Category Archives: gay

On a Night Off, Unexpectedly

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This week brought an unexpected night off – there was a 24-hour power outage at the Dairy Queen and everything melted or was spoiled. It’s not funny, but it was a nice surprise. It was even better that I didn’t have to do any of the clean up. My manager said that squeegy-ing (sp?) melted cakes out of the freezer was horrific. I imagine she wasn’t wrong.

I was anxious driving home on Wednesday. I so very rarely have time that’s unaccounted for. What was I going to do? I shouldn’t have feared. I called Jacob. When he suggested our goth bar, I was elated.

It’s not really our goth bar, of course. But it is one of my favorite places in Denver. It’s only open two nights a week. You have to enter from an alley. There are two separate rooms, connected by a dark hallway. Each room plays different music. The darker room is bigger and the walls are lined with dark couches perfect for hiding away and people-watching. The Clockwork Orange-esque room is brighter, and more upbeat.

Since I was a little goth in high school (who wasn’t?!), I feel so at home here. The people are so lovely – they’re fascinating and equally terrifying. But the best part isn’t the patrons, it’s the dancing. In my natural state, I dance like your stereotypical white man: legs spread, rock side-to-side. It’s so unattractive.

Once, at a club, Jacob grabbed my hips and started moving them in a figure-eight. Like this, he said. Start there. And so I did. So now, after a couple of years of tentative figure-eights and remembering to let go a little, I’m much better. (Much better doesn’t actually mean I’m a good dancer; it means that I am much improved.)

My ability – or partial lack thereof – is not the point here, though. It’s how thrilled I am to be surrounded by people who look like they’re doing my signature dance move, The Wet Noodle, or alternately, having hipster seizures. (Sorry to offend hipsters and seizure-sufferers.)

It’s freeing. Suddenly, I’m part of a mass of moving limbs. I let my mind go, I shift to the music as I internalize it. My eyes look down, around, everywhere. I become a kinetic observer, watching from curious eyes while not-quite-mindfully moving to the music.

This is why the goth bar is the best place. That and the terrifying bathroom conversation between two large women about how tough they are. (I lingered while washing my hands – I scrubbed my fingernails! – to be able to hear their conversation. First it was about some guys “newest fiance” and then it shifted to how thick their legs were, which meant that they were more powerful. Scrubbing completed, I dried my hands and bolted. I’m tiny, I’ve never been in a bar fight, and even though I grew up fighting my now-6’4″ brother, I’m nowhere near as tough as I’d like to think I am.)

I thought this two-faced shadow bit was cute.

Last night, i spent two hours with my wonderful mother signing mortgage loan documents. Mike and I are really buying a house! Oh my goodness. It’s a leap. Last night, he told me that since I’m taking care of the paperwork, he’ll do the packing. (And the unpacking, I hope.) This is such a good example of why we make such a good team.

We are such polar opposites as people, but in such complementary ways. He’s the detail-oriented, logical, patient one and I’m the take-charge, impatient, chaotic communicator. The screen that displays everything in his car broke and he couldn’t change CDs or radio stations or anything. So he was left to cycle through his CDs, song by song, listening to the entirety of each.

I, being as ADHD about music as I am about the rest of my life, told him that this would kill me (it was killing me in that moment. He likes jam bands whose songs are all about 8 minutes or more on average). He replied that he considered it an exercise in patience. He’s that guy. Hilarious, wise, and sometimes entirely frustrating. But for all of our sibling squabbles, we get along remarkably well.

So he’ll pack. I’ll coordinate paperwork and loans and payments. We both dig this plan.

Tonight is date night, so of course I’m antsy and excited. Not being able to see him all week builds the anticipation. Of course, we’re in nearly constant communication – emails, texts, FaceTime. It’s nice, though, to be able to maintain my life and begin to start incorporating him into it. It’s also nice to email links and running commentary about everything back and forth. People’s taste in the internet is very telling.

Uggggh, I was not going to blog about any of this. I was actually going to talk about people. But I guess I’ll do that this weekend.

On the Flat Tire, Sadly

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Waiting for AAA

I got my first flat tire on Friday night. I was driving up to Boulder after work to see Swisher, and as I was getting off of the highway, I heard a noise like I’d driven over a rattlesnake (and since it was a prolonged noise, it was like the rattlesnake had suddenly jumped into my backseat and was rattling away). I didn’t stress, thinking it was just the pavement being strange.

As I got off the highway and started to slow down, I heard another strange noise and my car handled differently. So I freaked out (internally) and quickly merged right and onto a frontage road and parked (calmly). I got out, and sure enough, my left back tire was flat. I called Swisher, who was already a little grumpy since I was late to begin with. I dropped a pin on my iPhone and sent him a picture of the map and told him to come find me.

And then I set about trying to change my tire. I whipped the jack out of the trunk (of course, I had to move a bunch of crap around, including a bike rack and some shoes), and began attempting to loosen the lug nuts. They refused to budge, so I jacked up the car anyway.

Why? Because it made me feel capable. I am a small, not very muscular human being, and I was pretty stoked to see my car rise up off of the ground. Since it’s Boulder, tons of people stopped by to see if I needed help, and one guy finally tried to loosen the lug nuts, to no avail.

Swisher arrived. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked. I grinned. “Love me,” I told him.

So we put the car back down and left it for the night, since there was no way I was going to be able to get the tire off. The next morning, I waited for an hour for AAA. When the guy got there, he asked me, “Where’s your boyfriend?” I didn’t respond, but instead let him struggle with the lug nuts.

After AAA had done their business (putting on my very sad-looking donut tire), I drove the 2 miles to the nearest Discount Tire, where I spent a large portion of my life savings on 2 new tires. I think the guy saw my face (a look of sadness, shock, and terror) when he said the price, and I asked him to remove the lifetime-warranty-replacement deal from the bill. He kindly reassured me that it was a good idea, and I wrinkled my nose, so he offered to put the other two tires (that I did not buy at Discount) on as being covered under the lifetime-warranty-replacement deal for free. I agreed. And then got flustered and accidentally flung my credit card across the room.

Then it got denied. “I just got back from Vegas,” I explained. My debit card worked, though, so I breathed a sigh of relief. “How was Vegas?” the guy asked. I wanted to tell him that he could just pay some chick to sit next to him covered in glitter while he drinks a 12-pack with a silly straw next to his neighborhood pool, but instead, I muttered the usual, “Great, good, expensive, fun.”

(Not that Vegas wasn’t fun. It was. I was just frustrated that after such an expensive weekend, I was forced to deal with real world problems that also cost massive amounts of money.)

***

Friday night was my first time being in Boulder in a long time (I’m not a huge fan of the place, and haven’t spent much time up there since I was dating Ely last spring). Swisher and I went out for dinner. We were having a happy-enough conversation with two men at the bar about whatever and at some point, one of the men decided to adopt that strange testosterone-fueled-bravado-slash-douche attitude. After a few minutes of this, I told him that I really don’t respond well to men who attempt to patronize me. We continued with our now-awkward conversation, and he continued to attempt to one-up me. I didn’t bend. As we were leaving, I apologized for coming off as abrasive. And then he bought me a beer, so I think I came out ahead on that one.

***

Lights at Pride

Lights at Pride Fest 2012. We went dancing at a bear bar and it was wonderful!

Katie and Mark and me!

***

Sunshine through windows

This is a strange picture, but I woke up early this morning to find that the sun was streaming through my windows in the most beautiful way. (As I look at the picture, I’m realizing that perhaps I should de-clutter my window space.) I ran the picture through Instagram to attempt to highlight the color, and even though it didn’t turn out exactly as the sun looked, I think it’s still a gorgeous reminder of why summer is one of my favorite times of the year. The way the sun looks so golden through the trees is one of the best lights (besides the gray/green after a rainstorm).

A Little Love Goes a Long Way

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After trying to explain to one of my grandmothers on Mother’s Day that the Church (big C) can get in the way of God, I saw this article today and thought of how much the world has to learn about who/what “God” really is.

I was shaken after leaving my grandmother’s house, and my thoughts went back through my life, turning over and over the interactions that may have driven my father’s side of the family to dislike me so immensely. I’ve sometimes wondered if it’s because I hang out with gays. (I asked Jacob last night if I was okay to drop the “the” and just say “gays”, and he said that since I’m a honorary gay, it’s okay.) They are so very uncomfortable about anything “gay” and my utter embrace of the culture may have offended them.

And as I was talking to my mom about how frustrating all of this is (not just the family hating me part, but also the family – and lots of other people – hating gays part), she said, “Katie, if more people had a Jacob, there’d be a lot less hate in the world.”

And my heart sort of melted. She’s not wrong.

I wish everyone knew how much their hate could hurt. I wish everyone knew what this little boy knows. God is love. God does love. God’s love is good.

For those of us humans who choose to embrace religion, it’s important to remember that actions speak louder than words. Professions of hatred, such as the ones by the Westboro Baptist Church, are not in keeping with the teachings of Christ. Whatever faith you embrace (or don’t embrace), use today to spread a little love. Set a better example.

Kid Told Westboro Protesters ‘God Hates No One’ Because, ‘That Is True’

Categories: Religion, National News

01:40 pm

Josef Miles, making his own statement.

EnlargePatty Akrouche/Facebook.com/FeverDreamsJosef Miles, making his own statement.

“I just don’t like seeing those signs and I kind of wanted to put a stop to that.”

That’s 9-year-old Josef Miles’ simple explanation for why he held up a notepad that said “GOD HATES NO ONE” as supporters of the tiny Westboro Baptist Church staged another small demonstration featuring their signs that say God hates homosexuals.

His Mother’s Day Weekend action in Topeka, Kan., which we we reported about last week, won Josef fans across the Web after photos of him started to spread. Today, he and his mom spoke with Tell Me More host Michel Martin.

Josef’s mother, Patty Akrouche, told Michel that she and her son have often seen the Westboro Baptist protesters in Topeka, where the church is based. As we’ve said before, Westboro Baptist has gained notice in recent years for protesting against homosexuality, abortion and other issues outside the funerals of military veterans and celebrities.

Josef had in the past asked her about the signs, which feature an objectionable F-word when referring to homosexuals. Akrouche had told her son that the signs were using “a hate word” to refer to men who love men and women who love women.

As he reflected on that, Josef said, he decided that “I didn’t want everybody to think that Topeka has a bad image.” So on the day earlier this month when they came upon the protesters again, “I thought about it for a minute” and concluded that “God hates no one” would be the right thing to say.

Why?

Because “that is true,” Josef said.

Akrouche told Michel that “it’s a privilege and honor” to be Josef’s mom. She has better conversations with him, she said, than with many adults: “I learn something new from him every day.”

As for Josef, he felt “really brave and confident” that day (the Westboro protesters “were respectful,” by the way, according to Akrouche). And now he’s a little surprised by the attention he’s gotten. “I thought it would be just, like, ‘oh, that’s really great, good for you,’ ” he said, not something that would go viral.

Source: NPR

On Gay. On Suicide. On Bullying.

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It’s been awhile, I know. Work keeps getting in the way of the rest of my life.

But alas, I’ve got something to say that’s important enough for me to give up some time to say it.

Jacob posted a link to a Rolling Stone article on my Facebook wall. (I think we still get a subscription to the magazine, but I hadn’t read it, so this goes to show that I’m out of touch with everything.)

It was about bullying and gay teens. While I think the article has some serious flaws (look at me, being all critical), I do think that it raises some serious questions about problems with having policies specifically related to homosexuality in our public schools.

But more than that, I (never thought I’d say this) partially agree with one of the anti-gay groups when they say, “…much of society seems not to be looking closely and openly at all possible causes of the tragedies.” Granted, they did precede that by saying “Because homosexual activists have hijacked and exploited teen suicides for their moral and political utility…” so that still makes them really insensitive and downright hateful.

We do need to really examine these tragedies. Being a child, an adolescent, a young adult: it all really sucks. I had such a rough time because of bullying in grade school – I remember crying and begging to go a new school. I withdrew quite a bit in high school but came out of it just fine. Bullying isn’t just about gay kids. Bullying is about anything, everything. Kids are really cruel. And it blows, for everyone involved. People carry those emotional scars with them long after the bullying has ended.

So let’s talk about parenting, because that’s where those little seeds of hatred get planted, nourished, and encouraged to grow. These parents hold certain political ideologies, certain religious beliefs, and live by an individual moral code. It stands to reason that their children will as well, having grown up hearing their parents espouse their beliefs, complaining about taxes, etc. That’s not the problem. The problem is when parents fail to explain to their children that there are other (equal) ways of thinking. I respect your beliefs; I respect your rights; I cannot respect your hatred, no matter where it comes from. We’re all guilty of putting a blanket over the “other” and forgetting that those people all believe those things because it gives them strength, hope, faith, solace, comfort, joy.

But at what point does my right to believe in whatever I want stop? At the point at which it infringes on someone else’s right to believe in whatever they want. This is why schoolyards are going to remain a political battleground.

They say that knowledge is power and it’s true. I don’t know why we’re against teaching our kids anything. At one point in the Rolling Stone article, a woman named Barb Anderson is quoted as saying, “Open your eyes, people. What if a 15-year-old is seduced into homosexual behavior and then contracts AIDS?” I wasn’t aware that we’re still under the impression that only the gays get AIDS. Yes, 61% of new HIV infections are found in “men who have sex with men” or MSM, according to the CDC. (I always read MSM as metro-sexual men, so that’s problematic for my brain.) But 23% of all new infections are in women. And the race most affected? Black men.
How many people know this? How many people can pull this out of their heads? Not knowing breeds fear and fear breeds the sad situations we’re seeing today. Fear breeds death, hatred, bigotry, disgust, anger. Fear does not bring about positive change, cooperation, or community.

I just don’t know why we’re not teaching our children everything that we can teach them. Creationism, evolution, reincarnation – we should be teaching it all. French, algebra, history, banned books: learn it all! I’m much more comfortable arguing with someone who’s chosen to believe what they believe than I am arguing with someone who’s had their beliefs molded and shaped for them. Schools should be a place of academic achievement, not fear. Teachers report being afraid to address the bullying situations that may be based on perceived or real homosexuality because they don’t want to lose their jobs. So these kids are left alone and helpless to cope with bullying that they don’t understand and can’t control.

Youth is a very fragile time. Even though these people are quickly growing into young adults, they’re not there yet. They need to be taught. Educated. Supported. Mental health issues among teenagers are increasing. Depression, suicide, eating disorders and behaviors are becoming increasingly more and more common.

The US lacks the mental health resources to treat the growing number of kids displaying symptoms. The social stigma surrounding mental health prevents a lot of progress and instead, causes much more harm to our society than a progressive dialogue would. (I’m not known for my avoidance of issues, but I’ve been avoiding talking about my own ADHD diagnosis and treatment for fear of negative repercussions.) We medicate, medicate, medicate. I don’t agree that that’s a great solution to any problem, mental health related or not. But it is too bad there’s no medication to make insensitive, insecure teens blind to differences.

But that’s exactly it: these teens (both the ones doing the bullying and the ones being bullied) are insecure. They’re trying to establish their own identities while being assaulted by their own hormones on a daily basis. They’re trying to figure out where they fit in the world, and they’re using anything they can for guidance. Instead of knowing that their bullying might stem from their attempts to appear more masculine, they think that this bullying makes them more powerful, respected, admired. It doesn’t. It makes them weaker than they’d be if they approached these in-school social situations more logically. But they don’t know that, because no one has ever explained all of that to them. Let’s start teaching sociology in the fourth grade and see how far that gets us. If kids could understand more about what they’re feeling and experiencing, they’re far more likely to make the mature choices not to engage in behaviors. But instead, they’re left to fend for themselves, trying to make sense of everything without appearing weak. Newsflash: we’re all weak. We all need help, support, and guidance.

Feel-good seminars and classroom discussions aren’t going to help either. The message that these kids are getting is that being gay is all butt-sex and glitter. While that’s simply not true, they don’t have any real-life context for understanding homosexuality. In reality, being gay is just like being straight. Couples wear ugly sweaters and make dinner and fight about who’s going to take out the trash. Short-shorts aren’t the norm. But how are these kids going to understand that when we won’t talk about it, teach it, or protect the gay kids from being attacked? Oh wait, there’s always TV. (That’ll help.) Our examples are terrible representations of what gay is.

Gay. Bullying. Suicide. They go hand in hand and they exist separately. In order to get to the bottom of this to stop our kids from killing themselves or driving others to kill themselves, we need to take a long, hard look at the messages that we’re sending to them.

If I ever catch my kid(s) bullying, or engaging in any behavior that I find predatory, disrespectful, or downright offensive, there will be hell to pay. The parents of the kids who say things like, “You’re a fag and you deserve to die,” should be held accountable for the actions of their children. This is a really good example of when it’s okay to ask “What would Jesus do?” Your religions, whatever they may be, do not say that it’s okay to hurt other people. They do not say that it’s okay for you to taunt, tease, punish, and terrorize your peers.

Instead of fighting about what we can’t teach, let’s just teach it all. Let’s teach everything and let our kids learn to think for themselves. Let’s expose them to everything we can expose them to. Let’s make them cultured, intelligent, young people who have adventured, and failed, and come to understand the ways that the world works.

Let’s fight to end teen suicides. Let’s fight to end bullying. But more than that, we need to fight to give our kids the coping skills to handle these things when they do happen. We need to address these issues openly, so that when a kid thinks about committing suicide, they are able to reach out to someone who can help them. So that when a kid thinks about putting another kid down just so he/she can feel better about him/herself, that kid will think twice.

I know that it gets better, but they don’t. It’s up to us to guide them all through.

On Gay, from a parent’s perspective

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When Your 7-Year-Old Son Announces, ‘I’m Gay’

Posted: 02/16/2012 1:04 pm

Considering that my son has a longstanding crush onGlee‘s Blaine and regularly refers to him as “my boyfriend,” I thought there was a fair chance that he would someday say, “I’m gay.” But my kid is only 7 years old. I figured I had a few years before we crossed that threshold (if we ever did), probably when he was 14 or 15. I never thought it would happen this soon.

Six months ago “gay” wasn’t even a word in my son’s vocabulary. He has always known that some of our male friends are married to men and some of our female friends to women, and it is such a normal part of his life that he never needed a special word to describe them. When he did notice the word and asked what it meant, I told him that when boys want to marry boys and girls want to marry girls, we call that “gay.” He didn’t seem very interested and quickly went off to do something else more exciting than a vocabulary lesson with his mom.

Fast-forward a few months. I was on the phone with a relative who had just discovered that I wasblogging on The Huffington Post and openly discussing my son’s crush on Blaine. I was in another room alone (I thought), explaining, “We’re not saying he’s straight, and we’re not saying he’s gay. We’re saying we love who he is,” when my son’s voice piped up behind me.

“Yes, I am,” he said.

“Am what, baby?” I asked.

“Gay. I’m gay.”

My world paused for a moment, and I saw the “geez, Mom, didn’t you know that already?” look on my son’s face.

I got off the phone and leaned down to eye level with him and rubbed my nose against his. “I love you so much.”

“I know,” he said, and ran off to play with his brothers.

Since that day, any time the word “gay” has come into conversation, he has happily announced to those around him, “I’m gay!” He says this very naturally and happily, the same way he announces other things that he likes about himself. Mention that a person is tall and he’ll quickly add, “I’m tall!” If he hears the word “Legos,” barely a second passes before he says, “Legos. I love Legos.” Saying “I’m gay” is his way of telling people: this is something I like about myself.

It’s amazing, but it’s also shocking. How many people have a 7-year-old come out to them? A lot of people don’t know how to react, and I don’t blame them. Before my son, I’d never met a child who came out this young — and we don’t know anyone else who has. The mere idea of children having a sexual orientation makes people uncomfortable. It’s something we don’t think about (or just don’t like to).

But here’s the thing: straight children have nothing to announce. Straight is the assumption. No one bats an eye at a little girl with a Justin Bieber poster in her bedroom, or when little girls love playing wedding with little boys every chance they get. If our sexual orientation is simply part of who we are, why wouldn’t it be there in our elementary years?

I’ve heard from countless adults who say they knew that they were gay as young as kindergarten but lacked the language to talk about it. And in most cases, they knew it was something wrong that they should hide. Because gay people are part of my son’s everyday life, he has the vocabulary, and it has never occurred to him there is anything wrong with it.

On one occasion after an “I’m gay” announcement, I watched my husband reach out to ruffle our son’s hair. “I know, buddy,” my husband said to him. “And you’re awesome, too.” That’s how we’re handling it. We want him to know we hear him, and that he’s wonderful. It feels like the right thing to do, and that’s all we have to go by. We don’t have any other examples.

We did take a few extra steps. Within a few days we had a quick talk with him about how some people don’t like it when people are gay, explaining that those people are wrong. If he hears anyone says anything about being gay like it is something bad, he is to run and get us immediately. We had a brief conversation with his teachers: Our son is identifying as gay. We don’t think there’s anything wrong with that or with him. And this is the only acceptable opinion on the subject. All his teachers, while surprised, were on board. We learned that he hasn’t used that word at school yet, so we’ll cross that bridge when the time comes.

I don’t think it will always be easy. We don’t know what to expect. At this point we aren’t looking for trouble, but at the same time we’re preparing for it. We know we have a journey ahead of us, just like everyone does. And this is one part of the story of our son and our family.

Do I think this is the last word on his orientation? I don’t know. He’s 7. Maybe as he gets older he’ll tell me something else, but it’s just as likely that he won’t. But really, that doesn’t even matter. What matters is right now. And right now I have a young son who happily announces “I’m gay.” And I’m so proud to be his mom.

from the Huffington Post

On Them and You.

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J always makes me smile:
We are talking about the communication. It was not odd, just out of the blue.
“I mean, I just don’t get it,” I’m saying. “She’s way out of my league. She’s beautiful.” I draw out the beautiful, lingering on each syllable.
J agrees. “She’s gorgeous!” He says. He extolls her physical virtues for way too long.
“Seriously, J,” I snap good-naturedly (I rarely snap good-naturedly. I’m in a great mood.) “Enough! I know how much better looking than me she is.”
“Oh,” he says, pausing. “Sorry.”
We laugh.
“Do you think he fell in love with you?” he asks.
My turn to laugh alone. “No,” I say, certain.
Our conversations now revolve around the usual things. Work. School, when I’m thinking about it. My inability to find a suitable mate; his ability to find the best ones. It’s a good pattern. We used to meet for platonic margaritas. I miss that.
I wish girlfriends were more lenient. But I get that too. I always hated when H would let his ex get weird around me, which always happened. There’s nothing worse than the awkward run in with an ex. She and I faked a good friendship for so long that eventually it started to become real.

But it’s gotten me thinking. Can you really be friends with an ex? Should you be?

R(2) invited me to climb Kilimanjaro with him a few weeks ago. Then he invited me to the Bahamas. Such a tease – he knew I couldn’t take time off work. I would have gone in a heartbeat. He texts me to comment on my horrible date blogs. He thought the one about him was especially hilarious – he found it when we were still dating. It was all about how to talk to someone sixteen years older than you, the high suicide rate of CPAs, and the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. I loved that post. I would later come to adore the man. We still meet for dinners, drinks, whatever. He still beats me at Scrabble every time. I still love that we drank a bottle of wine from the year I was born. (I love that about men – that they actually have wine from the year you were born.) He always teases me about the bookshelf. He built the first one, I still need him to come and build the second one – it’s been nine months. I’ll never get around to it.
I still see his friends sometimes. They’re great people. Sometimes I’m with him when we all hang out, sometimes I run in to them at bars. We always exchange pleasantries. It’s all good on the surface.

You date. You separate. You re-acclimate. Then your relationship becomes something new and beautiful.

E and I have been trying to meet up to hang out for the longest time, going on months now. We should have gone out tonight, but I begged off, still sick and tired. I never want to have fun when I’m sick-grumpy. I wanted to take him to the 1Up, since he’s never been, and I think the nerd in him will geek out so hard over life-size Jenga. We’re excited to be friends with each other. We had a long conversation a few weeks ago. He’d just run another marathon (gross) and rocked it. I love this. I love that even though we have literally nothing in common (except our love for his dog), we can still sit there and be fun people. Next week. I’ve entered it into my calendar, to make it real.

My boyfriends always hate that I’m still friends with most of my exes. I don’t get why. I think that’s a good sign.

I keep bringing up Portland in front of K, for some reason. It stemmed first from public transportation (theirs is so much like ours), then it was the homeless youth, then it was the spiders (HUGE!). He finally asked me what it was about Portland and I had to explain. College, I told him, for a year I did the long distance hell with a kid from Denver who went to school out there.

It was the first time I’d brought up any of the past. I was nervous. I haven’t felt the way I do since my junior year of college. I want to keep him. Therefore, I can’t just let anything slip out my mouth like it usually does. I want to tread carefully with the past. I have nothing to hide, but, still… I want this exploration of each other to be organic (and USDA approved).

I’m talking to E about it today.
“I can’t read him,” I say, frustrated.
“You’re hard to read, too,” she says.

For now, it’s wonderful. I’d like for it to stay like this. Nothing’s official – it’s still in those weird tingly stages. (That was a really gross adjective, I apologize. But I’m sticking with it.) But I like where it’s going. I like what it is. I like that he likes me for who I am – awesome.

(Also, and seriously never tell him this because it comes out so creepy unless I explain it properly, he totally fits into my life plan of having my last name hyphenated to B-S. I think it’s so badass. Today, my favorite professor from college was telling me to go get my doctorate instead of just my masters and I had the sign in my head: Dr. Barry-Something. And it was beautiful. I will only date people whose last name begins with S from now on. I’m already on my third “S” of the year. This may be a strange 2011 trend, though. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.)

Now that I sound absolutely insane, I’m off to bed.
Work is crazy this week, and I have a half-completed marketing plan that’s due by like 10am. Oh great, deadlines. Yay.

On Tim Tebow (ugh)

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I’m not the biggest Tim Tebow fan, that’s no big secret. But this blog is all about him: 

Article number one is from the Huffington Post and article number two is from Grantland. Enjoy!

Tim Tebow, Denver Broncos Quarterback And Focus On The Family Spokesperson, Kisses Demaryius Thomas

First Posted: 10/24/11 12:44 PM ET Updated: 10/25/11 11:54 AM ET

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Although Tim Tebow filmed a Superbowl commercialin 2010 for the anti-gay, anti-abortion organizationFocus On The Family (FOTF), he seems to have no problem sharing a male-on-male lip-lock in front of thousands (millions?) of onlookers.
On Sunday, the Denver Broncos quarterback kissed Demaryius Thomas after Thomas caught a touchdown pass. The Broncos went on to beat the Dolphins 18-15.
Towleroad noted that this wasn’t the first time Tebow, who has been referred to as the “Bieber of Football,”shared a same-sex kiss on the field: Tebow waspecked by University of Florida teammate Tony Joiner a few years ago.
Tebow’s feelings about homosexuality and gay marriage remain unclear. This summer, when asked about gay marriage by The Washington Post, his publicist jumped in and rejected the question. But, considering his ties to FOTF, he’s probably not about to announce he’s coming out of the closet (or would support those who have) — but who knows?
Still, if an NFL quarterback and card-carrying member of FOTF wants to go around very publicly kissing other men on the mouth, we’re OK with that.

[I don’t think that even counts as a kiss. I’m pretty sure I’ve accidentally brushed lips against a few people in my life without meaning to. It was basically a millisecond of brush – as though they were both going in for the same side of the hug. There’s no reason it should be news.]

Debunking the Tim Tebow Myth

If you think the Broncos’ new starting quarterback has finally earned the right to be treated like NFL royalty, you probably don’t want to read this breakdown

By Bill BarnwellPOSTED OCTOBER 24, 2011

“Congrats to @TimTebow for that comeback win today. Impressive! He’s just a winner.”
— @KingJames, who knows about guys who just win when he sees them.
Far be it from us to ruin an admittedly great story, but let’s be real about the Tim Tebow plaudits being thrown around after the Broncos’ 18-15 comeback over the Dolphins on Sunday. Tebow certainly deserves some of the credit, but not the massive outpouring of praise that is being thrown his way.
The Win Probability chart at advancednflstats.com for this game tells the true story of what happened. When Tebow took over on his own 20-yard line down 15 points with 5:23 left, both Broncos and Dolphins fans were leaving the stadium in Miami, and they weren’t wrong to do so. The Broncos’ chances of winning were estimated to be around 1 percent. Tebow proceeded to lead his most impressive drive of the day, going 80 yards in eight plays, throwing a five-yard touchdown pass to Demaryius Thomas.
For all that work, the Broncos’ chances of winning had improved all the way to … 2 percent. Teams with an eight-point lead that are about to receive the kickoff simply don’t lose very frequently; it takes an expected onside kick to pick it up, and teams recover expected onside kicks only about 20 percent of the time. When the Broncos were able to recover the kick, their win expectancy improved to 12 percent; the onside kick was six times more valuable than Tebow’s drive. If that figure seems low, consider that the Broncos still needed to drive 50 yards, score, pick up a two-point conversion, and then win in overtime. They had momentum in their favor, but so have plenty of other teams in this scenario who haven’t been able to pick up the W.
Tebow then proceeded to take advantage of a short field. Starting on his own 44-yard line, Tebow drove the team 56 yards in 10 plays, highlighted by a gorgeous 28-yard throw to (and equally impressive catch from) Daniel Fells. After that, Denver converted the two-pointer on a Tebow run1 and the Broncos’ win expectancy was pushed all the way up to 46 percent. They’d made an incredible comeback, but they were still underdogs heading into overtime.
After they won the overtime coin toss and traded possessions with the Broncos, the Dolphins remained favorites. When Daniel Thomas converted a second-and-2 to give the Dolphins a new set of downs on their own 43-yard line, the Dolphins only needed to travel about 25 more yards to pick up a game-winning field goal. They win an estimated 67 percent of the time in that situation.
That, of course, led to the final dramatic swing. Broncos linebacker D.J. Williams sacked Matt Moore on the ensuing play, producing a single-play swing that was bigger than any of Tebow’s drives. The Broncos went from a win expectancy of 33 percent to 78 percent by recovering the fumble, and while they proceeded to gain only two yards on the subsequent drive, they converted another short field into points to win the game.
On Sunday, Tim Tebow was given a total of 15 possessions. Four of them started with 56 yards or less to go for an offensive touchdown. Not coincidentally, of the four, three were his final three drives, and he produced a total of 11 points on those drives. His other 11 drives all started deep in his own territory, with six of them beginning on the 20-yard line and only one beyond the 25 (a drive that started on the Miami 41 that resulted in a missed field goal). Ten of those drives resulted in eight punts, a missed field goal, and a fumble. They gained, on average, less than 12 yards.
This isn’t a one-week trend, either. When he came in against the Chargers last Sunday, Tebow started with three consecutive drives inside his own 31-yard line. The Broncos punted on all three drives. On the ensuing two possessions, though, Tebow started from his own 49-yard line and the San Diego 41-yard line. With the short fields, he proceeded to score two touchdowns. It can’t be much simpler.
A lot of what we’re crediting to Tim Tebow is actually the impact of things that are totally out of his control, a combination of field position, defensive turnovers, and a miracle on special teams. He deserves some of the plaudits that have come his way over the past two Sundays. Just not all of them.


"Shame on all of you."

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Yesterday’s post got me thinking.

Racism blows. We can reiterate that until we’re blue in the face.

And qualifying my perspective as being that of a white person isn’t nearly enough.
I need to qualify myself as educated, white, woman, and liberal.
That changes things.

I compared it to being gay. (Why? I don’t know – it was the easiest [not the best] way to make my point during our lunch discussion.) I spend so much time around my gay friends that I don’t see them as gay. It’s normalized for me. It’s not a thing. There’s no need to draw a line, to point out the distinctions, to separate.

I want my kids to be so exposed to people that they stop seeing lines and start seeing people.

It’s the same as being _____. [Insert “other” there.]

The more we talk about “other,” the more we emphasize it. The more we dwell.

Then I started thinking about the real world. (Sighing as I type this. Oh, real world.) There’s not as much integration, not as much teamwork, community building, respect, tolerance….my list could go on…. as there could be. Certain solutions to “other”-ism or “other”-phobia aren’t going to work for people with different mindsets – I forget that. The solution remains elusive.

But I would like to point out that even as we evolve to tolerate and eventually accept one “other,” we replace it with another “other.”

Division based on class differences, social differences, education differences: we’re all guilty of it. I think part of being human is forming bonds with people who share similarities to you and then ostracizing people who don’t have those interests, features, or characteristics. It’s up to us to transcend that.

It’s hard, though. I judge stupid people for doing stupid things. I’m sure people judge me for doing stupid shit all the time. I judge girls who wear Ugg boots, yet I get judged for my “if you can’t wear it with black flats, why are you wearing it at all?” mentality (I do consider that judgement entirely deserved, for the record. I’ve grown out of Birkenstock mode…at least until I find my other black clog). I really try to promote a sense of solidarity among women, yet I know a few women I’d like to punch in the face. So here I am, being just as much of a hypocrite as the rest of us. At least I’m thinking about it, though.

Granted, we all aren’t going to get along. It’s not possible. But we should at least strive to respect and understand. Also, not possible.  But ideal. And beautiful.

I was going to post last week about the suicide of a gay teen on the East Coast. I didn’t. I was too disgusted (not by him, by his tormentors). After his death, the people who taunted him continued to do so. They said they were glad he was dead. That the world was a better place. For him, it didn’t get better. That’s one reason we need to stop spreading hate.

That night I was watching the Big Bang Theory at home. And this clip really put it all into perspective for me. Please watch it.

A girl brings home a rather unintelligent date, and her neighbors (all science geeks) make fun of him mercilessly.

Zach (date): “Oh, I see. You guys are inferring that I’m stupid.”

Sheldon (one of the neighbors): “That’s not correct. We were implying it. You then inferred it.”

…

Penny (girl): “You know, for a group of guys who claim they spent most of their lives being bullied, you can be real jerks. Shame on all of you.”

Truth.

"That that is just the person that you are."

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There are moments, usually quiet moments in the dead of night, when the world shifts. I found myself relaxed, calm, anxious for my phone to buzz with the continuation of the nightly conversation that I look so forward to.

I sat and heard her start to tell me a story. I wasn’t all there, my mind drifting off to Chicago while maintaining some semblance of concentration.

What she said broke my reverie and brought me swiftly back to my body, sitting on the steps staring across the darkened street.
No, what?
And there it was.
The reasoning, his version of the truth, conveyed to me via her. The nerve of this slimy coward. To later tell a mutual friend that it wasn’t his fight to fight, yet to have never even told me about it.
It.
Allegedly.
Apparently, it – that alleged indiscretion – happened on the fourth of July. Happened when I, the sober driver, was saying goodbye. Well here’s a sweet goodbye for you…
It was an anger I have not felt in some time. My jaw clenched, my eyes narrowed, I was, in that moment, comprised solely of steel and tingling fingertips.
Untruths!
Annoyance filled my steel-skeleton, and I drove home in a concentrated rage. I grabbed my phone and sent a message – abrupt, rude, sharply displaying my acute disapproval.
I did not expect a response, but when I saw it, my anger flared past steel. I am molten iron now, white hot.
I still am. It’s been some hours now, edging toward twenty four, yet I cannot break the script from my mind.
“…everyone conceded that that is just the person that you are.”
What am I?
I have lists of occasions I could reference, all to refute this claim that “that that is just the person that” I am.
But they fall far short of the damage I wish to inflict.
Self-control serves me well, but in all honesty, I am so hurt by this assertion, this accusation, the untruth of it all, that if we come face to face, I won’t hesitate to show him just what kind of person I am.