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I happen to love Ellen DeGeneres and always have. I have loved her since her early stand-up days, through her own sitcom and even when she fell out of sight after coming out. I also knew she was gay long before she came out. Not because I knew her personally or anything, but because I could just tell. I think she is hilarious, sweet and a true gem. After her talk show skyrocketed her career I got to “know” her better and loved her even more.
So, now that California legalized gay marriage Ellen was able to wed her partner of 4 years, Portia. This is not news unless you have been living in some compound without electricity and newspaper delivery. There are probably millions of people completely horrified by this and will fight to the death to make sure states do not allow gay marriage. Well, I say, to each their own. I am just not one of those people and I am not about to jump on a soapbox and declare myself pro-gay rights or anything of the sort. I don’t need to. You can believe whatever you want.
I have had gay friends in my life (men) and have always enjoyed our friendships without judgment or tension. In the last couple of years I was graced with another friendship, a gay couple that moved into my friends old house just down the street from us. Just a stone’s throw away. We teased them when they first moved in and said since they were buying our friend’s house they were also buying their life and their friends. So, essentially I forced myself upon these sweet ladies and made them be my friend.
When I first met the girls one was pregnant with their first baby. I asked about the sex and when they said it was a boy I immediately ran home and packed up all the boy’s clothes that I had and dumped them onto the new neighbors. I was so excited for them and couldn’t wait to meet their son. Both of the girls gave off such an incredible vibe and were easy to talk to so I took to them fast, maybe much to their chagrin. But they have since gotten used to me, I think. I hope.
When they first moved in I was concerned for them. I knew how I felt but I wasn’t sure how my neighbors would feel. I was worried about them and often wondered if they were nervous about moving into a new neighborhood and would face ridicule or anything of the sort. I think, in looking back, I overcompensated for my neighbors by throwing my friendship at them because I wanted them to feel like they had a real home here, a friendly and wonderful place to raise their son.
My block happens to be a fabulous block of neighbors. We know almost every single person and they are wonderful neighbors to have. We all take care of each other. The only people we don’t know are the ones who live in the rentals at the end of the block. People seem to move in and out every 6 months to a year or so and never really bother to get to know us. If they did, maybe they would stay longer. Either way, we are very lucky and when the girls moved in last year, the block got even better. We were worried because our friends were moving a few blocks away and we weren’t sure who would end up buying their house… but we all got incredibly lucky.
My whole point is that I absolutely adore the girls and their amazing son. He is a gift and a treasure and is very lucky to have the moms that he has. I just don’t see how someone could resent something so beautiful and feel that they shouldn’t have the same rights as man/woman couples. The girls are also very lucky to have an incredibly supportive family and circle of friends. They are unapologetic about their life and don’t hide and I could not possibly have more respect for them than I already do.
I send all my love and best wishes to Ellen and Portia. I’m very happy for them and hope they are forever happy. Oh, and could Portia’s dress be any more gorgeous! They both looked stunning. Muwah girls!!
Boys, DO NOT RUN AWAY! Instead, sit your asses back down, remove your hand from the mouse clicker and pay attention. This discussion is mainly directed at you. Please, do not worry. You will not be tested on demi cups, the differences between A and AA cups or the various species of nursing bras.
Now, lets get down to business.
Yesterday I was at a local department store shopping for slippers for my boys. The toddler slipper department just happened to be over two departments, up the escalator and over one more department right next to the lingerie department. So, I had to check out the bras, since I was in need of some new ones.
One thing stood out right away. It was that precious red sign that said “SALE!” God love sales.
I begin picking out my bras and after about 30 minutes of deliberation and a few dozen “Mateo, get over here!” “Stop grabbing the bras!” “Don’t squeeze the boobies like that!” “Get the dang bra out of your mouth!” I had made my selections and went to find a register.
The first bra, which happens to be this fabulous strapless “tube-top” like bra with cups and totally soft spandex material, rang up at $1.99! Awesome. In the end, the total bill for one pair of way too big boys slippers and 5 bras was $47.00! The slippers were $10.00.
I GOT 5 BRAS FOR $37.00! Me and my tiny little boobies are very happy.
Boys, seriously, bear with me. This is not the point, well, not completely.
Moving on.
Last night, as usual, I share my good fortune with my hubby. I even proceed to lift up my shirt and show him my newest and most fabulously comfortable strapless band-bra that I’m wearing and then tell him it was on $1.99.
“Nice… I don’t need to see your undergarments dude.” He says.
Huh? I’m sorry, am I in the twilight zone? I just flashed my husband and he averts his eyes with disgust?
Ok, in all fairness, I’m not a size 4 anymore. But my boobs are bigger than they used to be and my tummy is relatively flat when I’m standing up. So, where did I go wrong here?
Aren’t men supposed to go goo-goo over boobies with drool and panting and tongues wagging? Aren’t boobs a woman’s secret weapon? I mean, that’s why God created boobs right; It’s cleavage leverage.
Here lies the question to all the men reading this. What gives? I realize women’s undergarments aren’t something ya’ll enjoy discussing or purchasing but isn’t what goes into those undergarments what you DO care about?
So, share with me. Talk to me. What would you have done in this exact situation? Would you have run for the hills screaming as did my hubby? Would you whistle and play boobie boxing for a minute? Would you smile, wink and wisk your woman off to the bedroom? Would you just smile and say, ‘nice tits babe’?
Go ahead… share.
First let me say that I don’t claim to be the queen of cool. I am the queen of drama, yes. The queen of dorkism, definitely. However, even I have standards.
I draw the line at plastic lawn ornaments.
There are exceptions to every rule though. In this case, seasonal or holiday decorations such as wooden snowmen, inflatable goblins and witches and even the occasional use of a plastic Easter bunny are acceptable.
Then there are the year round plastic lawn ornaments that adorn yards all across the country. Here in the Midwest we see plastic abominations in the shape of deer. Plastic lawn deer to the Midwest are what plastic pink flamingos are to Floridians.
Plastic. Lawn. Deer.
Now, maybe there is a purpose to these sad, rigid creatures. I suppose there is the possibility that they are the scarecrows of the suburbs; standing firm, ready to chase away any danger from a docile deer and protect its owner’s gardens.
I imagine that the wandering deer, who are looking for a good, ripe tomato might see one of these shiny plastic deer and say:
“Well, shit, that looks like Betsy. Guess she got here before us. You don’t want to come between her and her dinner, she’s a bit of a food whore. C’mon, lets go find another poor sucker’s garden.”
But, I happen to think that those deer actually say this:
“Hey! Jack! Yous gotta get ovah heyah! (cuz all deer talk in a New York accent you know) Look, the Schmuck’s got dose fake deer up! They tink dose are actually goin’ to keep us outta their peppahs and cucumbahs!”
“Yeah, and I have a son named Bambi runnin’ around, too!”
“HA HA! Ain’t that right, Jack! I bet these guys think that we can’t see them up in the trees with their rifles and and bright orange vests eithah!”
“Yeah, I love fuckin’ with those huntahs! I smell their Stetson cologne from 5 miles away!”
“C’mon, lets fuck with them and go hump one. I bet ya’s they bust out the video camera in 10 seconds.”
The point is, there is a slight possibility that plastic lawn deer serve a real purpose in the country when there are gardens and crops to protect from hungry deer. For those of you in that situation, I hope they do work.
Other than that, if you live in suburbia, in a neighborhood where every 4th house looks the same and you have a 3 car garage then what are the plastic lawn deer really for? A rustic touch? An obsession with Bambi? A pet without the vet bills?
Look, if any of you reading this are all like, “Hmph! That bitch! I have plastic lawn deer and I love them! They look so cute! I even named mine Fred and Ethel! What is the big deal?” then just calm down. I would never stop being your friend if you owned plastic lawn deer. But, I would laugh at you every time I drove by your house and probably ridicule the hell out of you whenever you invited me over for “chili night”. But, it would be because I care. I would, however, fully expect to be banned from “chili night” until I stopped chastising you about Fred and Ethel.
Plastic lawn deer are about as cool as acid-wash jeans rolled up at the cuffs and bleach blonde hair in a banana clip. Plastic pink flamingos follow the same rule. (Bill, if you have anything plastic and animal related in your yard, please, tell me. I could use more ammunition to make fun of you.)
I have an inclination to drive around looking for these plastic lawn deer and spray painting “SET ME FREE” on them. Or, I could just steal them and leave behind a ransom note that says, “If you ever want to see your plastic deer again then you must come up with 3 gift cards to Home Depot in the amount of $100.00 each, unmarked. Don’t try calling the police or your deer are going to be recycled into lawn chairs!”
Maybe I’ll start a foundation called “FFPLO” (Freedom For Plastic Lawn Ornaments). Our platform would be rescuing all of the plastic lawn animals and setting them free into the winter visitor trailer parks outside of Phoenix. Those people would LOVE plastic lawn animals and treat them impecibly well. Hell, they might even let them ride shotgun in the R.V!
But, I’m just sayin’.
Now, who would have ever thought I could write 763 words about plastic lawn deer.
