Mission: Size-Mic

One of my co-workers, I call him Mr. Arkansas, thought that I might be a good messenger to deliver the following message to my? over-weight sistahs: that they should refrain from wearing little girl panties when wearing their summer-time favorite white pants.

He would be wrong and since I am not an appropriate messenger, I thought these folks might be a better choice to talk to and about sistahs clad in, well, anything or...nothing as the case may be.

The FGF opening near our office has been the topic of choice for most of the guys in my office, Mr. Arkansas included.

And since I must included in all these conversations I thought it natural to turn Mr. Arkansas' mission for me over to FGF.

My mission was to get Mr. Arkansas (& the rest of the guys) out of my office. Mission: accomplished. For the time being.

G Rated

Picked this up from Brutal Women, who as you can see has a different rating.






Which got me to thinking; is this G good? bad? Do I live a G life? Have G experiences?

The explanation for my G rating was that lesbian was mentioned 1 x. (I'm sure the absence of a few fucks, shits and damns were a factor too.) But, lesbian only once? Really? Hmmm. This got me to thinking even more.

Is it clear to the casual reader that I'm a lesbian? Those of you who know me, have been around awhile, purged the archives know the deal. You also probably know that it was just about a year ago that I made this announcement to you (the world) and to my son and daughter. You may also know that only two other people who know me, the living, breathing me, know; my oldest friend, DB and my girlfriend.

A year ago, brand new lesbian was sans girlfriend. Hell, this brand new lesbian was sans a clue. As the (now) girlfriend stated on our first face to face meet in March, "you haven't even kissed a woman before." True that. She was understandably concerned of my "stated" lesbian status. She had run across posers and experimenters before.

After two visits and plans for at least two more before year-end, all questions have been answered, all evidence posted.

I am a lesbian. Lesbian, I am and that's all G. G for GOOD!

And oh, by the way, I am also Black. Apparently, there had been some question about that as well. Say it Loud! I am Proud!

note to Neta--Only 17 more days baby. Yowzah!!

Summer in the City

No, they don’t mean pause. Nor do then mean that one should give the illusion of ceasing the movement of one’s vehicle. The meaning of that line, eight-sided sign and the bright red light atop the pole of three (4 or 5 if turning arrows) is STOP. The vehicle must cease to move.

Period. Exclamation Point!

I, along with thousands of pedestrians* suffer near misses every day as the result of drivers who are impatient, irrational, ignorant, inconsiderate, and / or just idiotic. Walking in the city, especially in spring and summer is indeed a chore. In fact, walking can be down- right hazardous to your health unless you become expert at navigating vehicles at cross walks. You have to be near psychic at times.

Given the state of traffic in this city (& surrounding areas) I have been asked how I can feel comfortable riding my bicycle. Truth of the matter is I feel safer on my bike than I do on foot. I’ve been riding a bike nearly as long as I’ve been walking and feel very safe on one. I’ve never fallen off the bike, once I learned to ride. I’ve fallen off my feet a few times, but that’s another story. Though not much more considerate, operators of motor vehicles do tend to pay more attention to cyclists than pedestrians.

Whatever the reason I appreciate that grace. During the warmer months I ride more often. I’ve ridden my bike the 7.32 miles to work twice already this season. I expect to do that several more times before the weather turns on me again. I bought a brand new helmet, pulled out riding gloves and other essentials. I awake each morning hoping for a forecast of clear weather.

Away I go, carefully, considerately hoping the same goes for operators of motorized vehicles.



*not standing up for those who cross against lights/signs, outside of marked cross-walks or otherwise make a nuisance of themselves seeming to dare vehicles to hit them.

Lil Bit 'O Change

“Mom, are your breasts getting bigger?”

Why, no they are not. In fact, my breasts are exactly the same size they were when I graduated from high school 30 years ago. My breasts and feet are about the only (physical) parts of me that haven’t changed during that time.

I’d like to think that the rest of me is getting so much smaller, so much faster that by comparison, my breasts look bigger. But uh, no, that wouldn’t be it. What IT is, my daughter correctly points out, it has been warm and I’m wearing tank tops. She has rarely seen me in a tank top.

Tank tops have not been a staple in my summer wardrobe for many reasons. Primary among them though is that I’m more often cold, not warm. I wear sweaters, jackets, long sleeves and mock turtlenecks year round.

Or rather, I should say, I did, until a couple of years ago.

I started noticing the change. It was very subtle at first. In the winter I found that I could get by with only one pair of socks on the coldest of days. I didn’t panic when I couldn’t find my gloves. In the summer, air conditioned rooms didn’t annoy and freeze me nearly as much as they once did. I am not quite as comfortable with the sauna-like conditions of my rooms anymore.

While I don’t experiences the flashes of heat typical of my age and stage and still prefer the very warm over the even moderately cold, I find I’m becoming more tolerant of the cold and less of the heat. Thus, the tank tops. Still, though, I wear my button down shirts over the tank tops. Open to the abdomen. Some of the shirts are short sleeved.

Going, Gone

Falling victim to dreaded Dutch Elm Disease our two stately shade trees will be but a memory by the time I get home this evening.

Bummer.

"Mom, Where is the Computer?"

What do you mean WHERE is the computer?

All too quickly we ascertained that the computer had been stolen.

Sometime after I left for work and before D awoke to find a big assed gaping hole where our desktop computer used to sit last Thursday morning, some sniveling, slimy, scum sucking excuse for a human broke through our back door, walked through the kitchen, dining room and into the living room. They (maybe just a he or a she) disconnected monitor, tower, keyboard, mouse and printer and carried them back out of the living room, through the dining room and kitchen, out the back door they'd broken into. Also, to add insult to further injury, the sub-species took a sterling silver necklace. And even more insulting, a bottle of vodka from the freezer and a can of ginger ale from the refrigerator.

“Mom, I’m scared.” I would like to go the whole rest of my life without hearing those three words.Thank you very much. The words, coupled with the tears stopped my heart for just an instant. “Call the police, honey, I’ll be there as soon as I can” was all I could muster. I dropped everything at work and rushed home, that place that used to be a safe place for us. Home. It will be safe again, but in the meantime...I hear the fear in her voice, feel the tears from miles away.

I will abhor their act for as long as I live. I do, however, remain forever grateful that they only took the computer (& the other small items). I remain forever grateful that they didn’t rummage and ransack. I remain forever grateful that my young D loves to sleep behind her closed door, with air conditioner and television going. I remain forever grateful that she didn’t awake any sooner.

One of these days I’ll be able to forget the helplessness I felt at the sound of the trembling dread in her voice. One day, perhaps. Not.

Still, I remain forever grateful that she was safe and was able to make the call.

D Smiles

That smile, along with other fine attributes, has brightened many a day for me. My daughter’s smile and the soon to follow laugh morphing into a snort, if she is truly tickled, energizes rooms. My rooms, anyway.

That smile aside, D can be formidable. Her at times bold, brash and full of fiery bravado personality tends to have her leaping first and asking questions, or rather, suffering the consequences later. She is also fiercely loyal and passionate. She can also be very heart-warming, gushy. Many of our days together have been a roller-coaster of events and the ever present emotions. She has been known to thrill, entertain and supremely frustrate me multiple times in a single day, her favorite parlor trick since even before she was born.

D and I went to a batting cage recently. She found it hard to believe that I hit the ball better (at first) than she. I was pretty shocked too. I haven’t swung a bat at a ball in...I don’t know how many years and she is the better athlete, generally. Better, I did, but she wasn’t bitter. We were having a very good time, as we do so very often.

There are waves, swells even. I can be over-protective and enthusiastic about control. She can be impulsive and stubborn. Surprised? It shall be interesting to see how we will further relate now that the male ballast has vacated estrogen central.

The last few months have been somewhat trying for daughter D and mom D. Although very supportive of the later in life lesbianism in a theoretical sense, D has struggled with the reality of the actual girlfriend. D likes Neta, as much as she can given what she knows of her. And she does trust my judgment and that I love Neta, but D wonders how my burgeoning relationship will affect her, or rather me and her. "You will change mom" she asserts. Well, of course I will, for the better. I will be (have been) even happier, even more fulfilled, for starters. For D it is complicated, yet simple. She doesn’t want to lose me.

Of course, she never will. Never could.

My daughter has dreams that will likely take west, to California or Nevada. These dreams won’t become reality for some time to come, in the meantime, I continue to assure her. Continue to be a passenger, sometimes associate driver in the ride that is D. Being her mother is the adventure of a lifetime. Being her friend is a treasure and a privilege that I cherish every day.
Keep on smiling baby girl D. Mom D thinks you are da bomb!

Sound of Silence

I’ve cleaned what was his room, the room is now empty. Devoid of stereo, television, books, bed, him, it echos. The emptiness so prevalent the echos stretch to the kitchen, his room’s nearest neighbor. The echos making work in the kitchen now an eerie, if not sad experience. He’s not on the other side of that wall, there isn’t anything on the other side except another wall, full of empty.

He moved on Saturday morning. Three of his friends came by to lend their hands, backs and humor to the movement of a lifetime’s worth of him. He’d been preparing for this for some time, ready to tackle his next role, adventure. Inside of two hours, he was done, going. Left in his space were some trash, dust, loose coins and Shawshank Redemption and Michael Jordan posters. I guess they didn’t make the cut. M also left the echos.

When he was done, I hugged my tall boy, the man he had become. I kissed him on the cheek. I congratulated his progress, success. I bid him farewell. And then I cried.

My girlfriend called with calm and supportive words. She said just the right things at just the right time, she made me laugh. My daughter suggested we get out and have fun. Our afternoon at the batting cage was just that, fun.

M has moved out and he has called me twice. "Mom, I’m lying on my floor and it is so great!" He further reports having gone shopping for groceries; he bought among other things steak, broccoli and brandy which he planned on having for his Sunday dinner. He went on to say he’d started putting things away and thinking about how to further decorate. He talks about the neighborhood and the changes it is experiencing. His excitement is infectious.

The room he occupied may be empty of his things and certainly his presence among them will be missed. But I’d be hard pressed to deny my full out joy for his sense of accomplishment, success. I am looking forward to more calls, emails and as soon as he scores a couple of more chairs, he’ll invite his dear old mom to dinner.

In the empty room however, filling the silence are a handful of projects that will result in a room, with a bed, for me. That sound you hear is the th-th-thudding of my anticipation for future trips to lands of hard and house wares.