Category Archives: Gay

Homophobes and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

(I realize you were all expecting Part Two of yesterday’s post today. Sometimes, as the man said, life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans. And life happened yesterday and demanded I blog about it. Expect Part Two of the stats post…Friday. Maybe. Or Saturday. I don’t know. I have to go to Massachusetts tonight to watch a musical based on a Marx Brothers movie. Don’t ask.)

Yesterday, the Supreme Court met to vote on the constitutionality of two things: Section 3 of the Defense of Marriage Act (known as DOMA) and Prop 8. If you’re on the internet at all ever, I’m sure you’ve seen people having changed their profile pictures on Twitter and Facebook to this:

“ARGH HOW WILL I KNOW WHO ANYONE IS?” you might have thought, if you had no idea what was going on. “WHY ARE ALL MY FRIENDS RED BOXES WITH PINK LINES?”

To show their support for marriage equality and the unconstitutionality of DOMA. Also, seriously, try being a theater person. I haven’t known who was posting what on Facebook for MONTHS. Everyone was a red box with pink lines. I’d be all, “Did Patrick post that or was it Dan? SOMEONE STRIKE EFFING DOMA DOWN ALREADY I MISS EVERYONE’S FACES!”

In case you’ve been hiding your head in the sand all ostrich-style for a while, here’s a quick DOMA/Prop 8 primer.


  • Allows states to refuse to recognize same-sex marriages performed in other states
  • Bars same-sex couples from receiving federal marriage benefits

Prop 8:

  • States that “only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in California” (which overturned the California Supreme Court’s ruling that same-sex couples had the right to marry.)

To break these into terms you might understand if you are a homophobe:

DOMA, were it against everyone, and not just segregating the same-sex couples in a totally unconstitutional way, not to tip my hand about how I feel about it or anything (coughdirtyliberalcough) would say if you married your husband/wife in New York, you wouldn’t be recognized as a married couple in Mississippi. It would also state that if you married someone from England, he/she would have to return to England once their visa expired, and if you were dying, your husband/wife couldn’t make any decisions about your care, and if you were killed in a terrifying tractor accident, your husband/wife wouldn’t get your Social Security benefits.

Prop 8, were IT against everyone, just says you can’t get married in California.

Aren’t we lucky these aren’t against everyone, and just against those pesky gays.

Anyway, enter Edith Windsor.

Edith Windsor married the love of her life – a woman she’d been in a forty-year relationship with, Thea Spyer, in Canada in 2007. They lived in New York. New York (holla!) recognized their marriage as valid. When Thea died, and left her estate to Windsor, the estate tax was $363,053. Now, were they an opposite-sex couple, the estate tax would have been waived. But they weren’t. They were a same-sex couple. And, well, DOMA.

Windsor paid the tax. And promptly turned around and sued the Federal government for a refund.

Listen. The love of her life – FORTY FUCKING YEARS – had just died. And now the Federal government was telling her that their marriage didn’t count. Did she roll over and pay the money and weep about how unfair it all was?

Fuck that. FUCK THAT. She sued the FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.

And you guys?

Yesterday she won.

And they say there aren’t any more heroes.

The Supreme Court of the United States said that Section 3 of DOMA – the second bullet point up there – was unconstitutional. And from what I’m reading, it’s apparently only a matter of time before Section 2 (the first bullet point) goes bye-bye, too. (Oddly, Section One is just “This is called DOMA.” I’m not even kidding. We’ll let ’em have that section, if they want it.)

What does this mean?

Well, if you’re a same-sex couple married in one of the thirteen states that currently allow same-sex marriage (WHAT? THIRTEEN? BUT WHEN I WOKE UP YESTERDAY THERE WERE TWELVE! Yeah, wait a minute, slappy) you get the same benefits as a opposite-sex couple. You can pay taxes together, you can make healthcare decisions, you can have insurance together, you can stay in the country if you are an expatriate or an immigrant who married someone who lives here…same rules apply.


It means nothing changes. It means life goes on. It means you wake up tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and you get to instill the same homophobic bullshit into your kids’ malleable little brains as you always have.

No one’s making you marry someone of the same sex as you.

Let me put it simply, in case I’m being too verbiose:


Now, let’s talk about Prop 8. See, Prop 8’s a pain in the ass because for a brief period of time, same-sex couples were allowed to marry in California, until people got all “WHAT OMG NO!” and Prop 8ed them and then they couldn’t get married anymore.

Right after voting Section 3 of DOMA unconstitutional, the Supreme Court of Merka voted Prop 8 unconstitutional as well.

Yesterday was the worst day ever to be a homophobe, you guys. If they weren’t such small-minded crapmonsters I’d almost feel sorry for them.

Californians of the same sex can feel free to marry again as soon as various little legalities are ironed out.

That means we’re up to 13 states that allow same-sex marriage here in America. Well, 13 and Washington D.C., so 13.0005 or whatever we call D.C., I suppose.

You are all aware that’s both awesome and terrible, right? Because that’s 26% of Merka. 26% more than we had when we started, but ONLY 26%.

Now, listen. I know what you homophobes are thinking. You got home yesterday. You kicked at your pets and you poured yourself some sort of stiff double beverage and you started saying the following to whoever would listen:

  • “The Bible says this is AGAINST GOD’S WILL!”
  • “Those damn gays! Who do they think they are? They don’t deserve any more rights than the rest of us!”
  • “Once gays marry, who’s next? Turtles?”
  • “Kids raised by the gays are more likely to become gay themselves!”
  • “The gay agenda is taking over Merka and I DO NOT LIKE IT!”

I am here to help, homophobes. Luckily, I grew up among you. I dated some of your ranks. I am related to some of you. I KNOW YOUR PEOPLE. I speak your LANGUAGE. I can HELP.

Let’s break this down, one by one.

“The Bible says this is AGAINST GOD’S WILL!”

Yes. The Bible says a lot of things. The Bible also says don’t eat lobster and don’t wear clothes that mix fabric types and to stone whores and, here’s the kicker, and I know this one’s going to shock you…treat others as you, yourself, would be treated.

That’s the one people tend to forget.

Would you want people screaming your marriage is against God’s will? Would you want people telling you you’re an abomination? Would you want people telling you your marriage is invalid?

Nope. Didn’t think so.

“Those damn gays! Who do they think they are? They don’t deserve any more rights than the rest of us!”

I totally agree with this one. Who DO they think they are? They DON’T deserve any more rights than the rest of us! Oh. Shit. Wait. That would mean…the right to marry whoever they loved…and get the same benefits as opposite-sex couples…and not get beaten up on the streets just for holding hands…and not get called names…and “faggot” wouldn’t be something you call a kid in school if he was feminine as the ultimate put-down…

Crap. Where would we STOP once we gave them the rights that the rest of us had? This IS a slippery slope.

“Once gays marry, who’s next? Turtles?”

I think we’ve talked about this a few times because Bill O’Reilly said on Fox News once that if same-sex marriage became a thing, then people would start marrying turtles.

That’s just absurd. Everyone knows turtles look awful in veils. Now FROGS, on the other hand…

(No one’s marrying a turtle. Or a goat. Or a frog. Listen, let’s liken this to when interracial marriage was banned, then allowed. Did people start marrying wildlife? No. They didn’t. So I highly doubt anyone’s going to wake up today all, “Part of DOMA got declared unconstitutional? I’m marrying the bear at the Country Bear Jamboree today, then, dammit!”)

Well, he COULD provide the musical entertainment at your wedding. That is a consideration.

Well, he COULD provide the musical entertainment at your wedding. That is a consideration.

“Kids raised by the gays are more likely to become gay themselves!”

I can answer this one without research. I know, right? It’s amazing how cool I am.

Children raised by same-sex parents are not more likely to be gay or lesbian. And do you know why?

Because being gay or lesbian (or trans, or bi, or what have you) ARE NOT CHOICES.

They are they way people are born. It’s hard-wired into your brain. Asking this question is like asking, “Are the children of same-sex couples more likely to be left-handed?” or “Are the children of same-sex couples more likely to be blondes?”

It’s the way you’re born. A gay child is just as likely to be born to a gay couple as a straight couple. End of argument.

“The gay agenda is taking over Merka and I DO NOT LIKE IT!”


You’re totally right, though. I’m going to tell you a secret that the gays don’t want me to tell you. See, I have many friends amongst the gays, and they entrust me with their secrets – and I am sharing one with you now. This may well get me kicked out of their special people club.


And guess what it is?

Equal rights for everyone in the LGBTQIA community.

Full stop. End of sentence.

Equal fucking rights.

The right to marry the person they love. The right to have all the accompanying benefits that come with marriage. The right to be safe in their environment. The right to be accepted. The right to be seen as an equal member of the human fucking race.

Yes. The gay agenda. Look out, homophobes. It’s coming to YOUR TOWN.

And it’s deliciously accessorized. Possibly with a feather boa, or perhaps a pair of kickass motorcycle boots.

(Congratulations to everyone affected by the Supreme Court’s decision to strike down Section Three of DOMA and find Prop 8 unconstitutional yesterday. Selfishly, a SPECIAL congratulations to my most-beloved gay and lesbian friends, married or not, who are now one step closer to being a citizen with full rights in the country they were born and live in. Thank you, SCOTUS, for doing the right thing; in a country where you never quite seem to know if the government is for or against you, you did the right thing not once, but twice today. And yes, I spent pretty much the entire day yesterday reading my Facebook feed and various news outlets and weeping in joy. We got it right. For once, we got it right.)

…the status is not quo. The world is a mess and I just need to rule it.

sj alerted me to this and I do not approve. (Of the story, not of sj. I approve of sj most wholeheartedly.)

Apparently, there is a website called WND. I didn’t know it existed, either. Don’t feel bad. “WND” stands for World Net Daily. They find news and then tell you about it from a conservative viewpoint. Oh, I know about this! It’s called Fox News. Dad fills me in on this every day. I’m totally up on the conservative viewpoint and the mockery thereof. It’s both fair AND balanced, you guys.

So WND (I keep wanting to call it WWD and wonder where the fashion is, yo) decided the latest person they hated is – ready for this? Neil Patrick Harris.


See, I don’t know if you’re aware? But NPH is gay. YES IT IS TRUE FACTS! He is married to a lovely man and they have adorable twins.

He’s also a talented actor, onstage and in movies and on television, and seems, in interviews, to be a very well-spoken, intelligent, and interesting person. He also sings and dances beautifully and is very, very funny. Seriously, his hosting stint on Saturday Night Live made me laugh until I almost choked. If stupid played nice with WordPress I would show you. Instead, here’s a link. And another. (First link is NPH doing this Doogie Howser musical thing – I can’t even explain. Roommate C. and I were in TEARS of laughter. And second link is NPH doing a Broadway skit. Both are worth the click, promise.)

PLUS, come ON, how many actors are happy to make fun of themselves in a stoner movie?

“Yeah. It was a total dick move on my part. That’s why I’m paying for your burgers.”


“Did you notice that he threw you in the garbage?”


So anyway, NPH did the following ad for the Superbowl:


I have nothing against Tim Tebow, but apparently the Christian right has decided he’s their spokesperson? Worrisome. I think you already HAVE a spokesperson. JESUS. My mom told me that and I have to believe her, as she is my mom.

So! By wearing this crap on his face with the dates on it (apparently this is called “eyeblack”, who knew) NPH is “…pushing a gay agenda …and…mocking Christians at the same time.”

OH! Is THAT what he’s doing! Well. Isn’t THAT a whole bunch of things to be doing all at once like that, how very multitasky!

(Also, if you want to see a cross-section of super-awesome humans? Read the comments on the WND post. OH MY OH NO. “REPENT REPENT!” says the very first one. Um. You repent for gaybashing, I’ll repent for whatever it is you’re judging me for, bub.)

Shit. Well, if NPH is too gay for the Superbowl, then so am I. I AM SPARTACUS. I’m totally boycotting it this year.

What’s that? I boycott it every year because I refuse to watch it because it’s sports and I hate sports and this is really not a BOYCOTT, per se, if I’m doing something I would do ANYWAY and just SAYING it’s a political statement?

Well. Aren’t YOU judgey. That’s very rude of you. Huff, huff.

(For the record, guess who can enjoy sports? Gay people. Straight people. People with no legs. People with two heads. People with red hair. People who wear too many gold chains. People who like their pizza with black olives. People with penises. People without penises. People with both penises AND vaginas. Tall people. Short people. Fat people. Skinny people. People who wear sweaters with kittens on the front. People who like dairy. People who are lactose-intolerant. In short: ANYONE AT ALL.)

There’s no gay agenda. Well, no, I take that back. There’s totally a gay agenda. The gays (yes, I’ve talked to all of them) would like the following:

  • to be treated like productive members of society, no matter who they love
  • to be given the same rights as everyone else
  • to not be beaten up for who they love (or called names on the street, or given dirty looks, or be made to feel unsafe in any way)

That’s pretty much it. I don’t know if three bullet points make an “agenda.” I mean, I’m on a board of directors. We have more bullet points than that on our monthly board meeting agendas.

Listen. I don’t care about a lot of things. But if you don’t like NPH, at least a little, I think your heart might be dead. He is just pure joy, this guy. He isn’t furthering ANYTHING. He’s the star of one of the biggest shows on his network. I bet half or more of the people who watch his show don’t even KNOW he’s gay. He doesn’t even play someone gay ON the show. And the photo above is from a promo clip on his network, who would be stupid not to use one of their most recognizable faces for publicity purposes.

That’s it. That’s the agenda. His network wants people to watch the Superbowl; they used one of their resources to get people to do so. I don’t think they were mocking Tebow. Little known fact: people were using that eyeblack shit before Tebow came along. IT IS TRUE.

Dear WND: please to be getting a life. You make me sad and also angry. You are small-minded and hateful people and at some point you have forgotten that we’re all human on this rock in space and there’s no room for that kind of thinking because it’s 2013 and we don’t need to put up with it anymore.

In short, WND, feel most free to bite me. Grow the hell up.

The Time the Otters Saved the World

I somehow have the day off today, and am waiting for an important phone call. The person who is supposed to call me only has my home phone number. So I cannot leave the house. I have a million billion errands to run and I CANNOT LEAVE THE HOUSE. This is killing me. In a little while if they have not called me, I’m going to have to call them and leave my cell phone number on their voice mail, which I think is probably unprofessional because it’s a very important phone call and that’s going to make me look like a fool (and also when I left the original voice mail DAYS ago it was all DO NOT LEAVE MULTIPLE VOICE MAILS but at the TIME I did not anticipate they would be SO SLOW ABOUT CALLING ME BACK DAMMIT), a fool I tell you, but I don’t get a day off very often and if I don’t get my shit done, I may not have another chance to do it this week, which means I will be eating toast for days. And I’m almost out of bread. In related news, I’m still the most impatient person on the face of the earth, and waiting – for ANYTHING – makes me itchy like I have hives. Somehow, when the patience genes were being handed out, I was not in the correct line. I’m sure I was in the line for hair that sticks up all over the place or crazy eyes or something along those lines. BAD CHOICE IN LINES, AMY.

No, my phone doesn’t look like this, goofy. It’s like a cheap Walmart cordless or something, I don’t know.

I know you’re getting a lot of random posts lately. Sorry. I have to write these in-between times and my brain’s kind of scattery. It’s the way things will be for a bit. Someday we’ll get back to normal here in Amy-land. Well, at least I hope we will. I can’t promise we will, but no one can promise anything, can they? Nope. They can try, but they’re liars, all.

I’d be remiss not to mention what today is. You all know what today is. I won’t go all “NEVER FORGET ALWAYS REMEMBER” on you. I’ll just say, I hate today because it makes me random-weepy and I assume that will happen until I am an old, old Amy with a million cats. I’m going to attempt to avoid the weepery today but I think we all know how that’s going to go. OK FINE. There will be a LITTLE weepery. I’m only human. Shush, today’s a hard day that brings back a lot of bad memories. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

HOWEVER! In much much happier news, it’s Jim and Mrs. Jim’s anniversary. Happy anniversary, Jim and Mrs. Jim!

In additional fantastic happy news, our Science Fellow, Andreas, is expecting a new baby!

Well, HE isn’t. That’d be super-sciency, wouldn’t it? GROUNDBREAKINGLY sciency. Tabloid-newspaper sciency. No no no. His fiancée is obviously the one who will be giving birth, of course. But he AND his fiancée are expecting their second baby in just a few weeks! Their first child is (and I am admittedly biased) absolutely wonderful and adorable and funny and also one of the most beautiful children to ever exist, and Baby Andreas the Second* (*probably not what they will name him, I mean, MAYBE, but odds aren’t good) will ALSO be wonderful amazing perfection, of this I have no doubt. YAY ANDREAS! Congratulations to you and The Fiancée! The world can only be a better place with more baby Andreases running around in it. This is TRUE FACTS.

In news of wonderful animals and science, guess who’s going to save the world?

Yes, that’s right. OTTERS!

Here’s how it goes down: the world needs kelp. Kelp is a good thing. Kelp can absorb twelve percent of the CO2 from the atmosphere. TWELVE PERCENT! That’s a lot of percent, yo. We have too much CO2 in the atmosphere because we’re dirty polluters and therefore we need kelp.

Also, it’s pretty! But I bet if you drive your boat into it your motor would get all tangled up.

Sea urchins like to nom on kelp. Now, I can’t hate on the sea urchins. Sea urchins are pretty kickass. They’re all spiny and pretty and someday I’m going to eat somewhere fancy so I can taste one because before I die I want to try ALL the seafood, all of it. But, because sea urchins are eating the kelp, and we need the kelp, this is a bad thing. This is where OTTERS come in!

Otters eat sea urchins! So by eating sea urchins, otters are protecting the kelp, and therefore SAVING  THE PLANET. So the next time you’re recycling your laundry detergent bottles or whatever, think what you COULD be doing. SAVING THE WORLD BY BEING AN OTTER. Wouldn’t that be so much better? Yes. I want to be an otter. They are adorable and fun, and they always play and frolic. And they’re saving the woooooorrrrlllldddd. Al Gore! Check it out, the otters are saving the WORLD. As it should be. I always knew we’d be saved by adorable animals. I mean, has Disney taught us nothing?

Look! This otter has a little buffet all set up on his belleh. I like this otter. He has style. And panache. He’s a bon vivanty otter.

Oh, I wanted to tell you about the egg situation at the theater I hinted about a few posts back. So I’ve worked on two shows where we had to have eggs onstage. Both were ick. Totally ick.

Listen, I like eggs a great deal. Especially with cheese. But not on a stage. Or in a box or on a fox, Sam I Am.

The first show was cooked eggs. The actor had to eat eggs in a breakfast scene. So I found these frozen scrambled eggs. If you cooked them in the microwave before the show, they were ok. I mean, they were cold by the time he got them, but they were palatable. He never ate much of them, but he wanted real eggs so they looked real (and if I remember correctly, eggs were mentioned in the script so it wasn’t like we could make him a fruit plate or something.) We’d refrigerate (or leave in the freezer) the eggs inbetween shows that he didn’t eat and warm them up and they smelled kind of sulfury and we were all, “P., maybe don’t really eat those eggs. P., we’re worried those are poison eggs. P., just pretend to eat the eggs. NO ONE WILL CARE, P.” and he still ate the eggs. (Only our kitchen smelled, though. Luckily the theater didn’t smell of weird sulfur-eggs.) We were so worried we were going to kill him with those stupid eggs. And they smelled TERRIBLE. I don’t remember what name-brand those frozen breakfast meals were, but I don’t recommend you get them because they were suspect.

It was something like this. But microwaved bacon is disgusting so we threw it away. I don’t think there was a hashbrown.

I know what you’re thinking. “Maybe it’s COOKED eggs that are the problem, Amy. Maybe you need to do a show with RAW eggs!” Well! I am here to tell you that we HAVE done that and IT IS NO BETTER. We did another show (P. was also in that one! but he was not involved in the egg-incident this time, HI, P.!) and in that show (one of my favorites I’ve ever worked on) the characters had to have a raw egg fight. Well, not so much a fight – there was no THROWING of eggs – but they had to smash eggs over each other’s heads. So there was the scene with the egg-smashery (and aw, those poor actors, they had to run offstage, clean egg out of their hair and change their clothing and run RIGHT BACK ONSTAGE, and they are very much in love and moved to New York together now, how cute is that?) and then, in the dark (well, I think there was a slight light, like a tiny bit of light) K. and I had to run out, also in costume (not FULL costume, just long skirts and long-sleeved shirts to fit in with the period of the show) and as quick as possible, with multiple towels, a mop, and a bucket of water, clean that stage up as much as possible in about three minutes so the next scene could go on as if nothing had happened. It was Keystone Kops up there on that stage. We were all muttering “eggshell over here” and “SO MUCH EGG OVER HERE!” under our breath to one another in the gloom and cleaning like house-elves on speed and tripping over one another and trying not to slip on the combination of egg and water. Which, if you didn’t get it all in the dark (and listen, we never did) it turned to glue, so the next day before the show when I had to sweep and mop the stage, I couldn’t get it off the stage. At least it never really started to smell, which is surprising. Even with all of that, oh, I loved that show. One of the best I’ve done in all my years in theater. I was so sad when it was over. I loved the cast, I loved the script, I loved the set, I loved the director, I loved working with K. We had so much fun.

Finally, let’s talk about a happy. Well, a happy thing to come from an asshatty situation. So apparently, there is a football team (don’t start with me, I don’t care about sports) named the Baltimore Ravens. I’d cheer for a team called the Ravens because it reminds me of Poe. In Maryland, there’s a ballot initiative to legalize gay marriage (GO MARYLAND!) A player on the Ravens came out vocally in support of that initiative. Why? Well, shit, who cares why? Because he’s a human and it’s the right thing to do? Whatever. His name is Brendon Ayanbadejo. I like that last name. It has a lot of character. After he did, Maryland state delegate Emmett C. Burns Jr. contacted the owner of the team (teams have owners? shut UP, I TOLD you I don’t know anything about sports, really? People OWN teams? What, can they invite them over to like, mow their lawn whenever they have a whim, or something?) and told the owner to “inhibit such expressions from his employee.”

“My name is Mr. Burns, and I hate gays. I HATE THE GAYS SO SCARY SO SO SCARY MAKE ‘EM GO AWAY MOMMA.”

WHOA NELLY. Is anyone else imagining Emmett C. Burns Jr. as Mr. Burns, all “release the hounds?” I am.

Anyway, so ANOTHER player, on ANOTHER team (the Minnesota Vikings) named Chris Kluwe wrote a letter to Mr. “Exxxxxcellent” Burns, and it is VERY VERY AWESOME. If you don’t care for cussing, well, probably don’t click on it. But if you don’t care about profanity, and you like people who aren’t afraid to stand up for something they believe in even though they’re aware it will probably piss some people off, I recommend you click on the link.

Some highlights:

“Your vitriolic hatred and bigotry make me ashamed and disgusted to think that you are in any way responsible for shaping policy at any level. The views you espouse neglect to consider several fundamental key points, which I will outline in great detail (you may want to hire an intern to help you with the longer words…)”

“What on earth would possess you to be so mind-boggingly stupid? It baffles me that a man such as yourself, a man who relies on that same First Amendment to pursue your own religious studies without fear of persecution from the state, could somehow justify stifling another person’s right to speech. To call that hypocritical would be to do a disservice to the word.”

“As recently as 1962 the NFL still had segregation, which was only done away with by brave athletes and coaches daring to speak their mind and do the right thing, and you’re going to say that political views have ‘no place in a sport’?”

“This is more a personal quibble of mine, but why do you hate freedom? Why do you hate the fact that other people want a chance to live their lives and be happy, even though they may believe in something different than you, or act different than you? How does gay marriage, in any way shape or form, affect your life? If gay marriage becomes legal, are you worried that all of a sudden you’ll start thinking about penis?” (WHY DO YOU HATE FREEDOM? This made me laugh so hard I spit-took. Because it is a thing DAD SAYS. And MEANS. To ME. It is usually in this sentence: “Why do you Dumbocrats hate freedom so much?”)

And…best paragraph of them all:

“I can assure you that gay people getting married will have zero effect on your life. They won’t come into your house and steal your children. They won’t magically turn you into a lustful cockmonster. They won’t even overthrow the government in an orgy of hedonistic debauchery because all of a sudden they have the same legal rights as the other 90 percent of our population—rights like Social Security benefits, child care tax credits, Family and Medical Leave to take care of loved ones, and COBRA healthcare for spouses and children. You know what having these rights will make gays? Full-fledged American citizens just like everyone else, with the freedom to pursue happiness and all that entails. Do the civil-rights struggles of the past 200 years mean absolutely nothing to you?”

Yes, you can totally get a Lustful Cockmonster t-shirt, here you go.

I don’t care in the least about sports, but I now have a major crush on Chris Kluwe. I did research. He is 30 so it’s not SO creepy. Research tells me he’s an MMORPG nerd and plays bass in a band (sigh, I do love me a bass player.) He unfortunately is married (…dammit) but that doesn’t mean I can’t crush on him from afar. I promise I won’t actually TOUCH him. Or lick him. Or anything to him. Just crush. Nicely. From afar.

I think we (by “we” I mean “I” because sorry, I have problems with this) might mistakenly assume football players to be unintelligent meatheads. I’m quite pleased to discover this is not the case.


OK, this is LONG. And guess what, the phone never rang. Well, it did, but it was only my job calling with hours for the week. Spoiler alert, there are a lot of them and they involve me waking up before the sun. I’m going to leave the house. The minute I do this phone is going to ring. You know it is, right? Sigh.

I can hardly wait to see you come of age

It is a very special day! Three years ago today, my most favorite person was born.

The Nephew is joyous and brilliant and funny and stubborn and I am admittedly biased, but I am quite sure he is the best little human around. I am one cranky mama-jamma, but not when The Nephew’s around. He cheers me right up. You can’t be in a bad mood around this kid. He’s filled with light. Look at that face. Can you look at that face without smiling? Well, maybe you can, but you might be broken, just a warning. You might want to get that looked into.

So today I am spending the day celebrating the birthday of my favorite little person, that somehow I am lucky enough to be related to. I know! Funny how that worked out, right? I get to hang out with him on his birthday and watch him eat cake (when you ask him what kind of cake he will have on his birthday, he looks at you like you’re insane and says, “CHOCOLATE,” like, “duh, ADULT, of course it’s chocolate, what OTHER kind of cake is there?” Mom told him I was coming home for his birthday, and he apparently thought about it for a moment, and said, “She can have some of my cake,” like it was a tough call, but he decided it would be ok. Aw, buddy!) and open presents and swim and play with the other kids and generally be the most amazing little guy around. He’s worth the drive home and back in the heat; he’s worth spending too much money on in presents; he’s worth pretty much anything I’ve got.

The ONLY type of cake. ONLY.

Happy birthday, The Nephew. And a million, billion, trillion more. I love you more than pudding and popsicles and bacon and nailpolish and penguins and semicolons.

In completely non-related news, there has been a lot of celebrity news. Let’s discuss what’s up in the land of celebrities, shall we? Or, as Dad calls it, the land of fruits and nuts.

First: Katie Holmes has left ol’ toothy alien-believin’ Cruise, and balance is restored in the world.

…help me. HELP ME.

In what some could say is the only intelligent decision she’s made in…well…seven years, Katie Holmes finally decided to leave Tom Cruise last week. I can’t believe that she stayed with him as long as she did, honestly. Here’s what I see happening. His gigantic battalion of lawyers will gag-order her to the point where she can say one of three phrases about her marriage to Tom, and never more than one of the three on the same day: “We both want what’s best for Suri,” “We were married for seven years,” and “This is a new chapter of my life.”

Tom Cruise is apparently flabbergasted by this development, and probably went to whoever runs the Church of Scientology now and was all, “YOU PROMISED ME A PRETTY LADY IF I PROMISED TO NOT HAVE GAY SEX THIS IS NOT WHAT I WAS PROMISED” and they were all, “Eh, people don’t always behave according to the law of thetan space operas, what can you do” and then Cruise stomped and stomped and screamed “RUMPLESTILTSKIN!” and tore himself in two and fell through a hole in the floor.

There are a million theories as to why Holmes finally left Cruise; from his religion (more specifically, him attempting to shove his religion down their child’s throat) to his controlling nature (ZOMG he wouldn’t let her do a Dawson’s Creek reunion!); however, I think it all boils down to one, very specific thing:


She’s apparently attempting to get full custody of Suri. I hope like hell she does. He scares the everloving shit out of me, no joke.

(On a related note, Andreas says he thinks I suffer from odontophobia, which is the fear of teeth. Not ALL teeth. Just people with TOO MANY teeth. And who show them too much. That’s all.)

On to happier things. You are all aware, I hope, of the love we have here at Lucy’s Football for Anderson Cooper. And by “we” I of course mean “me.” That was a royal “we.” It’s not a cheerocracy here at Lucy’s Football.

Last week, Anderson Cooper, in a completely classy and understated way (as if he could do it any OTHER way) admitted what most of us had assumed for, well, ever:

I’ve always believed that who a reporter votes for, what religion they are, who they love, should not be something they have to discuss publicly. As long as a journalist shows fairness and honesty in his or her work, their private life shouldn’t matter. I’ve stuck to those principles for my entire professional career, even when I’ve been directly asked “the gay question,” which happens occasionally. Recently, however, I’ve begun to consider whether the unintended outcomes of maintaining my privacy outweigh personal and professional principle. It’s become clear to me that by remaining silent on certain aspects of my personal life for so long, I have given some the mistaken impression that I am trying to hide something – something that makes me uncomfortable, ashamed or even afraid. This is distressing because it is simply not true.  The fact is, I’m gay, always have been, always will be, and I couldn’t be any more happy, comfortable with myself, and proud.

I have always assumed that Anderson Cooper was gay. (So have a lot of people. At one point, he made Out Magazine’s list of most influential gay celebrities, and this was LONG before he even came out.) Mostly, I assumed he was gay because I was attracted to him, because that’s how these things work, you see. Here’s the thing. Doesn’t matter. If he chose not to talk about it? Totally his call. The only thing that worried me is what he addressed in his statement above – that other people (namely, youth struggling with coming out themselves) would see being gay as a shameful thing, something to be hidden, embarrassed by. I love that when Anderson Cooper came out, he did it with his typical grace and style, thinking of others, classy as possible.

I’ve always admired Anderson Cooper. I know this will make some people dislike him, or distrust him – homophobic people who think that someone’s sexual orientation supercedes everything else in their life – but for me, it makes me like and admire him more. He’s a hell of a reporter and a writer, he’s funny, he’s intelligent, and he’s brave, on a lot of levels. And he happens to be gay. What he does in his personal life doesn’t affect me in the slightest. That he’s a role model for other struggling gay kids who need someone to look up to – well, that matters to me as a human being who cares about the well-being of my fellow human beings.

Thank you, Anderson Cooper. You’re wonderful. Good for you.

And, finally, in so so soooo sad news, apparently Chris Brown’s latest album is not being reviewed well, and ZOMG, you guys, what total sadface that is, right? I mean, we should all rally for the poor guy. If someone who beat his girlfriend can’t get another Grammy, I don’t know what the world is coming to. I mean, look. He spells it all out of for us in one of his songs: “Listeners seeking references to Brown’s troubles need look no further than ‘Don’t Judge Me,’ in which he sings ‘Just let the past just be the past … take me as I am, not who I was.'” Oh, well, that fixes it, then. We should all forgive you for beating your girlfriend and not feeling in the least bit sorry about it at all. We should ALL rush out and buy that album, clearly. To fund domestic violence. Clearly. My adorable and lovely cousin is madly in love with him for no reason I can ascertain, so he MUST be a class act, I mean, of course he must. Even when I say, “J., HE BEAT HIS GIRLFRIEND,” she has the response of, “Oh, that was a long time ago,” which explains it, of course. It’s my own damn fault for not being able to forget things like WOMEN COVERED WITH BRUISES.

I’d put a photo of Chris Brown here but I hate him so much I can’t even, so here’s a photo of an adorable sleeping puppy instead. You’re welcome.

Happy Sunday and happy day of The Nephew’s birthday! Day off tomorrow for me, whoo-hoo!

I’m just a little black rain cloud, pay no attention to me

Dear blog readers, I am in a mood of foulness that has followed me around like Winnie the Pooh as a little black raincloud all day, only nowhere near as cute. Like, near-to-posting emo STATUSES foul. Can you even imagine? I know. It’s that bad.

Work is the suck, and people are the suck, and stress levels are high, and tears have happened in bathrooms. It has not been a good day. Although, you’re reading this on Thursday, maybe Thursday is a better day. Maybe the raincloud lifted, what the hell do I know.

ANYWAY, I am not fit for human consumption today, because I’m totally going to snap someone’s head right off. I am going to a play tonight, and it’s a play I’m very much looking forward to seeing, starring some of my favorite people, but all I want to do is pull covers up over my head and have a good long cry, followed by an equally long mope. And some Dumbcat-cuddling, he makes things better.

I would go into more detail, but that’s along the lines of emo statuses, isn’t it? Being all vague and “you know what you did”-y and whatever because the people whose heads I want to snap off are probably reading this right now? And, NO, don’t you even DARE message me asking if you’re one of the head-snapping-off people, if you don’t know, the answer is, YES, you probably are. And even if you’re not, I’m going to TELL you that you are for sending me an asshole message and trying to make me be the custodian of your neuroses.

Anyway. You’re here for the funny, right? I’ve got no funny. No funny to give. I’m all weepy like a frigging eyeliner teen.

Let’s talk about two things, then I’m off to the play.

One: President Obama did a brave thing.

In an election year, he came out in support of same-sex marriage. Both he and Vice President Biden did, actually.

Now, he did this Wednesday, and he was in Albany (the awesomemest place ever to awesome) Tuesday. COINCIDENCE? YOU BE THE JUDGE.  FINE, it was probably coincidence, but I’ll pretend it wasn’t. Just to make myself happy.

Here’s Obama, in his own words:

“I have to tell you that over the course of several years, as I have talked to friends and family and neighbors, when I think about members of my own staff who are in incredibly committed monogamous relationships, same-sex relationships, who are raising kids together, when I think about those soldiers or airmen or marines or sailors who are out there fighting on my behalf and yet feel constrained, even now that ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ is gone, because they are not able to commit themselves in a marriage, at a certain point I’ve just concluded that for me personally it is important for me to go ahead and affirm that I think same-sex couples should be able to get married.”

And here’s Joe Biden, who’s quite often got the Amy foot-in-mouth disease, but here came through like a champ:

“I am absolutely comfortable with the fact that men marrying men, women marrying women, and heterosexual men and women marrying another are entitled to the same exact rights, all the civil rights, all the civil liberties. And quite frankly, I don’t see much of a distinction beyond that.”

It’s an election year. This is scary, because the President and Vice President potentially just alienated a lot of (coughhomophobichatefilledassholescough) voters. Sorry. That was rude. Some people are also old, like my grandmother, and think that if same-sex marriage is legal, she’ll be FORCED to marry a woman. Because that’s what Fox News told her. I wish that was a joke. If it makes you feel better to pretend it is, go to.

But they did it. Because they believed it, and because it was the right thing to do. Why else would they have done it? They could have merrily kept waffling about it, like they have for the past four years. I mean, we’ve all been grumbling for them to take a stand one way or the other, but no one could force them to show their hand. Really, it probably hurt them more than helped them to do it, right? Or maybe Obama watched Fox News one day, like I was forced to all last week, and realized, “meh, those people hate me so much, there’s no coming back from that, in for a penny, in for a pound, let’s do this, Biden!” My mom thinks they did it FOR votes, but I don’t think so. I think we’re still a country with more people against than for, unfortunately.

Listen, you all know where I stand on this. I’m not too shy about my feelings on the matter. I’m lucky enough to live in a state where it is legal. But North Carolina this week approved a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage. We’re still living in the middle ages in some states, here. This is a hot-button topic. You don’t meet too many people with no opinion on this one.

Do I love everything Obama? Nope. Was I going to vote for him anyway? Hell yes, look at my options. I’d like to retain control over my lady-bits, not much of a chance of that if we go Romney, now is there? (“THERE IS NO WAR ON WOMEN!!!” Shh, Dad.) But now I’m a little happier about my vote. So, thanks, Obama and Biden, for standing up for what’s right. Much appreciated from those of us who realize that there’s nothing scary about allowing consenting adults who love one another to get married. Well, except for the fact that WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?!?!?!1?!? I’m kidding, I’m kidding, the children are FINE, shush up.

This made me snort-laugh today. He looks so matter-of-fact. “Just another day on my unicorn! Shooting rainbow lasers! As you do!”

Two: Science has an explanation for social media. SURPRISE! IT’S SEXY.

According to this article, both talking about oneself and bragging about oneself (they’re…not at all the same thing, actually? But the article really doesn’t make a distinction, weird) triggers the same parts of your brain triggered during sex (dopamine, for you sciency folks.) So, according to SCIENCE, when you tweet or update your Facebook status, you get a little high that’s kind of like the high you get from having sex.

Social media totally gives you the O Face, apparently. Who knew?

The scientists did this study where people could answer questions online for money. They were given more money if they answered questions about abstract things, like politics, and less if they talked about themselves. Most opted to talk about themselves. (How much money? I’d answer Trivial Pursuit questions like a BOSS and stop talking about myself at ALL if you paid me enough.)

OK, listen, I like to talk about myself as much as the next gal (bragging…um, well, I don’t know about that, what the hell would I brag about, I live in a place that’s smaller than most of your garages and we currently need a litter change all up in here, just saying) but I’d just like to say that, for the record, I’ve had sex, and I’ll choose that over updating my Facebook status every. Single. Time. Tweeting – um, well, I’m a little addicted to that. Let’s say, 75% of the time I’d choose the sex. If tweeting and Facebook status updating are supposed to make me feel all sex-euphoric, I’m doing it wrong. Wait, am I supposed to be naked while I’m tweeting and Facebooking? Dammit, this isn’t working for me at ALL. Are my dopamine injectors broken? Oh, that would be JUST LIKE MY BRAIN. What? There’s no such thing as a dopamine injector? Well, that would explain why mine isn’t WORKING, now WOULDN’T IT?

Is this fishy to anyone else? NO THAT’S NOT A EUPHEMISM. Or are you all experiencing sex-highs from social media and I got nothing? Eff.

I’m back from the play. It was wonderful, but I’m exhausted. Also, as good as it was, it did nothing to alleviate my crankiness, and the asshole people are still being asshole people. Also, once?  I had a crush on a guy? And that ended poorly. And now whenever I see him my stomach hurts. Did I see him tonight? (And did he look frigging amazing? And smell so, so good, WHY MUST YOU MEN SMELL SO GOOD? It makes it nigh-on impossible to hate you when you smell like lusciousness.)  Well, I have a stomachache, you do the math.  ALSO, did you ever have a bad day, then it’s like the Jenga of bad days, where EVERYTHING just EFFING KEEPS GOING WRONG and you take a BLOCK from the BOTTOM and you PUT IT ON TOP and then the WHOLE EFFING THING FALLS RIGHT THE EFF DOWN? That. I’ve got that today.

Here’s a story that will undoubtedly bring cheer to someone who isn’t me, because I’m in a dark pit of mad that not even The Nephew can rescue me from. Then I’m going to bed, dammit.

So The Nephew goes to storytime at the local library. There are ten kids. They listen to stories, play little games, etc. Mom said yesterday, the story lady gave all the kids a penny. Now, The Nephew was STOKED. He was SO EXCITED. Someone gave him money! Then the story lady put ten felt donuts on a felt board, told a little story about someone selling donuts for a penny (what kind of dark magick is this? I want to live in penny-donut-land), and then called the kids up, one by one, and had them pay her their penny for a felt donut. Yeah, I know. It’s the stupidest, I don’t get it, either. I feel like something’s been lost in translation. So she called The Nephew’s name, he went up, he got his felt donut, he sat down, good kiddo. Then she kept telling the donut story (what the hell else is there to tell? This storytime is LAME, I would ROCK storytime, can you even IMAGINE how good I’d be at storytime? Those kids would NOT know what HIT them) and Mom said a few minutes in, a little voice said, “Can I have my penny back now?” and yep, it was The Nephew. He didn’t want that lame felt donut. Who would? It’s all about CASH MONEY BABY. So story lady ignored him, so he apparently thought it was because he wasn’t loud enough? So he was all, “CAN I HAVE MY PENNY BACK NOW?” and finally she was all “Ha ha! No! You can’t, you…um…already ATE your donut!” (This might go down as the dumbest thing anyone ever told a toddler in the “I put anything in my mouth ever” stage in the history of time.) So The Nephew looked at the felt donut, shrugged, and popped that thing right in his pie-hole. Story lady is all, “WE DON’T EAT THE FELT DONUTS!” Well, LISTEN, lady, you’re the one handing out money to toddlers, then making them trade it for a metaphoric handful of beads. Then telling them to EAT THE FELT DONUTS. Don’t be surprised when they follow orders. Weirdo.

Off to bed. Hoping for cheerierness tomorrow. Or I might punch someone in the uvula. That’s frowned upon in polite society, I think.

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