Congratulations to a fellow writer

I made a few friends at the Big Sur writing conference and I found out tonight that one of them got an agent with the Andrea Brown Literary team.  I’m so excited for her and her first young adult novel!  At the time of the conference I got to read the first five chapters and I was impressed with her writing.  She was one of several there who motivated me to do better with my own writing.  Keeping in touch via Facebook and email was a great way to check in with each other.

I know the path to publication is a long one, but it’s invaluable to see a writer at the start of their journey.  My own journey is still in the making, but it’s more like I’m at a rest stop than on the road.  I intentionally stayed away from the NaBloPoMo gig this year – I wasn’t going to commit to anything beyond work, Jennifer’s visit, and my masters program that starts on November 24th (delayed two weeks).  Creative writing isn’t a priority, but I still remember the blog and still get out a few times a week and post here, blathering or no – I do write daily, but not in any format or of any content that would be shared for the masses.

I’m glad for my writing friends who are writing, getting agents, and moving through publication.  I’m at the point of comfort and confidence with myself that I can appreciate their path without being jealous.  I could get used to this aging and maturity thing.  I could be mistaking it all for a sense of zen and the two glasses of wine, too.

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Color me inebriated.  The drinks were fantastic, but having dinner with JulieAnn and Kent was divine.  (I’d do linky links, but right now is not a time for fancy formatting or hand-eye coordination, other than typing.)  I could worry about my drinking ability, since I had at least two drinks more than they did.  I’m slightly worried that I’m still awake and haven’t crashed – because, by gawd, I should be sleeping off this buzz.

The best best best part of the evening was an offhand comment that cemented a solution to a particularly challenging plot element I’ve been working on for 1.5 years.  In this instance, I’m grateful for the presence of alcohol and good friends for their inspiration.

Wish me luck at the Big Sur writing conference, through Sunday.

Blue Moon Belgian White

When the day includes:

• grueling “team building” meeting,
• a team “feedback” meeting for the fucktacular blow-up of the prior day
  • thou shalt be unified as a team
  • thou shalt not fight with your team members in public
  • thou shall not be unprepared for meetings thou initiated
• initial and positive meeting with the Powers-That-Be in regards to extending the multi-million dollar contract,
• your ass-kicked team still loving you and taking you to lunch,
• navigating the commute home in 1.5 hours that usually takes 50 minutes,
• and enjoying a lovely dinner made by Shinshige and Mrs. Shinshige,

then I believe it ’s quite fine to sit on my ass and enjoy a lovely beer.  Or two.

Blue Moon Beer

The earliest I’ll get those interview questions out is tomorrow.  Thank you for your patience and understanding.

Domestic Festivities

Not even paganism is safe in my unbeliefs – as of Friday, I had half of my Christmas cards completed.  Yes, this radical (and often naked) faerie is partaking in the specific holiday festivities.  We have two trees, more LED lights than we could ever use, evidence of rampant commercialism, and we mourned the trampled Wal-Mart worker from the safety of point and click shopping.  The glow of Christmas isn’t going out any time soon.

Saturday, I cleaned the house:  mopped floors, vaccumed, mirrors, bathrooms, dusted.  I do not have a cleaning fetish, which means I didn’t wear heels or pearls or prance around in a g-string.  I was dirty and grimey and I stayed that way until I was done cleaning and THEN I showered.  Good thing Scott was gone most the day.  We had Mark and Rommel over for dinner.  I introduced them to my favorite (current) adult beverage:  Finlandia grapefruit-infused vodka, tonic, ice, and a lime wedge.  Delish.  We talked and caught up and played the Adams Family pinball machine most of the evening (when we weren’t chowing down and drinking).  We hope that Mary and Debbie can come next time.  Note to self:  January 10th is our next scheduled party with them.

Sunday morning we lazed in bed and listened to the rain.  Both kittens were burrowed into the blankets next to us.  Is there anything better than waking up to a cat at one shoulder, another by your feet, and your golden retriever hogging your side of the bed… all while your partner tickles your ear to get you to wake up?  There might be a few things better, but this way is certainly in the top 10 (I’m thinking the adult options are all top 5 ways).

By gawd, if I were any more domestic I’d be a doily.

How was your weekend and what the hell did you do, and please tell me if you were more domestic than I was.

Proposition 8

Fair Warning:  this post is gonna ramble and contain highly offense words and phrases.

For the media-clueless, Proposition 8 is an initiative to change the California constitution, negating gay rights to marriage.  Tonight we saw a “yes for Proposition 8″ ad while watching the post-VP debate between Biden and Palin.  The talking points were almost comical:

• protect the institution of marriage!
• gay marriage is against the will of the people!
• “activist judges” overturned prior rulings!
• and the ad started and ended with a video montage of Gavin Newsom’s May 2008 press conference, celebrating the unconstitutional laws against gay marriage being struck down.   I’m sure THAT went down well for the Bible thumping right wing – probably farther than a porn star’s throat.
• ((Oh… tangent alert))

most fuckable mayor EVAH

• ((end tangent))

So some back story.  I fixed a stiff… drink and moved furniture (we’re getting carpet tomorrow) and put the plug faceplates back on that I’d removed (fear me – I’m proficient in unscrewing… and screwing).  ((We finished painting the other night, and no, I don’t/won’t have pictures yet – hush.))  So I did my chores and started reading news and blogs and came across a lovely post by a lovely friend and some of his fans’ not so lovely comments where some holier-than-thou douche bag used the phrase “gay lifestyle.”  Oh yes, she did.  I will tolerate the ignorant and asinine usage of the phrase from friends or fucking clueless family, but I won’t tolerate it from a stranger whom I could run over with a tractor and not lose any sleep.

Pay attention.  I’m going to paraphrase and then quote myself from a prior post on Mormons and Polygamy:

Golf, Mormonism and polygamy are lifestyles.  Sexuality is NOT a lifestyle, nor a crime. The next time someone uses sexuality and the word “lifestyle” in the same sentence, remember: one can CHOOSE to have more than one spouse (lifestyle), but gay/straight/bi/confused is a state of BEING (sexuality). Thou shalt not confuse the two, or thou shalt be struck down with a big floppy double-headed dildo.

Understand, I’m not so much riled about the Prop 8 advocates as I am about a really basic illiteracy of sexuality and the careless use of words.  It shouldn’t astound me, but it does, that people continue to denigrate, qualify and minimize the spectrum of sexuality through the lens and assumption of inherent choice.  Spare me the “but I’m not 100% gay or straight” missive.  I’m not talking about the physical capacity of gay men fucking women or straight men fucking gay women or whatever flavor you want.  I’m talking about sexuality as identity and discovery, which is deeply personal.  I could fuck everyone and anyone from here to Heaven and my physical, emotional, psychological, spiritual, intellectual, chemical, hormonal levels would all prefer men.

Legislate that, ass hats.

On Family, Friends, and Weddings

The trip was eventful, memorable, and relaxing.  I drank more in several days than the last few months combined.  As I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older, there are limits on the things that can be done when returning home.  (Yes folks, you heard me say it – I do consider Utah my home – one of them, any way.)  It’s impossible to see everyone, whether they are friends or family or both.  It’s frustrating for everyone but that’s the reality.  The times I’ve come in “under the radar” are for very specific reasons, and I’ll leave it at that in case anyone makes me responsible for their one feeling getting run over.

Julz’ wedding was beautiful.  There was a thunderstorm earlier in the day, but as Utah weather goes, it blew in and out quickly.  The officiate was eloquent and I love how she informed those in attendance how Julz and Bill met and how they came to know and love one another.  Call me a sucker for guys crying, but seeing how Bill openly loved Julz really moved me.  They both looked splendid – glowing – alive.  Once the ceremony was over,there was time for photographs, meeting people, talking, excellent food, alcohol, more alcohol, dancing, more dancing, more alcohol, more dancing.  Somewhere in the evening I gave a toast to the lovely couple.  The toast went something like this:

“Hi everyone, I’m Don, Julie’s gentleman of honor, not her bridesmaid, because I’m not wearing a dress, so get over it.  I met Bill 20 months ago at a New Years Eve party, and since then I’ve had the chance to get to know him and his wonderful family.  I’ve known Julie since the early 90’s when we worked and went to school together at Westminster and travelled to Greece and drank lots and lots of wine together.  (And I realize now that I neglected to mention her own wonderful family, specifically her mother and sister, Kim.  No idea how I segued into it, but… then I said…)  There are families that we’re born to.  There are friends that we choose into our lives.  What is magical is when the friends we choose become family, which is what Julie and Bill are to me.”

Don at ceremony

Fantastic public speaker I’m not, but I got a few points for poise, a hot tux, and a receptive (alcohol enhanced) audience.

Bella Luna

The conference ended at noon and I walked around the gas lamp district. I know a Marlene Dietrich moment of vanting to be alone when it hits me. Peopled out, I say, and I listen to all the voices when I talk to myself. (Self, I vant to be alone.)

The idea of pomegranate chicken for lunch was in my head, but none of the Mediterranean places I passed had it on their lunch menu. I followed my feet around the gas lamp and found myself in front of an Italian place, Bella Luna, checking out the menu. I was checking out the host, too, because he walked funny. I thought he walked like a guy wearing heels, but his shoes were black, low-heeled loafers. (Stop, I’m NOT inferring or implying his being “light in his loafers” even though he was – hello, family greeting family – not an unusual happenstance.) Thoughts of pomegranate chicken vanished in the wake of the ricotta spinach ravioli in a vodka cream sauce… and with images of a man with a curious stride. The lunch hour had long gone by the time I’d found this place and was seated. A few tables had customers, but very soon I had the whole place to myself.

Andreas Bocelli seems standard at most Italian restaurants. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a personal weakness of mine, regardless of his international air wave saturation. The man could make angels weep, and here I was with a place to myself enjoying his music and duets with other artists and I didn’t worry about the tears at the corners of my eyes (in no way am I inferring a similarity with angels, btw).

I splurged on a glass of wine before and after dinner (that’s two nicely filled glasses, total). The mystery of the man with the loafers resolved itself because I heard him say his shoes were too big. I get that, I mean, the moment I put on shoes that were too big I would automatically continue to wear them. The server, Paul, told me his life story between being seated and receiving the tab. I don’t know the meaning, if there is one, other than a lunch I could have done a face plant into, wine so buttery and smooth I wanted to lick inside the empty glass, and random company of people and stories that helped me inform my own.

Two Wars

The salvos continue.  Predictably, the LDS/Mormon church will preach from their pulpits and pyramid-scheme social circles, decrying anything but “one man, one woman” laws relating to marriage.  Since Mitt Romney isn’t running around as Presidential hopeful, they’ve got to pull something to be in the newspaper.  Any newspaper.  Even when that newspaper ends up as lining in some bird cage.

Funny, I didn’t realize Mormons were the moral authority on marriage, considering their less-than-successful social constructs of polygamy.  Let’s not pretend there was anything divine about it:  Joseph Smith was fucking other men’s wives.  Convenient.  I love it when God’s got your back:  an endless supply of fuckdom.

Mormons can believe in any number of heavens.  They can ignore their racist history.  They can tell their members to wear whatever underwear is acceptable to their deity (who wore robes and never wore said underwear – ever).  They can call themselves a “family” religion and even believe it is.  But here’s where it rubs the wrong way (and there ain’t NOTHING that rubs the wrong way like when someone isn’t rubbing the way YOU like it):  Mormons don’t get to dictate the rights of civil unions to anyone. Threatened by gay marriage?  Fine – don’t marry a same-sex partner.  Pretty simple.

Religion has nothing to do with this trumped argument of morals.  The ruckus is all about religion clamoring to be important to a society who has discovered that they can think for themselves.  This is about religion relinquishing their grasp of attempted control of the masses.

Imagine that.  People being and doing good deeds… because they are.  Not because they’re told.  People loving because that’s what they do and are.

Hey Mormons.  Ready?  Set?  Love.

***

I’ve been a tad absent from the blogosphere.  I remember a conversation with TLC recently where he encouraged me to keep writing and I was nodding to myself on the phone and saying that writing was important to me… and then I didn’t post anything but pictures.  In my mind, in my dreams, I had things to say, but the space never manifested to the point of wanting to share those thoughts.

A week or so later I was chatting with Sacred and SML and I partly realized that I have been communicating with myself, but I was letting the dialog run its course.  I actually wondered if we as humans needed conflict to grow, if we needed some source of conflict to realize what we do have instead of focusing on what we didn’t.  Yes, I was actually feeling guilty for being so happy with how life is.  It has been years since I enjoyed going to work, since I felt so comfortable with my own body, since I felt so completely domestic that I wanted to melt into a puddle of bliss.

It’s not easy being a prima-donna drama queen.  I’m quite out of my realm with life and not having some self-imposed rebellion to quell.  Allow me to try something new:  embracing peace and joy in my life.

Talk Thursday: My Place

My Place on the Internet(s)

Start with a name,
one of my names,
and a place on the internets¹
I claim with an electric spike
for myself and you.

Throw down the words and images,
the gauntlets and white gloves,
the deliberations and indecisions
of how far I go or how far I haven’t.

Cast the ways, we’re castaways.
We’re travellers on the same road.
Heed the sign posts and mutterings
of maddened prophets.
Grab a magic marker
and make your own signs.
Label me².  Draw a line
from neck to navel and lower.
Label yourself and instruct
or detract a truth.
Frame the moment of each other
and hang us on a wall.

Glimpse never and always.
Feel familiar and otherworldly.
Unexpectedly expect.
Stubbornly relent.
Right?  Write.
Learn the pace of procrastination
up to the lightning steps of connection.

¹ A Bushism that I can’t stop using.

² Thanks to Seizui for the labels post and discussion.

Fulfilled

The birthday festivities started on Thursday when my sister Tracy and her friend Crystal arrived.  Scott had left Rudy, his mannequin, sitting on the toilet in the new bathroom, which we all discovered when I was giving them a tour of the house.  (Off topic, but I had threatened him with bodily injury if he ever used Rudy to scare me, especially after he’d told me the times when he’d had family stay at the house and there’d be screams in the middle of the night when people got up to hit the bathroom – funny, sure, but don’t do it to me!)

Lovely and delightful and new and lifelong friend, Calista, joined us for a dinner of Indian food and adult beverages.  Later, Julz and Bill (her fiance) arrived from SFO.  Much later, Eddie arrived.

Friday:  pick up Lynn and Jenn via caravan (the Infinity and white convertible), then a whirlwind tour of SF in the late afternoon:  pics at the Painted Ladies (don’t google that one, folks), cable car ride, pit stop at Pete’s Coffee, Lombard street, insanely steep hills, Golden Gate Bridge, north Bay headlands (with incredible views of the GG Bridge and SF skyline), then meandering through traffic back to the East Bay.  We did pizza for dinner.

Saturday:  I screwed up breakfast and ended up with mashed potatoes with sautéed onions, scrambled eggs, green chilies, and lots of cheese.  Gah.  The rest of the day is a blur because I was drunk early on before the party because the pool had heated to a decent temperature and I’d been downing drinks with vodka and a blackberry brandy mix like it was punch… it was certainly sweet enough.  So there was swimming (with swim suits), riding the beach ball, and then I tried to get in a nap before the party started.  I got 10 minutes.

The party was all about friends and family from near and far converging in one place.  It was about good music and more than enough alcohol.  It was about music that was all over the spectrum.  It was about people I adore most in this universe.  It was about mingling and mixing and talking and not drinking my normal quote because I was paranoid I’d drink so much that I’d lose someone’s name out of my head.  Call it aging, but I kinda dig a party where I go to bed sober, and I especially love waking up with no hangover.

Yesterday was filled with goodbyes and airports.  Enough said of that.

I had the day off today.  Leisurely breakfast with Lynn and Jennifer and Scott.  More goodbye’s (I do not like goodbye’s).  Then I went to Fremont where I did some consulting which garnered a nice chunk of change.  In the afternoon, my massage dude gave me a birthday massage (translation:  FREE).  The evening we spent with Mark and Rommel and I kicked the drinking up a notch and had four glasses of wine.  Dinner at their place was pure heaven, and I came home and tried to blog intelligently, but I’ve been burning off a buzz for the past several hours, continually distracted by other blogs and other posts.

I’ll sign off with this, not because I’m drunk (because I’m not), but because there is something I rarely say to people in my life (outside of my life with Scott) which I feel I should say, so pay attention:  I love you.  Forty feels fan-fucking-tastic.