At last, the Nova Scotia Post

Well, let's start backwards, only because starting backwards explains why this post took one week to appear. That means we must start with Saturday, July 30. Saturday July 30 marked the day we had to leave Peggy's Cove, NS and head back home. It was the day we were going to visit Prince Edward Island. It was the day we were going to stay in Bangor, Maine, and, in fact, the day we made the worst decision of our lives: to drive straight home to Northampton. Oh, and I'm the only driver. Oh, and we didn't leave PEI until 6:15. PM. Yeah, and you thought I was smart! Needless to say, the last week has been spent sleeping in every free moment and digging out at home from mail, cleaning, kitty snuggling, etc. We both worked all week, and the church opens next weekend, so we've been there every other moment of the day. Literally every moment of the last week has been occupied with something.

The drive through Mass., New Hampshire, Maine and New Brunswick at the start of our trip was relatively uneventful. If you've ever seen the northern seacoast of main or been in southern New Hampshire, you know exactly how uneventful it can be. But on day 2 of the trip we arrived at the Bay of Fundy. The Bay was beautiful and fantastic. The water in the bay rises 17 meters during its six hour tide cycle, making it the highest rising tide in the world. We spent a couple of hours there, and even got to walk on some of the mudflats that remain once the tide starts to go out. We had a beautiful day, and a long, long drive.



Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday we spent most of the time walking around town, sitting by the ocean, enjoying the cool weather and watching a lot of movies and reading a lot! Monday was our one year wedding anniversary, and we celebrated by going out to a nice dinner in Halifax. Can you say brie-stuffed almond crusted chicken with raspberry sauce? MMMM. We also went on a long, 10-mile cruise out into the Northern Atlantic, during which we saw seals, a leatherback turtle, and many, many puffins. They were pretty rough seas, and we were soaked when we got back, but we had a fantastic time. Puffins are pretty freakin' cute. Or, if you like Battlestar Gallactica, FRACKIN'.



On Wednesday we took a 750 mile tour of Nova Scotia, driving to the easternmost tip to Cape Breton island and National Park. This area, filled with Acadian and Scots-Gaelic cultures, was truly fascinating and beautiful. We drove and took pictures, hiked a little, and stopped on the way home at the only college in North America dedicated to teaching Celtic art. Fascinating.



Each morning for the rest of the week, we woke to the bagpiper playing away at the lighthouse, and spent more of our time reading, sunning, relaxing and walking around. If you're ever in Peggy's Cove, get the Nova Scotia Five-Berry ice cream served in a homemade waffle cone. It's five bucks (Canadian), but you will know heaven. HEAVEN.



Finally Saturday came, and we headed out to Prince Edward Island. We enjoyed the red, rust-oxide dyed beaches, and the warmest water north of South Carolina (along with some jellyfish). We pigged out at an all-you-can-eat-PEI-mussles lobster dinner, and then made el decision stupido mentioned above. It was a very relaxing vacation, and though I thought being that isolated would get to me, I'd pay a lot of money to be right back there at this moment.



Some things I learned in Canada:

1) Canadians love their flag. More than Americans, and more specifically, more than Texans. The Canadian flag is everywhere. EVERYWHERE.



2) Grocery stores are not open on Sunday.

3) Sharp cheddar cheese, regularly available in the US, is called Old Cheese in Canada. Mild is called Regular. Extra sharp, you ask? Well, duh: EXTRA OLD CHEESE.



4) Gas in Canada is expensive. It's about 99 cents per liter, and there are about 3.75 liters in a gallon.

5) I'm sad American English has abandoned the following spelling: colour, centre, litre, cancelling, behaviour. I am not sad we don't spell it yogOurt.

6) Beteen Tara and I, we can eat three buckets of mussels. Eww and yummy all at the same time.

7) Measuring distance in KM makes driving 750 miles go much faster. You just feel more productive.

8) The "Caution: Deer Crossing" signs in Nova Scotia depict the least graceful most freaked out deer running across the road I've ever seen indicated in a street sign anywhere ever.

9) I will voluntarily wake up earlier than I get up by force with an alarm clock when I have to get up for work.

10) The National Park system is very well executed with wonderful attractions, friendly staff, and clean washrooms. It also only costs six bucks (Canadian) to get in. NP in the US cost more than the gas it takes to get there.

Bangor? I don't even know her!

We have arrived for our first night in lovely Bangor, ME. The whole visit to lovely Bangor, ME will be less than nine hours, which is fine, because there's no way we could see all of the thriving metropolis that is Bangor, ME in less than three days, at least.

We're out the door to press on in 3...2...1...

Peace.

Flower Power

When I was a kid my grandmother’s house was my safe space. It was there that I learned to explore my creativity and open my heart to whatever ideas and thoughts I had, or dared to have. Gram was like that little packet of nutrients you put in cut flowers when you get them: I was already a bloom, but she helped me be stronger, more vibrant, vital, and fortified. She nourished my whole being, and I think often about how she would help me solve a problem if I was able to ask her for advice now.

After Tara and I were married almost a year ago, I started learning about my spiritual life in a new way. The day we were married was a day that changed me forever. Yes, because I entered into this partnership with an amazing woman who supports me, loves me, and nurtures me like no other, but also because I gleaned a new relationship with God that day. In the middle of the outdoors, standing in a brilliant, blooming garden, with our closest family and friends present, the sun shining down more beautifully than I had ever imagined, I was reborn.

Bogged down with all of the legal and state issues of the year before, I was beginning to feel run down with all the resulting pain and anger from the ongoing argument. Tara and I watched, every night sometimes, people debate the validity of our existence, our morality, and our love. Senators, Representatives, and even Presidents (gasp!) would say some of the most cruel and most horrible things I’ve ever heard, and all in the name of God. And despite my Roman Catholic upbringing, I have yet to see evidence that God wants us to hate anyone.

It was that day, in that garden, that I felt God’s presence truly with me. It was a feeling that the most powerful thing in the entire world was God’s grace bringing that group of people together and harnessing the awesome power that comes from collective love. Throughout the ceremony I was overwhelmed and started to cry. Part of me was crying because I was moved by the words I said to make this awesome commitment to my love. The other part was the feeling of being so deeply moved, fortified, and nourished by Gods love at that exact moment that I could no longer hold it together. God brought these people to my life. God strengthened us to persevere through the mangling of Christ’s teachings. God stands allied with love, not with hatred.

The minister who married us recently left the chapel where we worshipped with her. She has been called to preach at a huge old church about 7 miles from where we live, and we will follow her there to worship. This building has loads of deferred maintenance, paint peeling and falling from the ceiling, and lots of cleanup. At base, it is a stunning 200 year old church which needs some love and care. The waning congregation of only 15 people needs some revitalization. In the two months since Andrea was named pastor, the congregation has doubled, the ceiling is in the process of being repainted (with LOADS of volunteers and donations to make it possible), and we have forged new relationships between the newcomers and the folks who have attended church there their entire lives. In this transformation, I have found a new safe space in the church and with Rev. Andrea. I have learned to question and think and explore. I have learned that believing in God means asking questions, and that often those questions don’t have answers.

It is not in the hateful words other spew that is God’s word. It is in the work that we are doing, the dirt we are getting under our nails, the effort it takes to vacuum every pew in 100 degree weather, that is where God’s word and work is. That is where you will see the reflection of God’s good will. God IS love. God is LOVE.

Image: Oh, Canada, here we come!

Courtesy of www.novascotia.com

I'm against dirty!

Tara and I have made the switch in our household to using mostly earth-friendly, biodegradble products. We are trying to eat organic and/or local when we can, and recycling like banshees. Well, we've always been really good recyclers, but...do banshees recycle? I'm not sure. But if they did, I bet you they would be great at it!

Our first foray into earth friendly home products was Seventh Generation laundry detergent scented with natural citrus oils. It did a great job, but is very expensive. We got ours on half off sale! It lasts forever, and cleans clothes better than any product I've used before. AND, it does not pollute the environment one bit.

Since that ran out, we decided to try the next candidate: Method Home. We also purchased biodegrading bathroom wipes, dish soap, and hand soap. I have never felt more enthusiast:ic about a product in my entire life. Seriously. Well, maybe when O.B. started making applicator tampons, but other than that, not really. (O.B. has since STOPPED MAKING THEM.) Our bathroom has never been cleaner, more cucumber smelling, or had less residue ever. The dish soap we purchased two months ago is still 3/4 full. The laundry soap, fabric softener, and dryer sheets leave our clothes smelling so fresh Tara and I sit and inhale their warm goodness when they come out of the shower. And the best news: it's all Earth friendly! And not that expensive.

(Insert motion of me stepping on soapbox.)

Did you know:

If every household in the U.S. replaced just one bottle of 100 oz. ultra petroleum-based liquid laundry detergent with 100 oz. vegetable based product, we could save 220,000 barrels of oil, enough to heat and cool 13,000 U.S. homes for a year.

Every year over 400 million gallons of water are wasted to dilute laundry detergents. More water means more plastic wasted on giant plastic bottles that eventually find their way to landfills. At least, how much would you give NOT to have to lug that unwieldy 150 oz. laundry detergent bottle from the store to your house?

There are a few very simple things we can do to make our imprint on the earth a little less severe. You can find Seventh Generation in many more grocery stores and in specialty stores. Target carries the full Method Home line in such succulent scents at Magnolia, Cucumber, Pink Grapefruit, and Pomegranate. It’s important that you at least check it out. After all, you are against dirty, aren’t you?

Image: Gay Head

Brain Twin

Like Sarah, I often play over and over in head what I was doing this time last year, last month, yesterday. It's particularly bad when I've just gotten back from vacation, beause I the first week back at work is usually filled with, "A day ago I was sitting on the beach," or "Three days ago I slept until 10 am." I usually get jealous of myself. Is that possible? Don't wish away your days, lady.

A year ago I had just finished a week-long babysitting adventure with my dear Harrison. It was during this visit that Sarah and Doug found out about his cyst, and all the suspicions about cranial surgery came true. We were all worried, scared, and tearful, and thank our beautiful God that everything was resolved. After many tears and loads and loads (and loads) of worrying, he is the most super-wonderful-magnificent 15 month old to walk (very quickly and sometimes into things) the Earth. I have love in my heart for that boy like I never could have imagined having for anyone.

Five years ago, I had just finished a 3,500 mile drive cross-country with my father. I moved all the shit I could carry in my little hoopty Neon and averaged about 600 miles a day, cruising through all parts of the midwest, Rockies states, and the Pacific Northwest. I was starting a new part of my life in Oregon, and was in for more intense life-lessons that I could have imagined. I got to know my father more during that journey that I ever expected, and wouldn't replace any of those memories with him for the world. I learned all about his days in the Army, how he met mom, why he named me Val, and many other random bits of information that are crammed into his oversized brain.

Next week, Tara and I will celebrate our one year anniversary of being married. Everyone always remarks that it must feel funny to be married only a year, but in reality, we are cruising smoothly through our sixth year together. True this year has involved some new adventures for us, but really it's just one more year of learning more about each other, living together, and making our lives together. The only thing I regret about anything in the last year with Tara is that I can't do it all over again.

Three years ago (plus a couple of months) I came out to my parents. Three years ago we met Gaylen. Three years ago we moved in together. Four years ago I adopted Bob. Next year, I will celebrate (?) my ten year high school reunion.

I am blown away to think about how much my life has changed in the last year, nevermind the last ten years. I am blown away by the ways in which I have seen Jenna change in the last three years, to see Sarah become a mother, to see my mother and father fortify their relationship as newly alone partners. I am patient and eager to see how much things will change in the coming years, to see Harrison grow older, to see what Tara's and my children will look like, to see where we will make a home.

I am anxious, but eager and patient -- knowing that ten years ago, I couldn't have imagine this charmed life that I lead now.

Image: One Year Ago

bubs

Bone

In solidarity with me ole wifey Tara I thought I’d post about the absolute nothingness that is my life right now. Work is quiet for me. There’s nothing to do in our house (see Tara’s post) and there is no drama. In short, I am blissfully and contendedly perfect right now. It feels good to rest, be purposeful, put in some good time at the church helping to fix it up, and otherwise plan for a nice vacation. The whirlwind trip to PDX is over. The Family Reunion is over. I don’t travel for work again until August 11 (Yeehaw Texas here I come AGAIN!), and the only looming event is the wedding reception in October.

And because I’ve been the Gay Alarmist for the past month, I thought I’d spare you from my thoughts on Same Sex America. Worth seeing, definitely, but upsetting and grounding, for sure. Here’s to defeating the homophobes in October. Because, you know, I’m really only worth about 86% of what everyone else is worth. Jesus said so in the Bible. Look it up.

Image: Pink

Damn, I love summer.

Reading and Celebrating, part II

Gay rights activists cheered lawmakers and blew them kisses.

Reading and celebrating!

Legislators voted by 158-133 to support the bill, which makes Canada only the third country in the world after Belgium and the Netherlands to permit gay marriages.

How Stella's husband found his groove in another man's pants

Irony, anyone?

http://www.cnn.com/2005/SHOWBIZ/books/06/29/people.terrymcmillan.ap/index.html

Image: I'm all about the homophobia reports lately, so here's a nice present of something mindless to look at

SH took this one in Oregon.

Go, Army!

Normally I'm not a huge fan of just unabashed swearing, but in this particular case, let me just say:

FUCK YOU, MIKE.

Gaylen, my former roommate, just started Med. School in Maine last month. She's gotten to know a lot of different people, and in keeping with the 10% rule, has also met some very lovely queers since she arrived. In particular, she has befriended a classmate whose partner also moved here while Hayden, Gaylen's friend, gets her degree. Hayden and her partner originated in North Carolina, and made a particular point to move someplace where the could be out and proud and whatever they wanted wherever they were. North Carolina was a 53,281 square mile closet, and they wanted to get the hell out of there, literally.

So, they trek northward, moving there entire lives 1,015 miles to Portland, hoping that with each longitudinal degree northward they would encounter less homophobia, more inclusion, and maybe, for once in their lives, feel safe enough to walk down the street holding each other's hands. They had a plan to be out, for the first time in their lives, to everyone.

During an exercise last week in one of their classes, the professor instructed people to get into pairs, take histories, and then practice reporting back to the larger group. One of the members of Gaylen's class, Mike, has been a jerk since the beginning. He's a former Army officer and just loves to hear himself talk, interjecting and interupting even the professor with Chem7-this and blood panel-that, even when it isn't relevant or correct. He's an arrogant bastard with little room to hear what anyone else has to say. Gaylen told me one day, when discussing the difference in cultural boundaries that might affect how you care for someone's health, he contributed, "Well, these people, aren't they in our country?! And shouldn't they be concerned with familiarizing themselves with our cultures, instead of us, theirs?!" Yeah, well, you get the picture.

So Hayden's partner reports back to the class what she's said word for word, using her phrases, etc., stating that she was nervous about coming to Maine and New England and that she was nervous about coming out too soon to the rest of the class for fear of being the Big Fat Lesbian on campus. He reported that she feels like being a lesbian is just one part of her life, and while it is an important part, it is not the sum of her being. In general, he did a fair and nice job, and it was well received by the others in the class.

After class, Hayden is going to her car. Enter Mike stage left, in his car, pulling up along side Hayden. The rest goes something like this:

Mike, in an accusatory tone: Hey! Big FAT LESBIAN!!

Hayden, cautiously: Um, yes, Mike?

Mike: Yeah, you know, you and your girlfriend should come over sometime, I might have some questions for you.

Hayden: Yeah, like what?

Mike: Well, I'm wondering if maybe I can show you something, you know, maybe show you a trick or two.

Hayden: I'm not sure what you mean.

Mike: I thought I could, you know, be of service, show you that there might not be something so wrong with a little d!ck.

Hayden, trying to maintain her composure: Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen.

Mike: Yeah, well you let me know. It might be a good idea.

Mike drives off. Hayden tries to keep from barfing.

So, not only was this a sexually harassing act, it was also obscene and grossly homophobic. Hayden is trying to figure out now what to do about, if to speak to anyone about it, and to whom, if she decides to move forward. The kicker of it all is that this jerk off is running for class president. CLASS PRESIDENT.

This incident has made me think and rethink the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy of Mr. Clinton Disappointment of 1996 I need to get re-elected pants. It reminded me of how dangerous it is to instruct people to be ashamed of themselves, to hide parts about themselves that are true and honest and rooted in love. It reminded me of the contradiction between instructing Hayden to keep her mouth shut about her life, and allowing Mike to open his freely. It reminded me of the immense pain of being in the closet, the desperation you feel while trying to claw out, and the anger and shame when someone slams you violently, unwillingly back in. It reminds me that even in the Blue State safe areas, there is no guard against some creep sneaking in. It reminds me that there is so much work left to do, and that remaining steadfast, and out, and proud and active are the only things that may keep that situation from ever happening to anyone again.

Image: Congratulations U + D!

Congratulations, U + D.

Has me crying I'm laughing so hard

From a friend who is coming out to his parents:

"It all started when Val told me that she was a lesbian and had chosen
the gay lifestyle. She handed me some pamphlets and brochures, and
told me that the gay lifestyle would enable me to have mindless, empty
sex, consume lots of drugs, indulge my narcissistic tendencies, and
ensure that I never grow up until I become a jaded 45 year old queen
who lives in a bar and desperately tries to pick up 21 year old
twinkies.

Now, I don't want to grow up or be a father. I don't even want to be
an American anymore. I hate freedom, families, and especially my
flag. I am moving to Cuba."

Image: Hello pretty sisters

Forest.

I'm GAY, dammit!!!

I just returned from a weekend away in my old stomping grounds -- Portland, OR. It was a quick and very intense visit, which wasn't really a visit at all; I was there to attend my cousin Uyen's wedding. The wedding was lovely, and the reception was strange, but fine. That's a longer story that I won't get into here. Tara stayed home to visit with her family for her birthday. Well, that and we couldn't afford to buy two overpriced tickets to PDX.

I am in a bit of a tricky spot with my family, because almost everyone knows that I'm gay and that Tara and I are married and if anyone has any problems with it, well, they haven't told me. My Aunt Hon (my favorite aunt) even sent Tara and me a wedding present. When Uyen invited us to the wedding, she addressed the invitation to both of us. My uncle, who just came over from Vietnam last year, knows that Tara and I are together, and when I met him during our connecting flights in Chicago he asked where Tara was before he even said hello to me! EVERYONE KNOWS.

Well, except for the Senior Aunt, known as No. 2. (In Vietnam, the tradition is the first born is number two, because your first was sacrificed to ward off evil spirits.) She and her husband Nepati have no idea.

During the very beautiful wedding ceremony, sorry, the Catholic Wedding Ceremony, the priest lectured on how appreciative he was of the diversity of the marriages represented in the church, that marriage was a sacriment, not to be taken lightly. I don't disagree...it is a serious committment. During Eucharist, he invited any non-Catholics to come up for a special blessing, and paused in between those receiving communion and those who Jesus said are not worthy to receive his body and blood. Jesus was all about judgements and castes. You've heard that, right?

Going into the reception, I was already a little touchy because of the Eucharist thing, and the moment I dreaded came: the bouquet toss.

The fucking BOUQUET TOSS when all of the single gals clamour for the fortune of being the next to be married. And as far as some people in my family are concerned, I'm still single.

No. 2 and Nepati have a son who is married. They have two kids. No. 2, who my mother reports is severely homophobic, has not been apprised of my gay status or of my gay married status. Therefore, her son, daughter-in-law, and husband have also not been apprised of my gayness. I'm not sure what they think the wedding ring is for, maybe for show, but they apparently don't know, and it became strikingly clear this weekend. When it came time for the bouquet toss, I was being proded by my cousin-in-law to go up with all the other straight, single girls so I could catch the bouquet and maybe be so lucky to marry one of the single cowboys there and wouldn't that be so fun and god, I must have just been waiting for that moment!! Well, not quite, so I raised my left hand and showed her my finger, jiggling my engagement and wedding rings from behind my fingers with the thumb of the same hand. She said nothing.

If someone indicated they were married and you had no idea wouldn't you ask a question, or wonder at least what the rings were for?! Well, apprently not! So she left me alone, and I escaped unscathed from the bouquet toss.

Towards the end of the reception, Nepati and I were sitting next to each other and he put his arm around me in a very fatherly way and said, "Do you ever think about your wedding?" Knowing what he meant (my straight, hypethetical wedding as opposed to the actual, real wedding of last year during which I made a committment to my real wife in front of my real family with a real officiant and a real God and a real blessing), I said, "Well, yes." Because that's the truth. I do think about my wedding. All the time!

Needless to say, I was really upset, mostly because the day was a whole series of things that made me feel invalidated, less-than, self-conscious, defensive, sad, and angry: all things that prompted me to come out of the closet in the first place. I don't want to have to negotiate this partial outing anymore. I'm coming out to my cousin and his wife as soon as I'm done blogging this experience. I'm inviting No. 2 and her husband to our reception in October. Someone else, for once, can negotiate this painful and touchy territory. I'm done with it. I don't want the responsibility anymore. In fact, I'm not sure that if I had it, I could even take it anyway.

Image: Happy Father's Day, Daddy!

Happy Father's (and Grandfather's) Day, Daddy!

Image: Happy Father's Day, Doug!

$748

$748. That is how much money I just "paid" the federal government. Now, normally I'm not the kind of person who complains about paying taxes. Sure, I'd love to keep all the money I make, but all the money I make is not mine to keep. There are lots of benefits that I receive just by being an American, and there are many Americans who are just as deserving who benefit from the programs our tax dollars fund. This tax money is money I can afford to let go, and if others need it, who am I to make a claim?

This past year I have been working my butt off. I have taken almost a dozen trips, talked to hundreds of people, met with PhDs, Directors, Captains and Majors in the Army, been on a zillion planes in a zillion cities in a zillion airports. I have worked hard. I have enjoyed my work and I have been compensated with a bonus because of it. I deserved that bonus and the raise I got, but I did not deserve the hit of the federal government taking $748 of my dollars away.

Why, you might ask?

Well, also in the last year I got married. And because I married a woman, I *had* to get married in Massachusetts. Yes, it is where I live, so it was no real hardship, but because it is something only this state allows me to do, my rights and responsibilities associated with being married end when I cross any state line. When either of us visits our families in NY, we are technically not married, and when we go for emergency hospital room visits in Rochester, we are not married. When we go to our favorite beach in Rhode Island, we are not married. When we talk about buying a house, we have to look in Mass. because living anywhere else means we are not married. When we paid our federal income tax this year, we were not married. We did not receive any of the federal benefits of every straight married couple in this country.

So here I am, traveling the country for work, recruiting people to go to school to become social workers with a focus on the Army and social workers to provide services to those coming back from war, and I am not a full citizen. No, I do not belong to the armed services. In fact, they would kick me out if I was. But I spend my days giving something back to this country. I spent time away from my family and home to do this work. It's time this country give me what I deserve, too. And if not, at least give me back my fucking money.

Image: Bob's mouth of Sauron

The scariest picture of Bob ever. Actually, he was just yawning!

Image: Orange

Sticky foosball ball

Fight AIDS

Hi folks-

To my loyal readers. (Smirk. Grin.)

My future baby's daddy, and one of the greatest loves of my life, Chad, will be running in the 28th annual Chicago Marathon in October 2005. He has pledged to raise money to fight AIDS by helping fund important research for a cure and prevention for the AIDS Foundation of Chicago. If you'd like to donate money in support of this fight, please visit:

http://www.aidsmarathon.com/participant.asp?runner=CH-1527&EventCode=CH05

It would mean the world to me, Chad, and millions and millions of others.

Love,
Val

Image: Meow

Meow.

Image: Behold, a lady.

Sister Christian, oh your time has come

2000 in the house!

This past weekend was my five year college reunion, and oh what a reunion it was. Thursday night my friends Emily and Alexis came from Texas and California respectively, and we hung out, stayed up late, drank beer...it was lovely. Friday we went to a couple of Back to Class events, had lunch and dinner with friends and got ready for Saturday, when we had Laurel Parade. It was as I expected: strange, touching, and, as always, very beautiful.

The joy of living in the area is that we aren't trapped on campus in dorm rooms, so Saturday night we came back to our house to have dinner while my classmates drank free carafes of wine and ate salmon. T and I tried to buy a la carte reunion package pieces, but when we went on Saturday to get an extra lunch ticket and two dinner tickets, the Alumni Association told us it would be $242. I blinked and stared blankly for a few minutes at the Association Lady, then asked, "Um, excuse me?" She said, "To bump you up to those packages it would be $242." And to clarify I asked, "For three meals?" And she, in all seriousness says, "Yes, $242." Clearly we declined this tempting offer and walked bitterly out of the Alumni Association building.

Basically, this meant that when we went back to campus to party on Saturday night, T and I had some catching up to do -- catching up to my classmates who had been drinking for four hours already. Those of you who know me well know I don't really drink, and know that when
I do, I don't drink a lot. So I did a few things I've never done before:

1) I purchased alcohol with the intention of consuming it in a public place where consuming alcohol publicly is expressly prohibited.

2) When I got to campus, I leaned into the back seat of my car, opened all the bottles I had just purchased and poured them into a Nalgene. Ewww.

3) Between T and I, we drank two Nalgenes full of beer, and then moved on to the open bar, where, between the hours of 10 pm and 12 am, we consumed over 16 glasses of white wine.

4) I puked my guts out at my beloved college for the first time ever -- including when I was in college and actually had an excuse for such behavior.

Basically, it went like this. T and I drank. Then we drank some more. We drank more, and then when we were done drinking, we drank more. And then we hit that point in drinking when more drinking is the only idea that seems like a good idea at the time. There was Karaoke, including Ooops I did it again, Sister Christian, If you wanna be my lover, and Back off bitch (or, at that state of drunkeness, Back off Beotch). At different points in the night there were fireworks, crying, naughty pictures, dancing, and not enough carbs:alcohol ratio of consumption. By the end of the night we were hanging out outside of the campus center, when Lex, Emily, and Amber were going to head back to the dorm. I closed my eyes and told them I couldn't move, and T stood up and stared at the ground. We told them to move on and as they were walking away, T and I both looked at each other, grabbed at the garbage can outside of the campus center and puked, at the exact same minute, into the garbage. Repeatedly. Oh my god, it felt so good. If you can't drunkenly puke with your wife, who can you puke with?

Normally, I don't believe telling stories about how drunk you got make you look like a winner. In fact, I find them to be kind of embarrassing, and when people tell them I feel like they are sort of bragging. Really, it's about loss of self-control and lack of responsibility, two things which I take very seriously. The first and only other time I got sick from drinking was when I turned 21, and that was enough of a lesson for me to not ever do that again. Well, at least for six years. But this weekend I had a great time, and except for the three hours or so when I really regretted the amount of wine I had, I had a fabulous time.

Most of the time I take myself pretty seriously, and while I have been learning to laugh at myself and relax a little, sometimes it's hard for me to remember to do so. During college I had some of the most fun and important experiences of my life, and I have made lifelong friends because of those experiences. Having Lex and Emily in town helped me remember that losing my shit, and my dinner, once in a while, can be very freeing. And while I may be 27, I can, once in a while, cut loose and drink wine. Hopefully, as I get older, I'll learn how to do that without barfing my brains out, too.

Thank you, girls, for a WONDERFUL weekend. I miss you more than you know.

Babe, you know you're growing up so fast
And momma's worrying that you won't last to say
Let's play

Sister Christian, there's so much in life
Don't you give it up before your time is due
It's true
It's true

OH. MY. GOD.

The three craziest things I've ever seen on TV I saw this week.

First, let's discuss the season finale for CSI, directed by Quentin Tarantino. Holy shite. That man likes to bury people alive! Kudos to Nick for portraying what it actually must be like to be buried alive. Pure panic and dillusion. Imagine, for those of you who did not see it, a glass box 4 feet below the surface. In that box there exists the following: you, a pile of glow sticks, and a gun. For HOURS, a light at the end of the glass coffin goes on and off. On. Off. On. Off. Every time the light goes on, the fans that bring in air stop, but your friends who are watching you via the light don't know that, and you don't know they are watching. In fact, they think the light is helping, while really each time the press the button it is slowly suffocating you. Oh, and underneath the box is enough C4 to blow you and your closest friends to bits. And then the Fire Ants came.

Second, let's talk about Rob and Amber Get Married. Oh wait, just kidding. The season finale of Alias was grrreat! The episode itself was fine, most things got resolved, etc...but the final 8 seconds literally made me gasp and scream. I don't want to be a spoiler, but that show really does not disappoint.

And finally, finally I bring you into the manic world of the lethal combination of Oprah Winfrey and Tom Cruise. Normally I can't really stand Oprah and I guess I don't really have any feelings about Tom Cruise (except that age really agrees with him), but this was the most manic interview/interviewee relationship I've ever seen. I think he constructed about four coherent sentences, jumped on the couch at least five times, pounded the floor repeatedly, then acted like a monkey for the rest of the time. All of this culminated in Mr. Cruise going into the greenroom and literally dragging Katie Holmes out to the sound stage while holding her arms in Cops-bad-guy position. She was laughing, but I don't think she thought it was all that funny. Tara and I kept looking at each other like, "What the hell is happening?!!?"

Now if we could just figure out how to get Tom Cruise into that glass coffin scenario, we'd be all set.

Weirdo

Normally I'm not one for getting up super early. Yes, there was a period of time when I was doing my student teaching that I just LOVED waking up at 6, seeing the winter sun rise, all the unimaginable colors that came with it, the quiet of the dorm before anyone else was awake. There was an independence that came with that solitude -- a quiet that is hard to find in our noise-polluted world.

At any given moment from my office I can hear: 12 phone lines, two fax machines, people at one of 100 mailboxes, anyone visiting the main office, the photocopier, and West St. traffic outside of my office window. For the past few months I've been coming in a 9 and leaving at 5, and by the time I get here in the morning everything is already running full tilt. Get out of its way or it will run you over. By five most people are gone and it's quiet, but there's nothing renewing about that silence -- no peace, just...aloneness.

This week I've started on my summer schedule, one that brings me in at 8. I usually am at my desk by 8:05, and there are a few murmurs here and there of other early birds, but it is this impossible silence that every year when I switch to this schedule I remember. I remember how much I love easing into my day, with time to boot up, read my emails quietly, turn on my heater, get some water. Sit and think and go purposefully forward.

Image: Ain't my kitty, but she's pretty

Bob's cousin Boog

Image: One year ago today, T and I filed our intentions to marry at City Hall in Northampton.

Love, thank you for being a part of this with me.

Image: OH MY GOD

Oh my freakin' lord.

Dear Work Poopers:

Dear Work Poopers:

If you are at work and need to poop, please, if you can make it, please use the private bathroom with ventilation in the basement. When you poop in the first floor bathroom, the bathroom most used by those here and visiting and the one of the two without ventilation, it smells like poop. And when I go someplace that smells like poop, I want to puke. And having it smell like poop and puke does no one any favors.

One morning when I took a Zinc tab on an empty stomach I got sick in the middle of my staff meeting, but had the foresight to run down two flights of stairs to dry heave into the private bathroom toilet. I ran. Two flights, waiting to puke. I did that for you, co-workers.

Thanks for your consideration,
Work pooper, but a private bathroom work pooper

Image: It's freakin' CAT Friday again.

Yes, this would be Little hiding under the bed. Not such a good hider, this one.

Image: Birthday Boy

Little Caterpillar

Happy Birthday

I'm not a selfish type, but I've always thought my birthday was about me. It is a day for me, and others, to celebrate myself, my life, how wonderful I am, etc. It's a day for me to get presents, phone calls, cake, cards, candles to blow out. You know, all of it.

Birthdays have always been a big deal in our family. We've always had kids over for parties, trips to Grandma's house, and even now that S and I don't live at home anymore, our parents still visit in February and October to mark our special days. I remember when Hieu came to the US the day before her birthday, and we had a cake for her to celebrate. It was a crash course in our family traditions, a baptism. At work I introduced and we have since adopted the Birthday-person-cuts-the-cake-and-the-person-whose-birthday-is-next-takes-it-out ritual, one that I think was created by my father.

Today is Harrison's birthday. He is one, or will be at 10:34 pm tonight. Seeing him born was a life-changing experience, and watching him grow up and everything that comes with that has been the greatest gift I've ever gotten. He is amazing, and full of love.

This weekend, we'll all gather at Sarah's house for his first birthday party, and while I've been contemplating gifts and expect that other family members will probably go a little buck-wild, I realize that this birthday is actually not as much about him only as I thought. Yes, it is a celebration of his life, his age, his milestones. But I'm realizing, through my perspective of watching Sarah and Doug through Harrison's first year, that this year is a celebration of them, as Harrison's parents.

Sarah and Doug have changed immeasurably over the past year. They are parents now, and that has added to their complicated and fascinating dimensions. They are consumed with this new role, and work hard to be good at it. There is a love and pride that exists for them now that shows so plainly in their lives that it hurts to look at -- a depth of love that is heart-stopping and stunning. This birthday is a celebration of them as parents, of Harrison, their son. This birthday is a celebration of 17 hours of labor. Scars and stretch marks that mark Sarah's body. It is a celebration of hours with the breast pump, changing diapers, reading stories, naptime. It is a celebration of successful neurosurgery, eating solid food, crawling. It is a celebration of the infinite ways Sarah and Doug's love for each other has changed because of loving Harrison. It is a celebration of family, of grandmothers and grandfathers, aunties, cousins. It's a celebration of the way Harrison has changed each and every one of us.

I love you, Harrison. Thank you for everything you've given us. Happy Birthday.

Image: Bzzzzzzz

I heart you, Spring.

REJOYCE REJOYCE!!

UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON UCHENNA AND JOYCE WON

ROB AND AMBER AND YOUR UNETHICAL AMAZING RACE PLAYING CAN SUCK IT.

You didn't deserve to win, you beotches!!

And now Uchenna and Joyce can go and get 10 beautiful little children from the orphanage in South Africa.

I had a mild panic disorder for about 25 minutes there.

Image: Mr. Nephew

Harrison:

In a two days, you turn 1 year old. I can't believe that you're one, that you're walking, that you say Mama and Dada and you chase little boys around in daycare like you do those cats at home. Mostly, I can't believe how much you've changed my life, S +D's lives, my mom and dad, and all who meet you and love you.

I can't wait to see you this weekend and snuggle you up. I can't wait to peer into your blue eyes, and imagine all the possibilities in the world, open to you.

Happy almost birthday, baby boy.

Image: T laughing

T, are you laughing at my husband?

I'm not just married, I'm gay married!

I knew this would happen, I just thought it wouldn't happen where and when it did. You may think I'm being naive when I tell you this story, but seriously, I came out to a Texan. A Texan, and it was smoother with her than this was! Have you been to Texas? Do you know where Texas is? Well, it ain't a blue state. But Massachusetts sure is! You know, MaSsAcHuSeTts?! The political flip-flop state? Where people cannot only get married, but can get GAY married?!

I rock TANDAL so don't get into a debate with me about using gay as an adjective to describe married. GAY MARRIED. Don't buy the rhetoric that tells you it's the same as traditional marriage. It's GAY marriage.

Now that I'm done bossing you around, let me tell you what happened.

While I make it a rule to not talk about work in my blog, the story happened at work and being in the space where I work is crucial to the story, so here goes. I work in a very affirming place in a very affirming town, and since I am the only lesbian of color in the building, I get a lot of press. You know, people want to embrace me and shit because I add credible diversity to their stories about the kind of liberals and stange-folk whom they call friend. When T and I got married...aheam, excuse me...gay married, our wedding announcement from the paper made its way onto four different bulletin boards in my office. FOUR. And I was only responsible for putting up one of them. So, my gay-ass wedding announcement, with a picture of me and my beautiful wife, wearing the same halo of roses and white and all that, begins with:

VNH and TAL of Northampton were married July 25 at Childs Park in Northampton. The Rev. Dr. AA officiated the 11 am ceremony.

Pretty clear, right?

This afternoon I went downstairs to grab a yogurt and refill my Nalgene at the water cooler, and I ran into one of my coworkers. We chit-chatted a little, and then she said, "Oh! I just saw your wedding announcement upstairs! So, you were, I mean, I guess..." So I waited, and let her finish swallowing her own tongue and just let her work it out. You see, having grown up a mixed-race gal has taught me that often people don't know how to ask what they want to ask because they are uncomfortable, so sometimes you just need to give them a little time to work it out. That, or they continue to fumble with themselves in such an embarassing way that at some point you begin to get offended and pissed and annoyed that they didn't think about the uncomfortable thing they had to say before they had to say it or think about the observation they wanted to make before they opened their mouths and could articulate what they were thinking because you're reality is so crazy and perverse and strange that they can't keep subjects and verbs in agreement. That, and frankly, you are trying to boggle them with your queerness. Thanks for that, T.

She means no harm by anything she's saying, so, I wait, patiently, while she sorts out her tongue from her throat and her teeth, and hope that she can come up with some simple question or observation that can save her from this deep, dark lavender pit she's sinking into, and she continues, "Well, I couldn't...did you...I was confused because...did you get married with another person?"

Blink. Blink blink. No, I married myself, I'm thinking.

"Huh?"

"Did you get married with another person, because there is another person in the picture in the announcement so I thought you got married with another person, like..."

"Like a joint wedding?"

"Yeah, and I thought, how cool!"

"Yeah, cool. No, the person in the picture with me is the person who I married. She's my partner."

Nevermind the fact that nowhere in the announcement is there scarcely a mention of a groom (or grooms!), or very many male pronouns, for that matter. Forget the fact that some of the text refers to us as The Brides, plural. Hell, even forget that the announcement says, "After the ceremony, the couple honeymooned in Newfane, VT." I can forgive all of that. What I can't forgive is that you think I have the distaste of having a double wedding. I know my gay brothers have a reputation for being a little flamboyant, but jeez, even we're not that tacky!

See you in Hell, voluntary sinner!

Ooops. Yesterday at church, I realized right before the reading from the Hebrew Scriptures that I, um, forgot my bible. Again. I say again, because, as T will attest to, I never, ever remember my Bible when I got to church. Ever.

Well, I remembered it once. And that's only because I put it on top of my clothes.

T, my lovely lady, gave me the NRSV Bible and Apocrypha for my birthday this year. Each Saturday night, I pick up the Bible off of my night stand, hold it in the air like a favored southern baptist preacher and proclaim, "I will remember you (speaking to the Bible here) tomorrow. I WILL remember you!" And then I look at T, hand still raised in the Alleluia position, and repeat, "Do not let me forget this tomorrow. God with smite me with all his mighty powers if I do!" I can usually remember to read the daily lectionary. Heck, I've even been trying to practice prayer daily, if not at least some meditation. But remember the Bible when I got to church? FORGET IT.

I think I finally sealed the deal, when, exasperated in this most recent episode I turned to T and mouthed, "I FORGOT MY FREAKIN' BIBLE." Yeah, I think you officially go to hell of you say a sentence in church that uses both "freakin'" and "Bible." Um, yeah.