Iowa’s A Long Way From Idaho

Vermont and Massachusetts, you rock!  At least you’ve taken a stab at providing equal rights to gays and lesbians!  Civil Unions and even marriage have been happenin’ all over the place in those diminutive in size, but large in heart, states.  Funny, the predictions of rampant chaos have proven groundless and the ability of straight people to live their own family values has not been impinged.  The Union has not crumbled.  California has been struggling for years to make our situation out here a little more equitable, and we are supposedly the most liberal of leftie states.  Thing is, until we have a Federal recognition of our unions, any strides made out here regarding our “domestic partnership” situation out here in California and elsewhere will never make for a level playing field.

 

So, what happened today?  Another little victory was won, via an obscure district court judge in the fine, diminutive state of Iowa (population 3 million).  I received this from my good friend Red Hog: 

 

BREAKING NEWS: Judge in Polk County, Iowa Rules in Favor of Gay Marriage

ASSOCIATED PRESS
August 30, 2007
A Polk County judge on Thursday struck down Iowa’s law banning gay marriage.

The ruling by Judge Robert Hanson concluded that the state’s prohibition on same-sex marriage is unconstitutional and he ordered the Polk County recorder to issue marriage licenses to six gay couples.

“This is kind of the American Dream,” said plaintiff Jen BarbouRoske, of Iowa City. “I’m still feeling kind of shaky. It’s pure elation, I just cannot believe it.”

Camilla Taylor, an attorney with Lambda Legal, a New York-based gay rights organization, said the ruling requires “full equality for all Iowans including gay and lesbian Iowans and their families.”

“The Iowa Constitution has lived up to its promises of equality for everyone,” she said.

Gay couples from anywhere in Iowa could apply for a marriage license from Polk County. The process takes three days, however.

Polk County is expected to appeal the ruling to the Iowa Supreme Court.

County Attorney John Sarcone said the county would immediately seek a stay from Hanson, which if granted would prevent anyone from seeking a marriage license until an appeal could be heard.

The case will be appealed to the Iowa Supreme Court, which could refer it to the Iowa Court of Appeals, consider the case itself or decide not to hear the case.

Des Moines lawyer Dennis Johnson represented the six gay couples who filed suit after they were denied marriage licenses. He called the ruling “a moral victory for equal rights.”…more

WHOA!  That’s where I was raised!  But, guess what – something you may not know about Iowa is that it’s pretty much split down the middle Donkey/Pachyderm.  One side of the state is full of college towns and industrial centers and the other side is primarily agriculture.  Iowa is not full of hicks.  Iowans are as politically sophisticated as I’ve seen anywhere in the country. These are the same people who voted for the amendment.  But, times, and opinions change and now is the time to undo the damage done.  Polk County is also home of the state capital, Des Moines (silent “s” people, not Dez Moinz).   The state was split by less than 1% on the reelection of the Shrub. 

Republicans are screaming, “It’s the will of the people and shouldn’t be determined outside the legislature or popular vote.”  The Shrub is leading by example and the Iowa Republicans have been watching, as strides are made to disembowel the judicial branch’s ability to look at the law on its own merits if it doesn’t conform nicely with his agenda.  Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.  That’s what the courts are there for—to interpret the law, regardless of what some hyped up power hungry politician says (on either side of the spectrum).

The Iowa Supremes are at a crossroads.  They can rule, as they should, that denying marital rights to same sex couples via constitutional amendment, is unlawful.  Or, they can put Iowa back with all those other suck states full of voters who think it’s okay to decide how people like me live their lives, while they get to live theirs any old way they want.   I hope the BarbouRoske’s and the other plaintiffs prevail. 

 The most successful marriages, gay or straight, even if they begin in romantic love, often become friendships. It’s the ones that become the friendships that last. ~ Andrew Sullivan

Tell That Girl To Shut Up

Okay, I try to keep up with stuff—you know pop culture and music and whatever else when I can. But, I was reading a Entertainment magazine today and the centerfold article was called, “The Rise (or Fall) of Zac Efron.” First off, who the hell is he? And, second of all, he was described as having an emo haircut.

What the hell is emo? Will someone tell me, please? I have asked at least a dozen kids and no two people have the same answer. Zac, 1979 called and wants its hair back. Zac looks like every single boy in my graduating class, except Zac doesn’t also wear that stylish powder blue leisure suit and silky polyester shirts that most of the guys had. How is that haircut emo?

I found this definition at Ask Yahoo! So, what I learned, besides I am not the only clueless parent, is that “emo” means “emotional” and is a type of punk music. They describe Fall Out Boy as a mainstream punk emo band, but I’ve never heard of them either.

When I think of punk I think of this (Holly Beth Vincent of Holly & the Italians):

Not this (Zac Efron):

I am old and culturally clueless, but I have very, very good taste.

A guy walks up to me and asks ‘What’s Punk?’. So I kick over a garbage can and say ‘That’s punk!’. So he kicks over a garbage can and says ‘That’s Punk?’, and I say ‘No that’s trendy!”

~ Billie Joe Armstrong

Why It’s Not My Fault

I was all set to rant about Larry Craig today, but it’s been said so well, so many places, especially over at Ask A Lesbian. Two-faced, lying, sack of crud. Of special interest is the video posted there. I wonder how soon after the rumors circulated during the 1980s Congressional Page brou-ha-ha Craig finally settled down with a wife?

So, instead, I’ll rant about something else today. We pay freakin’ sky-high taxes out here in California and have one of the suckiest educations our fine country has to offer, and it’s the school’s fault things did not go smoothly here at Hahn at Home tonight.

The boy has to ride home from high school on his miniature bike (he grew half a foot in the last six months, so the bike no longer fits the boy). He’d like to have a bigger bike, but doesn’t want it to get stolen at school, which is so not out of the realm of possibility—he graciously thanked, but turned down the offer for a new one. But, that’s just another tangent I could take…

Back to getting home. It sucked. And, it’s all because the kids don’t get to have a classroom set of textbooks.

J-Man loads his 38-pound bookbag on his 126-pound frame and rides home. He gets home and because his backpack is so full, his pudding exploded in his bag. Said pudding being chocolate.

So, I arrive home with Em, who has a 20-pound bookbag (no, I’m not about to ask you to do a math word problem), and we find J-Man pulling everything out of his bookbag, covered in chocolate. It’s on his shirt (white) and his textbooks, and his binders, and his multi-function calculator.

So, because he was dealing with that to try and save his textbooks, he wasn’t paying attention to the dogs and hadn’t let them out, one of whom immediately walked out to the living room and peed. She never goes in the house. She was desperate. But there I was standing there with Chinese take out in one hand, a roll of paper towels in the other, and chocolate pudding everywhere, and all I could think of is:

He couldn’t fit a lunch in his bag because he has to carry textbooks which he should not have to haul back and forth to school—they should have a classroom set or lockers—but they don’t want to deal with lockers in Sacramento and there is no money for classroom sets. This could be because they change texts every couple of years rather than recycle them for a little longer (don’t get me going on the textbook selling racket).

Or, because our school district allegedly mismanages its money making crazy land deals and has a former facilities manager who was just charged with multiple felonies for handing out no-bid contracts (which I’m sure saved the District oodles of money), among other issues—making me wonder just where the hell their priorities are.

This is why I blame our schools for my night. Well-earned, I’m thinking. I’m sending the freakin’ future chiropractor bills and the laundry bill to the District. And, J-Man would appreciate some replacement chocolate. They better pony up—they have not met the Mominator before.

The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.

~Albert Einstein

Burn, Baby, Burn

Some of my fellow early rising bloggers know I get up early by the comments I leave before the sun has risen. I start my day at 5 am. The dogs go for a long walk and the pull me along for the ride. Without my sister here to cajole me, I’ve been getting a little lax in the length of the walk. Action had to be taken. So, I joined the neighborhood gym. One week slipped by, then two weeks, and I still hadn’t heard from the personal trainer I was assured would help me wing my way back to the fit form I once had.

It was easy to procrastinate, I’ve been practicing. Finally, I had to get moving. Today, I had my first appointment with the personal trainer. I drove the four blocks to the gym to meet him. His name is Caesar. He took me through the workout and showed me what I needed to do. I am very sore…every muscle is on fire. But, it’s oddly satisfying. I guess that’s what happens when the only physical stimulation you’ve had in a while is that of the more conventional exercise variety. I told him my goal was to be able to hold myself up with my arms for an exceptionally long period of time in a prone position, and not on my back. I might have modified that goal had the Ballerina been around to convince me that on my back was really a good thing.

So, the only thing is, I somehow have to fit an hour a day, four days a week, into my routine. I’ve decided to give up work…no, that won’t work. Make that sleep. Without anyone to cuddle up with, there really isn’t any reason to be lollygagging in bed for more than five or six hours anyway.

I may not be able to move any body parts tomorrow, so if I don’t post, you’ll know I’ve scored some muscle relaxers and a martini.

Even in a country like the USA where fitness has become an obsession, most people exercising do not seem to think it illogical to drive automobiles to gyms while doing their best to avoid walking. ~ Dave Wilson

Three Women? I Can’t Handle One

After the Sopranos ended, I really planned on disconnecting HBO. I wasn’t getting into Flight of the Conchords or Entourage or any of those other HBO shows. I watched Big Love last year and it was a’ight, but I could miss an episode and not stress. This season, it’s taken on an entirely different flavor—there is an underlying malevolence, a moral ambiguity that is so much not about the fact that Bill Henricksen (Bill Paxton) just happens to have three wives. While the “bad guys” are clearly bad, the good guys are not necessarily good. As the family struggles to live a polygamous lifestyle in the midst of neighbors and friends who are more often than not Latter Day Saints of the non-polygamous variety in their typical Utah neighborhood, the Henricksens continue to butt heads with those polygamists living in the “Compound,” led by “The Prophet” (Harry Dean Stanton). The three wives really come into their own this year: Barb – the powerful 1^st wife (Jeanne Tripplehorn), Nikki (Chloe Sevigny-most noted for giving Vince Gallo a blowjob in Brown Bunny and being the love interest of Brandon Teena in Boys Don’t Cry), and Ginnifer Goodwin, who plays Margene, the young, effervescent 3^rd wife. As Bill rather self-righteously argues that he is nothing like those from the place from whence he came, he becomes more and more like the very devil he escaped. It’s excellent drama…and while I’m mulling my next subject, I hope you go rent the DVD and check it out.

The government doesn’t really prosecute for polygamy anymore, but a lot of the arrests are of groups supporting themselves through welfare scams or for child abuse. So that was all I’d really heard about polygamists. ~Jeanne Tripplehorn

Back To Reality, Oh, There Goes Gravity

I’d like to thank everyone for being my muse this week.  It’s been a lot of fun.  The e-mail and phone calls, in addition to all of your comments really made it worthwhile.  I still have two I need to hit – one I’m mulling and the other I just can’t quite get to where I need it to be for now.  So, I’ve set it aside for now and will get back to it.

J-Man and the Emster are happily settling into their school year.  J-Man, the more cerebral of the children has joined cross country.  He’s liking his killer GATE schedule and he’s got time left over to write.  Em has an elective this year instead of two math classes and she’s thrilled.  Her lucky draw – art.  It’s a sweet start to a sweet year.  Notorious B.E.N. will be winging in just a few weeks for a long weekend.  It is a most satisfactory week for the Hahns at Home.

This struck me as funny.

Well, of course it is. What did they want me to do?  Bring it flowers and candy? 

I Am Sam, Sam I Am

Bent Fabric posed the question:  “Are you the person you want to be?” in this installment of the “you pick the topic” saga.

My 25^th reunion was coming up a few years ago, so one of the more organized of our class decided to coordinate communication via Classmates.com.  It was nice, as I heard from a few people I had fond memories of, but weren’t good enough friends to keep in touch with for the long-haul. 

I heard some of the “elite” would be there—like the guy whose dad gave each of his two sons a car lot and they now own the bulk of the auto sales in our county.  All I remembered of him is he seemed kind of dim—not dumb, just dull.  He was a jock and wore white leather sneakers before anyone else could afford them and used to walk around with a straw in his mouth.  He married the cheerleader out of high school.  They had five kids. Their life is not perfect and no money can make it so.  I never wished I had someone else’s life.

One of them, it turned out, is also a Lesbian.  Had I known that when we were hanging out in 3^rd grade and created that club we had called “The Persimmon Queers,” it would have all made so much more sense. At some point, it became clear why my dad made me change the name of the club.  I was struck, though, when she said to me, “I always admired the way you didn’t seem to mind being different.”  Ah, the dawning came, it wasn’t just me that thought I was different.  Well, I did mind sometimes, but I knew no other way to be. 

I’d say I spent most of my 20s being an ass—a mere half-step up from teenagerdom.  It was about winning, not living.

My 30s were about figuring all that out.  Finding my place.  Building.  Realizing money and a cool job were not the be-all-end-all.  Recognizing the fact injustice and inequity unfortunately exist on the same plane of as honor and integrity. Watching my rose-colored glasses shatter into dust.  Learning that a comeuppance isn’t such a bad thing, if you do something with it.

My 40s have been about service, mentoring, and experiencing as fully as form and function allow.  Finding belief in myself that I can get through anything, but that I might have to call upon others to get there.  Learning how to receive love, kindness, compassion, and friendship.  Learning where and how to expend my energy to make my life and that of those I love easier or better. 

I can be stubborn as hell.  Cranky.  I can still ride a mighty moral high horse on occasion. But, thank God I can also climb down and step back and look at the horse’s ass.  I’d like to be more impetuous.  I’d like to trust enough again to truly love and be loved.  I wish I didn’t get frustrated with my sister and hurt her feelings.  I wish I could take back some of the hurt I’ve caused others. 

It’s extremely satisfying, my life.  Far beyond the picture I saw at 17.  I’ve been accused of being the luckiest SOB around—but it’s not luck—it’s having people in my life who believe in me who’ve helped me believe in myself.  So, yes, I’m the person I want to be…for this moment.  But, I’m not stopping here…I have to complete the journey to be the person I still hope to become.

Life is rather like a tin of sardines – we’re all of us looking for the key.
~ Alan Bennett

Coming Of Age

This is not really a coming of age story—for I didn’t and I wasn’t of age…but, it is what it is. For Guy, on this, the most hallowed of “you pick the topic” week.

I have this friend I’ll call Wanna-Wanda. We knew each other our entire lives, though she spent many of those years living a few hours away. She wanted to go to college in the town where I lived, so her grandma agreed to let her live with her while she went to school. We were pretty inseparable for much of my only semester of my senior year in high school.

Wanna-Wanda was a bit precocious. She vowed to me, that summer before she turned 18, that she would lose her virginity before college started in the fall. She actually wrote it out on a piece of spiral-bound paper: “Lose virginity by August 18^th.” You gotta’ love a goal-setter. My own experiences to date had been making out with the odd guy or having orgasms with girls, oh, and that one really talented boy who should have played piano—but no one told me I could count them as actual sex, because there was no penis involved.

So, the date was quickly approaching and she did indeed lose her virginity. I have no idea if it sucked or anything, because there was no freakin’ way I’d ask such a thing. So, on that piece of paper, she wrote his name and folded the paper up and hid it in her sock drawer so her grandma wouldn’t find it. As the summer moved deep into the changing colors of fall, the list grew. First five names, then ten names, and hey, I knew some of those guys—what the fuck? She slept with my friend Randy? She slept with that married guy who sang at the bar we used to sneak into? My freakin’ ugly Army recruiter? Each time we’d get together, she’d pull out the list, which by the time the semester was coming to a close had over 30 names and now sported a very detailed rating system. One day, we were sitting on a mattress in her grandma’s basement, going over her list. She described the strengths and shortcomings of most of the fellows. I had begun to look at her not as a SLUT, but as a scientist advancing the study of teenage sex.

The name at number 28 intrigued me…he owned the bar we used to sneak into. He was in his early 40s. He was good looking and charming. His rating was a 5 out of 5 and included little remarks punctuated with smiley faces and hearts over the “I’s.” Hmm, I thought…I probably should get this thing out of the way, and perhaps he would be a good candidate. I mean, I would want him to know what he was doing as I hadn’t a freakin’ clue. Wanna-Wanda thought this a most excellent idea.

So, we set about to get me laid. Really, it wasn’t that difficult. I think it’s why he owned the bar in the first place—to get a little underage stuff. I suppose that many people would have appreciated his incredible staying power, but all I could think of was, “I wonder what’s on TV tonight… lalalalalalalala …hmmm, the ceiling needs painting…I wonder if my mom is making fried chicken this weekend…” I was then too stupid to even fake it so it would all end. I think I would have killed at that point to have been with a teenage boy who was sure to conclude the entire process in three minutes or less. It was anti-climatic in so, so many ways. Even worse, he really dug me and wanted to keep seeing me. Thanks to the Army, I was saved. That, Wanna-Wanda, that was a freakin’ 5?

Wanda-Wanda and I met up about three years later when I was home on leave. I went out to her new place where she lived with her fiancée. While he was at work, she pulled out this ancient piece of spiral bound paper, folded so many times, it barely held together, even with the tape—with all its names, and she said, “This has been our little secret…so I thought you should be here when I did this before I got married.” I looked at the list and my eyes grew wide. Impressive body of work, that. She reached down and grabbed the lighter and we watched a brief lifetime spent on her grand science experiment go up in a puff of smoke.

There was never virgin got till virginity was first lost. ~ William Shakespeare

Sela & Me

This one is from Margo Moon.  For “pick the topic” week she wanted me to write about what would happen if I ended up stuck in an elevator with my favorite celebrity.  In the fine tradition of bad lesbian erotica, without the actual erotica, I give you Sela & Me—and though this story leaves the story unfinished, trust that in my mind, the entire thing played out to the very best kind of conclusion.

The doors opened and I stepped cautiously into the nearly empty elevator.  Never did a ride go by that I didn’t give at least passing thought to what I’d do if it started spiraling down, out of control.  Would I be able to jump up in the air at the right moment and save myself?  I went to the back of the elevator and turned around so I was facing forward as people on an elevator, for some strange reason, do.  I glanced briefly out of the corner of my eye and noticed that there were two women on the other side, but didn’t investigate further. 

The blonde said to the brunette, “Okay, I’m going to run back to our rooms and get your press schedule. I’ll meet you at the limo in five minutes.”  The elevator let out a little “ding” and the elevator gently stopped and the doors slid open. “See you in a couple, Sela.”  The blonde, much younger than I expected, marched purposefully down the hall.  The door closed.

“Sela?” It couldn’t be.  My mind reeled.  I felt all the muscles in my body contract, some more than others, and I forced myself to look to the left.  My God, it was Sela Ward!  Please, please, please, don’t say something stupid to her.  Too late, my mouth, as usual, was moving faster than my brain, “I love your work, I’m a big fan.”  Damn.  What an idiot I am.

“Aw, thanks.”  She looked at me and smiled.  I heard just a smidgen of Alabama in her voice. I felt a rush of blush move up my neck and onto my face. She politely asked, “Are you staying here?  We just had lunch upstairs.” 

I shifted awkwardly and dug my toe into the carpet.  Make mouth move, I silently screamed to myself—insert the freakin’ words—I was able to muster a kinda’ sorta’ look towards her, not quite directly at her:  “Yes, I’m on my first vacation in years.  They do good lunch up there.”  Where to go from there?  I was silent.  That sounded smooth and relaxed, right?

Just then, we felt a big jolt, a large mechanical sigh, and a thud.  We had stopped.  The indicator said we were between the ^th and 9^th floors. 

“Damn,” she said, “I need to be at the studio for an interview in 30 minutes.  I hope it doesn’t take long.”  She seemed mildly annoyed, but was still smiling.

I looked up gratefully at nothing and silently mouthed, “T-ha-n-k-Y-o-u-U-p-T-h-e-r-e.”

“Well, I don’t know—lucky me, I get to spend some time with you.”  Oh, my God, did I just say that?  Was that me?  Trapped prey must bring the best out in me.  Thinking quickly, I grabbed my phone and called the hotel front desk.  I was told they knew about the problem and were working on it.  “Sela freakin’ Ward is in the cab,” I whispered hurriedly into the phone, “She needs to get to an interview.”   Sela smiled at me again in a way that sent urgent signals to every part of my body.

“Thanks, that was nice of you to give them an added incentive.”  She sat down on the floor of the cab, one knee bent, leg pulled nearly up to her chin, and one leg outstretched—guess she was in for the long haul.  Incredible.  I sat down across from her.  She said, “I was really looking forward to this trip myself—I left my kids at home—too much work to do.   I miss them though. Maybe this is telling me I need to slow down and enjoy this trip more.”  And, that’s how it started. 

We spent the next 90 minutes talking about everything under the sun—never mind that we had nothing in common other than a shared experience of a broken elevator.  The little tension wrinkles I’d noticed when we stopped, slowly left her face.  We compared past experiences in travel, funny stories about our kids, and politics.  We talked about getting older.  I made her laugh.  And then I made her laugh some more.  Time was slipping by effortlessly.   I never wanted it to end.

Just then, we felt a familiar jolt, a mechanical sigh, and a thud as the elevator started moving again.  We stood up and finally stopped at the Lobby. 

She turned to me, “You have been so incredibly….why can’t I find someone like…wait…what am I….” Then, she blurted, “Listen…I’ll be back later this evening…how would you like to come up and have dinner with me…we can…talk…?  This has been fun—God, if my agent found out I was having fun while I’m supposed to be nose to the grindstone!  I know you probably have better…”   

I could forgive her the fact she suddenly wasn’t able to finish a sentence and said, “Sure…fun…”   Apparently, it was contagious.  She then grabbed my hand, reached over and gave me a brief kiss on the cheek, her breast teasingly brushing against me. 

I must have looked like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights, because she took charge and said, “I’ll have Jean call you when we get back…I think champagne is in order after a day like this.”   I just nodded, and she smiled. 

She stepped off the elevator, but then turned toward me, smiled again and winked, and then she strode out through the lobby into the waiting limo.

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t. ~ Mark Twain

Sure I’m Pissy

Unknown to some, I’m a raging Liberal (okay, everyone knows)—but then I go and get all Libertarian, just to shake things up.  In my heart, I’m out on picket lines fighting against injustice and ragging on da’ Man in a stylin’ Angela Davis style beret—in reality, I write a lot of letters—who would feed the children bad food if I was in County lockup overnight?  I spend my early morning reading all kinds of leftie blogs and find myself raising my pumped fist in salute, screaming silently into the screen, “Right On!”  Rarely do I comment—far greater minds than mine have that covered.  Rarely does anyone get to hear about the bulk of my political beliefs, because, well, that’s not what this blog is about and they couldn’t care less anyway—they just want to hear about NUMBER 7 (it ain’t happenin’ Heather).  So, imagine my surprise when I read I’d received this award today via Morse at the Republic of Sestakasten!

Here were the rules, by the trophy’s creator at Divided We Stand

Since I’m as Pissy as I can be, I name the following blogs, in no particular order (Chris, you didn’t make the list because it’s already been all about you this week):

Peg at Ask A Lesbian – Because she discusses Gay rights  in her inimitable style and makes me laugh my ass off.

The Cap’n at Cap’n Dyke, Lesbian Pirate Queen, and Rogue Blogger – Because she sails the seven seas fighting for liberty and justice for all (and I’m part of her crew and don’t want to end up in the brig).

Clio at ClioBlueStockingTales – Because she’s my favorite Feminist.  Such a shame about that being straight thing.

Becky at Just A Girl in Short Shorts – Because she’s Libertarian, and gets pissy like me, only louder and with a much bigger audience. 

Pam at Starr Ann Chronicles – Because she’s found an unique voice (and I think she may also have a significant hand in the new cool site, The ‘Tude, where I’ll be raising pumped fist to the screen daily.

So, go pick up your Pissy folks and pass it along.

 

My blog was reviewed at So Many Blogs, So Little Time today.  I either don’t suck as bad as I did when I Talk 2 Much first reviewed me in December or these are just kindler, gentler reviewers.  Anyway, thanks ladies, you made my day.  There are a few review sites listed on my links page if you want to have someone take a look at what you’re doing and give you their brutally honest opinion.  I know having Ask & Ye Shall Receive review me in February really helped me get my shit together.  Today, Diva Dee has spurred me to start shopping around for a different platform for my blog.  But, since I’m just starting my very important work on developing the craft of procrastination, we’ll see how that goes.