Archive for the ‘Family’ Category

I am on fire tonight. Actually, I am on fire every day when it comes to my rights, but tonight, I’m on fire in WORDS, bitches.  WORDS AND WORDS AND WORDS! So, I have another blog post for you.

On the heels of a story I posted about how marriage equality does not turn people into Eunuchs and that children raised by same-sex couples are fully aware of their own and other people’s genders, my favorite homo-hater,* Peter LaBarbera has tried to tell me that gay and lesbian couples can’t make children.


Oh, really, Peter

Then, he proceeded to tell me that I, a person with a degree IN BIOLOGY (as well as a minor in math, a degree in a liberal art, and a law degree), need to take a biology class:


Only infertile people can’t make babies, you genius.

Fuck you, Peter (and by Peter, I mean Peter himself as well as his various cohorts-in-oppression).  Peter, I know you wish were there so you could take pictures of how my little tykes were made, just like you like to take pictures at the Pride parade, Chicago’s IML, or the same-sex kiss-in at Chicago’s Chick-fil-A (which pictures are totally for research and development purposes, I’m sure), but you weren’t there and you have no fucking idea what you are talking about. The lesson there, in case you missed it, Peter, is:  You should shut your pie hole.

Homo-haters,* fight us all you want about marriage equality, but really, you have already lost your battle against LGBT people, and I’m a prime example. I’m out in every aspect of my life and have been for a long time. My family loves and supports me. I’ve been in the same gay relationship for 8 years. I’m outspoken and visible and politically active. I’m well-educated. I FUCKING VOTE. I may not enjoy the same rights that you take for granted (yet), but rights notwithstanding, your inability to get me to conform to your draconian social and religious ideals is already an epic fail. You will never, ever be able to force me into a heterosexual relationship, and you’ve already failed to prevent me from building a family on my terms. On that note, meet the two best things that have ever happened to me in my life.  EVER:

My guys

Perfect in every way!

You lose.

*Someone sent this to me earlier today after I publicly waged war with a woman who took my brother to task for supporting me and my fight for equality.  Its accuracy is both comedic and succinct, and I will no longer use the word homophobe to describe those of you who try to hold my head under water as a second-class citizen.


Enough said


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Frances Kelly recently wove a fairy tale in which same-sex marriage neuters the entire world and renders your genitals irrelevant.  I responded to that bit of flawed “reasoning.”  But there’s more.

As if her premise on “genderless marriage” isn’t the dumbest fucking thing I’ve read this week, Ms. Kelly continues with this little nugget that is so GOD DAMN INSULTING to me and so many other LGBT parents that I wanted to put my “gender” in a vice-clamp to numb my anger at her:

Same-sex marriage denigrates gender and denies developing children gender-diversity in the home. SSM advocates talk about the loving and committed relationship it honors until death do them part, but by its very nature, same-sex marriage automatically deprives children from having a loving and committed relationship with both a mother and a father for their entire lives. Same-sex marriage promotes an anti-gender mentality.  [Emphasis in original.]

I will remind you, gentle reader, that I have two adorable twin boys who are 4 years old. They have two mamas, and they have two papas. They have 4 sets of grand-parents. They have cousins. They have aunts and uncles (both biological and otherwise). They are some of the luckiest children in the world because the entire community of people that makes up their family wanted them from the very beginning of their existence and cherishes them every single day as the gifts that they are.  They have very, VERY close relationships with their parents and family.  My two boys ARE NOT “automatically deprive[d] … from having a loving and committed relationship with both a mother and a father for their entire lives.”  In fact, they have the type of relationships with their parents and family that should be the ideal, and yet, all-to-many children of heterosexual parents are denied.

And trust me on this:  At 4 years old, my two little nuggets know very clearly the difference between boys and girls and between their mamas and their papas. In fact, let me regale you with a delightful story to illustrate.

The boys just had their first round of swim lessons at our local YMCA a few weeks ago.  Parents were invited into the pool for the first few times to help ease some of the anxiety that comes with trying new things like swimming. We got dressed in our suits, packed a change of clothes and headed to the Y.  I got in the pool with them, and they took to the water, the lessons, and their instructor immediately.  Afterwards, the 3 of us went to the locker room to get out of our wet suits, rinse off the chlorine, and get into our dry clothes.

Now, I am one of the least shy people on the planet about my body, and I am always shocked by parents who are so shy and awkward about their own bodies that it fosters a feeling of shame in their children. This whole notion that our bodies are shameful and that our “privates” are nothing more than stepping stones to hell baffles me. The body is an amazing and beautiful thing, and despite what the religious right thinks/obsesses/dreams/writes/says about genitals, they have uses and functions that do not involve sex. Frankly–and I’m only speaking for myself but I bet many of you will agree–my man-parts spend a hell of a lot more time as mundane, boring, extra skin than they ever spend getting their party on, if you know what I mean.  I digress.

Despite my general lack of modesty, however, even I blushed at the boys’ very exuberant appreciation of my gender in the quite crowded men’s locker room and shower at the YMCA.  As soon as we took off our wet swimsuits,  the boys started jumping up and down, pointing at me, and yelling, “I see your penis, I see your penis, I see your penis.” Then one of them observed quite astutely, “Papa, you have a penis just like me,” while the other one pulled on his scrotum and said, “Yeah.  And you have this stuff, too.”  I couldn’t help but laugh, along with the rest of the men in the locker room, and then I distracted them (the kids, not the men, you jerks) with soap and shampoo before we got out to dry off and get dressed.

So, clearly, the boys know my gender.  It is the same is theirs. And they know that my husband and their other papa is also a boy and that we all have the same parts and pieces.  Ours are just older, and, according to them, hairier. (Gee, thanks.)  But they also now that their moms (and girls) are different.  As we were getting dressed, one of them said, “Mama can’t come in here with the boys.  She doesn’t have a penis.  She has a buh-gina.”  Word up, kid.  She sure as hell does.

To insist–and by insist, I mean lie–that gay marriage denigrates gender is absolute fiction.  Our children are clearly not confused about gender. If they are, then we give them every opportunity to ask questions about it, about the differences between boys and girls, about their bodies and ours, and about the bullshit gender roles that society tries to assign to everyone but that we, as their parents, reject wholeheartedly. We also let them ask questions about why some girls like other girls and some boys like other boys while some boys like girls and some girls like boys. And our answers reflect nothing more than the realities of biology and the full range of human experience.

To insist–and again, by insist, I mean lie–that our children are denied gender-diversity because they have two mamas who live together and love each other and two papas who live together and love each other is not only fucking stupid, it is irresponsible and clearly not supported by truth.  My family is the true, and guess what? We are by no means the only big, gay family around. In fact, we know dozens upon dozens of LGBT families just like ours.

So, Ms. Kelly, don’t you dare tell me that my relationship with my domestic partner, my children, or the mothers of my children denigrates gender or denies them anything.  They want for nothing; they are not confused; and as my story clearly illustrates, none of us have an “anti-gender” mentality.  We are quite proud of our genders and, in my opinion, represent the best of them.

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Oh yeah!  It’s Thanksgiving, which means that this year, the RDP* and I drew the short straw and were forced at gun point (and by that I mean my mother’s guilt trip) to host.  My parents drove in last Monday from points east and my brother and his family arrived from points south on Wednesday.  AND THEY ALL OCCUPIED STAYED AT MY HOUSE!  The living conditions were not substantially better or more sanitary than Seattle Central Community College is right now after a month “hosting,” under duress, the Occupy Seattle slobs.

A recap, you ask?  But of course!

  • Who knew that it is illegal to pepper spray your family, especially the snot-nosed brats?  Well, thanks a whole hell of a lot for sharing that little piece of information with me before I unleashed my homemade concoction of chili powder, cayenne, those god damn Pizza Hut pepper flake things, and Mrs. Butterworth’s Lite Maple Syrup (sticky is better) during a particularly ugly game of UNO, which I ended up winning by forfeiture.  I’m kidding.  OR AM I?
  • Hey, bitches!  Thanksgiving has given us a new reason to vote for Initiative 1183, even though the election is now over and it passed anyway.  [Remember, I-1183 wrests control of liquor sales from the state and makes it possible to purchase liquor at the grocery store.]  After spending not 1, not even 2, but 3 of the longest days of my life shuttling my mother to every grocery store in town to buy exotic ingredients for green-disgusting-bean casserole, I needed a drink.  In the car.  Between every stop.  Soon, I will be able to pick up a fifth of Jager or, on a cold and rainy day, some HOT DAMN cinnamon schnapps, which it suddenly occurs to me that I should incorporate into my pepper spray recipe (if the judge will allow me to make it ever again).  Take it from me:  Whole Foods, Sur La Table, Costco, PCC, QFC, 7-11, Bill the Butcher’s, Fred Meyer’s, Central Market, Fantasy For Adults Only (not children, it turns out), Metropolitan Market, Trader Joe’s, and back to Costco would have been all shits and giggles if I could have had a shot after every stop.  I mean, I thought my mother was going to ask me to get in a god damn time machine and take her to Larry’s Market, which for the unknowing, WENT OUT OF BUSINESS 4 YEARS AGO!!!
  • By the way, when your family comes to visit and they say, “Don’t worry about us.  You go about your daily routine, and we’ll entertain ourselves.  We’ll be fine,” what they really mean is, “We are going nowhere unless you take us, we are doing nothing unless you arrange it, we are paralyzed by fear from the traffic and the scary people here, we are here to be waited on hand-and-foot, and you bore us to tears when you work, go for a run, take a shower, or sneak off to mix more pepper spray to use against us.”  These people wouldn’t let me out of their sight.  Not once.  For 7 days.  Even the work that I had to do was done at the dining room table, while my mother read each and every recipe out of her holiday magazines followed by, “That sounds deeee-LISH-ish!  We should make that, don’t you think?”
  • Speaking of cooking, I have discovered that without her reading glasses, my mother cannot tell the difference between 1 teaspoon of salt and 1 tablespoon of salt.  Until it’s too late.
  • When your mother says, “I heard you get up an hour ago, but you’ve been hiding away in your room.  What have you been doing?,” the wrong answer to give almost 100% of the time is “masturbating.”  In my defense, it was not only to teach her a lesson about being a busy-body but also to get her back for for exclaiming the night before, “Boy, for a couple of gay guys, this house sure isn’t decorated very expensively.”  This from the woman who hasn’t been to a Ross Dress For Less where she didn’t find something CRAP-TASTIC in the housewares department.  As they say on the Twitter, #hoarder.
  • Oh, and another thing.  When your mother says, “You used to have such beautiful, thick hair.  Where has it gone?,” you should not unbutton your pants and start pulling them down.  You should also not threaten to punch her in the taco for insinuating that you are losing your hair because she’ll undoubtedly respond, “We aren’t having tacos.  We’re having chili and cornbread.  What are you talking about?”
  • Speaking of hair, when are you going to learn not to wear a v-neck or a button-down shirt around your father?  After all, he is never, ever going to tire of sneaking up on you and pulling your chest hair every chance he gets.
  • Let me tell you why Black Friday is so unbelievably crowded and miserable:  It isn’t because of the deals, as conventional wisdom might suggest.  Not at all.  It is because PEOPLE WILL DO ANYTHING TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE HOUSE and away from their relatives.  I even tried to lose mine in the crowd, but it was like I was wearing a monitoring anklet.
  • Do not make fat jokes about anyone or anything.  Your sister-in-law is very politically correct–or perhaps she has a giant, fat, cellulite covered guilty-conscience.  Maybe.  Also, do not ask her why she likes to recline the front passenger seat back so far when it is obvious that she is trying to make room for her food baby, which has been gestating now for 42 months, I think.  I mean, we are seriously talking about one of those woman who sits with her legs spread because she has to in order to make room for “it.”  You know what I am talking about.  Yes, the F.U.P.  In related and somewhat happy news, almost all of the leftovers were gone before they even had a chance to become leftovers.
  • Speaking of which, when your mother puts her arm around your brother and says, “Doesn’t he look great?  He lost 15 pounds and wants to lose 15 more,” you should ALWAYS, ABSOLUTELY clarify whether she said fifteen or fifty before you respond.  Otherwise, the conversation could get pretty awkward.
  • TAKE NOTE:  When your sibling comes for a visit and brings his wife and children (or at least 3 out of 4 children), please mother fucking remember that it is a vacation for them and they are not going to lift a lazy finger to do anything and they aren’t going to spend a dime buying anything (including food for your gigantically fat sister-in-law).  They are, however, going to complain about everything–including their entirely free accommodations at their apparently-inexpensively-decorated-gay brother’s house.  Added bonus:  When you go out to eat, they are going to wage World War 73 trying to split everything on the bill, including the god damn tortilla chips and salsa (according to how much they think they ate of them) because they “don’t have nearly as much money as you childless gays do.”  Although, now that I think about it, with the amount of food those bitches can put away, splitting the bill would have caused us to consider bankruptcy.
  • Although they do not have any money, that will not stop them from spending $100 on a Xmas tree, which they are going to have to strap to their car and drive back to their own home in a city that is now apparently devoid of Xmas trees, even though it is in a very close neighboring state FAMOUS for growing Xmas trees.  And when I say, “they are going to have to strap to their car,” what I mean is that my father and I are going to stand in the pouring rain trying to tie the tree to the roof of their car while they are inside playing Angry Birds and eating me out of house and home.
  • It doesn’t matter how many times your mother makes a snide comment about it, your father is NOT going to fix the gaping hole left by the tooth that broke off at the root nearly 5 years ago.
  • Finally, never make plans for the Sunday evening after Thanksgiving with friends who 1) are here from out-of-town; 2) are so much god damn fun and such bad boys that you tingle at the thought of spending a raucous evening with them; and 3) unlike your mother, would be delighted if you pulled down your pants in front of them.  Why?  Because your family ISN’T GOING TO GO HOME on Sunday like normal people, preferring instead to deny you the bacchanal you have so deservedly earned after spending a week with them by waiting until Monday morning to depart.

And one more thing:  If your family is like mine, you love them dearly and queerly, despite that a) they are human petri dishes who left you with a throat that feels full of razor blades, a nose like a fire hydrant, and a voice that sounds like Marge Simpson’s sisters’; 2) your “horribly” decorated house looks like a bomb exploded in it; and 3) you found several bottles of your best wine empty and in the recycle bin with no recollection of tasting so much as a drop of them.

Sonsabitches.  It is at times like these where I am certain I was adopted.

*RDP = Registered Domestic Partner but not husband because Washington does not yet grant full marriage rights to all of its citizens.

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