riding in cars with sexual offenders

Last night, I realized that I was running low on hair product and deodorant, so I made a trip to my local Walgreens. Because the Walgreens is just down the street from where I live, I walked.

After getting all my beauty supplies, I ran into my friend Manny.

MANNY: Hey dude! What's up?
ME: Oh nothing. I needed stuff for my hair...so...yeah.
MANNY: Oh, that's cool. So, hey, I saw your blog online.
ME: Shut up. For reals.
MANNY: Yeah, man. Who's Melissa, and how come I dont know who she is?
ME: I cant tell you.
MANNY: Why? Why you gotta be like that?
ME: Just. Cuz.
MANNY: Well, I wanna know where she took you to. Does that place really exist?
ME: Yeah. It's all the way east on Speedway.

Confused with my simple directions, I ended up in the passenger seat of my friends truck and we drove in silence to the infamous parking lot spot. What is it with guys and the awkward silence between them when they drive? I know for me, I love to talk and converse, but when your in a car with another guy, you just dont say much. Still trying to figure that one out...

After 15 minutes of silence, we arrived. The moment we turned into the parking lot, a car that was parked in the back corner turned it's lights on, like they knew they had been caught. You know a little backseat action was going on. I laughed as Manny pulled in, and took a moment to look around the deserted area. Not five seconds after we pulled in, two other cars pull in, blaring red and blue search lights. They were cops.

COPS: Please step out of the vehicle with your hands behind your head.

We were blocked in. Trapped. No way out. I had no idea why the cops chose to raid the deserted parking lot. So I got out of the car with my hands behind my head. If it werent for the fact that I was paralyzed with fear, I would have pissed and shitted all over myself. In my mind, it was Schindler's List all over again. There I was, with a gun pointed at me, hoping and praying to God this cop was not trigger happy.

He wasnt. The cop came over and had me put my hands on the hood of Manny's truck, while he patted me down. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Manny and the sexual couple from the other car were recieving the same treatment.

COP: What are you doing all the way out here?
ME: I just came with my friend to show him that this place really existed.
COP: How old are you?
ME: I'm 20.
COP: I'm not going to ask you again. How old are you?
ME: 20. I'm 20.
COP: Lemme see your ID.

And that my friends, was a problem. I didnt have my ID or my wallet. I just thought a trip to Walgreens with 20 bucks in hand, was all I needed, you know? It also didnt help my case, that I look much younger than I really am and that my friend Manny looks much older than he really is. As the cop kept interrogating me, I kept trying to grow facial hair and hope that God would give me instant deep-set wrinkles.

COP: So you just came up here...just because, or...
ME: Well, I wrote this story in my blog and my friend...
COP: What's a blog?
ME: It's short for weblog.
COP: Then why don’t you just call it weblog?

I explained that 'blog' is hipper and cooler. I was losing him with the hip, cool angle, so I backed off and agreed that they should call it ‘weblog’ and that I’d do my best to change the entire system. But in the meantime, I'd spend my time worrying about the outcome of my situation. I could imagine myself in jail, making that horrific phone call home, telling my folks that I had been arrested.

But that never happened. The cops told Manny and me to get back into the truck and to wait. Manny started to freak out. He overheard one of the cop's talking about "indecent exposure" and imagined his photo being placed all over the internet above the caption: SEXUAL OFFENDER. We didn't even do anything, and we were in the parking lot for not even a second. Sexual offender was not a title I was willing to put on my resume. I tried to clear my mind by turning on the radio. Beyonce's "Check On It" was on, and through the lyrics I was able to find serenity.

Watch it, while he check up on it...dip it, pop it, twerk it, stop it...check on me tonight!

In the end, the cops sent us along our merry way. As it turns out, the car hiding in the corner was occupied by a guy and an underage kid. They were smokin' weed and getting each other off. The guy knew he was busted beyond belief and to save himself from further emabarassment, he told the cops we had pulled into the parking lot not a second before they did. Thank God there are some sexual offenders out there, who still have some morals. As we pulled out the parking lot, I realized two things. One was to never ever forget my wallet ever again. If I have to, I will convert my ID into fashionable neckwear. That sucker will never leave me. And two...my days of backseat banging are totally destroyed. Never again, will I be turned on by the prospect of a quickie in a small crowded area. Damn.

the leader, the follower, and the confused

When your a kid, playing "Follow The Leader" is adorable. When you're an adult, not only are they shooting 3000 units of thorazine into your system, but the whole idea of being a "follower" and not a "leader" is deeply frowned upon. Why? Is it really so bad to "follow?"

The other day in my Geology class, my teacher, Mr. Talbot, droned on in a robotic-like voice, about how the layers of rocks in mountainsides and cliffs have helped scientists determine how old the world really is. But no one really cared. The information he was giving was nothing we couldnt learn from watching The Discovery Channel. And because the class took place right after lunch, no one was really in the mood to listen.

No one but Robert. Robert was a mouse-y looking kid with a high-pitched voice (that oftens crack) and whiskers growing out of his chin and cheeks. The fact that he has big floppy ears, didnt really help the mouse-like image he had going on. And it was with those same big, floppy ears, that he hung to every word Mr. Talbot was saying. Up until he came to the part about civilization.

ROBERT: Wait. Weren't there any humans living before 4000 years?
MR. TALBOT: No. The world was still being formed and...
ROBERT: That's a lie.
MR: TALBOT: Excuse me?
ROBERT: What you're saying is a farce. In the Bible...

It has been my personal experience, that whenever someone starts with the phrase, "In the Bible..." it only leads to fustration, arguing, and the occassional police restraining order. Robert carried on about what the Bible said about evolution, and for looking like a mouse, the kid knew his scripture pretty well. He and Mr. Talbot argued about science and God's creation for 10 minutes, while the rest of us groaned and talked about the million other things we could have been doing. We also tried to come up with ideas on to shut the debaters up, as neither Robert nor Mr. Talbot was about to throw the towel in. Until, out of nowhere, a voice bellowed out, "Who cares?"

The class grew quiet. Robert, Mr. Talbot, and the rest of the class all turned into the direction of Stacey Something-or-other. I dont think she meant to be so loud, it just happened that way. She was the voice.

ROBERT: What?
STACEY: Who cares?! You're arguing is pointless. You're not gonna change his mind, after he's been teaching the same thing for the past 30 years. And he's not gonna change your mind, because obviously you have strong beliefs in the Bible and all.
ROBERT: You dont believe in the Bible?
STACEY: I didnt say that.
ROBERT: Well, I dont appreciate you putting me and God down!

Robert was off his rocker. Just plain nuts. Stacey didnt talk smack about anyone. She just wanted him to shut up. So did everyone else, but no one else had the guts to say anything. So, unknowingly we annointed Stacey as our chosen leader.

STACEY: Well, I dont appreciate you arguing about something that wont make a difference on the test he gives later on. Whether your right or not, doesnt matter because the test will be about what he believes in. Not what you do.

At that very moment, Mr. Talbot's took his alarm clock out, turned the knob, and made it ring (thank God Mr. Talbot doesnt believe in school bells). Saved by the bell, I was totally glad Stacey had the last word. Robert probably had a Bible verse he wanted to throw at her and the rest of us heathens, but since half the class was already out the door, what good would it do him? As I picked up my backpack, he came up to Stacey and I overheard him say: "Just cuz you said something doesnt make you cool. You only did it because someone told you to. You're like a sheep. Get thee behind me Satan!"

Was Robert right? Was Stacey our "sheep"? And if so, were we her shepherds, who led her astray? I thought Stacey was the leader. Was she not Mel Gibson a la Braveheart with a painted face and kilt, leading the geo troops to victory? Or was she just following the crowd, listening to us and doing what we said. The whole situation was weird and confusing. I wanted to talk to somebody about what had happened and that's when I ran into my friend Ivan.

IVAN: So guess what?
ME: What?
IVAN: I quit my job!
ME: You quit? Why?
IVAN: I took your advice!
ME: What advice?
IVAN: Your advice. Remember how you said that an employee cant do a good job if the employer treats him like shit?
ME: Vaguely...
IVAN: Well, anyways, yeah, I quit.
ME: That wasnt advice, that was conversation! And what about your kid? You still have to take care of him!
IVAN: And I will. I still have my other job. Plus my tax return? Yeah. I just feel like I got rid of all this stress. And I have you to thank.

Stacey led my Geo class to an early out, Danny followed my "advice", and yet none of these options led to a good outcome. If your a leader, you're admired for taking a stand and for opening doors to other possibilites. But when you fail, you're mocked for even taking a chance. When you're a follower, you're frowned for trying to be something your not. Yet, you never have to worry about being blamed for failure. Which makes me wonder...what's better?

when your lips say it

Forgive me Friend, for I have sinned. Ok, so it's not exactly a true Catholic confession, but then again, I'm not a true Catholic. However, it seems that it's the only way I can apologize to my friend Maria.

See, since the fall season line-up of ABC began, back in 2004, my friend Maria and I have been devout and loyal fans to the greatest show on earth...Desperate Housewives. Every Sunday night, we would watch the show through our phones and just be amazed at how the story line just unfolded within the hour. Never had we missed a Sunday night, except for the one time Maria went to a study group and found out that the hostess' hippie parents didnt believe in television. But that was the only time. Well...that time...and this past Sunday.

But I have totally semi, almost, plausible excuse. I think.

With a whole day devoted to nothing, I spent Sunday afternoon reading A Million Little Pieces. I had been meaning to read the book ever since Oprah showcased it on her bookclub, but I havent exactly had the time. I was up to the part where James and his parents meet to discuss the issues of his addictive personality, when the phone rang.

It was Melissa (that's not really her name, but considering the fact that I always get caught on my blog by people who I talk about, I figure I might as well give my non-established character's fake names). She was bored out of her mind and asked if I wouldnt mind just hanging out with her.

MELISSA: We'll go out for coffee or something. Or get something to eat. Just...anything.
ME: OK, well, that sounds good. Uh, where do you want me to meet you at?
MELISSA: No, I'll pick you up.
ME: Are you sure? Cuz I could...
MELISSA: Yeah, I'm in your area anyways. Besides, my car's bigger.
ME: Ok. And? Your car's bigger? So?
MELISSA: Yeah.
ME: What does that have to do with anything?

Apparently it had a lot to do with everything, as I would later find out.

ME: Don't you live like a million miles away?
MELISSA: Well, yeah, but that's why I drove out early. If I was gonna pick you up, I had to head out early, right?
ME: How'd you know I'd even say yes?
MELISSA: Just a feeling. Now hurry up!

And so I did. As I put on my ripped Trailer jeans (or as my blog-friend Charlotte says, "easy access jeans") I noticed that it was a little after 6 PM - two short hours away from DH. I figured a quick coffee and quick bite to eat wouldnt take no more than an hour...besides, I wanted to hang out with Melissa, for one reason and one reason only.

See, Melissa has these amazing lips. There nothing like Angelina Jolie's lips, but something about them just...makes me smile and feel all warm inside. I cant really explain it, but when I see her smile, talk, eat, or do anything with her lips, I slip into this trance and just stare at her mouth. Remember the movie, Clueless and those awesome shots of Alicia Silverstone's lips? The way she sorta scrunched them and used them as a flirtation device? That's exactly how Melissa's lips are.

We went to Starbucks and this little Chinese place and had a great time talking. Well, Melissa had a great time talking. I had a great time looking at her lips. But her lips weren't the only thing I looked at. Actually, that's not exactly true. See, several times during the duration of Melissa's conversation to me, she casually scratched her middle area, aka her other pair of lips. It was a little odd, but no where weird as my sharting friend Shecky.

MELISSA: ...and then I'm just getting over this throat virus, which is so good, cuz now I can finally party!
ME: What do you mean? I thought tequilla helped sore throats.
MELISSA: Well, I got this infection in my throat and it closed up, so I really couldnt drink.
ME: Oh, wow.
MELISSA: Yeah. But it's all good now, since it's opening up, which means I can party and go all crazy and do what I like to do!
ME: Which is...what? Drink?
MELISSA: That. And make out. And have fun with guys. Doing. Things.

She licked her lips, when she said "things," which made me wonder how pure her lips were. Had other guys taken advantage of those lips? Had other guys done "things" with her lips that I had only dreamed of?! Ugh...it was like opening a Christmas present from your grandma, only to realize you gave it to her three years ago as a birthday present.

I started to lose interest in Melissa's lips. Basically, she had said in the most nicest and polite way that she was a total whore. Somewhere between the restaurant and the dirt road Melissa was driving on, the hot lips lost their magic. As I pondered about this, I realized I had no idea where was this dirt road was leading to. It was 7:30 PM, which meant it was too early to go home, yet to late to be going on some road-trip adventure. Where was this brazen woman taking me and why were we driving away from civilization?

Ten minutes later we reached our final destination, which was at the base of The Rincon Mountains. Melissa parked her car in the empty, makeshift, dirt parking lot and took a deep breath. She turned to me, took a hold of my hand, and in one smooth move, she slipped something between our hands, the same way a slick customer does to a maitre'd. There was something between her palm and mine, but I couldnt make out what it was.

MELISSA: David...
ME: Yeah?
MELISSA: I just want to let you know, that I think you're a nice guy...
A nice guy?! Just a nice guy?! Are you breaking up with me?! Oh, wait. We're not even going out. Whew... Wait, are we?
MELISSA: ...and I appreciate you for just listening to me and just letting me talk...
If I say, "It's not you, it's me," first, will she buy it?

Melissa continued to tell me why she thought I was special and just how much she enjoyed my company and friendship. And all the while she held my hand, pressing that mysterious something between our palms. I didnt know whether or not to smile or nod or do something, so I just stared. The girl with hot lips was totally hitting on me, and it was just totally unexpected. As Melissa finished what she had to say, she let go of my hand, and finally allowed me to see what it was I was holding. It was a condom. A true-blue Trojan condoms that was made for her pleasure.

I froze as I held up the condom. Was this actually happening to me? Was Melissa actually suggesting sex? Melissa bit her bottom lip as she took another deep breath. That's when things started to get more weird. Melissa opened her car door, and stepped outside, but only for a second, as she made her way to the back seat. Was this girl serious about having sex in the back of her car? A part of me got turned on, but the other part remembered that she had just finished telling me she had just gotten over a throat virus and couldnt wait to get drunk to go down on random guys. Was it all pre-sex talk?

Melissa removed her shirt and began to unbutton her jeans when all of a sudden she started to scratch her panty-covered lips. At first it was a small scratch, like she was nervous, but then her hand just went downtown and she scratched like there was no tomorrow. Feverishly she scratched away at her middle section like it was a lotto ticket. Was this the way girls got off nowadays? They scratch their hot lips until they bleed? I know I probably should have turned away and given her some time to scratch alone, but it was like a bad train wreck. I stared at Melissa, half-naked and half-moaning, shocked and confused at the way she was behaving. Total turn-off.

I didnt know what to do, so I excused myself, like the gentleman I was, and quickly jumped out of the car, half-running down the dirt-road. I hid behind some bushes, as I called Yellow Cab to come and rescue me from (as I found out later) Melissa the Crab Queen. During the cab ride home, I realized I had committed a cardinal sin. I'd forsaken my friend for the possibility of sex. I'd forsaken a Sunday tradition of great television, for someone who wasnt even worth it. Am I bad friend? The thing that I'm really concerned is what do I tell Lupita? The truth? Haven't I suffered enough?

prairie-dogging 101

Are we still living in a world of political correctness, or is it just a thing of the past? I used to think people had common courtesy. I used to think that some topics, were just not allowed to be discussed at length, during conversation. And I wonder, the people who do talk about these certain off-color topics, are they brave or are they just plain stupid? Do they have more confidence than me, or is it all just an act?

The reason I'm asking this is because yesterday, in one of my classes, I couldnt stop listening and laughing at the comments a fellow student was making. We were all supposed to interview a fellow student in the class, and write a feature story on one another. And of course, I got stuck with Shecky the Comedian. And I could not stop laughing as this girl, who was interviewing me, as she kept talking about her bowel movements.

SHECKY: Oh...shit!
ME: What?
SHECKY: Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn!
ME: What? Are you ok?
SHECKY: Yeah...it's just...I gotta go!
ME: Oh, you're leaving?
SHECKY: No! I gotta go! As in I gotta go drop a few kids off at the pool!
ME: What? Isnt it too cold to be swimming?
SHECKY: No, I mean, I gotta go take a dump!

Now, honestly, this was my first time I've ever heard a girl say the word "dump." I guess I always thought that it was a word reserved only for bonehead guys. I dont know...maybe I'm just old-fashioned.

But this gal, who was full of class, sass, and apparently, gas, just kept right on talkin'.

ME: Ok...so anyways, I guess...
SHECKY: Oh, man! I cant hold it! I need to bombard the porcelain throne with a drop and plop.
ME: Ok, dude, that's...that's just...we dont know each other that well for you to be talking about your bowel movements.
SHECKY: Uh-oh. I'm prairie-dogging it now.
ME: You're what?
SHECKY: Prairie-dogging it.
ME: I dont even know what that...
SHECKY: You know how when a prairie dog sticks it's head out the hole? Like this.

And then, at that very moment, she pressed her lips together and pushed her tongue out. It was a picture I did not wish to see.

ME: I did not ask...
SHECKY: Ugh, and the bathrooms here suck. All the girls just stand around waiting for you to just blow one out.
ME: Wow...I...
SHECKY: Oh chicken tandoori, why must you aggrivate me?!

And at that very moment...Shecky farted. Well, actually, she sharted. You know...a fart that was followed by a little more. Yeah. It was like a herd of elephants, trumpeting their trunks in the middle of the jungle. The room fell silent as everyone turned in our direction. My jaw dropped and my eyes got all big. I was so embarrassed, and I wasnt even the one who created skid-marks in their unmentionables. Red-faced Shecky ran out the room, leaving behind an ungodly stench of roadkill carcass. Everyone burst out laughing, but me. I couldnt help but feel sorry for Shecky. Never in my life, have I heard so much fart humor used in an opening conversation. And I wondered if it was because she laughed in the face of PC, that Shecky sharted in her pants. Or was it because she lived life with a brain fart (no pun intended) and was just clueless about the whole common courtesy thing? Either way, the situation, did give me some hope. All reference of "Band-aid Boy" were forever gone, and the students welcomed a new face to mock: Sharts.

the life and times of band-aid boy

Today was the first day back to school. Today was also the day I woke up with pimple the size of Mount Vesusius on my chiny-chin-chin. And it was one of those big suckers too, that took up so much space on my chin, I couldn't pop it. Ugh, I hate those ones. But like my friend Rainbow says, "When you look for the bad in mankind expecting to find it, you surely will," meaning if you look for the bad in a certain situation, you'll find it. And so I had to find some good in my pimple problem. The good that came out of me not popping my pimple is...if it were to pop, it probably would cause more destruction than the actual Mount Vesuvius. Except the townsfolk wouldnt be covered in ash. They'd be covered in an oily pus-like substance. Ok, paging new topic...

So I decided to cover it up with a band-aid and I even created a cover-up story to go along with it. My story was, I tripped over some rocks and fell down on the sidewalk. I thought it was a good enough story to shut the mouths of the curious, but it wasnt. Which leads me to wonder why so many people are fascinated by scars and scabs? I mean, I know why I love scabs (they are so much fun to pick at!) but why does everybody else like 'em?

By the end of my first class, I took the band-aid off. Not only was it a big disappointment in the "I-fell-and-cut-my-chin-so-lets-not-talk-about-it" department, but it gave me a horrible nickname: Band-aid Boy. The teacher totally forgot my name, and said, "Uh...you...Band-aid Boy..." which led to a few snickers from some of the students. But only a few, since everyone else was half-asleep. Thank God, but still. Who wants to be known as "Band-aid Boy?"

See, I had specifically bought a red jersey track jacket for the first day of school. The moment I saw it at the mall, I knew I had to have it. And because it was half-off, it only made the jacket more attractive. I knew that once I put it on, everyone would be talking about it. They would see how cool I was, as I walked across the quad. Everyone would approach me and tell me how cool I was. I would be known as "The Guy With The Red Jacket" and they would all love me. And the teachers would tell me that because my jacket was just to nice to be worn indoors, they would sent me outside and tell me to just have fun and not to worry about homework. Of course, this whole scenerio played out in my head as I stood in line, and I couldnt wait for my daydream to play out.

But thanks to my big ass pimple and my teacher's comment, that very dream was crushed. No one called me, "The Guy With The Red Jacket". They called me "Band-aid Boy." It was like a bad nightmare, and the fact that it took place at school, did not help. The zits, the wretched nicknames...throw in warm vodka and a pregnancy scare and its high school all over again. Isnt that time period of my life, supposed to be over by now?

the celebrity imposter mix-up

So, I'm going through my old email, when I come across one by DJ Ken Carr, the local celebrity who was totally hitting on me, the first day of work. It was marked December 24, which meant two things: 1) My Spam Box so needs to be cleaned out and 2) It's been about 3 weeks, that I've been living such a nieve life. Here's what Ken Carr had to say:

So I'm bumpin' around the internet today and I ran across your blog in which you talked about me.

It was a fun story to read. I'll clear a few things up for you though...

I've never been in a Kohl's store before. I know there are two of them in the Tucson area and I've driven by the one on the east side but I've never been inside of one before. I'm sure they are nice stores but neither one is close to where I

On Black Friday I did a live show from center court at Tucson Mall from 5:30-10am and then went home and took a long nap because I was exhausted. I didn't even do any shopping that day.

It is true that I am gay. That part you did nail. :) There are tons of celebrities both local and on a bigger scale that are gay. Many that would probably surprise you.

Thanks for the fun read - hope you have a great holiday.

Ken Carr

How embarassing is that? I mean, it's not like I havent embarassed myself in front of celebrities before (like that one time I was at Disneyland, and I farted and blamed it on Eric Christian Olsen and then he turned to me and said, "Not cool, kid. Not cool."). When I wrote the story, I didnt think anyone outside of the blogosphere world would read it. Whoops. And Ken Carr, if you're reading this, I am so sorry if I embarassed you or anything. Cuz I totally didnt mean to. My bad.

that damn donna reed

Is it possible to have a grudge against somebody who has been dead for almost 20 years? I'm of course talking about the incomparable Donna Reed, aka the quintissential 50's mom with the perfect smile and perfect hair. In the past, I've never had a problem with a black and white TV character I only know from Nick@Nite, but lately, the spirit of Donna has been everywhere I go. And it's been annoying. Especially, when that spirit is dead and cant be harmed.

It all started earlier this week, when I went to work on Monday. Donna, (the secretary, not the spirit) was sportin' a new mountain-high, hairsprayed hairdo. It came as a shock to almost everyone. There was just no preparing for Donna's psychotic fashion sense. And of course, Donna walked around the store, like she was Ms. Thang. The sense of pride she had for her solid, non-movement hair, blinded her to the ridicule and laughter the entire store had in stock for her. Of course, not wanting to be so mean and cruel, we laughed behind her back, as people with manners do. Well, most of us did. Or at least tried to.

During a small break on the registers, the topic of the most awesomely bad hairdo's within the store came up, and if you were on the southside of the store, you would have been wiping tears from your face and straining to catch your breath.

SHEILA: And what's up with Jaime's hair?
ME: Oh, I know! There's too many blond streaks! It almost looks whiteish grey and she looks like a nana!
SHEILA: She does, huh?!
ME: Yeah. And did you see Lacey's?! Ok, what's up with her? She went from brown hair to blonde slash orange?
SHEILA: Yeah! I know! I saw her, and it looks and she looks so weird with those orange roots. What color is her hair anyways?
ME: I think it's black, cuz her eyebrows look black. Ugly and black.
SHEILA: The curtains dont match the carpet, eh?!
ME: Ew. Wouldn't you like to see her carpet swatches.
SHEILA: Shut up!
ME: Oh, but dude, the worst one has got to be Donna's!
SHEILA: Donna. I forgot about Donna.
ME: How could you forget about Donna?! That rock-solid hair! It looks like a muffin top! I can almost hear her offering us milk and cookies. "Hey kids! I have a swell idea! Let's get golly gosh gee crazy and have chocolate cookies before supper!"

Unbeknowest to me, short little Donna was hiding within earshot between a rack of Sonoma short-sleeved tees, folding the cotton suckers to perfection. The next day, she brought in this huge box of homemade chocolate-chip cookies. A huge box, like the kind you stuff with Holiday ornaments and decorations. Before I knew it, I was called into the office, and, well, long story short, I am working weekends from here to eternity.

But it's not just at work where I encompass Donna. It's also in the home.

Living the single life hasnt exactly been easy for my next-door neighbor Richard, and so his daughter Jennifer moved in and has been helping out. And being the friendly woman that she is, she has been coming over and hanging out. It's been real cool, cuz A) She's cool and B) She annoys my mother. And it's not that she has a big obnoxious personality. It's cuz she's a lesbian.

MOM: And why does she always have to come over? Why cant that dyke just stay at her own home?
ME: Mom! That is so mean! Jennifer is a nice lady! Dont call her "dyke!"
MOM: Well, thats what she said she was! She didnt say, "lesbian." She said, "dyke."
ME: Well, you dont have to say it like that.
MOM: Why do all the dykes have to be so lazy?
ME: And you're ignoring me...
MOM: Why cant the dykes just stay at home, pull out the mop and broom and clean their house?
ME: Uh, hello, mom? Can you hear me all the way over there in the 1950's?
MOM: They act like they're just too good to be with men. They should just stop being gay, and marry a husband who's a guy and have a nice life with a real family.
ME: Mother. I hope to God you are having a seizure right now. Are you even hearing yourself talk?
MOM: David, yes, I am hearing myself. Dont mock me.
ME: Well, if you werent talking crazy. Lesbians are people too. They dont need husbands and children to have a full life. We all cant be living the Stepford Life, Donna Reed.
MOM: Donna Reed. She was a nice lady.

Thank you Donna Reed for shining such a positive light on your stay-at-home lifestyle and making it my mother's deluded religion.

What exactly is it about Donna Reed that makes us wanna live perfect cookie-cutter lives? Didnt the movie, The Stepford Wives teach us anything? Isnt life all about the little imperfections? I know that the tiny cowlick on my left eyebrow is just a tiny part that makes me, me. So why be anything else?