Top Ten Reasons Skidmark's Gay

This is not an 'outing' or a message of disapproval of a lifestyle.

Because the commuters clamour for it,

and because Skidmark likes to push my buttons

here are the TOP 10 REASONS SKIDMARK'S GAY.

10) Active participation in a conversation on women's shoes.

9) He was very interested and made knowledgable contributions to a conversation regarding women's hair products.

8) He was very embarassed (perhaps even devastated) and extremely self-conscious for an entire day when he discovered his shoes didn't match his belt.

7) Hair products, hair products, hair products.

6) He squirms the most during beer bottle tricks.

5) Even his wife calls him Man Bitch, Mangina and Munt.

4) He shaves his stomach

3) He asked everyone "Can you tell I lost 6 lbs.?"

2) He's envious of the sexual habits of a gay household.

And the number one reason why Skidmark is gay:

1) At multiple times and with many witnesses, he has said "I'm gay."



Do you need more?

A) Oddly enough, he always wants to sit next to me on the train - even though I've told him "No, means No."

B) At times he's been known to put his crotch up very close to my face (ostensibly to look out the window of the seat behind us).

C) Like a bitch in heat, he's often turning his ass in my direction--presenting, if you will.

D) He likes to make small talk - endless small talk - almost like a nervous chatter - and always about nothing important. Picture shy school girl and varsity football player - "So, um, do you like chewing gum?" only his small talk is about the speed or timeliness of the train.

E) Even his wife, perhaps sensing that Skidmark needed an 'outlet,' has sold his ass to me for a cigarette.

Prissmas Recap

It's been a month since Prissmas. I believe we've all healed enough emotionally from the humiliating 'told-you-so's' to post an account of our annual event.

Lighting the fire was much better planned this year. I'm very suprised. Lady Prisspott gathered all of the guests in a pen well enough away from the intended blaze. The Lord Prisspott was nowhere to be found. Apparently he wasn't feeling well. In hindsight, I don't think it's impossible that Lady Prisspott put something in the Lord's food to keep his disapproving stance away from our use of gasoline as an accelerant.

Wearing BDUs (battle dress uniform - camouflaged outfits) Ivy and Thorny prepared the projectiles (bottle rockets) and the long metal tube, while Hydrangea doused the burnable heap with gasoline.

Acquire the target!
Target Acquired!
Load the projectile!
Projectile Loaded!
Ignite!
It's Lit!
Shove it in!
It's in!
Confirm Target!
Target Confirmed!

Fwoosh! and .... nothing.

Repeat 11 more times - redouse with gasoline (at which point we yelled "Acquire the target!" again just to make Hydrangea nervous - then fired two more times (after Hydrangea was clear) and.....THWOOM!

Arr arr arr! - we make fire - arr arr arr!

Applause and happy dance.

On a side note, we had planned and practiced this lighting ritual in our backyard (next to the firehouse) before actually attempting it. We were a little bit nervous about the safety of this experiment. We also had a firefighter at Prissmas. (We'd invited her, then realized "Oh crap! She's a firefighter - will she rain on our parade?")

By far it was the ugliest Prissmas tree ever. We really outdid ourselves. I do believe it was the biggest bonfire ever too. How very cathartic. We burned lots of stuff. The 'ladies' brought a box of things that MUST be burned. Sort of a letting go type thing. Unrequited love letters, ransom notes, compromising photos and the like. If it can be burned, it never happened.

The two sets of Prisspops were a big hit too. Individually packaged and colorfully labeled they fit the requirements: looks yummy, taste like poo. Don't take my word for it, just look at these satisfied customers.


At the opposite end of the edible spectrum, the dessert burritos we cooked in the bonfire took a feat of courage. Even though the talented Lady Prisspott had welded some very nice platforms on poles, still the fire was too hot to get close enough to insert, flip and retrieve while keeping your eyebrows. Plus there was no temperature control. So you didn't know when it was done. (Mine was still cold in the middle.) Great idea too. It met the Prissmas requirements for food. Looks like poo. Tastes yummy.

I don't know who brought it, I think it may have been the 'ladies,' but there was some truly horrendous Spitting Liquor on hand. I was completely amazed - very much awed - by Cat's spitting ability - boy, could she take a lot in her mouth. Now, how could that be practically applied to other events? I'll have to think on that.
Pro: Quantity.
Con: She spits.

Somewhere in the middle of the bonfire ballet, we sang Prissmas Carols around the fire. Apparently T doesn't like to sing in the key of Chuck. "Too low. Too high." she would complain. Through experimentation and trial and error, I think we finally found the right spot when we let her take control. (I imagine it's similar to being married to her-but I'll keep my fantasies to myself.)



I'll write more if it comes to me, but will also let the Prissmas revelers chime in with comments.

From Fox 5 to Prohibition

Okay, here's the deal. Just pay attention to what people say. Don't let yourself be moved to any kneejerk responses. THINK MAN! Think for yourself.

Which sounds better? Advocate or Activist? An advocate for abortion is an activist to anti-abortionists. Even the name "Pro-Life" lends you believe that people who believe otherwise must be Pro-Death. PETA is an advocate to animal lovers and an activist to furriers (who aren't animal haters).

Politicians, News Writers, Preachers, Car Salesmen, Actors -- it's their job to get you to believe and agree with them. Their words will paint a picture and evoke a response in you.

Now, can anyone tell me the difference between the afternoon shock shows (i.e., Springer) and Fox 5 News?

Fox 5 Investigates did an expose of commuters drinking on the MARC Train.

Using a long list of alarmist phrases they attempted to move the viewer to believe that drinking alcohol on the train must be stopped. Take a look:

-. . .commuters boozing it up. . .
-A scene so troubling it's got lawmakers calling for changes right now.
-"wastin' away again in Margaritaville."
-All aboard this Margaritaville express.
-A free flowing happy hour on the rails. . .
-The rush hour drinking fest even more widespread than FOX5 first exposed last year.
-. . .full party mode. . ..
-. . .doublefisting the booze. . .
-. . .a bizarre Maryland state law which allows eating and drinking --even alcohol -- on the MARC trains.

In the first few seconds of the 'report' they try to create in the viewer an emotional response: terrible ongoing problem, bad drinking, danger.

The law that allows alcohol on the train is not bizarre and drinking on the train is not a troubling scene. What is troubling are people who drink, then drive.

We can all agree, I'm sure, that drinking and driving is a danger to everyone, but what kind of a news report does that make?

"This just in, drinkin' and drivin' is bad, mmmkay? Back to you Maureen."
"Thank you, Bob. VERY informative."

Nope. Not going to sell advertising space, is it?
Let's dress it up and make it marketable.
First, let's call it an expose.
Hmm, needs more alarming phrases.
Which sounds worse? 'Drinking' or 'Boozing it up?'
Add some hippy drinking music! Everyone hates hippies!
Now, add some grainy, concealed camera footage.
No, I'm still not alarmed enough
Okay, blur out some faces and YES! That's perfect.
My, how seedy and underhanded that looks.



Okay, this just in to JUST CHUCK'S BLOG

Shock Jock Fox is seeking prohibition of drinking on the train, If this unending war on your personal freedoms is successful, how long before Fox attacks family owned neighborhood restaurants that serve alcohol? Then how long before Fox supports statewide Prohibition?

Then...obviously...witch hunts.

____________

From Baltimore Outloud

If you ever wonder why the rights, benefits and privileges of marriage are important to same sex couples, here is one reason.

From Baltimore Outloud

Baltimore man struggles to keep late partner’s gravesite
By Steve Charing

For Kevin-Douglas Olive of Baltimore’s Seton Hill, the battle only began once his partner Russell Groff died from staph infection in November 2004 at the age of 26. Groff was buried in a rural Tennessee cemetery that the partners had agreed on in a will and burial agreements. Both were from Tennessee.

But Groff’s parents, Lowell and Carolyn Groff, have challenged the burial site and the right of Olive to be executor since July 2005. The expensive legal battles that have ensued and are continuing to strap the finances of Olive to the point he must sell his car and try to raise funds to ward off the Groffs’ challenges.

Russell Groff’s parents have been virulently anti-gay, which is ostensibly motivating them in their pursuit to deny their son’s expressed wishes. They even did a Fred Phelps-like protest during Knoxville, TN’s lgbt "Come Out Knoxville" celebration.

According to the Knoxville Metro Pulse, Carolyn Groff blames the "destructive gay lifestyle" for the death of her son, an aspiring playwright. "He wasn’t like that until he got involved in the theater group at Maryville College," she explains. Several other members of her Bible Baptist Church brought signs denoting that gays are destined to hell. Their brand of Christianity drove Russell away from the Christian church and joined Kevin as a Quaker after they met.

Conversely, Kevin-Douglas Olive parents were active in the Greater Knoxville PFLAG chapter where his mother served as treasurer. Kevin, too, was active in the chapter. But his family does not have the financial means to help Kevin in his the series of lawsuits.

Although he is facing financial ruin, Kevin, 35, a French teacher, is determined to win for Russell what he had wanted. "He was the most important person in the world to me," he told Baltimore OUTloud. "I owe it to him that his wishes are carried out."

The legal battles, which are sapping his funds, are a two-pronged approach: one to impeach Kevin as an administrator of the estate and the other to overturn the will. He had won the initial round in a Baltimore City Orphans Court but Groff’s parents have appealed the decision so that they may move their son’s body to a family cemetery. During the appeal, the entire case must be presented from scratch.

Kevin says the legal fees are currently running $22,000. Thus far, he has raised only $5,000 to meet those obligations. He can use whatever financial help is available.

Contributions can be made to: Kevin Olive Defense Fund, c/o Homewood Friends Meeting, 3107 N. Charles St., Baltimore, MD 21218.

Happy Anniversary !

Three years ago there was a great hue and cry for defense of the sanctity of marriage. From what did it need defending? Apparently...me.

Three years ago today, I stood in line at the town hall to apply for a marriage license. After a three day waiting period Mike and I were married.

So tell me -- Please, PLEASE tell me . . . in the three years that I have been living in blissful (but unrecognized) domesticity - almost paying bills, filing taxes, cleaning up cat vomit and dog poo, doing laundry, killing plants and making our house a home (just like you), PLEASE tell me -- how has the sanctity of your marriages been compromised by our marriage?

And what the hell IS the 'sanctity' of marriage ANYWAY?

I'll tell you what it is. 'Defending the sanctity of marriage' is a turn of phrase that strikes an automatic emotional chord. So, without thinking, your brain clicks:

"Sanctity" is a good word, yes, yes, yes. Clear, pure, gooooood.
"Marriage" is a good word, yes, yes, yes. Love, commitment, gooooood.
"Defend" is a good word, yes, yes, yes. Keep safe, goooooood.
....must...defend...sanctity...of...marriage...

But how many stop to think about it?

What is threatening the sanctity of marriage?
Obviously, it's the gays! (Confident exasperation)
But, wait, how are they a threat?
Because they want to get married! (Rolled eyes)
Again that's a threat, how?
Uh . . . well, my religion says . . .(Self righteously)
Wait. Your religion is not a basis for laws.
Well, then. Marriage is for procreation. (Smug smile)
Explain how my NOT procreating is a threat to YOUR marriage - and then please explain the concept of unwed mothers and childless couples.
It's not natural! (Worried exasperation)
It appears in nature all the time, birds, antelope, bison, the list goes on - and it's still not a threat.
.... (Silence)

Right, now run along and ruin someone else's life.

Here's the point.

Because of the illogical, emotional response of (dare I say it?) idiots, I am denied over 1100 rights and benefits of marriage that protect loved ones and surviving spouses.

Can ANYONE explain why?

Good Mourning

Dead today at 73.

Let's look at some highlights of his career.

On The 700 Club, talking about the terrorist attacks on 9/11 Falwell said "I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'"

I will not mourn his passing.

Jerry Falwell's National Liberty Journal had published a "Parents Alert: Tinky Winky Comes Out of the Closet," alarming parents that the Teletubby, Tinky Winky was presented as a gay role model because:
-"He is purple -- the gay-pride color"
-"his antenna is shaped like a triangle -- the gay-pride symbol"
-Tinky Winky, who is played by a male with a male voice, carries a red bag described by Falwell as a "purse"

I will not mourn his passing.

Jerry Falwell supported Apartheid - a system of racial segregation in South Africa.

I will not mourn his passing.

He called Nobel Peace Prize winner and Anglican Archbishop Desmond Tutu a phony.

I will not mourn his passing.

He was the public face of the Moral Majority which sought to cram an extreme religious agenda down the throats of America.

I will not mourn his passing.

I Lived, Mrs. Burnside!

This past weekend, Mike started working on the last room that remained in the previous owner's eclectic sense of style -- the downstairs bathroom off of the kitchen.

So now, every room in the house is unfinished.
Many of the rooms have only a couple things left to be done.
For instance, the guest room needs crown molding and a different color trim paint.
The living room needs crown molding and paint.
The parlor needs touch up paint and work on the door frame.
The kitchen needs a few more coats of paint, the counters finished and the cabinets either stained or painted.
Just some trim work in the bathroom, sand the plaster and paint.
Crown molding in the hallway - and better curtains.
And the exterior needs the fourth side painted, then a bunch of trim work.

This partial list of very little things, add up to an overwhelming 'honeydew' list.

Why, oh why, don't we just DO them? We do, actually, just not as intensely as some. (Perhaps because there're no harpies in our household to nag, prod and whine.) Because after a bit, the same old job seems tedious and it's always fun to start something new. (Our household is made up of two Geminis.) AND - we have other stuff that's far more distracting to do on the weekends.

Just last weekend I was tie dying with some friends. Made a couple t-shirts, curtains for the kitchen and a tarot cloth. Look at the pictures!


Besides, life is far too full of things we DON'T want to do. In the immortal words of Auntie Mame "You've got to LIVE, Agnes!" So, damn it, I'm going to more than live, I'm going to THRIVE. Too many people go through their days simply existing and surviving from moment to moment. You'e got to fill up those moments with fun stuff!

For example:
Repugnant Raiment with Riparian Entertainment : That was the weekend that a group of us tried to locate THE ugliest dress ever and wear them water skiing. (Still wondering what to do with that bridesmaid dress?)

Pah and Punch Weekend : That was the weekend where every dish was pie and punch. Shepherds Pie, Pot Pies, Pumpkin Pies, Mimosa, Bloody Mary, and a truly awful concoction we called Hair Pie (yes, it involved tuna). For dinner Saturday night, guests were to dress in their interpretation of the theme. One came as a pie bird - which took me forever to fully comprehend.

Cards with friends: All the time. We actually have to retire some cards from overuse. (I've never done that before.) We attended a birthday party recently where the theme was "Play-Cards-Until-Someone-Beats-Chuck-So-Badly-He-Cries." (Which of course, didn't happen.) Here's me dipping my cookies in T's tears.

Crap (Craft) Festivals are marvelous events at which anyone can feel superior. We impose a $2 spending limit and send you off in search of the crappiest piece of crap. All items are judged Best to Worst (by someone who doesn't know the objective) and the Worst winner gets to take home all of the crap.

So in spurts, I work, I knit, I paint, I create, I plant, I play guitar and cards, I love, I live, I thrive. And after a week of WORK and housecleaning and TV - I'm going to do it all again THIS weekend. (Four friends staying over Friday, two on Saturday.)

AND - I have THE most amazing friends with whom to do all these things (I only have quality friends). I refuse to simply exist. I want to LIVE, Mrs. Burnside!

"You've got to learn to make your own music.
You've got to hear the orchestra inside your head." -David Friedman

What are YOU going to do this weekend?

Strip Club Epiphanies III - Final Chapter

The stage is set, the announcement has been made . . ."Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome to Legs, . . . . Little Sisters !"

[I know, the place is called 'Legs.' How ironic is that?]

Cue music ". . . He met Marmalade down in old New Orleans . . ."

And onto the stage they strutted. Wow.

Pristine white mini Las Vegas showgirl outfits. It took only an instant for our eyes to travel the whole yard (I may be exagerating) from the tips of their feathered headdresses all the past the g-strings and down to the tiny spike heels, but there's no way you can take it all in.

The crowd around the stage cheered and watch and stared and gave their "O" faces.

Little did most of them know, that "Today individuals with short stature generally prefer to be described as 'Dwarfs' or 'Little People.' However, it is more important to respect the human choice, and ask them their preference, or better yet, just use their name. The term midget is very offensive and no longer used."

So, if you would like more information about this topic visit Little People Online.

Many will ask, so I'll try to relate, there are two categories of Dwarfism: Proportionate and Disproportionate. These women were mostly proportionate but had some difficulty with graceful movement. And though they didn't walk fluidly, boy could they crawl and strut and vibrate around the stage.

Each took a position at opposite ends of the oval stage and worked their respective crowds. One of them (the woman nearest me) would approach those sitting by the stage and indicate you should put your bill in your mouth, then she would push her, um, Little Debbie's together with her hands to take the dollar bill from your face. She'd then move to another person, letting the dollar bill flutter to the stage floor - apparently forgotten.

I had to show my appreciation, so as soon as a chair by the stage opened up, I swooped in and sat down. So there I am watching, spellbound, these women who on a raised platform are only slightly taller than I am with my knees at stage level.

But still, I'm watching their faces and what they do. The little person at my end of the stage really did seem to be enjoying herself. She smiled and moved from person to person and lavished attention on everyone who came to the show and there appeared to be a light of mischief in her eyes.

I get the impression that she is a very nice person.

But of course who knows? When she turned away from the crowd, she could've gone to that mental grocery list place. Yes, she was THAT good. Either she was truly having a wonderful time, OR she was a fantastic actress. More so of an actress than the other woman who simply walked, crawled and jiggled around taking dollar bills.

But as much as I wanted to show my appreciation (and equally as much dreaded the "little debbie" trick), the Little Sister may have sensed that in this meat market, I was a vegetarian. So she never came close enough to take my bill. (Next time I'll wear a hillybilly rock t-shirt!)

But it didn't matter ! It was GAME TIME ! They put their g-strings back on (with only a little difficulty) and wedged a clear plastic Dixie cup down there between string and uhm . . . (how do I put this delicately?) . . . down between string and Brazilian wax and began to gyrate near center stage. Apparently, I was the only one new to this game. Immediately the other patrons began wadding up bills and tried to toss them into the constantly moving Dixie cups. If you got a bill in the cup, you won a picture of the two beauties. So here's my chance to show some appreciation.

Wad, toss then miss. "Okay, I'm done."
(Where for hetero's it's Toss Miss then wad, "Okay I'm done." But I digress.)

One of my friends did make the shot (no pun intended), and she shared her prize photo with the others on the train. They girls looked better in the photo, but unless it's a driver's license, photos - especially promotional - always look better. I mean, heck, look at my Blog photo then look at my haircut photo. Bleh.

Okay, so I'm done. I climbed the mountain - so to speak - and had seen all that I came to see. So back to our table and one more beer.

My apologies for the late arrival of this final missive, but there really was a lot to share. And I do think that if you've never been to a gentleman's club, go. It really was a learning experience - and it gives me a great pool of knowledge from which to draw. It even helps me relate better to some of my commuter friends.

One my earlier epiphanies was that you, the client, mean NOTHING to the jiggling girls. I was talking about this to one of the guys on the train, and he said "Good!" And I'm like, oh. Oh yeah. You're right, it really shouldn't have any sort of emotional commitment or obligation. It's all strictly a mechanically physical thing--pretty much like a video game or pinball.

Insert money, press play = here's money, you jiggle.

ob•jec•ti•fy

Pronunciation: (ub-jek'tu-fī"), [key] —v.t., -fied, -fy•ing.
to present as an object, esp. of sight, touch, or other physical sense; make objective; externalize.

Huh. I guess it really does objectify women. Now, my question is, why do some complain that it's a bad thing? And do we ever here as much about men being objectified? (i.e., sexy firemen calendars, Chippendales, shirtless, chiseled underwear models, and ...wow, is it hot in here?)