2nd, 3rd, 4th Classes Opposed to the Masses

This is a big week in politics for me.  A BIG week.  Big.  H.U.G.E.
(I promise, if you suffer through this, I'll put a bunch of awesome pretty pictures at the end for those who hate reading...)

However, I find myself really feeling more and more depressed about the entire process now.  When I first became extremely active in political causes and social issues, I was an idealist.  I don't even mean back when I had a mohawk and "Meat is Murder" was plastered all over my old car's bumper as I went to rallies and concerts around Rutgers campuses in my combat boots and Laura Ashley dresses with headscarves.  No, I was a complete moron back then.  Don't get me wrong - I had AWESOME intentions.  I just didn't know very much, and allowed myself to be herded into causes like so much cattle and sheep. I mean in the recent span of the past 10 years.  Lisa and I have been really working hard, behind the scenes on grass roots levels all over the place to make our voices heard in battles ranging from Immigration, to the Repeal of DOMA, to the fight against DADT (and enjoyed marching right along side of Lt. Dan Choi for that one!) and so much more.

Today, I heard on NPR (one of the only news sources I really listen to anymore) that access to the hearings on Marriage (that the entire nation is incorrectly deeming "Gay Marriage") is a ticketed event, and people have been camping out all weekend for it.  My heart leapt with joy, thinking that it was an awesome aspect of our legal system to allow a first come basis for seats to a hearing that REALLY affected people's lives.  Then the story became about how those spots were primarily occupied by persons who have zero interest in the case, and will never go to the event.  They are PAID to stand in line and secure tickets for interest groups who can't stand there for themselves.  NOM, AFA, and other Anti-SSM proponents and hate groups rack up tickets and then fill those seats with heavily weighed opinions on the floor of the court.  My heart sank.  Really?  Even in this venue?  Yep.  I assume the same might be true for the SSM advocates, but that wasn't on before I had to leave the car.

So it made me think... YEARS of my life, fighting with due diligence for what's fair, just, and right.  I've been so busy fighting that I'd forgotten that my fight - a fight bigger than me - was something that shouldn't even be BROUGHT to a court or to a vote.  This isn't about whether or not you approve of any other lifestyle than yours, or if one particular religion's tomes might reference it as a negative.  The entire issue is about equal rights for ALL citizens of this country.  MY country.  The United States.  I pledge to it wholeheartedly.  I pay my taxes.  I vote for representation.  I am a human being, living in this country.  The issues before the court are not issues to be voted upon.  They are already in our constitutional rights to be treated equally.  Marriage is a right for everyone.  Not just some.

This work that Lisa and I have been doing is all such agonizing work to fight the ILLUSION that there should be a vote or a choice.  Strip the issue down, remove religious perception (because in law, it's a separation of Church and State, no matter your state and no matter your church preference), remove the dogma of the weighted "Political supporters" who will be in the seats, staring down the Justices, and remove the stigma our nation has created for anyone perceived as "different from the major 99%".  It's all smoke and mirrors, just like the argument over a woman's right to choose for herself and her own body, making informed choices with her healthcare professionals and if she wishes - between that woman and her god of choice.  The idea that anyone - especially groups of predominantly white male legislators - and pass a law and strip that decision right out of the hands of these women is disgusting.  Both of these examples clearly show a tiered system, almost an animal hierarchy that insinuates and actually creates lesser citizens and greater citizens.  There are 2nd, 3rd, 4th classes opposed to the masses.  Also, the ridiculous argument that [gays] want "special" rights when fighting for marriage or other rights.  They aren't special.  They are the same ones you have, but we want them also.

Although we have our lives riding on these Supreme Court decisions, and we have no choice but to abide by them and continue to fight for equality, I'm just hoping that sanity will intervene and we will all be represented to each other as fellow human beings.  As equals.  As Brothers, and As Sisters.  We are all the same on the inside.  I'd like to think people could see past the cover of my book, because inside, they'd find a gorgeous story they might relate to.

EQUALITY.  LOVE.  PEACE.  COMPASSION.   Let's live the dream.

Namaste
--B

As promised...

 

Boyfriend Material

***As ALWAYS, a quick reminder... this is OUR blog.  Don't like it?  Don't read it.  NO flaming or hate or trolling allowed.  I will burn yo ass if you try it.  Be polite and considerate of the people who come here to just read and enjoy.  Obviously you can see where I stand and what my views are, so don't be the jerk at the bar who had too much and tried to kiss the bouncer. Ok?  Cool!***

So, this upcoming election is like being in a continuously evolving relationship.  Marriage material.  Going steady.  Something more substantive than a booty call.
I was thinking about how there is a huge life altering choice ahead.  And somehow, I have to make it.  Also, I had to get these two (four) men out of the political media dance and into perspective I can understand. This is the analogy that came to me as I massaged my scalp in the shower.

I've been seeing my current beau - Barack - for almost 4 years now.  The relationship started with ferocity.  It was whirlwind romance at it's best, with courtship and promises galore.  We had similar, but not totally identical ideals, and I could deal with that.  (Ok, he is seeing another woman and has kids - but no one is perfect)  Honestly, I really can't give him too hard of a time, because I came with SUCH baggage from my last relationship.  It was a wonder I even tried to commit again.  But I did, and now I need to reevaluate my feelings.

Along comes Mitt, and I have to say, his approach was quite clumsy and while I do fall for goofy people, this was not the same thing.  This was a clumsy arrogance I couldn't really get comfortable with. I didn't like that a servant he ironed his jeans. Oddly, this is AFTER I sorted through a truckload of other potential suitors.    Newt was such a hypocrite.  I think he secretly wanted to create a harem.  Rick was, well... not the brightest bulb.  I'm still a little hooked on the sexual tension I got from Ron Paul.  *shiver*  But he never called back.  McMillan wouldn't stop shouting, and in a crowded movie theatre, it was embarrassing.  Herman refused to consider a gluten-free pizza and then I found out he had a bunch of crusts on the side.  Santorum left a bad taste in my mouth.  Michele kept wandering around my house  barking and telling me to call Miss Cleo.

So I had to take both guys on the things I knew - things I knew for myself or by virtue of actual verifiable facts.  I didn't want a hack private dick to follow them around, so I stalked them myself.

Mitt was new.  He was almost exciting.  Then he spoke.  I was bummed.  He seemed to be against most things I was for - but I don't count people out for that.  I consider that just because someone isn't FOR something doesn't mean they would go out of their way to create barriers, obstacles, or actual legislation against that same thing for others.  Oh.... wait... Crap.

I get along really well with Barack's pal Joe.  He's unpredictable, and sometimes he puts his foot in it, but you know where you stand with Joe, and he's fun at a BBQ.  He's also really cool with my eclectic bunch of friends.  At first I thought he'd be standoffish, but it turns out he even encouraged my man to take a deeper look and accept them like one of his own.  I thought he had tourrettes, but it turns out he just spits out what he's thinking and likes interesting words.  At least it's what he actually thinks!

I tried to have dinner with Mitt's best friend Paul.  It was a disaster!  We all went out to dinner, but it wasn't "fancy" enough for him.  Then we were invited to a small art gathering and he was grumpy and moody, saying that my friends were evil and he's against all the stuff they do.  He couldn't wait to get into office to ban a bunch of rights to protect his marriage and please his God.  I asked him about LGBT stuff and he thought it was a lunch sandwich.  I got a little pissed off, and when I stood up, I knocked a glass of soda onto the lap of the gentleman next to me.  Paul promptly had him arrested for murder because he thought the guy ejaculated in him pants, and then he wept for the "peoplehoods" who had perished in that guy's khakis.  Top it off, someone was playing RATM at the party and he started humming along.   Turns out he thought the band name was a play on words about a human ATM machine.  He never knew any lyrics, and no one likes the poser at the party who doesn't know the lyrics.

I love guns.  I know, shocker to some of my friends, but going north to the ranges and learning about different kinds and shooting them in safety and even owning some in a legal and safe fashion for fun sporting or for personal protection - I'm gooooooood with it.  So's Barack.   He's never indicated or even tried to implement otherwise, although others keep telling me he's going to take them.

So, after thinking long and hard about these issues, I came to the conclusion that I needed to give my relationship more time.  I mean, I wasn't kidding when I said I was a mess when we met - so how could I expect him to cut through all that crap and make my life perfect in four years?  It wasn't possible.  I'm NOT going to lie...  I do feel let down.  In many many ways, I feel like he let down the hopeful little girl I was by not following through on all the things he promised.  However, those are still things I want to get done, and if everyone broke it off with their significant honey just because they weren't getting all the "honey-do" list items done when we want them done - no one would be in a relationship anymore.  Also, it seems like my alternative would be someone I don't know.  At least - even in the beginning - I knew what Barack stood for.  With Mitt, I didn't like his ideals very much, but even those have been shaky from the start.  There is too much questionable information about and even from him. He reminds me of the guy who uses the good linen to make a pointy-hooded "ghost costume".  Don't get me started on Paul - just keep him away from my uterus.  So, while I might have been able to get through having differences of opinion, it's hard to do that when you can't figure out just what those people's opinions are.  And the few that they stand firm on go against my very core values and beliefs - right down to the probability of pushing members of my country, society, and family out of basic human rights and forcing us into a bizarre theologically based political platform of policy that doesn't have a plan to fund it or a basis of proven record.

So, congrats to my guy.  I'm behind him for this run.  I'm sure the next 70-something days will be filled with pandering, mudslinging, and gross misleasing claims on both sides - as this is the political toilet we've evolved into - but I'm trying to stay informed and open and positive. Granted, I'd love to be able to stand up and shout for him the way I did 4 years ago, but he'll have to regain my trust and earn that.  For now, I'll keep dreaming of Hillary the woman who almost came between us and being grateful for at the very least knowing the basic ideas he stands for.

Keeping Y'All in Da Immigration Loop-Da-Loop

It's been a couple of weeks, and I haven't really said anything in a while.  Mostly, I'm avoiding blogging it because I'll Blommit all over the keyboard, blooking up chunks of emotional ranting that will spiral into non-cohesive bullspunk and end up as angry gibberish dancing across the screen.  It'd be like I was typing out the works of Ms. Shakespeare, using the Widget Font. 

So, there is a culmination going on this weekend.  It's a big deal, but after a long time of fretting and basically going through the death grief cycle of anger, depression, bargaining, acceptance and so on, I've rebounded. We are more focused and positive.  We aren't looking right at our noses.  We're looking forward.  While details aren't going to be out to the masses yet on what's up this weekend, just know it's another step toward the ultimate goal, and we will make this one, just like we've made the rest.  Those of you who do know what's we're up to - ALL the positive vibes you can muster are happily and greedily accepted. 

In related news, all of this is not amounting to nothing.  Confused?  You should be.  What I mean is, all of this fighting the good fight, standing up for what's right, arguing for Equality for EVERYONE, within no one religion, race, sex, or choice being allowed to squelch any others - that will continue WITH A VENGEANCE.  

HOW?


We Will Fight With Our Kitten Armies!

Look for progress on the newly updated site for http://www.uafawatch.com/.  Look for us to be in the fray at political events.  Look for us to be championing the cause for those who just cannot do so for themselves.  Look for us to use sensible arguments, proof, and logic to counter bias, hatred and ill will.  Help us in this.

 I hate broaching this, or beating the poor, mange-ridden decomposing horse, but I'm going to remind everyone that on this site above this post is a Donation button through Paypal that is labeled "Dept of Defense". If anyone can, or knows anyone who can spare a couple of dollars using this to help with this cause, it's appreciated.  We know it's rough out there right now.  We're living it right next to you.  We want to continue to be here to fight. 

Maintaining Ties

In a time of ancient gods...or perhaps just ancient customers, it is in my best interests to maintain links to the UK. The US doesn't fully want me yet, or at least they don't know they do. They panic when I get a little too close, and demand "space."

Not to fret; I can be...persuasive *pops on little black number and a tango mix-tape*.

So I maintain these ties, through keeping a house over there, bank accounts, and of course a driving license. Said driving license expires on the 24th of this month. I don't have to do anything special to renew it, just mail back a form and a pretty picture of yours truly. No retaking test, or fancy jumping through hoops or anything like that, right. Right?

Wrong.

Well, half wrong. I don't have to retake the test. Which is a good thing, because I'm certain I'd get all confuzzled and forget which side of the road to drive on. I had a panic tonight as I realized I'd forgotten the British way of writing the date. Bah.

As it turns out, the Brits and Americans are once more two countries divided by a common language when it comes to passport photos. British dimensions are not quite as simple as their old 2 by 2 American counterpart. Not one, not two, but four stores I went to on my lunch hour today refused to accommodate such an unruly request. Finally, I sweet-talked my way into a JC Penney clerk's knickers. I mean, photography studio. *cough* I think I have a date on Friday.

Knowing that I don't have much time in which to organize all this (as a typical Greening, I have known the license was expiring for months, but am as usual late to the party), I race home and start filling out the forms. Second panic of the day: The D1 or the D798? Which one am I supposed to complete? Bah! Typical British, you wait months for a form, and two come along at once. So I narrow it down to the D1 (mostly because I had previously started to complete the D798 in blue ink, and that simply won't do), and start scribbling furiously. Finished, I read the checklist of items.

Check for £20
Green counterpart license
Photocard licence

Panic number three. £20? What's that in dollars? Does it matter anyway? The DVLA won't take an American check. Crap. Do I still have a British checkbook? By this point, Alice has flown into the bedroom and is hiding under the bed from her crazy Mum who is ransacking the study. Victory! Oh me oh my, I still have the good old HSBC checkbook. Can I remember how to complete an English check? Sod it, I'll fudge it.

Green counterpart license. OK, I've seen that somewhere. Recently. Ish. Like, within the last...four years? Balls. *ransack ransack* Huzzah! There it is in the filing cabinet, neatly filed under "Stuff." How accurate and quaint.

Photocard license. I've got this, no problem. Wait. Oh, that's just bloody marvelous. I simply had to go and get myself a new wallet a couple of months ago. A slimmer model. One that doesn't contain all the unnecessary "STUFF" that I don't use on a daily basis. Like my UK photocard license. Now...if you were an insane, famished British gal, where would you have put your old wallet? In a flash of godknowswhat, I remember that I think I heard it fall down the back of the dresser about a month ago. Why yes, there it is!

OK, it's 6:30pm. Into the car I run, off to locate the only post office within a fifty mile radius to stay open past 5pm on a weekday. Small aside: What the hell, USPS? People don't work? C'mon already. I arrive at the wee place, and...c'mon, if you had to guess people. You've been following this story. You know how it ends.

Ha, they weren't closed. Those who guessed 'closed,' go directly to jail and do not collect £200. Or $200. Or anything. Sorry, not feeling particularly generous today. BUT, they did have a new system in place.

"Damned computers," the woman behind the register mutters. "Don't know why we need them in the first place. So much simpler without." Right, yes dear, you're 100% correct, now hand over the keyboard and mouse and nobody gets hurt. What? Not supposed to utter those words in a federal building? Whoops.

Together, we fuddle our way through the new system, trying to figure out how to express mail something internationally, when she reaches the Province question. "Which province is it, dear?"

Wales, I think. What? Wales isn't in there? OK...try South Glamorgan. Now look for Swansea. It's not there? Hmmmm...that's strange. OK, maybe it's Mid Glamorgan. Not there either? Hmmm... *pulls out Blackberry and starts typing furiously* West Glamorgan. Well now, that doesn't seem familiar at all, but whatever, it works. Did I mention I lived in Swansea for 2 years? Finally, my package is in the mail, my wallet is $27.95 lighter, and it will arrive on Wednesday. The day before the deadline.

And now, I'm off to stare at the ceiling for many hours. Because my life cannot handle this much excitement. DO YOU HEAR ME UNIVERSE? STOP IT!

Sex On The Brain

Sunday morning, my beloved Father-in-Law stops in for coffee on his way back from church. He does this most Sundays, occasionally accompanied by his lady wife. He wanders about, shoots the shit, and finds something to pick on in our house.

"The dust bunnies under your TV are multiplying."

"Do you plan on ever using your dining room table for eating again?"

"How many SHOES do you need?!"

And of course, this Sunday morning's classic was:

"What on earth is that hanging on your bed? A camera? What are you guys DOING in here?!"

(It should be noted for the record that the camera he thought he espied was in fact the booklight my father bought me for Christmas, so that I may read into the night without disturbing my sweetie. Only my Father-in-Law could make that about sex)

On Flaurs, Hayer and Gawd

We recently had a visit from my aunt and uncle from Kentucky. It was great to see them, but sometimes I forget what it sounds like to come from the bible belt area, and my aunt has the BEST accent being from Louisville. I also pretty much forget that Lisa has an accent. When she speaks, it sounds normal (well, content aside) to me. However, when these two women were in the same room, I swear I needed some sort of Star Trek-esque device that could decode alien languages. One night, we were having a conversation at my parents' house and it became very apparent that I live with a grammar vigilant Briton, and that my aunt has had her language processor surgically altered to "Southern" at some point in her life. The edited version of the night follows:

Aunt Jane: Oh mah GAWD! They were setten on the grayond and I took a picture and when it came out - all you saw were these blue flaurs!!

Lisa: I'm sorry, what again?

Aunt Jane: What? The flaurs?

Lisa: Oh flares? Like road flares?

Me: I don't think so...

Lisa: Fliers? Flies? Wait, what?

Aunt Jane: Flaurs. Blue flaurs.

Me: Flowers?

Aunt Jane: Well, yes, that's what I said!

Lisa: Oh my God, that was flowers? There should be more syllables!

Aunt Jane: That's what we do in the South. We add them to some words and take them out of others. Like, "brush your hayer. hay-er. 2 syllables. Not hair. But Flowers? They're just flaurs."

Cut to me on the floor laughing because I was certain at this point that my father didn't understand one word that had been said for the prior 20 minutes between the both of them. Oddly enough, I think they understood each other really well.

Also during the stay, we talked a little history and politics and such. Not much, because I hear that kind of thing can ruin a family, but I was giggling when the subject of the Civil War came up and my father tried to zing Lisa by saying:
"The only thing you learned about our civil war and our history was through books!" to which she calmly replied that, indeed - so did he. Silly boy. As if he fought in the Civil War and learned that way. He looks good for being that old!

So, here's the family.

Eggs and Guatemalans

In which we headed to Egypt

This weekend saw us joined in New Jersey by the delightful Miss Tinita, which made Captain Alice (and us) very happy. There was breakfast, chatting, laughing, a movie, and above all else, coffee.

Yesterday morning Miss Tinita showed up on our doorstep, closely followed by Mom and Aunt Janie. I, in my one true display of domesticity, baked the only thing I can bake, Egg and 'Bacon' muffins. Slightly deviated from the recipe in the book, here I go:

Gazelle's Egg and 'Bacon' muffins
Yield: 12 muffins
10 Eggs (I use 2½ cups of Egg Beaters)
10 oz Canadian Bacon
Cheese. I don't know how much, just sprinkle!
and of course, a little bit of:



What? You don't like that? Fine, then try this instead:



Preheat oven to 350°. Mix together eggs, bacon and spike. Grease 12-holding muffin pan with PAM butter spray, then spoon the mixture into each individual muffin-hole. Cover with shredded/grated cheese (I use the 2% Kraft, either Mexican 4-Cheese, or Cheddar). Put in oven and bake for 25 minutes, or until yummy-looking.

So that's my recipe. Try it, nom it, let me know what you thought.

Dad and Uncle Jack showed up soon afterwards, and we all sat down to a nommy breakfast of the afore-mentioned muffins, and some chocolate muffins a là Aunt Janie and Mom's recipe book, along with some coffee cake, and of course what breakfast is complete without coffee itself?! In its purest form, it is sweet, sweet nectar of the gods.

We all sat and chatted over brekkie, and had a wonderful time. Aunt Janie and Uncle Jack got the tour of casa del Gazeligie, then Mom and Dad took them home to prepare spare ribs a là Famous Cole Recipe Book. Barbara and I took our beloved Tinita off to see Mamma Mia, which was just a riot. Seriously recommended. Afterwards was a necessary stop to Starbucks. I'm so in love with their Mint Mocha Chip Frappuccino Light, that I could probably quite happily just move into our nearest one. What day can possibly compare to such a perfect one as yesterday?

The End of Lohan Time

I am forcing myself to return to work tomorrow. As you know (if you read this blog regularly, and I know I am flattering myself here) I have been disgustingly ill. I have been icky ill to the extent that I was able to create discomfort by discussing it with the ever-British Lisa. Nothing makes her squirm more than my verbose and detailed play-by-play of mucus horrors and other bodily functions.

Even though I feel way under par, I have a hard time not being at work. I know it's an odd concept, and usually I'd dig a day off, but this kind of sick makes it preferable to actually be healthy and not working. So, even though I'm not feeling even close to 100%, I'm heading in tomorrow to give it my best. I know I can't contaminate anyone else (even though that could be fun)so I can cough and hack my way through the day guilt free. Why would I take off Monday through Thursday and go in on a Friday? I just can't justify it. If I am finally fever free, it's my duty to get my ass into work. I don't like leaving people hanging, or putting extra responsibility on others. I swear I would have made an awesome Catholic in another life.

The bonus that makes this week worth it? If I can feel well enough, I FINALLY get to see my Aunt Jane and Uncle Jack from Louisville, KY. My dad's sister, and I haven't seen them in what I've calculated to be about 17 years. That makes me feel like a real shithead. I know I didn't even live near here, let alone Kentucky, but these are amazing people, and I really miss them. I'm glad to be seeing them this week. I am hoping to wrangle a southern breakfast from them before they leave. That would rock hard. She liked the book Lisa and I created for my mom this year. If yer interested, it's a family cookbook, and we compiled the loose scraps of paper mom had been using as a recipe book and had it published with photos and everything. Really posh. Take a look. It's available to anyone who wishes to purchase it.

I'm going to bed, after I give Lisa some bodily function related bed time stories.