago, and I'm hooked. It's about the lives of three nurses who work at Mercy Hospital. The show has a pleasing mix of serious and silly storylines.

Will any of my readers be surprised if I begin with the phrase, "There's this woman..."? LOL. Thought not. And the woman is the character Veronica, played by actress Taylor Schilling.

Veronica likes to bend the rules, but not just because. She bends them when they are in the way of what she thinks needs to be done for one of her patients. She isn't always right, but she can never be accused of not caring. She's passionate about what she does.

Also, she is in early sobriety, and so you know I am pulling for her all the way, to stay that way. Go, woman! One day at a time! You can do it because you're worth it! Rah rah! Oops, er, sorry, but I reallyyyyy like this character. Oh, you say you got that? Cool!

And...she seems to be unlucky in love. Mister Handsome Doctor kicked her to the curb last night because, well, y'see, she might have had to tell him just the teensiest little fib, and he found out, and he huffed and he puffed and he blew her hopes down. The cad. That's my girl he left standing on the sidewalk like that. Who does he think he is? C'mon honey, you can do better. Let's go get some chocolate. 

All right, now I have to confess a tiny smidgen of a resentment. The woman looks TDF in scrubs, with her hair clipped up, at the end of a kazillion hour shift. It isn't right. By the way, still pictures don't do her justice. It's something about the way expressions animate her face and about just how "her" she is. 

So, all of you are invited to my house every Wednesday to watch her on "Mercy." But I warn you. I tend to punctuate my viewing with swooning cries of "Oh my god, she's sooooooooooo beautiful, I'm SO in love with her. The woman is on fire!" Um, I'm just, you know, reviewing as I go. For everyone's benefit. Okayyy, I better go now. *clears throat, fixes hair, walks away briskly*


*comes back*

A week ago was my second blogoversary. I was having my Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown and forgot to mention it. Now I'm mentioning it.

*tosses hair and walks away again*

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Girl Jesus

She wasn't Girl Jesus like you thought she was.
She was just human,
And you loved her,
And there is no shame in any of that.

You are the girl with the thorn in her heart.
It will finally heal,
And when it does,
It may feel like feeling nothing, but wait...

Time is a thief with a gift in her hand.
Your magick will light a truer heart,
Maybe even your own,
And there is no crime in any of that.

Thank you, G, for the conversation yesterday.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Contrary Carrie

(being an instructional tale for children)

Contrary Carrie waited until her mother was distracted,

Then dumped her loathsome vegetables onto the floor and walked outside with the plate,

Intending to toss it into the river.

When she got there, though, she found it was more pleasing to use it as a paddle in order to take herself to N'awlins and become a grande dame.

She would live in a fine house and boss the servants,

Commanding them to place a heavy chest of drawers


No, there.

No there.

Her brother warned, "You will get into trouble," and so Contrary Carrie declared an old discarded box her brigantine,

And routed him with a fusillade of crabapples, stockpiled for just such an occasion.

"Wise crabapple," said she to the willow tree on the bank,

"Such lovely long hair you have! Marry me and be my Queen! All the whatnots and gewgaws your heart desires shall be yours!"

When Contrary Carrie got back to the house, she declared that she had married a tree and was moving to New Orleans.

Furthermore, she added, the tree was a girl.

That evening, sitting with her kitty "Mister Kitty" in her chair facing in towards the wall,

Contrary Carrie announced that voodoo hexes awaited all of her enemies,

And went on to elaborate that only Mister Kitty, a magick doctor, could cure anyone thus cursed.

"I despair of you, child," said her mother, wearily.

In 1912, at the age of twenty years, Carrie moved to Paris and became a dancer.

Her girlfriend, Willow, said, "Ma petite cherie, when do you think you'll go back to Iowa?"

"Jamais!" cried Carrie.

"Le medecin de chat dit que je suis folle, and that I must not travel, ever again!"

But she did,


Into the future she had believed into being, and which carried her like a current where it might,

As if she were a plate tossed skyward from the hand of a willful child.

ma petite cherie = my little sweetheart

jamais = never

le medecin de chat dit que je suis folle = the cat doctor says I'm crazy

Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Secret Lives Of Birds

Do not love the oriole.

She will flutter and charm in a charismatic display;

Then, when all of your dreams have turned to orange,

She will do the same over an old bit of string.

The water pipit favors the stark beauty of rocky beach or tundra.

She is plain but hardy, and will find a way through and say nothing

When you fuck up the way you do;

She sometimes lays her eggs on golf courses--

Do not stupidly try to drive them or sink them, because then you will discover

They are the thing she loves, more than you.

You can't count on a cedar waxwing.

She will include you and also several of her friends,

Passing a ripe cherry from beak to beak, down the branch, until every face is sweet and red.

You'll forget yourself with happiness and the summer will be one long delicious picnic of plenty;

Did you think the red markings at her wing tips were simple accents?

They are her album, of you, and another, and another,

All abandoned, like dreams upon waking--

Suddenly and entirely,

When all the fruit is gone.

The jay can scatter smaller birds from the feeder

By mimicking the cry of the red tailed hawk.

She takes what she will, burying--and forgetting--a great many prizes;

Entire forests spring from her bold thievery.

Yet, she always seems to be moving on.

Despite her beauty, brass, and moxie,

Tranquility is never hers, and if you love her,

It will elude you, too.

And me?

I am fascinated with them all.





I am the song they did not know they knew,

And I am the rapt and admiring listener;

I am the silent sky in love with their wing beats and the music that cannot be expressed

Without them.


Friday, March 19, 2010

I like wut I like and I doan like wut i doan, babycakes

My Twin the Riot Kitty has tagged me--sort of, it was a mass, voluntary tag--for a meme. I haven't felt so singled out for special attention since I was eight and Mister Menguser screamed, "All you kids, off my lawn! NOW!" I knew in that moment that I wanted to be a mail lady and walk on everybody's lawn. Contrary to the bone, I am.

What I must do, according to the ruuuu... the rooooo...the things I'm supposed to do, is I'm spozed ta list five things I dislike, and then five things I like.

So, without further ado:

(woman imitating a man doing a big important announcer voice) FIVE THINGS I DISLIKE!

1. Cell phone zombies. You know the ones. Oblivious to everything except the half-witted conversation they are having as they let the door slam in your face, or stand there blocking the grocery aisle, or force you to listen to them as you try to enjoy a meal in a restaurant. I hate them even more if they SHOUT and SCREAM into the phone, because they can't hear themselves like on a land line. Extra hate, too, for cell zombies who utterly fail to interact with the person right in front of them because they are busy yammering with someone who is miles away.

2. Peeps. I'm talking about those nausea-inducing Easter edibles. They are the very definition of "too sweet", in taste, texture and appearance. Yick.

3. People who use incredibly annoying too-long catchphrases. Like, "at this point in time" instead of "now." Or who say "myself" when they mean "me." Or who refer to a "fan base" when "fans" says the same thing. Their mouths should be taped shut.

4. Reality TV. I don't give a monkey's butt about loggers, repo men, ice road truckers, Gene Simmons, Real Housewives Of Pompano Beach, or ghost hunters with their green night vision and phony "did you hear that?!? What WAS that?!?" manufactured hooey. Science experiments for you all.

5. Golf and golfers. When I say I don't care for the game, that does NOT mean try even harder to get me to take it up. I don't want to hear about your swing. I don't want to hear about your score. I don't want to look at you standing there wearing that. I don't care about Tiger Woods, or who he slept with, or when he is coming back. Any grown man going by the name "Tiger" should be sent to a re-education camp in Siberia and his paperwork lost. 

Oh dear. Do I sound harsh? Let me slip a flower into my hair and proceed with my Likes List:

1. I love hippy-trippy acid rock from the late 60s. Big Brother. The Airplane. Inna Gadda Da Vida, bay beh. LOL. Incense and Peppermints. White Bird must fly. Are You Experienced? Have another HIT...of sweet California sunshine. Groovy baby!

2. Mexican food. I didn't know a thing about Mexican food until I moved to San Antonio Texas, where there is--or at least was, when I lived there--a mom and pop Mexican place on every street corner, or so it seemed. When I went back to visit, in 2001, I wondered all the way down if it was really as yummy as I recalled it being. It was. was. :-)

3. Femaleness. Is there something more interesting than all of the sweet, nurturing, bitchy, catty, perplexing, consistently inconsistent, brilliant, underappreciated, irreplaceable, beautiful, uncategorizable, creative, clever, maddening, holy, sensual, funny, unstoppable sweet mess that is women? No, there isn't. 

4. Animals. I can't imagine my life without animals. My pets have repeatedly saved my life, my sanity and my sense of humor. It is my great privelege to take care of them, love them, laugh at their silly moments, and share my life with them. They have much to teach and much to give. All they ask is company and kindness. Bosco agrees with my #4.

5. My friends. That would be you, reading this, now. Thank you. I am so glad you are here!


Thursday, March 18, 2010

Tutorial, Part Two

When the Dark Bird comes,
Don't feed it.

It will land in the branches of your ribs,
Behind the breastbone;
Like the cuckoo, it pushes out whatever was there,
And by murder, makes its home.

When the Dark Bird comes,
Don't feed it.

It fetches last year's doubts, rag-ends of fear;
Builds its nest out of restless lack.
No yellows, no reds, forget them dear,
Its pleasure is poison, its joy is black.

When the Dark Bird comes,
Don't feed it;
But even if you do,
It will scorn your offered trifles--
What the Dark Bird you.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010


If you would like to be a poet--

Get a job in a factory--
Stitching shoes, or
Making cars.

If you would like to be a poet--

Take up thievery--
Stitch your lips shut, or
Lay down on the freeway.

You think you'll discover little gems of truth, toss confetti of beauty--
Well, you simple fuck.

If you would like to be a poet,
Don't make me laugh.

There are no wings, no wheels
To carry you into Heaven like a flung rose for God;

All you will produce is silence.
All that will come down is ash.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010


Just when I had finally decided
That you were probably a shit--
That I was probably better off--
I have to go and dream that you called me,
And my heart just opened right up
Like a child's palm
At the offer of a favorite candy from a trusted hand.

I could have said,
"You've got a lot of brass, calling me now."
But I said,
"Hello, Sweetheart."
You said,
"It's been so hard not talking to you for so long,"
And I loved it,
As I have always loved
Even the wildest lies, if they came from you.

You said,
"It feels like Lifesavers."
I thought,
What does that mean?
Then I knew that I was dreaming, and woke up;
I knew that you were gone--again--
And felt let down,
Left with nothing
But my aching sweet tooth.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Duality And Homogeny

See the two pictures above? Take a good look, if you would, and then set that thought aside for a moment. I'll be coming back to them at the end of this post! Meanwhile...

... I've been thinking about duality and homogeny. Well, after all, I'm a Gemini, and not just a Gemini sun sign, but Gemini moon as well. Sometimes a thing--or a person--can seem to be one way and turn out to be another. Or, turn out to be both, OR combine two facets into a single face. With that in mind... new crush is "plus size" model Crystal Renn. Oh, Joan Jett and Eva Larue are in no danger. But Crystal Renn's story is a fascinating one. At the age of 14, she entered the world of high fashion modeling, and was told to lose one third of her body weight. This ultimately threatened her health and even her life, a journey she documents in her book "Hungry."

 Now a stunningly beautiful--and sexy!-- size 12 (U.S.), she is in demand on runways and for photo shoots around the world. I think she's amazing. She has defied convention and transformed herself, and looks incredibly well doing it! Go, Crystal. She's got the look; what about love?.... I was watching "Oprah" and she had on Ellen Degeneres and her wife Portia Derossi. Who doesn't like Ellen, right? And Portia is a very neat lady in her own right. But what made the program so rewarding, was just seeing how in love the two of them clearly are, and all the strength and happiness they give each other.

Though each of them is accomplished and remarkable in her own right, together they are more than the sum of their solo selves, not to mention being a huge inspiration to gals like me. Watching them, I cried. I did, I was surprised how much it moved me to see them. It made me feel really good. (It's all right, Bosco, Mommy's crying because she's happy!) But what about those pictures at the top of this post....

...did you take a good look? Did you see that both pictures are of the same person, actress Miriam Shor? They are. And that's my post on duality and homogeny. I hope that you enjoyed it!  

Sober, Sugar.

Once upon a time, there was a drunk. Wait, back up. Once upon a time there was someone who was not yet a drunk. Then a little beer bottle grew cartoon arms and legs and a face and winked at me. It said, "C'mere, kid." It took its hat off and said, like the little bottle in Alice In Wonderland, "Drink me!" I did. Have you ever met a new old friend? At the time, my parents had divorced, my best friend had been consumed by pill addiction (and later commited suicide), and my body was playing an array of dirty tricks on me. This girl needed a friend. Down the hatch, baby. 

Ooh, warm fuzzies. People's mouths moved but who knew or cared what they were saying? Available at fine stores everywhere. The law was 18 then. Sweet!

If one drink was good, then ten must be better. Gin became my favorite. Goddess bless the juniper berry. My friends sneered, "that's a girly drink." Why, thank you. So much the better.  

But my new friend slowly turned on me. As my friends moved on, I just wanted to drink. At last, something I was good at. I could outdrink just about anyone. The thing was, it had begun to be hard for me to NOT drink. I had to know where my next one was coming from. I would sell anything, do anything, to get that drink. My tolerance for alcohol began to slip. Ten years in, I was in my late twenties, going nowhere, and becoming ill in mind, body and spirit. 

  I had begun to have moments. You know, moments. Like, standing on a chair in my bedroom trying to sweep bugs off the ceiling with a broom. I understand that most people don't do this. I was 28. Finally, I did something cruel to the woman I was living with. I don't mean that I said yes, you look fat in those jeans. I mean, I did something that made me realize that I had become the exact sort of person I loathed. I was shocked at myself, at my life. The next morning, I called the AA hot line. I went to a meeting that night.

I lived in San Antonio, Texas, then. I walked in, feeling lower than a snake's belly in a wagon wheel rut, as they say there, and sat down with a group of large men wearing longhorn steer belt buckles. Eeep. I expected they would probably throw my reprehensible skinny butt right out the door. But they didn't. They told me I was the most important person in the room. They told me they would love me until I could love myself. They gave me their telephone numbers. Goddess love them. That was June of 1983. The compulsion to drink, the overwhelming physical and emotional addiction, led me to relapse, more than once, but I kept coming back and I kept on trying to get it. Then I moved back to Michigan, into my childhood home because I had no place else to go. But I kept going to AA. 

I found a group that met in the afternoons twice a week, and suddenly I had fifteen mothers. I mean, ones that weren't embarassed of me. Ones who helped me when I needed help the most. In the fall of that year, the compulsion came back strong, riding on my back like a 500 pound gorilla for two weeks until I finally caved and drank one more time. The next time that happened, I prayed for my Higher Power to override the addiction, to please get me through to the next day. It worked. That was September 29th, 1985, the last time I drank.

I started to feel good about myself. I met my future spouse. I got the job I am still at today. I also became reacquainted with the sexual issues the alcohol had kept at bay. Nothing's perfetc. Um, perfect, I meant. But here is the good:

I raised a son who never had to see me drunk, because I never was. 

I became a person other people could count on. 

I didn't die. I didn't go to prison. I didn't lose my mind.

Today I have 24 years of continuous sobriety. I have a program for living that allows me to be honest, when I never was, open, when I had been full of fear, and willing, when I had been more interested in hiding. I have people I love and who love me. I have my writing. I have me

I'm not an AA guru. I am just someone who is living proof that miracles can and do happen. I am someone whose life was saved. I am a woman with a choice, today. Sweet!

pictures: Evelyn Nesbitt (top), Charlie Chaplin (upper middle), Michael Keaton (lower middle) and "Fluff" by Nina Paley (bottom).

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Spring Forward

In the instant of the time change,

I hid myself within the hour that was lost.

I waited quietly, growing one hair out of my head for each as yet unfulfilled desire;

When I emerged,

My lacks were thick and abundant, a beautiful kudzu, and I a Medusa.

I held my hand out, palm up,

Like the earth waiting for rain.

I dared the sky to strike me, and sent up the negative charge of my restlessness

To lure down the positive charge of promised satisfaction.

"You get around," I said to the storm, and danced with the wind in my silver shoes

Like a winning race horse.

Just give me the roses, I'll give you the empty places where I have just been, and a whole Sahara of the powder blush I bury myself in,

A dusty and bedeviled Moon Rabbit

Enchanted with Chang-O and all of the time she trails so carelessly behind her.

Medusas get lonely too, you know,

We get tired of scraping our soft lips on our stony lovers' faces.

This odd and artificial gap may be the only chance I'll get

To slip out of time,

To take a leap at something that might catch me,

To speak your name and then finally forget it,

To follow the beckoning life-beat of a heart that might

Actually love me back.


Thursday, March 11, 2010

We Hold These Truths To Be Self-Evident...

The young woman in the picture is Constance McMillen, an 18-year-old Mississippi high school student who wanted to take her girlfriend to the senior prom. She also wanted to wear a tux. When informed by the ACLU that refusing to allow her to do either of these things infringed on Ms. McMillen's rights, school officials cancelled the entire event, rather than let her bring whom she chose and to dress as she felt she wanted to.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men (sic) are created equal" and are entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. In America, a person is free to live their life as they feel called to do, unless, of course, they are gay. Then they are not quite so equal. Then they may not marry. Then they may not walk down the street holding hands with the one they love, or they may be beaten up or killed. They may not take the person they care for most to their high school prom. They can't even stay home and try Eharmony, because, again, you have to want to meet someone of the opposite sex. 

Haven't we seen this movie before? Haven't we been told, from pulpits and every place else, that women aren't quite bright enough to be entrusted with the vote; that blacks need not apply at the State University; that there is always someone different from those doing the excluding, who needs to be kept out, or America will go to hell in a handbasket? 

It's wrong. It's vile. It makes me angry. Let the woman go to her prom, as herself, with the person she would most like to ask to be her date. As Bob Dylan sang, "It is not poison; you will not die." 

I admire Constance McMillen. One day, this may become a free country, with liberty and justice for all. But not yet. Not if you're gay.

(Just to say....a woman can look awfully good in a tuxedo. Just ask any Marlene Dietrich fan)

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Adventures of Vajaysus, Girl Savior

Vajaysus, the Girl Savior, walks into Danny's Coffee Shop in Norman.

"Woman!" cries Chloe, and they high five and hip bump. The Girl Savior is well-liked here.

The little bell rings above the door. It is the Dark Haired Chick, tossing some guy out into the street, some guy who came too close to "her" booth, where the Queen of the Vampires (in black panther form) is shredding the vinyl and going "rowww rowww!" in an ecstasy of approval. 

"Did you know," Chloe says, "that every time a bell rings, a Succubus gets her wings?"

"Shut up," mumbles the Succubus around a mouthful of chocolate donut. 

Meanwhile, Vajaysus the Girl Savior has sprawled on the couch by the front window. She orders a mocha latte. Someone asks her why she is called Vajaysus, isn't that objectifying?

"It's Asian Indian," she says, lighting a cigarette off the end of Denise the waitress's. When she exhales, she looks like a dragon, except sexy. "My mother is called Kali. Actually, her name is Kelly-Jo, but what with accents and stuff, it ended up being Kali."

The Succubus perks. "The Goddess of Death?"

Vajaysus the Girl Savior and Chloe idly throw sugar packets at each other as Vajaysus answers. "That was all a misunderstanding. Mom was working as a nail tech at this place in Mumbai, and this chick walks in and wants a mani, so she has her sit in the chair and starts working on her, and they're talking away about men and shit," --she pauses to take a long sip of her mocha latte--"and so Mom starts doing her nails in this nice pink shade, when the chick does a face plant on the table and then falls to the floor dead. Mom was like, 'whoa!' and it turned out the woman had a fatal allergy to O.P.I. products or something. I mean, what was she even doing there, right? Duh. She should have said something, or gone for the henna tats instead. But nooOOOoo, so that's where that whole Goddess of Death thing got started."

"You lie like a rug!" exclaims Chloe.

"No, seriously," says Vajaysus the Girl Savior. 

The Queen of the Vampires is half conked out, lying across the Dark Haired Chick and getting an ear scratch; she is doing that contented cat rumbling thing.

Danny himself comes in from outside. "Hello, ladies," he says in his endearing raspy voice.

"Hi Dannyyyyyy!" comes the chorus.

"You old fart," adds Chloe under her breath, but loud enough to be heard. When they all laugh at once they sound like angels, Danny's coffee shop angels.

Then the bell above the door is ringing, people are coming in and the night goes on, like a drop of mocha latte sliding down the side of a smooth ceramic mug.