...and emmett, blinko, ronald & bobo make fifteen fourteen*

In homage to Catholic and Mormon reproductive systems worldwide.
(via Dave from Dulamae's fickr page)

Just when I think Dave has posted one too many drunken, flip-off photos of me and I would like to slather superglue all over his mouse, he sends this beauty. Instant forgiveness and state of grace, epiphenita-style (which is to say, peeing your pants while laughing your way to hell). Thank you, Dave. I can't seem to wear the humor out of this one.

*Shit. I miscounted the spawn menagerie. Got lost in a sea of navy blazers, blue prairie print dresses and matching hair forms. (Epiphenita, you mean they don't have fifteen kids? Only fourteen? What a bunch of procreating failures.) Is the urge to toss a bucket of blood vat of cherry jello on this righteous pile of homogeneity SO wrong? I mean, just to bring some warm tones into the photo? I think not.

tidbits & half-wits

More Adventures on Metro
On last week's train ride, I am sitting across the aisle from a young man, probably in his teens. He's wearing a new hoodie that has a cream colored background with a pattern that looks like, on first glance, orange tickets or paper money. As he gets up to leave the train, I see that rectangles are food stamps. A food stamps hoodie. That's just badass.

Domestic Irritation
I spent last weekend sewing a sun dress, bloomers & matching hat for a baby shower we attended yesterday. Yes. I know. Tough, queer feminist making dainty stitches. Was tempted to hide my crafts light under a gigantic hand-woven bushel but brought the outfit to work to show a few trusted friends. [Underscoring the point that it's not just lavender closet doors I'm committed to ripping off the hinges.] I really enjoy the technical process of sewing. I'm a perfectionist and finish every damn seam. My daughter warned me against domestic hubris by innocently asking me "Who was Arachne again, Mom?" Athena be damned, I did a fab job.

Anyway, in the process of my quiet workplace coming out, an uninvited, socially-inept coworker minced over to examine the outfit and blurted out, "It took you all weekend to make that?" Speechless. I was momentarily speechless. "I can't believe you said that..." was all I managed to eke out. While my Inner Rosie Perez was planting her flashy Latina hand on her sassy Latina hip shouting, "Oh, NO, you DI-ent!"

Funeral, Wedding and Baby Shower
Those were our event options yesterday. Circle of Life, Circle of Life. Kind of wish we could have been invited to a confirmation or bris to round out the rites checklist. Didn't make the funeral because, as much as I really like the guy whose father passed away, we weren't close enough for me to attend this extremely sad service. The wedding was fine. I mean for being in a church and all. The preacher guy was likable. He obviously knew and liked the young bride and groom. My biggest beef with this and many church weddings was the insinuation that marriages must be Christian in order to succeed.

The baby shower for which the aforementioned sun dress was hand-cobbled together was lovely. Happy and promising. I look forward to watching the transition of two wonderful men with busy work/volunteer/social calendars to two wonderful dads with all that and playdates.

The Return of Prodigious Daughter
Our youngest will be coming home to live for the first time in five years...I think that is how long it's been since she lived at home. She'll be spending about three months regrouping here in Houston before returning to Brooklyn for the next leg of her journey...wherever that finally takes her. While there is a bit of trepidation about living with a grown child (and surely for her: living with her mothers as an adult) the overwhelming emotion is elation. For a few months our lives overlap and I get to spend some time with this incredible person.

Aside: No pressure on you, son. Really, just because your return would make your mothers' happiness [sniff] complete...

A Shining Moment for Cultural Diversity

Black lady: Listen, you camel jockey, I don't care what you say, you was wrong to do that!
Middle Eastern man: Oh, shut up, you stupid nigga! I'm tired of hearing your shit! Go fuck yourself!
Black woman passerby: Oh my god, who the hell are you to be talking to my beautiful black sister like that?! You ain't got no right to talk to anybody black like that!
Black lady: Bitch, who the shit are you? Don't be talkin' to my husband like that!

--W 4th St station

via oiny

I'll have to leave you with that, dear readers.

are we on the same page?

oxymoron: urging people to think outside of the box by using a hackneyed cliché.

political polyamory

Some of you know about my ambivalence towards monogamy. Don't think it's natural but I do admit that, at times, it's damn practical. Here is my torch song for the upcoming Texas Primary:

There are times when a woman has to say what's on her mind
Even though she knows how much it's gonna hurt
Before I say another word let me tell you I love you
Let me hold you close and say these words as gently as I can

There's been another man that I've needed and I've loved
But that doesn't mean I love you less
And he knows you can't possess me and he knows he never will
There's just this empty place inside of me that only he can fill

Torn between two lovers, feelin' like a fool
Lovin' both of you is breakin' all the rules
Torn between two lovers, feelin' like a fool
Lovin' you both is breakin' all the rules

Words and Music by Peter Yarrow (of Peter, Paul , and Mary) and Phil Jarrel

Don't you love the bisexual subtext in all that?

And all of you Hillary Haters can bite me. Even though, Q, that HC video response to Barack's "Yes I Can" video was, indeed, more evidence that god IS dead.

my used gift to you

Some overheardinnewyork.com snarkery for your nothing-about-valentine's-day pleasure:

Conductor: No train Hokey Pokey! Either you're in or you're out!

--7 train, Grand Central

Mom to seven-year-old crossing street: Be careful, dear. You don't want to get run over or we can't have sushi.

--78th & Amsterdam

Father to son running towards intersection: Remember! A foot in the street means a foot in your ass!

--57th & 4th, Bay Ridge, Brooklyn

Mother to small daughter outside St. Patrick's: Stop crying -- I know it looks more like a haunted house than a church.

--St. Patrick's Cathedral, 5th Ave

Ahh, isn't that better than finding change on the streets?

sex toys for vd

It's official! The Texas ban on selling sex toys has been, well, banned. (This happy news via Scout Finch at dailykos.com) That's right kids, just in time for Valentine's Day, this silly wooden-dildo-up-their-asses law has been overturned.

One more quick note: You know how folks get all sputtery-umtarded when a nursing mother uses her breast in the evolutionary manner for which it's been so beautifully designed? In public? But they have no problem watching toddlers walk around with a bottle or pacifier happily clenched in their drooly little mouths, right?

bottle nipple/pacifier:breast = dildo:penis.

Does anyone else find this arbitrary sexualization moronic?

Would love to go on but I've got to run out and buy some vibrating dental dammed vinyl concocktion (I kill myself) before the little woman gets home...

i unheart romance

Some people get all dreamy-eyed and misty over shit like this and call it romantic:

[from today's postsecret.com]

• I call it clinging to an illusion you've created that bears no relationship to reality and most likely helped trash both your marriages.
• I call it obnoxious fantasizing about someone you never knew but imagine you did. Which is creepy.
  
• I call it puling and pining for the perfect woman/man/relationship that makes the everyday joys and difficulties of really working together with someone the boat you missed.
• I call it the concocted fantasy of the disconnected and sucking at the teat of regret that keeps you from growing up.
• I call it pathetic.

Guess I'm a shitty romantic.

social democrats/fiscal conservatives take note

I've heard people talk about being a Democrat on social issues but more Republican on fiscal policy. I've even wondered how much I agree with some Democratic economic approaches. But you'd have to be lobotomized not to notice that the Republicans have been serving us a big ol' economic shit sandwich* for the past 7 years.

It's hard even to remember -- now that the price of a barrel of crude oil has hit the $100 mark and still hovers around $91 -- that, in the week after September 11, 2001, oil was still under $20 a barrel.
(from tomdispatch.com via 2millionthweblog)

In 1998, when the bubble was taking shape, crude oil cost about $11 a barrel and the United States produced half of the petroleum it consumed; but that was the last year in which the fundamentals were so positive. American reliance on imported petroleum crossed the 50% threshold that very year and has been rising ever since, while the cost of imported oil hit the $100 per barrel mark this January 2 for the first time, an all-time record...
(Michael Klare via tomdispatch.com)

In just seven years crude oil prices have quintupled. But your salary? Not so much. Have you checked out the profits of W's O&G friends lately?

*godbless you jk.