What is Your Sin?

* I am readying myself to leave for a week to the land of "shhh, they don't know I'm gay!" I have decided to republish this piece because its buried in my locked blog and I find it is still relevant to me today as it was years ago when I wrote it... if I don't *see* you all before the new year please be safe and happy and warm! 2008! A clean slate or continuation of same, whatever you want it to be, may it be yours. Come New Year's Eve I will take a right good willy waught for all those I love...

We all have weaknesses. We all have areas in our lives where we fail time and time again. While doing some rather heavy introspection lately I have come to the conclusion that I am guilty of committing one sin more than any other.

The sin of omission.

It is an easy one to get sucked into because there are so many ways you can excuse yourself from not acting, not saying, not doing. And indeed my best and long suffering excuse is that I am weak and shy and I don't do well at standing up in a crowd of already raised voices to speak my mind. It's just an excuse. It doesn't negate the act (or non-action) nor heal the emotional or physical consequence of my habitual "not doing".

So many things I have chosen not to say. Leaving a void as wide as my guilt is deep. A void that people, being human and acting accordingly have chosen to fill with their own interpretations of what they think should go into that nice empty space. Or what serves them best. Not their fault, I left the empty space.

There was a story I was told a long time ago. It's about a woman who had gone about the town spreading rumors and hateful things about many of her neighbors. She felt remorse and wanted to find a way to fix the hurt she had caused. She consulted a wiseman who was known throughout the land for his far reaching intelligence. She told him what she had done. He listened to her story and her sadness. When she was finished he looked at her and said,

"The first thing you should do is take this basket of feathers. Place one feather on each doorstep of a person you have hurt with your words and then come back to me."

The woman thankfully took the basket and began her work. By dawn, she was finished and hurried back to the wiseman. She said,

"I have done what you have asked me to."

The wiseman smiled and said,

"This is very good. Now you must go back to each of those houses and retrieve each of the feathers from the doorsteps. Once you have all the feathers back in the basket everyone will forgive you and your sin against them will be forgiven and forgotten."

The woman stared at him. She said,

"But those feathers won't be there. The wind will have blown them away by now... they will be gone." The man smiled at the woman. "As are your words, like the feathers, gone, blown far and wide and gathering them and taking them back is impossible..."

Now granted, I differ from this woman because I am not in the habit of speaking falsehoods and ugliness of or towards people. But replace "rumors" with "things left unsaid" and I am not so different. I have never been one to weigh sin against sin. I have never been one to say one sin justifies another. No matter what someone else has done to me it does not justify mine done purposely or inadvertently against them. It just doesn't. I am busted. I am guilty.

Where do I go from here? Do I have the courage to stand amongst the screaming and speak my mind? Will I no longer hesitate when a space between me and a friend needs an "I love you"? Will I find the kindness and insight needed to say "I forgive you." when I would rather coddle my pride, furrow my brow and push away an already humble heart? Will I jump to say "I am sorry." before time stretches the chasm hopelessly wide? In a crowd full of bigots will I stand and say, "Enough!"?

What will I do?

What would you do?

PhotoHunt: Messy

What Does Andy Rooney and My Middle Age Have in Common?

eyebrows...

Now I know at first glance you will say they have nothing in common. Mine are pencil thin. Not by choice just so you know, they fell out in my 20's along with my eyelashes when I discovered that if you don't eat you can have a 25 inch waist. But that's another post for another time. I was lucky that my eyelashes grew back but my eyebrows never recovered.

As I get older what is left of them are refusing to lay down. I have to use "stuff" to make them and if I then have any facial expression that involves my forehead they pop back up again. And now on top of it all, they are going grey. I don't mind the grey in my hair, in fact it fascinates me and I have been putting off a dye job so I can see how much grey is really there. But the grey in my eyebrows is a totally different story. I can't pluck them because I don't have enough to spare. So what do I do? Do I dye? Do I slap Vaseline on my brows everyday and botox my forehead to prevent expression? Start an Andy Rooney Eyebrow support group?

And as I write this I am thinking how so many of you are out there writing substantial pieces about social unrest and rescuing puppies on the freeway while I wax on about my eyebrows.

I guess I am sorta like that.

Half-Nekked Thursday

thanks DP for your editing help

Kid's Art to Make You Smile

Well, randomness has struck again...

Its early, there is snow falling lightly, I stood outside in the grey light starting to show and listened. The ground is crunchy so when the flakes hit, you can hear them. I love that sound. I came back in and found myself surrounded by empty wine bottles, diet coke cans and a half eaten apple pie I baked yesterday.

Carla came and stayed with me last night. We drank to our self-pity, self-loathing, to the fact that in middle age, we still have amazing breasts, and came to the conclusion that if we were warm, had a place to sleep and had that many bottles of wine to drink (and our breasts) , we really weren't all that bad off. Cheers!

I was flipping channels yesterday desperately trying to avoid Christmas programming, (yeah right). I settled for awhile on lions stalking gazelles, it just felt right. But I stumbled upon Hannity talking about "The 30 Lost Years of Jesus". Its true, Jesus is 12 when he disappeared from record and doesn't appear again until his adulthood. Then I thought, don't we all have "lost years" in which we really would prefer the public not know about? I personally think they should leave him alone.

I would have coffee if someone would make it for me. And bring it to me. With half and half.

Today is a big day for one, two of my blogger friends. They will be reunited after 5 months. It gives me a big goofy grin. Such loving posts I have been reading now as they count down the days. Love is wonderful. Love to both of you!

Its still snowing, my girls will be beside themselves. Today will bring a lot of cold fingers and wet clothing. I should get myself to the store to buy more hot chocolate and some bourbon. NOT FOR THE KIDS! Who do you think I am?

Happy Boxing Day! I am off to listen to the snow fall.

love,
nina

Silent Night, Holy Cow

Sooooooooooo, its Christmas eve...

The second eve I have spent in my new life, as a determined old lesbian and not as a wife.

My children will be tucked safely all snug in their beds at their home with their father after books have been read.

I called off Christmas this year due to stress, and found a blogland of friends to validate my duress.

But I sucked up some "grown up" and went to the store to buy presents for children who I could not ignore.

Then what to my wandering eyes did appear but this 2 ft live Nolfolk pine screaming holiday cheer.

Fuck you I said.

As I made my selections and headed back up the aisle, I swear I could see that stupid tree smile.

"My price is right, I can be fun, and I will live long after the unChristmas is done. I am Green and PC and Environmentally true when your friends all see me they will exclaim "How Lesbian of you!!!."

The tree won. My girls love it and it will be planted somewhere next year if I don't kill it first. Hardly the miracle of Christmas but a sign nonetheless. I find it fitting, me peering through the branches. Not being able to see the forest for the trees... as it were. But the daylight is longer today, I am going to see some kid movie tonight, a new tradition for a new life. And Carlita may be coming to warm herself against her own cold wind.

Merry...whatever to all of you. May you be happy and warm. Thank you for your friendship and support.

love,
nina

What Makes An Activist?

For My Wife

Bigotry, Political Posturing or Opportunistic Fear Mongering?

Would you consider it racial bigotry to assume Barrack Obama is/was a Muslim? After all, some would say, he looks different than any other presidential candidate we have. The "look" we have all come to suspect in our post 9/11 world. Of course, this sets up Obama perfectly, if he protests too much, then HE is the bigot.

Religious Bigotry? Huckabee asked a question about the Mormon faith. He asked,

"Doesn't the LDS religion believe that Jesus and Satan are brothers?"

Which lead to some sort of moral outrage from the Romney camp about "picking on his religion". Yet, in all my time as a Mormon, I was lead to believe that J and S are indeed brothers. So if its true, why the moral outrage? Isn't it like saying "The Pope is Catholic"? It is what it is. I doubt Mitt's ability to handle the Presidency would hinge on his belief in the Jesus/Satan brotherhood.

Bigotry is intolerable to me. However, I can't decide if I am more infuriated by the bigotry or the political defamation machine which prays on those who tend to just believe what they hear and lean toward fear as their motivating factor in all decision making.

God, is it 2008 yet?

Photo Hunt: Light

Light and shadow through my window play,
whispering hope on this darkest day.

The Outing of Annie

She made her appearance early here at CTF:

Annie appears

I called her Annie back then, it was short for anonymous. She has gained her freedom and security now and with my blessing allowed me to publish her Park View Inn Chronicles series .

She has decided it is time to just be herself. A "coming out of the closet" move so to speak. Although in her case it's more of a hutch. She is a "myspace-er" and has told me to go ahead and introduce her. Oh and if you ask her, she will say that I am her Ethel.

Carlita

If you stop by, tell her I said "hi".

The Park View Inn -- Finis

THE PARK VIEW INN--FINIS


THE FINAL NIGHT

November 7th, 2007


BLACK HAWK DOWN

I haven't yet mentioned the most salient and overwhelming quality of The Park View Inn: the smell!

Worse than naked fat guys, worse than fighting off scary shower curtains, and worse than putting my tool box and a sturdy chair against the door each night.

Now, sometimes when I'm at an authentic Italian restaurant the place smells EXACTLY like my grandma's house in San Francisco. I love that! Every home has its own distinctive home smell, for better or worse. Grandma's was for better.

Have you noticed though, that after a while you can't smell your own home anymore? Then you have to ask friends, if you are lucky enough to have some you can trust, to tell you how your house smells.

Which brings me to yet another advantageous feature of The Park View Inn, you never have to ask!

I don't know how they pulled it off, some sort of black magic or sorcery, but I swear on all that is holy that the day I signed the lease and handed over the ransom, although not Grandma's house, The Park View Inn had a distinct yet innocuous odor--something between an overheated vacuum and the final dredges of some plug-inable grocery store air freshener.

The very DAY I moved my stuff in there a "new" odor hung heavy in the halls, and was seemingly concentrated in room 14. I originally thought it was a neighborly hazing that would soon pass, but it never dissipated or submitted to cutting edge odor elimination technology.

This juggernaut of offensive smell contradicted all laws of house smelliness. There was no way to acclimatize. It was BORG-like in its persistence; as soon as the brain began to adapt, the smell changed frequencies to retain olfactory control. If I rolled over in the night, that SMELL assaulted me out of semi-consciousness to remind me of what awaited me on the morrow.

The closest I can get to describe it is "Long lost laundry hamper full of soiled football socks found under the stairs at a crime scene in an old-person's house". Throw in a half-dozen allergens of questionable ancestry, and you might come close to triangulating upon the experience.

Nothing short of deploying an AH-64 Apache Longbow Helicopter armed with Hellfire missiles and NAPALM would have brought about the extinction of that stench. (Yeah, OK, I looked that up).

Although the dwelling stunk from stem to stern, I feared that maybe something had died under the bed during the interim of signing up for cell 14 of Chateau d'Ef and actually moving in.

I never found out if that was the case. I was too afraid to look under my bed. Seriously, I was. It seemed to me the very gates of hell gaped open there, or maybe it was just the final resting place of a decomposing raccoon. I dropped my phone in the middle of the night on my first night there, and I couldn't bring myself to reach down to pick it up. I waiting until morning, then kicked it into open space. Wearing protective gloves I sprayed it with double-strength cootie spray.

Karma dealt another cruel blow the next day when my phone fell behind the headboard. I went and bought a new phone.

So, in spite of my adventurous nature, and short of hiring Sacajawea, there was NO way I was going to explore any frontier at The Park View Inn.

THE FLOSS THAT BROKE THE CAMEL'S BACK

As that last evening waned into night, I performed my ritual of stealth--a round trip to the nearest bathroom to brush my teeth. No shower for me--I could only stand taking one when I couldn't stand not taking one.

To my horror I couldn't find my dental floss. My freaking dental floss was not amongst the other toiletries that share the classification of oral hygiene. I quickly rejected my first thought that it had been stolen--rejected for obvious reasons.

I snapped. I couldn't stay there another night!

Then and there I decided to move. My big brave adventure was over. It was worth being poorer to be able to live in a dwelling where I could look under the bed with confidence. I was completely moved out by noon the next day.

THE DENOUEMENT

I live in the lap of luxury now. Not in the same lap as before--it's a bit of a smaller lap. But lapish it is, and I revel in it. I have to work longer hours and drink less Pepsi, but it is SO worth it!

I'm going to go look under my bed for no reason at all.

part one

part two

part three

Half-Nekked Thursday

I'm a Little Bit Pagan, I'm a Little Bit Digital

Tomorrow begins an important and significant time for me. So many emotions come together. Solstice is my "New Year". I found this really cool link for Solstice Geeks like me.


Big Comfy Couch Celebration of Solstice

THE PARK VIEW INN CHRONICLES PART III

November 4, 2007
THE PIONEERS HAD IT WORSE. THE PIONEERS HAD IT WORSE. THE PIONEERS HAD IT WORSE.

Third night at The Park View Inn


If you are keeping score, then you will know that yes, I did skip a couple of nights between nights 2 and 3. I was easing myself into it.

UNTIL I MET A MAN WHO HAD NO FEET



For a normal member of the community, a shower is an event that takes no thought; it's just a knee-jerk reaction that just "happens". But in that unique position I was in, I didn't have the luxury of laissez-faire personal hygiene practices.

OF MICE AND MEN

I got better at that "shower" thing. I was perfecting my system. Trial and error served to crystallize my notions of the three-fold mission of showering at The Park View Inn.

Don't be seen by ANYONE on the way there or on the return trip. I don't even know why, but this was a rule.

Don't touch or be touched by any surface.

Get clean SOMEHOW.

The Plan to accomplish goals 1-3:

Another advantage to paper-thin walls have many advantages. One was that I could tell where every inmate of The Park View Inn was at any given moment. It was better than The Marauder's Map. It made the determination of the "clearness of the coast" easier.

The trick to not touching any surface was TOWELS. Hundreds and hundreds of towels. Everywhere. Oh, and I never EVER forgot the lessons of Bernoulli's Principle. Think of what a shower curtain does during a shower. Yeah.

And the 11th commandment: Get thee clean and get thee the hell outeth.

I thought I was prepared for any contingency. However I didn't anticipate the disaster that occurred during that shower. That best-laid plan went awry when the light/fan combo timer ran out and shut off with shampoo still in my hair.

SUBTLE FORSHADOWING

Little did I know then that would be the last time I would ever need four score and seven towels for any reason.

part one
part two

THE PARK VIEW INN CHRONICLES, PART II

Night 2 at The Park View Inn.



November 1, 2007



A WORD ON INTERNET SAFETY

Recent Events (such as the Crusades) inform us that we should not give out "real" information. So, as I wrote these Chronicles, I tried to replace the name of The Park View Inn with something less recognizable to protect myself from slander and death. With the magic of Microsoft Word, I replaced the name of that domicile with "The Waldorf-Astoria". That sounded a bit pretentious, not to mention implausible. Not "Fantasy Island", neither "All Things Scottish", nor "The Senator Larry Craig Memorial Restroom" offered the perfect balance of horror and snideness that the designation The Park View Inn held. Just eff it, says I.



THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME


My second night in my new home. I guess it isn't really "new" anymore then, is it? If you're paying attention, you will see that I skipped sleeping there on Halloween night. I was exhausted from 13 hours of cleaning my former apartment on official moving day, (13, on Halloween, creepy…) so I simply crashed with my kids at their dad's in a shallow but chocolaty bed of candy.




CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE


About 20 years ago I read Hemingway's A Clean, Well-Lighted Place. I totally didn't understand it back then. Why would anybody want to stay up all night alone in a stark and brightly lit café? After my adventure I have to wonder if the older waiter in that story had a room at The Park View Inn.





I took my first Park View Inn shower on my second night there. I stole a pair of thick flip-flops from some child of mine to wear in said shower. Before I left room 14 I went over and over and over the list of things I would need to bring with me to complete a successful Park View Inn shower. I wondered if there was even such a thing as a successful Park View Inn shower.




But there was no time for such musings. If I didn't hurry, I would lose my nerve and be forced to spend yet another night with unkempt hair.





The bathroom of choice (chosen for its proximity) was three doors down on the right. It was adjacent to the communal "living room". On the sofa a gentleman of European decent with a 49 inch waistline lay recumbent in a flabby, pale, shirtless kind of way, and as carefree as the day is long. As I approached the area, he respectfully rotisseried himself into a facedown position, thus sparing me the necessity of acknowledging his intensely Anglo-Saxon existence.




Thusly spared I shut myself in the bathroom without pausing first to turn on the light. It took so long to figure out how to turn the lights on in the bathrooms that whenever I entered one of the bathrooms in the presence of a fellow tenant I just got the hell in and shut the damn door.




The light switches in the powder rooms of that establishment were strange, so very strange—the likes of which I hade never seen. They were some kind of white knobs that were so small it required brute force and a layer of skin to supply the torque necessary to turn them. When the need for the light had passed, the knob was impossible to turn back. The fan always turned on with the light, and the whole shebang was on a timer, so the lights and fan would eventually turn off of their own accord. I didn't care—I left the lights on every time. My only design was to beat a hasty post-shower retreat.




During that evening's experience I formulated a hypothesis of what the "successful" Park View Inn shower would consist. It would be a shower, of course, but executed in such a way that no part of my person would ever come into direct contact with any surface in the bathroom. Of course the perfectly successful Park View Inn shower cannot exist outside the mind, but using the idea as a model was useful. It became the standard I used to make any shower-related decision.




After wrenching the light switch thingy on, I stood motionless, clutching my necessities to me as a Spartan would his shield. A mere fifteen minutes later I had managed to put some of the items down. During this period, the "successful shower hypothesis" formulated itself and allowed me to leave my catatonic state.




The time had not been wasted—I had pretty much memorized all the signs posted around the room. The signs/square footage ratio was comparatively larger than that to which I was accustomed.




ALL WE NEED IS LOVE


I often have pondered upon what civilization's "Rules of Courtesy" might comprehend should anyone presume to assemble them. What was my surprise to find a list of these formerly elusive Rules I had so often contemplated unceremoniously tacked upon a restroom wall at The Park View Inn! As I stood in my towel-clutching catatonic state, I committed these rules to memory. Time well spent, I say.




OK, I lied. I didn't memorize them, but I did take a picture of them with my phone. Just like the pioneers used to do. They went somewhat like this:




Bekind + thoughtful

People,



Rules of Courtesy


1. Clean hair out of

Sink + tub after use.



2. Clean off toilet seat

if you mess it up.




3. Wipe up Water After

Shower if it gets on the

floor.




4. Leave fan on as you

go out – to cut down

on ordor [sic, as is the entire work] or humidity.




Thank You-




If only the nations of the world would come together in the name of World Peace and Courtesy. They would learn that there is no need for sanctions, embargos, boycotts, armed conflicts, or humorous racial slurs. We would call it the "Park View Inn Peace Summit". The Rules of Courtesy would be read and ratified. This, my dearest friends, THIS is my purpose—the reason I was led by my unfortunate turn of fortune to that hovel. Generations to come will pilgrimage there to look upon the sacred document (well, there are actually three of them—one in each bathroom). I have no desire to secure my place in history through this divine sacrifice of mine. All I ask is that the people of this planet throw down their weapons, beat those swords into plowshares, whatever the hell those are, and do it fast so Karma will let me sell my freaking house.





MMM MMM GOOD


The rather successful shower having thus been completed, the Rules of Courtesy having been observed (as needed), I beat that aforementioned hasty retreat back to room 14. I decided I should eat something other than stolen Halloween candy.




After heating my Campbell's Microwave Heat & Enjoy soup for double the recommended time, it felt slightly above the temperature at which all Brownian motion stops. I tried to eat it, but it was just too "rescue mission" to enjoy. And anyway, the name of the soup is Heat & Enjoy. No heat, no enjoy.





& FURTHERMORE…



BTW, I always think that a good ampersand conjunction lends a lot of credibility to a title. After I had warmed the heatable and enjoyable soup for the third time in that artifact of a microwave, I threw in a handful of Nabisco Premium SOUP & OYSTER CRACKERS. I might have been cheap and poor, but I wasn't below ampersanded food.




If I ever own a business I will try to name it something with a jaunty ampersand. A few months ago my son Alex expressed the desire to shop at a yet-to-be-established establishment called "Cement & Pancakes". Admit it, you would go to the Grand Opening of that store, wouldn't you? You can hardly fail with an ampersand.




MISS MANNERS


Sitting there with my impromptu meal, I was reminded, as always, by the ghostly yet firm voice of my mother (who is alive and well in Northern Idaho), chanting the dinnertime soup ditty, "Just Like Little Ships at Sea, I Eat My Soup Away From Me". Which straightaway causes me to shift my soup eating gears to away-spooning. And, as always, I ask myself the questions that I never was brave enough to ask my mother at dinner: "Why are all these little ships constantly sailing away from me?" "Don't they ever return?" "Is the world really flat?" and, "Why do we always have to go to church?"

She used to chant another rhyme to me that went:

There once was a girl

With a pretty little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good

She was very, very good.

But when she was bad

She was horrid.



Somehow I always believed that if I could keep that curl from landing on my forehead then I would never be horrid.



I HAVE OFTEN RELIED ON THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS


Paper-thin walls offer a number of advantages. For example—I don't watch a lot of TV, but my neighbors sure did! But better yet, they would run lines from great American playwrights. I think their favorite one was Streetcar, except the Stanley character was slightly more inebriated, and they changed the name of Stella to "F**K!!! or a form of it using every imaginable permutation of that root word and a creative array of prefixes and suffixes.




AND ON THAT NOTE


I'm rambling on like that weird old guy with the eyebrows on Sixty Minutes who should be unemployed. Maybe he is. Is he dead yet?

read pt 1 here

When Good Friends Go Missing...

We have all had it happen. You think you are solid. You think you are Lucy and she is your Ethel... and *BAM* they are gone. You have no idea what happened. You know there wasn't a disagreement, there were no plans to move to another country, no elopement eminent. So what the hell happened? You look inward,

"Do I just suck?"
"Am I boring?"
"Do I smell?"

Finally the prodigal friend comes around with a story that breaks your heart and shakes you to your core. She was homeless. She as I, back in the day, was an upper middle class housewife. Heck we lived in the same neighborhood. She chose a path away from spousal abuse, I chose a path away from the heterosexual lie I was living. She fell on bad days. She didn't reach out to me. Perhaps she was wise in not asking another drowning person to help her make it to shore. But it will always weigh heavy on my heart.

She has a warm place to sleep now and is starting a new job this week. Her hope is perennial as the grass. Her friendship is priceless and timeless. She is also able to tell a story, the true story of part of her spiral downward and make you laugh your ass off at the same time. So with her permission, thanks Annie, I am publishing the entire piece in 4 parts over the next few days. I think its brilliant but I am bias... she is my friend and she is back.


THE PARK VIEW INN CHRONICLES


Part one of four parts. No groaning or eye rolling, please.

October 30th, 2007.

The first night in my new home, room 14 of The Park View Inn.


LOCATION, LOCATION, ETC.




I own a house that I don't live in. My ex lives in it and was court ordered to sell it. He forgot to do that. So, having been temporarily screwed out of five digits of equity from the home I own on a third of an acre in a snobby upscale neighborhood with a stupid name, and finding myself a day late and $840 short every month on my rent, I settled on the plan to move to the cheapest place I could find in Boise and live like a recluse, squirreling away money until I was fabulously wealthy. Then I'd move to an even snobbier neighborhood, buy four big dogs, and teach them to each take a six-hour barking shift to keep the neighbors pissed off around the clock. I hate those neighbors already.




But I digress.




SAFETY FIRST




I left the safety of my gated community for a more relaxed environment—admittedly, the management of The Park View Inn is concerned about the safety of its tenants. The building boasted a rudimentary yet effective security system that consisted of a list, taped to the front door, of known felons who might try to break in. (If we saw one of them, and I'm sure they wouldn't mind identifying themselves to those of us unacquainted with the local felons, the list instructed us to call the police.) I assumed that none of the occupants were in collusion with any felons.



Other things I was safe from were solicitors. Jehovah's Witnesses wouldn't come near the place. Even the "meth mom" across the street wouldn't let her kids come over to play.



A TURN KEY OPERATION



It wasn't bad for $340 a month, but it would have been bad for $341 a month. The place came furnished with the best assemble-yourself furnishings K-Mart had to offer in the late 60s. I told the landlord that I didn't need any of the furniture because I had my own. He asked me "How much stuff do you have?" A struggle of sorts ensued, and I made a few concessions. Well, let's see. I agreed to not bring my piano, or the sideboard and hutch, or the armoire, or the bed, or a toothbrush. I didn't know how I was going to make do—I have one dresser just for my swimsuits.


.


BATHROOMS



Each of the three bathrooms was equipped with a shower/tub, a sink, a toilet, and a mirror. The walls were an intense shade of "sour". Additionally, the management provided toilet seat covers, an electric hands-free paper towel dispenser, a soap dispenser, and three rolls of toilet paper secured to the wall with a sturdy bike lock. I guess just because somebody makes bail it doesn't mean you can trust them with toilet paper.




SIGNS OF THE TIMES



Handy and informative notes were posted here and there throughout the building. There was a room down the hall and around the corner that contained the sink from which all tenants were to fetch their drinking water (if they hadn't heard about bottled water yet), and within which tenants wash their dishes, if they used any. This sink also boasts a garbage disposal. A helpful sign fashioned from a scrap of paper and a fine-tipped Sharpie read:




"If you can't chew something, then the garbage disposal will not be able to either"




I jotted that down in my notebook entitled "How to Live".




Another useful sign was posted in all three bathrooms, warning potential flushers-of-feminine-products that if Roto-Rooter had to be called upon to fix the plumbing again, the cost will be divided amongst the tenants who "don't have bathrooms in there rooms" [sic]. That begged the question, "does somebody here have their own bathroom?" A short investigation led me to the conclusion that the tenant in room 15 had "there" own bathroom! And that was right next to my room! I bet that fact should have brought up the value of my end of the building by who knows how much.




Other signs were posted informing us where we could and could not smoke, warning of the consequences of slamming doors, and a doleful plea for somebody to return the hot plate that had been "borrowed without permission".


I went to bed secure in the knowledge that a piece of paper on the outside of the building would stand watch over me all night.

Shhh.... she said the "C" word!

I realize right out of the gate that the fact that I am a lesbian and claim to be a conservative will strike many as odd. Some do/will feel I am betraying the gay community by this admission. Others will simply be baffled at how I reconcile myself. So let me begin by stating, it is my belief that Conservatives have gotten lost along the way. I firmly believe with pressure from the radical religious right their understanding/definition of "family" has been slowly narrowed and corrupted as they diligently strive to keep their voter base. The RRR has already started to make noise about sponsoring a 3rd party candidate because they are quite unhappy with many candidates stand on issues as Gay Marriage, Abortion, and Gun Control. Of course, this would have disastrous results for them as it would split the conservative vote and most certainly put a Democrat into the White House. But I digress...

Traditional Family Values IS community/government promoting the family unit. Children thrive best when they are raised in a home full of love with parents who are recognized as such in the community and in the work place and in the legal system. Why not allow us to marry and insure our spouses and our children? It is incongruous to advocate Traditional Family Values but then pull up short of children’s welfare if their parents happen to be gay.

I abhor abortion. I also believe it is imperative that it remains legal. People can hammer me up and down about "killing babies" but I remember personally the physically and emotionally abused young girl who absolutely did the right thing that day. Although, I have the maturity of time and the clarity it brings, I don't catch myself very often asking "what if". Its the maturity and clarity that affirms my understanding of the "whys" and the absolute need for a woman to have the choice. A safe choice. Regardless of the "whys". Those are personal and we carry them with us for the rest of our lives. I take it personally when someone describes abortion as a "quick fix".

I coyly admit to being somewhat of a Hawk. That's not to say I love war. Anymore than I *love* abortion. I just don't like watching people dying in terrorist attacks. Anywhere. I don't know what the answer is. I don't buy the theory that the war on terror has made us safer and referencing the fact we haven't had another 9/11 on our soil. I don't believe it has made us less safe either. I believe this is the world we live in now. I say "now" because as Americans we are always the last to "get it". We have lived a idealistic life. We have rarely looked outside of our borders to see the rest of the world has been in turmoil forever. When we finally do we are shocked. We are filled with new fear, we whip ourselves into a frenzy and then in American fashion we act like the fear belongs solely to us. Thus, turning our eyes inward once again.

Someone last night angrily said to me,

"You know that your President hates you don't you? He does! How does it feel being a conservative now?"

Had we both been sober I might have gone all Glenn Beck on him. Waxing on about the fact that I don't believe any of these politicians are evil. Corrupt? Yes. Jaded? Yes. Motivated by money and power? Yes. Fallible? Yes. If you show me a person without a mark, a misfire or never guilty of making a bad decision, I'll show you one who just has a well hidden agenda. Its a human condition, not political condition. If a Democrat/Liberal/Progressive becomes my next president I won't spend the next 4 to 8 years screaming that the Devil is in charge of the country. And I hope to God that everyone else won't as well. I would truly like to see our country moving forward and stop wasting our time and money on catching the likes of Larry Craig playing footsie in the loo. I will believe my president has the nation's best interest at heart. I will live more comfortably in the areas of policies I agree with and less comfortably in the those that I do not.

If you still love me, let's go have a beer.

Photo Hunt: small

Brilliant scarlet,

no promises of children.

please leave me alone.

~nina~

Can we talk about menstruation? the Curse, Aunt Flo, Period, Cousin Red, Being on the Rag, the Red Tide, Ridin' the Cotton Pony, Nosebleed in Australia (sorry Vic), Shark Bait, Trollin' for Vampires, Playing Banjo in Sgt. Zygote's Ragtime Band 1,2 ( that one seems like overkill if you ask me and its technically incorrect)...

I hate my period. I haven't always. Not that I was ever in love with it but I was reconciled quite early. I didn't have those huge symptoms that kept some of my friends home from school. And once I was liberated from my mother's maxi pads I just didn't give it much thought. Until the last year. It now has become hell on wheels during the few days prior to the red tide2 coming in. My breasts scream, my head aches, and my brain misfires and I forget what I've said. I get agitated, my brain misfires and I forget what I've said. I have no patience, I am quick to anger, so basically I am a basket case. Now, I know what some of you are thinking,

"How can we tell its your period1 and not just another day in the life of nina?"

I know, I know... trust me... its my period1.

I had my hormone levels checked last year and all was normal. Not a sign of menopause, not a sign of peri-menopause. But my body is definitely changing. The length of my stay in the red tent 3 varies now from 2 days to 10. Now that I am done mating it would be nice if there was an On/Off switch.

references:
1. onlineslangdictionary.com
2. dirtyslang.com
3. amazon.com

Half- Nekked Thursday

Oh now, for euer

Farewell the Tranquill minde; farewell Content;
Farewell the plumed Troopes, and the bigge Warres,
That makes Ambition, Vertue! Oh farewell,
Farewell the neighing Steed, and the shrill Trumpe,
The Spirit-stirring Drum, th' Eare-piercing Fife,
The Royall Banner, and all Qualitie,
Pride, Pompe, and Circumstance of glorious Warre:
And O you mortall Engines, whose rude throates
Th' immortall Ioues dread Clamours, counterfet,
Farewell: Othello's Occupation's gone.


Or in other words, I have cancelled Christmas. Well, okay not cancelled as much as ignoring all customary traditions. I made the decision last night not to put up a Christmas tree. I sat my girls down and asked them if they would be disappointed if I didn't *do* decorations this year. Before deciding, my youngest inquired whether or not my boycott would include presents. Once I assured her that presents for children would never be forgotten she seemed to warm to the idea.

I took this picture last year.


I had been out on my own for less than 2 months. I was a stranger in a strange land. It felt surreal to be going through the motions that I had done every year that I could remember yet everything inside me was different. It felt so uncomfortable. I just can't do it again.

With my little girls having a wonderful Christmas house at the ex's and will be waking up to Santa's presents there Christmas morning, its not like I am denying them the comfort of things they have always known. Perhaps it is selfish of me, but I cannot continue to mimic my old life for the sake of the appearance of normalcy. I am trying so very hard to make things BE okay that I just don't have any energy left to try to make things *look* okay.

Farewell Pomp and Circumstances

Some People Take Their Christmas Shopping Very Seriously

'Cuse Me Sir, Your Ass is Showing

I have a "Myspace" page. But I have never really understood how to tweak it or anything so it has sat virtually unused except to say hello to a few people who I know and to check Rebecca Scott's tour dates. Every now and then I will get a friend request from some artist promoting their latest whatever and sometimes a blog friend might find me. Mostly though I get requests from 30-50 year old men wanting to be my friend. I just deny them. Tonight though I got an email instead of a friend request from a 35 year old man. He obviously lonely and trolling...

Dear nina:

wow your 1 beautiful lady, i will be in boise the 31st of ..o the 2nd on jan to sign the final papers on my house i bought and was wondering if you were single if you would like to get to know me better on here and when i am there maybe go out, if this sounds good plz let me know...sincerely, not yet an asshole

I felt like it wouldn't hurt me to write back and tell him nicely that he must have missed the "lesbian" designation on my page. So I put my "treat human beings nicely" hat on.

Dear not yet an asshole,

Thank you for the kind words. Good luck with your new house and enjoy Boise! I am indeed single however I am a lesbian. I do wish you well with the dating scene. Have fun! nina

So what do I get in return? A nice "oh I didn't realize!" or "thanks" or even silence? No, no. I get this:

nina

i could always use a 3 some...never had that...lol..

you fucking asshole...

Its always about men isn't it? I was just telling a blog friend yesterday they are either voyeurs or narcisists. God they creep me out.

PhotoHunt: Long

That's my baby...

Join in the fun!

Farewell Fuzzy Slippers

You have been a warm and loyal friend. You have protected my toes from hard edges. You have added comic relief to my wardrobe. You have accompanied me to the mailbox and demanded the neighbors attention. I love you.

I have had my Gossamer slippers since the early 90's. Gossamer is my favorite cartoon character. His role was short but sweet starring with Bugs Bunny. He was called "Rudolph" but then his name changed to Gossamer by Marvin the Martian I think.

My slippers used to be bright red however the color has faded as well as the soles. Now my toes peek out of the bottoms. And his fluffy monster hair needs another work over by Bugs. So it is with great reluctance that I retire Gossamer. I have no other slippers to replace them. I will go it alone. Perhaps one day I will again find the perfect slippers but until that day, I will pine.

Half-Nekked Thursday

Just Because I'm Paranoid Doesn't Mean People Aren't Out to Get Me

I've been tagged by my new found friend Drowning Piscses. Topic is: Things that make you suspicious. I immediately began to wonder why she would pick me instead of any of the rest of her blogger friends. What could she be after? I for one am not totally sure I am buying into that little fish "pretending" to not know how to swim. I mean he looks worried that he is about to go under without floaties but I wonder once he's under the water no one can really see his face... he could be mocking us... I hate being mocked. Especially by a fish.

I read through her list and I think my favorite one of hers was number 2.

2. The spelling of any word that looks right to me

I totally get that. And it seems the more you look at it the more foreign it appears.

Here are a few things of mine:

1) The first box of anything on a shelf on the grocery store. I always will reach behind it. Sometimes the second box isn't right either so I will go back further.

2) I am suspicious of anyone who doesn't answer me the first time I say "Hello?" on my phone.

3) I am suspicious of these people: http://www.dnaancestryproject.com/index.php

4) I am suspicious of anyone who is knocking on my front door.

5) I am suspicious of any 40ish straight white male who keeps begging me to add him as a Myspace friend.

So there you have it... and I hereby tag BA and AA to get suspicious with the rest of us. And thanks DP!

Mi Familia pt 4

Its been a long time since I started this project. I have been dragging my feet. I have been avoiding talking about my littlest munchkin. I didn't know why for a long time and decided that until I knew why I wouldn't do it. I realize now that there is so much of me wrapped up in and around her very existence that it was hard for me to separate it. Her birth marked a beginning in my life as well as her own.

Emma




She was born on a very warm day in November 2001. I remember looking at her wondering who she really belonged to. She looked nothing like any of my other children and at one point I remember telling my husband, "Oh my gosh, she looks just like your brother!" I'm sure the labor and delivery staff wondered if they were on the brink of an episode of Jerry Springer.

Emma is a mixture of young child and old soul. Her biggest goal in life right now is to be a puppy. Her dad one day was getting weary of her barking and running around on all fours.

He picked her up and said, "Boy I look forward to the day you get older!"

She happily agreed and said, "Then I will be a big dog!"

When not canine she looks at the world with an abstract eye. She once painted a picture of the earth. Not the whole thing just part of it. She said while explaining what it was, "See mom this is the earth really close up!" I'll be damned if it isn't.

Mi Familia pt 1,2,3

What *DO* You Do For a Living? or The $1500 Sleep....

Stream of Consciousness from an Ordindary Mind...

Note to self: Anytime a you meet a lesbian in a bar and she drags you to the dance floor all night, then tells you you look like Jodie Foster, you know that she isn't really interested in just dancing. (chances are you don't look like Jodie Foster either)

Tomorrow morning I go to the dentist where I will be put under anesthesia so that I will not know or remember what they are doing to me. It stems from abuse from Dr/DDS situations in my childhood. I used to hate my dentist so much that my mother would drug me to get me in the chair... where I was subjected to a very mean man. I have neglected my oral health for 20 years now. Its time to fix that and if sleeping in the chair and paying through the nose is the only way to do it then I will. It beats getting a secondary infection in the lining of my heart. As a treat, I hope to get the drugs out of my system soon enough to make it to Open Mic at Pengilly's in the evening to see my ex-husband play a set. Wish me luck!

I went to a LGBT bar last night to play pool with my friend. While there I was introduced to two others and we all played pool together. I realized quickly that I come across like a pathetic loser.

"J" asked me, "What do you do?"

I had nothing to say. I stumbled over the answer and realized the truth was all I had handy.

"Nothing." I said, "I am unemployed right now and just take care of my kids."

Further questioning brought to light that my kids have "two daddies" in two separate states, I do not have a college education, nor a career compass and the girlfriend I have I met on the internet. My god I could see the Lesbian Red Flags going up as I failed each of the "Are You Drama in Jeans?" questions. Thank god the pool game moved fast enough to allow me to skirt over the fact that I am on several anti-depressants, sleep meds and I choose to play air guitar and pretend I'm Melissa Etheridge instead of volunteering at the homeless shelter or going out to have coffee on the nights the LGBT community holds court over the local coffee house. (What can I say, I'm shy)

I have been thinking that I need a good reply to the "What do you do?" question until I actually have a good answer. I suppose I could say, "I am an artist and photographer." of course the truth is I am a "starving artist and photographer". I mean I don't make any money out of it or anything. So once they know that it only proves I am not quite grounded in reality. I kinda wanna say I am a ballerina... but someone might want me to pirouette or something and then what?

I think this is a problem for Middle Aged Lesbian and I plan to email her and ask. Dear MAL...

World AIDS Day

I used to sit on the Board of Directors of the Utah County AIDS Coalition. This was 2 lifetimes ago when I had no idea that I wasn't a middle class housewife that just wasn't lucky enough to "like it". I met some very wonderful people while serving on the board. And together for several years did informational outreach to the community. I even wrangled myself into a Walmart one year to set up a booth specifically for AIDS Awareness and Education for the day. Even though we were met with people asking "How did so and so get it?" and then making moral judgements on whether or not they should show compassion, we pushed on and felt that we had had a good day.



I was honored to preside over The Quilt when it toured Utah. I watched as people filed passed my square and wrote on blank fabric, notes to long lost loved ones. When we closed for the day I had the chance to view the quilt for myself. As I moved passed echoes of lost lives I was stunned to find an old class mate's picture included in one of the squares. Even though I was submersed in AIDS prevention and education, that moment was a shock and a revelation. Once finished I walked to the center square where I had watched so many that day write goodbyes and removed my shoes. I walked quietly to an empty spot and said my own personal goodbye to Brian. He was this red headed gangly kid who liked me even when it wasn't the cool thing to do. He never knew how much his personal bravery against peer pressure meant to that sad little girl. But I told him that day. I wish I could have told him differently.

World AIDS Day

World Vision

World AIDS Campaign

Light to Unite