Girl Scouts Are Screwing With Our Cookies – Don’t Get Me Started!

Well I suppose that most would say that the state of the economy has hit all of us and that it should be no surprise that the Girl Scouts have announced the fact that their boxes of cookies this year will be a little lighter to assist them in shipping costs and to not raise the prices for us the consumers (if you’re like me, you’re a consumer of far too many Thin Mints). What this means is that we’ll be getting about three or four less cookies in our boxes this year. With the current economy and our waistlines (that seem to be the biggest in the world) I’m thinking it’s a good thing that there will be less cookies per box and yet I can’t help wanting everyone to know that the Girl Scouts are screwing with our cookies – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’ve admitted it before and I don’t mind admitting it again that I have more than a love of the Thin Mint cookie (read my blog on that topic here - http://hubpages.com/hub/Why-I-Shouldnt-Be-Left-Alone-With-A-Girl-ScoutBox-Of-Cookies-). Something inside my head just changes chemically when I begin to eat the Thin Mint cookies and I guess I suddenly understand how crack addicts feel. Not only can I not eat just one, a sleeve is a serving size to me.

The thing is that I wonder if taking that few away will really help (me of course)? You see, while I would never want to see Girl Scout Cookies 100 Calorie Packs (could they even do that without ruining the deliciousness we’ve all grown to know and love), I do wonder if they made their sleeves a little shorter, putting in say four sleeves in a box instead of two, if I would eat less and they wouldn’t make more money? After all, the additional packaging would take up room in the box and make for less cookies while at the same time how much could that extra plastic wrap weigh down the box to create additional shipping dollars?

Even as I’m writing this and using my brainiest ways to make some sense out of the current cookie condition, if I’m completely honest, I want those four other cookies. That’s right, I know they aren’t good for me, I know that they make me miserable in the long run yet I want those cookies, dammit! Why oh why did they even have to tell us about it? Would anyone have noticed? Wouldn’t we all have just maybe felt not so bad and a little lighter after eating a sleeve of the Thin Mints due to the less cookie thing? Did they have to be so damned honest those girls with the sashes and the greenie green uniforms? I hate them.

That’s right I now hate the Girl Scouts for telling me about the less cookies per box. In fact, I don’t know how I’ll buy some without making some remark like, “Geez, this box feels a little light, what’s going on here?” Or maybe I’ll accuse the girl selling them to me of duping me by only putting one sleeve in the box and then shaking it like you do a Christmas present to see if it has the appropriate rattle I know to be the proper amount of Thin Mints. I’ll make a scene at that lightweight card table in front of my grocery store. I’ll bring unsuspecting passerbys over and tell them about the less cookies per box situation until finally the store manager will have to come over and ask me to leave like they do the crazy people who preach on street corners. I’ll be taken away by the police and my life will essentially be over. While waiting for my trial to take place, I’ll post videos on YouTube of me eating the cookies one at a time and all the while counting them (sort of like The Count from Sesame Street) showing the public that there are less cookies in the box and finally I’ll represent myself at my trial and be locked away for a very long time where I’ll be sold to a large man named “Tiny” in cell block D for half a pack of Marlboros.

And so I ask you, how can the Girl Scouts not feel responsible for the tragedy that is sure to befall me very soon? Why did they tell us about the less cookies? And why isn’t there a “white lie” badge they can earn? You see, sometimes you have to tell a little white lie to be a nice person you Girl Scouts. And all the while, all I can think about is why I didn’t fill my entire freezer full of them last year and where I can get my hands on some Thin Mints right now. (If you have some…write in…I’ll pay the extra overnight shipping) Damn you Girl Scouts! The Girl Scouts are screwing with our cookies – Don’t Get Me Started!

Not The Samuel Adams That Was A Statesman, Not The Samuel Adams Who Makes Beer But The Sam Adams Who Is The Gay Mayor Of Portland – Don’t Get Me Started!

The statesman Samuel Adams was once quoted as saying, “Mankind are governed more by their feelings than by reason.” Perhaps that’s the reason that Mayor Sam Adams of Portland, Oregon had sex with an eighteen or seventeen year old that he was “mentoring” back in 2005, denied it for years (getting the kid to lie too and say nothing happened) and now only in 2009 is admitting to the affair. I don’t know exactly why he did it. I only know that after a huge high over the whole Obama presidency starting and feeling so hopeful I’m once again slumping in my seat a little due to a politician. (Or is that squirming at the uncomfortable feeling that another gay seems to have been caught not being able to keep his pecker in his pants?) Not the Samuel Adams that was a statesman, not the Samuel Adams who makes beer but the Sam Adams who is the gay mayor of Portland – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’ll let you in on a little secret, through years and years of being told how we aren’t normal or that we were abominations to society, we gays have always secretly held the thought that we knew something that our straight counterparts who were condemning us to hell didn’t, that we gays were smarter, more attractive and somehow just…well, okay I’m going to say it…better. Maybe some will call this a defense mechanism or a coping method and maybe it’s both but I gotta tell you, when someone is screaming, “FAG!” at you it helps to know in your heart of hearts that you’re better than them. And so although we gays are not immune to wrong doing (look how we took a rainbow and slapped it on everything from bumper stickers to those tacky “wind socks”) because the gay community is truly a community, it’s sad when there’s wrong-doing among us. We all feel it.

Many would say that Adams is a politician and because of him being a politician he’s bound to have more than a few skeletons in his closet and because he’s a gay man I’m surprised that there haven’t been more paraded about (with or without feather boas) but I don’t want to believe that all politicians are corrupt. Especially right now when all most of us can afford is hope in our political leaders. I want to believe again in our leaders with this Obama Bunch coming into power so I will try not to think about this whole Adams mess and keep my optimism as high as the bow on Aretha Franklin’s hat on inauguration day!

What I will say is that if you’re a forty-five year old man and you want to have sex with an eighteen year old, seek therapy first. I get it, we’re all attracted to certain types or maybe it’s the pheromones that they always tell us about and try to stick in colognes for $49.95 on the Internet (that incidentally seem as though they would work as well as those X-Ray glasses we used to order out of the back of comic books when we were kids). But as that gay icon Peggy Lee used to sing, “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?” Gay, Straight, French Canadian, no one should go into a relationship as a “mentor” and come out a lover. (Are you listening Rene Angelil, Celine Dion’s husband?) No one can convince me that this is healthy for anyone involved.

I hope that Beau Breedlove (Can you even believe that this is the name of the at-the-time eighteen or seventeen year old that Adams was having sex with? He wouldn’t have to change his name to go into gay porn, that’s for sure) I hope Beau is not damaged because of the relationship. I hope he doesn’t think that all gay elders would use their position as a mentor to get sex. I hope he isn’t jaded beyond his years (something, incidentally an ex of mine called me when I was a mere twenty-one) but more than anything I hope that neither he nor Adams get a book or movie deal out of this whole thing! (Well, at least not until I get one!) Not the Samuel Adams that was a statesman, not the Samuel Adams who makes beer but the Sam Adams who is the gay mayor of Portland – Don’t Get Me Started!

What’s With All The Spitting? – Don’t Get Me Started!

So I was driving to work and I go by a bus stop for high school kids and as I stopped at the stop sign there was this kid leaning with his back against the sign post and spitting. I don’t know what he was spitting but if you’re not a llama I just have to wonder what’s with all the spitting? – Don’t Get Me Started!

When I was going to high school (in the early eighties in Arizona) there was a cowboy clique. You know there was the druggie clique, the jock clique, the theatre clique (guess which one I was in) and so on. Well, the “cowboys” were actually guys who rode horses and chewed tobacco so they would walk around the campus with their jaws extended from chew (almost as much as their Wrangler jean fronts from the tightness of them). So it was not uncommon to see them spitting. Now most of these guys used cups which most of the time were the size of Big Gulps. I don’t know exactly which is grosser, the spitting or saving all the spit in a plastic cup all day long. You decide. But the thing was that even though I have never had tobacco chew in my mouth I can only assume that I would want to spit (and a lot) to try and get the taste out of my mouth (shut up, we’ve all been there – having something in our mouth that we wanted to spit out due to the taste…draw your own obscene conclusions).

But this kid at the bus stop did not seem to be chewing tobacco, I think he was just spitting for spit sake. And I’ve seen grown people spitting too. Lest you think it’s only men, it is not. I’m here to tell you that I have seen women spit as well. (True, they were white trash but they had vaginas so that makes them a woman, kids) The thing is that I just don’t get it. Does anyone think it’s an appropriate thing to do? (Obviously some do or they wouldn’t be spitting all over God’s creation marking their territory I suppose like an unneutered cat). But can we agree that somewhere in this world we should have some sort of a “manners code” to live by that includes not spitting?

I remember one time I was going into a grocery store and the person entering right in front of me was this huge guy and right before entering I heard that familiar “wind up” and then the pitch – you know the sound, “Chuuuushhhpooo!” So how could I not look down? There it was…something so green and disgusting that it looked like an Oompah Loompah wig that had come off its owner’s head after he had been dancing at a club for hours. A gelatinous globby slug-like creature that seemed to be crawling across the sidewalk all on its own having gained birth from the mucous hitting the oxygen or something. (So much for the lime Jell-O that had been on my list)

Those of us who don’t have children can’t help ourselves in thinking that we know what parents should and shouldn’t be teaching their children but this is one thing that I’m going to strongly suggest to parents. Please teach your children that it’s bad manners to spit in public, on the public at large or even the sidewalk. There’s something called a tissue and if they keep one in their pocket (I know, they’ll never remember to remove it and you’ll end up picking little pieces of tissue off of everything that it went into the washer with that load of laundry but these sacrifices must be made as parents) the tissue should be used to spit into (if absolutely necessary) and then the tissue should be put into a garbage can once it has served its purpose (if only you could dispose of certain people in your life that way, right?).

Look, I don’t expect everyone to know which fork to use but come on people can’t we all agree that the spitting thing is best left for baseball players (who chew tobacco) while making millions of dollars (and should also know better) and not us civilized folk? Or for those sixteen real cowboys who are left in the world who also chew tobacco, spitting the juices out on “the range” so who really cares anyway? Other than those two categories I can’t think of anyone who should be allowed to spit so what’s with all the spitting? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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With The Church Paying Gays To Keep Quiet (Pastor Ted Haggard) It Doesn’t Pay To Be A Jew! – Don’t Get Me Started!

As if ex-pastor Ted Haggard didn’t have enough to talk over with his own personal Jesus, now it turns out that not only was he paying a male prostitute/masseur to have sex and do drugs with him, now a second man has come forward. That’s right, on the eve of an HBO documentary on Haggard (where he is supposedly painted quite the victim) a twenty-something gay who had a “relationship” with Haggard has decided he wants his story told too. I’m sure there are many a pastor who strays into the pasture and ends up getting it on with guys but my real frustration is that with the church paying gays to keep quiet (Pastor Haggard) it doesn’t pay to be a Jew! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Make no mistake about it as much as the New Life “Megachurch” wants to make one of their own (Haggard) a sacrificial gay (even though after the scandal they still gave him a year’s six digit salary and just made him move away and get counseling), all of the New Life church leaders’ hands (and most likely their knees) are dirty. That’s right, you see a senior pastor went public with the fact that they paid off this kid to not talk about his relationship with Haggard. Of course when the kid saw HBO (and no doubt misguidedly hoped to play himself in any Haggard movie they might produce – not unlike the poor misguided Fantasia Barrino who played herself in that awful movie, lesson learned kids) the church decided to go public with the dirty little payoff. Of course the quote from the senior pastor about the payoff is priceless, “This was compassionate assistance. It was to help him move forward, not a settlement to keep him quiet” said Rev. Brady Boyd referring to the settlement. Does anyone (including Rev. Boyd) actually believe this? As someone asked me when I told them this story, “How do they continue to get away with this?” The answer my friends is not blowing in the wind it’s psychological warfare plain and simple. These people in power and with authority seek out those who can be influenced, manipulated and silenced easily. (Trust me, no one ever tried this shit with me and you could set tea on my ass even at forty-four!)

And what you’ll find is that it doesn’t matter if it’s an eight year old boy or a twenty year old, damaged people are always going to fall prey to predators unless they get some serious help and learn to stop the cycle. And where exactly do these abused children come from, straight parents who either don’t see the signs or don’t want to see the signs. Trust me I think you’d be hard pressed to find a gay couple with children who not only teach their children to respect others but more importantly to respect themselves enough to tell someone if anything ever happens. The religious right like to say that we gays are gay because we didn’t have good father figures or because we were coddled by our mothers. They’re wrong, I have a great relationship with my parents and I always knew I was gay. No one made me gay and no one can make me believe that I wasn’t born this way. But I have to ask, just how many damaged people have the religious right made with their pious attitudes all the while pinning Jimmy on his back in the rectory? (If you know what I mean and I know that you do)

Where is the outrage? Where are the laws that will no longer allow the huge organized religions to hide behind their tax free lifestyles of arrogance, using their money to get politicians as well as their congregations to believe more in doing what they want done than any deity? And where pray tell is the ad campaign that someone should have against this? (Asked a wise man (not me) – a dear straight friend of mine asked me this previous question) After all, there are campaigns against alcohol aimed at teens “Above The Influence” (http://www.abovetheinfluence.com/), there are campaigns about the “truth” about tobacco (http://www.thetruth.com/) so where my friends, is the ad campaign against organized religion which has also been determined to give you a high but can also be very hazardous to your health? And most importantly, with the church paying gays to keep quiet (Pastor Haggard) it doesn’t pay to be a Jew! – Don’t Get Me Started! (Please worship responsibly.)

What’s With The Whole “Normal” Argument When It Comes To Gays Anyway? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I recently posted a video blog asking how much of a big deal we gays should be making over the gays who are being included in the inauguration and new President’s cabinet, etc. (http://hubpages.com/hub/Episode-49--President-Obama--Dont-Ask-Dont-Tell-And-How-Big-A-Deal-Should-We-Gays-Make) My point was that I was thinking that it would be nice if at some point soon we got to the point where we gays didn’t need to bang our drum every time a gay got included in something. I know that we’re not there yet but isn’t it something we would should be looking for in the near future? Well a gentleman posted a comment on that blog that stated “nothing about homosexuality is normal” and it got me to thinking, what’s with the whole “normal” argument when it comes to gays anyway? – Don’t Get Me Started!

It’s easy to pity people like this man at his narrow view of life but what strikes me more and more as I live my life as an openly gay man with a partner of over twenty years is that “normal” doesn’t exist for anyone. What exactly is normal? Oh I know that some are going to say whatever is in the bible is normal but let’s not lose sight of the fact that they had some burning bushes and a host of other things that seem anything but normal. I guess it’s suddenly normal if Jesus did it? Is that the rule? So water into wine is okay if it’s Jesus?

Let’s face it, even the most seemingly normal of people have proven themselves to be anything but normal time and time again. It’s not just when they’re mired in scandal and it’s not always negative. (Even though that’s what we tend to focus on the most.) And I think that’s where the problem comes in (maybe) people feel comforted in some way by seeing people who look like themselves, sound like themselves and can reason in their head that they actually are the same and “normal” because there are enough people who look and think like them. Let’s face it, that’s why we arrogant Americans can go to other countries and get all kinds of pissed off that no one speaks English, even though we’re in France where English isn’t the language, right?

Truth be told, when someone tells me that I’m not normal it doesn’t really bother me that much. It’s when they use their definition of “normal” to cut me out of my rights as an American or human being that it makes me absolutely crazy. And the whole “normal” argument just simply doesn’t hold up, anyway. There is no such thing as normal really but if some straight people make the argument that only heterosexuality is normal then I’m afraid they’ll have to take their straightness genital warts, teenage pregnancy and all. And just why is the heterosexual definition of normal more normal than a homosexual’s definition of normal?  

Ever since I was a small child I knew I was gay, it felt completely normal to me. I grew up with the same neurosis as any other kid and thanks to Facebook, I have now had my feelings of inadequacy and desperately trying to be liked actually confirmed by many more whom I went to high school with in the 1980’s. That’s right, my teenage angst actually was quite normal in comparison to both my straight and gay counterparts from what I’m finding out years later. So okay, if I was “normal” as a kid and “normal” as a teenager, when did the “un-normal” begin? Quite simply it didn’t.

What I’ve discovered is that I reject the “normal” label as much as the people who don’t want me to have it feel I don’t deserve to have it. Do you know why? Because I’m anything but normal, I’m extraordinary. That’s right. I don’t want to be normal, I want to be the same loving, caring individual my straight parents raised me to be all the while loving the same man I’ve been with for the past twenty years and always allowing myself to be open to people and cultures different than my own. To not judge those different from me lest they judge me (ouch, is that bible talk out of the non-normal gay)? So go ahead and wear that “normal” label like a Boy Scout badge (that won’t let the gays in) but what those of you who fail and are afraid to understand is that like the Boy Scouts (who still have plenty of gays in their ranks – I mean come on, look at any of the Eagle Scout notices in the paper and as I’ve said before you can play, “Nerd, Nerd, Gay” just like you would “Duck, Duck, Goose”) it’s like my grandmother said, “The gays, they’re everywhere.” And indeed we are everywhere and thanks to legislation (in some cases) the more we gain our rights the more normal we’re going to become but make no mistake about it someday soon we’re going to talk about this all in the past and ask what’s with the whole “normal” argument when it came to gays anyway? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Pumps And Circumstance, A Gay Looks Forward To The Obama Inauguration – Don’t Get Me Started!

Well kids, it’s almost here (or if you’re reading this after the fact it’s all ready happened) but how can all of us Americans (and the world) not be simply busting at the seams at the fact that after many a year of being the picture of an apathetic society at its best, we finally have a reason to be excited (in a good way) again? The importance and historic relevance of what is about to happen has not been lost on me. Yet even as we stand on the eve of this historic event, I can’t help but think of the pumps and circumstance, a gay looks forward to the Obama inauguration – Don’t Get Me Started!

It could be because I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life with a black man at my side that I feel the importance of having a black first family (though I don’t profess to truly understand what it must mean for my partner and all of the African Americans) but more than the fact that he’s a black man, for me it’s about having someone so eloquent (and without a southern accent) in the White House who when he speaks makes me believe. Makes me believe that we finally have someone in the White House who not only is so incredibly intelligent but that we have a statesman who will bring the world back into thinking that us Americans sure are something.

However I wouldn’t be a gay if I didn’t say I was worried at the same time. Worried that Mrs. Obama will make another fashion blunder as she did on the night of the acceptance – who will ever forget that black widow spider inspired dress? Okay, I get the whole black and red thing with her and the “first girls” but Michelle we gays are worried about you and your designer choices.

But how can I be so insipid as to be worried about such trivial things as fashion when each day I get something else in my email letting me know that we as human beings, as gay human beings, as American gay human beings are finally getting someone in the most powerful position in the world who doesn’t hate us and more to the point, believes in us too? I know, he hasn’t repealed Don’t Ask Don’t Tell yet and he hasn’t shown support for gay marriage but with every move he makes the more us gays see more than hope but the possibility that we’re finally getting a place at the table (and not just as a cater waiter at the event).

I saw the film, Milk the other night. As a gay man of a certain age there were no real revelations there as Harvey Milk lived quite the public life but when you think of how hard he fought to gain the acceptance for so many you can’t help but wonder what would happen if he had lived to see this day? Or what Martin Luther King, Jr. might think or a million other trailblazers and leaders who fought for the rights of all Americans might think of this inauguration?

So you see, while many may might think that us gays are going to worry about Michelle Obama’s fashion or the flowers at the affair, I’m one gay who is just going to sit back proud that I’m alive to see this day and all the days that will come forward. Because while our economy and many other systems in this country are clearly broken, the one thing that hasn’t been broken is my spirit or my belief in the man who will be facing all of these challenges with intelligence and surrounding himself with the best people possible be they gay, straight or any of the million other labels we tend to like to put on one another. Who knows, maybe this will stop all those closeted politicians from being so closeted? Or not. But isn’t this an exciting and remarkable time to live? I invite everyone to sit back and watch the pumps and circumstance, a gay looks forward to the Obama inauguration – Don’t Get Me Started!

Four Simple Texting Etiquette Rules For Those Who Don’t Know Any Better – Don’t Get Me Started!

I admit, I text on a daily basis. It’s great for when someone is in a meeting in my office and I don’t want to disturb the meeting but need to get a message to them. I also use it just to shout out a “Howdy” to pals. It’s an easy way to send a few words to someone to let them know that you’re thinking about them and you hope that they’re having a great day. You can also text someone a phone number they need, an address, etc. but more and more I find that some of my pals want to have entire conversations via texting and that gets on my nerves like there’s no tomorrow. Thus I find it more than necessary to provide the world with four simple texting etiquette rules for those who don’t know any better – Don’t Get Me Started!

Before you even begin to pick up your thumbs to hit your cell phone’s keyboard I want you to stop and think for a moment. Ask yourself the following question – Is this too involved for a text message? If you’re texting someone to find out where they are in the mall or what time dinner is tonight, then it’s NOT too involved. If on the other hand you’re texting to find out what so and so said about this or that and what they thought about the world and its current economic situation, it’s too involved for a text message. Either write an email or here’s a novel idea, actually pick up that same phone that you were going to text with and dial the damn thing so that you can have an actual conversation with a person.

I also think there should be a limit on the back and forth of texting. That’s right, any more than four exchanges per person on a texting string is too much. So to all my pals out there, if you go over this limit don’t be surprised if you don’t get a response even if it your fifth text is, “And how do you clear someone’s air passage to do CPR?”

Texting while having a conversation with someone in person is also just damn rude. I can’t believe that people think that this is acceptable. They’re talking with you and suddenly you both hear that familiar sound that indicates that they’ve received a text message and before you know it, they’ve pulled out their phone and are texting all the while you’re trying to give them the details on something intimate that happened in your life. If you stop talking they tend to get offended and say something like, “What? It’s just that Ashley needed to know what Brad said today. Keep talking, I can listen and text at the same time.” No, you can’t. First of all, most people have the multi-tasking skills of an insect that only knows it needs to eat and die. No matter how much you think you can talk on your cell and drive without one or the other suffering or texting and talking to someone at the same time and the same, I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong.

Finally, stick to the abbreviations I can understand. I’ve oft written about my mother who thought that LOL meant, “Lots of Luck” in a sarcastic tone. She had no idea it meant, “Laughing Out Loud” and so her “LOL” would appear in the oddest places of emails and then texting. The abbreviations I understand are LOL and WTF? Other than that you’re going to have to take the time to actually text the full word please. You see, not all of us live every minute of every day on our phones texting or finding out what the latest phrase is so please don’t be surprised if your “NUD” reads to me as “Nude Uterus Deal” instead of “No You Didn’t” (which I only recently learned). True, the first one makes no sense but that’s exactly what some of your abbreviations mean to me…nothing, nonsense. It’s like reading the “clever” abbreviation someone put on their license plate – GR8FUL – Yeah, I’d be grateful if you all stopped trying to be so clever because in most cases, you’re anything but clever.

So let’s review, shall we?

1.       Is what you’re texting too involved for text messaging? If so, call the person instead

2.       No more than four exchanges on a text string of messages

3.       Don’t text while you’re having a face to face conversation with someone else

4.       Keep the abbreviations to a minimum

Warning: Your Ass Just Called Me And Told Me What You Really Think Of Me – Don’t Get Me Started!

It wasn’t that awful (what was said I mean) but I know the person would be horrified if they knew. You see sometimes when you think you haven’t dialed yet or you’ve finished a call and put the phone in your back pocket or purse something happens, it either hasn’t hung up or it calls the person back. And so it was one of these circumstances that had me thinking that it would make a good topic for a blog. Warning: your ass just called me and told me what you really think of me – Don’t Get Me Started!

In my case it was a co-worker. They were with a group of fellow co-workers and called me to ask a question but I guess they didn’t know that they had called me yet because as I was listening to them talk about me, another call came through from the same person and when I answered the second call from her she said, “Oh sorry, I must have hung up by mistake the first time I called.” Well, she couldn’t have been more wrong and although every fiber of my being wanted to say, “No, you called and I heard everything you said about me, bitch.” I instead gave a cheery greeting and asked what I could do for them. I don’t know that I won’t regret that one the rest of my life but like most things you regret, they only take up space in your mind and heart and don’t really give you anything to show for it so I will choose to not regret or even think about this one again.

They were all laughing on the other end of the phone and were not really saying anything horribly negative just something about “not being on his list.” As they were supposed to have something turned into me by a certain day and this was the call to say that hers would be in tomorrow, not today, the day it was due. But I thought of all the times that this has happened and I think I have it down to a science and some sound advice to give us cell phoners.

Be wary of calling someone when you’re all ready talking about them with the group of people that you are with – as in the case above, she set herself up because one small slip and you’ve pushed the “call” button and with the quality of cell phones these days the person on the other end will hear everything…absolutely everything you’re saying as well as everyone in the group (it’s not difficult to distinguish voices).

Don’t talk about someone after you’ve hung up with them. There are times when you haven’t pushed the “end call” button or you have and the phone has decided to not accept your push so you’re still connected. An example of this would be after an exasperating call from someone saying either to yourself or the person you’re with, “Jesus what a pain in the ass.” While we can all be a pain in the ass at times we don’t like hearing that other people know exactly when those times are happening.

Like most technology, cell phones are both a blessing and a curse. They give us immediate gratification talking to someone and yet at the same time cell phones can giveth communication and taketh away a friendship if you’re not careful. So do yourself and your family and friends a favor and dial responsibly because the one time you’re not careful is the time that it will happen and it will make you absolutely miserable. Warning: your ass just called me and told me what you really think of me – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Bernie Has Madoff Like A Bandit Again – Don’t Get Me Started!

Try as I might to stay out of this fracas, I find that I can no longer sit in silence. (Or as my grandmother used to say, “Suffer in silence.” – remember, we’re Jews)This whole thing with Bernie Madoff and him still sitting in his swanky penthouse while he should be in a cell for the rest of his life (starting weeks ago) just pisses me off to no end. Bernie has “madoff” like a bandit again – Don’t Get Me Started!

A very vocal business associate of mine was talking about the Bernie Madoff situation last week. He is not Jewish but his partner in business is (I always feel the need to qualify that; as it’s his partner that he does business with and not his partner that he “wink, wink” gets busy with – we gays need a new word for the whole partner thing) anyway, we began talking about the Madoff situation and I could see him seething until finally we had reached the moment where the gloves were definitely coming off. He spewed at me that the people who got ripped off semi-deserved what they got because as he put it, “Jews always want to do business with other Jews because they think they won’t get screwed by a fellow Jew. Same thing with the Mormons but I know plenty of crooked Mormons who are ripping one another off left and right and the same can be said of the Jews.” And although I’m sure many would be offended by these comments and consider them almost anti-Semitic, I have to say that you know what? He’s probably right. I would probably be more likely to do business with a Jew or a gay thinking that they wouldn’t rip me off because we belong to the same club (of sorts). Lesson learned…again.

I remember when I first moved to Vegas and insisted on getting a gay doctor. I just thought if something gay-related and personal came up in the doctor’s office, I wanted to be comfortable discussing it with a doctor who would understand. Turns out he was a lousy doctor and had no sense of humor. When he told me that his boyfriend was a lawyer and I said, “Wow, you two are a Jewish mother’s wet dream!” He just stared at me with a dazed expression. My guy kept telling me to get a good doctor not just a gay one. I’m sure there are some doctors out there that are both but I haven’t found one yet and in time I learned my lesson and found a good doctor and didn’t worry about him being gay. Same thing applies here, just because someone is gay doesn’t mean that they aren’t going to rip off another gay. I mean all you have to do is look at all that rainbow crap. I don’t know who decided that was a good idea but the ones who are making a fortune off of the rainbow wind sock, believe me aren’t just doing it for pride they’re doing it to fill their pockets.

But why oh why is Bernie Madoff still sitting in luxury? Does anyone have any thoughts that he isn’t guilty? I mean, didn’t he admit it? And what about how quick they were to throw Martha in jail to make an example of her and all she did was lie a little, she didn’t steal billions from people. This crook needs to go to jail and he needs to go now. If it was someone without his money, believe me he’d be sitting in jail for stealing a pack of Double Mint gum in thirty seconds. This whole double standard when it comes to the law is sickening.

My mother sent me an article today online that had an interviewer interviewing a fellow reporter in front of the Madoff Mansion For Mugs Who Steal Millions, the reporter said that his magazine editor was insistent that he stay outside of the building in case anything happened. It was not lost on the reported that while he was getting sick from standing in the cold for hours on end, Mr. Madoff (the criminal) was sitting comfy cozy upstairs no doubt trying to see if he could get the maid to mail a Rolex for him to his cousin in Jersey City. (And what about him trying to send checks and jewelry to his relatives to try and hide away his ill gotten gains for safe keeping? If you don’t know, that’s what the police found when they first went through his place. What is this guy? Stupid and The Penguin from Batman?)

It just seems to me that there are plenty of differences between the “haves” and the “have nots” in our country and it sure would be nice if when it came to the law, justice was truly blind. Shame on the judge who let him stay out and just in case you’re thinking that the judge was doing this to save tax payers’ money by not having to “put up” Madoff, guess what? The judge has ordered a security company be hired to search all his mail and see that the bulk of what’s in the penthouse stays in the penthouse so that it can be sold to pay back investors that were scammed. I’m sure that’s costing the good citizens of New York plenty! I say search the pockets of the maids and butlers…I don’t think they’ll be stealing for themselves but they’ll probably help the crook hide enough so that he has enough money to buy Marlboros and “bitches” in prison. We try to teach children right from wrong but when there’s a case like this it make me revert to a childhood song, “Take the key and lock him up, lock him up, lock him up!” Bernie has “madoff” like a bandit again – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Mr. Obama, What Stimulus Will Us “Single” Gays Be Afforded? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I voted for Mr. Barack Obama and more than anything I believe the man has been bequeathed one of the hardest jobs in the history of Presidents with the current world situation and the clean up he’s going to have to do. I also have the “HOPE” (that was his slogan) that he and the people that he surrounds himself with will bring about a better world (yes, I said it, I believe that much that this man is going to lead us into a better future the world over) but as I face my own personal economic demons I have to wonder, Mr. Obama, what stimulus will us “single” gays be afforded? – Don’t Get Me Started!

In the land of the free and the home of the brave where our Constitution tells us that “all men are created equal” in the eyes of the law, we gays continually find ourselves anything but equal. I’m not going to go into the whole marriage thing because I believe like many a gay and straightee do that marriage in of itself is a religious thing but what we gays really want are all of the rights afforded straightees in the eyes of the law who are “married” that are we should be afforded if there really was a separation of church and state. Some of us don’t long for the shoes and rice but do want the tax break. So those of you who find the fact that I have sex with the same sex  so revolting that you unintelligently compare it to bestiality or pedophiles, just stop right there. The laws on the books on sodomy have been abolished in I believe every state at this point. (And as we know, sodomy isn’t just for the gays kids!) I’m still a man who should be created equal in the eyes of the law. And as if having to pay more taxes because I’m single isn’t enough I’m also penalized because I don’t have children, this makes me crazy.

You see if you’re a single person without children you are screwed when it comes to taxes. That’s right, we have to pay so much more that it would seem as though the laws really want you to pop out as many kids as possible (maybe that’s why Maury’s show is so filled with baby’s daddies and the women who are 1000% sure that Dquan fathered her baby yet when the results are read that, “You are NOT the father” she can finally admit that she was having sex with seven hundred other men at that point too. Sorry Dquan!) If you choose to procreate, then you have made a choice to have both the joy and the burden of taking care of that child. Why should you get some sort of break to continue to over populate the world? For those who blame us gays as the end of civilization for not procreating, first of all you’re living under a rock because some of us do procreate and some of us even clean up after your straightee messes by adopting your children that you had but don’t want (sometimes getting the worst of the bunch because in some places gays are only given the children with serious health issues that no one else will adopt). I don’t want people to stop having children, I just don’t think the rest of us should have to pay for your children or pay double simply because we don’t have children. I want my taxes going to schooling because after all, one of this country’s most broken systems is our educational systems but I don’t want my money going to those women who can’t close their legs or men who refuse to put on a condom just because they’re irresponsible and it resulted in a child. They get screwed, make a baby and then us single people get screwed paying for both the child and the parents.

Which brings me to the stimulus checks that we received this past year. I don’t know what you received but I received a check somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty dollars. That’s right. Woo, where will I spend all that money to help myself and the economy? So as the new President takes office and begins to talk of a stimulus program, I can only hope that this time we gays (who have to remain “single” under the law – even though in my case I’ve been with the same man for over twenty years) and single people are finally treated “equal” as the Constitution promises us. At the very least we need to begin to ask the question, Mr. Obama, what stimulus will us “single” gays be afforded? – Don’t Get Me Started!

The Biggest Loser Has Officially Lost Me – Don’t Get Me Started!

For however many seasons this show has been on the air I have been watching it. I can’t even remember half of the contestants who have been on the show as it seems as though there have been so many seasons of the show that they all sort of mix together in my mind. While I faithfully watched every week I guess I was only watching with one eye because honestly, I don’t remember any of them. Sort of remember the guy who won with the pig nose, was a wrestler in high school and married the blond girl from the show with the annoying voice and I remember the woman who won last season but other than that, I got nothing. Now correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t this show just end a season? I thought it did but when my Tivo started clicking away on Tuesday night last and I saw what it was recording I decided I’d had enough. The Biggest Loser has officially lost me – Don’t Get Me Started!

The worst thing about the show has to be that they expect you to watch it for two hours each week. If I didn’t have a Tivo to get through the commercials and some of the dumber moments, I wouldn’t have lasted this long watching this damn show. Plus, I don’t know what sort of strange voyeuristic charge we all get out of watching the fatties cry on a treadmill when if I’d get off my own ass and get on a treadmill in front of a mirror I could see the same thing (and I’m pretty when I cry). And please don’t tell me that we’re supposedly learning from the show because the workouts are never really shown as teaching sessions and the cooking sessions are just downright silly with the trainers more concerned about saying the name of the sponsoring manufacturer of the Ziploc bag that the veggies and salmon go in than what is supposed to go in the damn bag! Oh, I did learn that we’re supposed to chew sugar-free gum. That’s right, out of seven hundred seasons, that’s about all that I got. Extra, isn’t that the gum? Boy those millions that Extra gum paid for product placement sure paid off, huh?

In the beginning I liked the whole military-esque Jillian vs. Bob the sensitive gay trainer but at this point they’re basically interchangeable. Jillian has become more caring/sensitive and Bob screams every once in awhile (while desperately trying to make sure he sounds like a guy screaming and not a screaming queen).

I am enraged that these fatties (and I say that with the greatest of love) can lose twenty pounds in one week in their Habitrail that is some big estate with cameras while I can’t lose two pounds in two weeks even if I cut off a limb! And the worst thing is that I watched and watched and watched…but no more.

You see, the previous seasons’ fatties fall into two categories – they have either maintained their weight, being paid for lecturing tours (though I’d never attend because honestly, what could they possibly have to say, other than regurgitating what Bob and Jillian told them?) or they’ve gained the weight back and been on Oprah. (Well at least Oprah can feel their pain, right?) But honestly, are these people any more “remarkable” than say anyone else on any of the seven hundred thousand other reality shows? No, they’re not. They are losers who got lucky enough to be televised. If I really want to see losers, I can look at some of the people who have “friend requested” me from high school on Facebook.

There are just certain times in your life when you have to draw the line. You know, like the line you drew not to go home with that guy even though you were really drunk and knew you could blame it on alcohol the next day if your friends found out? Like the line you drew and then tried to snort in the 1980’s? (Okay, maybe that line doesn’t apply here) Or the line you drew with your friend who never cares to ask you how you’re doing as they go on and on about themselves and their lives (as if it’s somehow interesting or something) so you just push that magical button that sends them directly to voicemail when they call. I’m drawing the line with The Biggest Loser, I’m done. And somehow I feel so much lighter…hey, my new non-Biggest Loser diet is working all ready! The Biggest Loser has officially lost me – Don’t Get Me Started!

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I’ve Become An Old Cat “Gay-dy” – Dear God – Don’t Get Me Started!

To use old song lyrics (firmly creating in everyone’s mind who is reading this that I am gayer than gay), “They made me love them, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to do it.” Growing up we had one pet. It was a small dog that was bought when my brother’s asthma made it impossible for him to continue to ride horses. We had some fish but the dog was the bribe for him having to give up his love of riding horses. Those were the only pets I ever knew about. During the course of knowing my spouse (over some twenty years) it is clear that not only did he have several pets while he was growing up but he’s the six foot black version of Doctor Doolittle. So four years ago when two stray kittens came into our open patio door (a brother and sister) who slept with their paws around one another we upped the ante on our gay stereotype by not only adopting them but by giving them musical theatre names from the Broadway show, Wicked (Elphaba and Fiyero). I knew I was not equipped for the transformation that was about to take place in my life and an event that took place the other day confirmed for me that I’ve become an old cat “gay-dy” – Dear God – Don’t Get Me Started!

Let me just say that our cats have everything any cat could ever want. They have the electronic kitty litter box, they have the electric water fountain, run of anything but the furniture or tables/countertops (gross) well, when we’re home anyway but basically every time they walk into the room we go nuts over them like that classic Carol Burnett sketch from her show featuring the Mama’s Family characters as they ignore Roddy McDowell for their little dog in the other room. And if perchance we’re out of town (my spouse is often gone for long stretches for business and I travel for work as well at times), they get a sitter who comes in and feeds them and makes a big fuss over them. Nuts, I know. And no, I never thought that this would be me. All of the above I’ve grown to understand is just who I am now, I’m embracing the cat person I’ve become though I roll their fur off (with the adhesive rollers cat owners with any sense buy stock in) of everything before I leave the house and I have no “Beware of Attack Cat” signs or cat crocheted pillows anywhere about my home.

This is one of those times when my spouse has been away for a few months and I have been both Daddy and Daddy (just threw up a little in my mouth) to our cats. While I try to consider myself a relatively sane person who knows that they are pets, the event that occurred the other day had me reeling so badly I had to go sit down and mentally talk myself off a high and very slick ledge of sanity. Pets are amazing in many ways and the whole Pavlovian response thing boggles my mind. I remember that our dog (Apollo Skylab – my brother loved the space program obviously) loved M&Ms. I know, I know, chocolate is poison for dogs but we didn’t know it at the time and neither did he and like someone who smokes and drinks their whole life yet lives to be a ripe old age, so was the same with Apollo. When we would pour the M&Ms into the candy dish he would come a-running. To this day whenever anyone in my family pours M&Ms into a dish they do it as quietly as possible and still look to see if Apollo (who has been dead for almost twenty-five years) is coming for his fix. The same can be said for my cats with anything that requires the can opener. Even though it’s a manual can opener and we use the pop top cans of cat food now, they hear the metal touch the metal and no matter where they are they come out like the Munchkins (after Glinda tells them it’s okay).

So the other day I’m making some tuna salad for myself for lunch. Stealthily I touch the can opener to the can. I twist the knob and then look over my shoulder – no cats. I twist again and look each time repeating the twist and look technique. As I put the tuna into a bowl to start adding the additional mixings, I leave a little in the can for I know in my heart of hearts they will be in the kitchen very…what? How did they get there? How did they sneak past me? There they were, looking up at me with eyes that could make you “donate” faster than watching those infomercials for the starving children in Africa in the middle of the night. And that’s when it happened, I heard myself saying, “Some for Dad, some for Elphaba and some for Fiyero.” And with the same fork I doled out everyone’s portion like I might see Donna Reed do on her show for her children. I clutched my imaginary pearls (Donna had real ones) around my neck, not believing that I had just said that in that way in a house that only had me and two cats in it. I had been reduced to talking to my cats, talking to them as if they were my children and I had the sudden need for a Xanax and therapy. Crazy cat lady…table for one?

I realize I’ve gone overboard with the cats but never had I crossed this line before, the whole talking to them in a sort of baby talk way while almost feeding them ala a mother bird, regurgitating food into their mouths. Now I know a lot of people reading this are going to see nothing wrong with this but for me, it was too much. Way too much. I imagined those hoarders of cats that you see on Animal Planet. I thought of all the old cat ladies, of the older gay man stereotypes. Sitting on their chintz sofas petting the cats on their lap with a hand that was old and at the same time had the largest ring in recorded history on the index finger all the while the smells from a swirling cloud of Armais cologne and kitty litter hanging in the air. And as I sat there eating my tuna salad sandwich I said a little prayer to the heavens above that it wasn’t true and that like Jimmy Stewart in “It’s A Wonderful Life” that I still had time to change. Maybe I can, I know I’ll try (and I’m so glad my spouse comes home tomorrow) because dear God, I don’t want to be an old cat “gay-dy.” Don’t Get Me Started!

New Year Workout: Pumping House – Don’t Get Me Started!

Try as I might to separate myself from the masses, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that at the start of each year I didn’t tell myself little pink lies (I’m gay so they have to be pink and not white, right?) that I hope I’ll keep but in my heart of hearts I know that most likely by February they’ll be a thing of the past and just put on the pile in next year’s mental hope chest. One of the ways that I tried to preempt that this year was by once again restarting at the gym. But I restarted in December. I mean after all, if you start something in December it’s no longer a New Year’s resolution and in my own mind anyway, has less of a chance for failure because it doesn’t have the whole resolution part tied to it. (Is it any wonder I’m constantly exhausted with all the bargaining with myself that goes on in my mind on a daily basis?) Well I have to say that it’s never fun when you “go back” to something (usually) I think of all the “going back” things I’ve done. I went back to live with my parents at one point after I had been living in LA on my own – “Hello, feelings of failure? Come right on in.” I went back to an ex once…once (big mistake). I went back to a job once when I said I wouldn’t. (It wasn’t like prostitution or anything but I definitely had the feeling I was being screwed and soon quit again). All this to say that sometimes when you go back to something, it helps to have some new spin to put on it and I got that with the New Year – Workout: Pumping House – Don’t Get Me Started!

Although my blog has not rewarded me with cash (please see the donate links on each page…only you can prevent a forest fire and only you can give a deserving gay who tries to make you laugh each day some much needed cash – long live PayPal) it has afforded me some interesting opportunities along the way and one of those is that sometimes a company or person (okay, usually “a gay”) will write to me to tell me about something that they think should be on my website or that I’m going to like. Sometimes it’s both good and bad all at the same time. There was the time that Paramount contacted me about being the website to premier the “One Night Only” video from the movie, Dreamgirls on my site. Fabulous, right? And no doubt they would be sending me tons of stuff from the movie due to the fact that I dedicated an entire page on my site to it that took over a week to design, right? (See that page here - Some Like It Dreamgirls!) I got two posters that were autographed by Jennifer Hudson but where she signed you could only see the signature if you held it at a certain angle like when they check your twenty dollar bill to make sure that it isn’t counterfeit, six copies of the “Selections from Dreamgirls” CD (in other words, not the entire soundtrack) and something like 60 copies of the novelized version of the movie. (GoodWill I’m sure was very happy to receive them) But I think what I’ve enjoyed the most are the artists who have contacted me or that I’ve discovered along the way (See My Favorite Things) because even a gay like me can only listen to so much Liza Minnelli. And so it would come to pass that a great opportunity came my way when I was granted an interview with none other than RuPaul when her movie, Starrbooty was being released on DVD. (Fascinating insight from him/her and though I rarely brag openly I think it’s a good interview – read it here - Gay, Gay, Gayer Than Gay Page) So when the RuPaul team contacted me to let me know that there was a new album coming out with her on it, I was more than willing to listen.

Now as most of you who read my blog know, I’m not one of those sites that make a fortune off of pimping products nor do I have some corporate sponsorship which makes me write the word, “Velveeta” every fourth sentence to make thirty cents for each time I mention it, nor do I enjoy or read the blogs that are like three sentences and then have product placement all over them. No, I write about things that annoy me or that I adore. (Try finding out you had your sex listed as female on your driver’s license for three years and the DMV not willing to change it to male until you brought in a birth certificate.) So although the song from the musical Oklahoma would lead some to believe otherwise, “I’m Just A Gay Who Can Say No!” – Not everything makes it on my site.

When I work out I have to admit that I usually listen to the old gay disco classics. And I suspect that there are plenty of other people who are treadmilling to “Shake Your Groove Thing” but with the invention of the headset they can tell everyone it’s the latest Britney and no one is the wiser. But with the New Year, I’ve given my Patti LaBelle’s “New Attitude” a rest because I downloaded the album Workout: Pumping House. Yes, it’s got everything my little gym bunnies! It has RuPaul’s “Looking Good, Feeling Gorgeous” (which was featured on The Biggest Loser) but oh kids, it has so much more. Darrell Martin (recording artist, writer and producer for UPhonic Records) has compiled a collection of music that will get your heart rate up (well, first from the cover art) and keep it pumping through your entire workout. At the risk of sounding like a damn infomercial, when you buy the actual CDs at Best Buy, Virgin, Borders, etc. (not available when you download and buy it from like iTunes, Amazon, etc.) you get a free 7 day guest pass to Bally’s gyms. (But since the official membership card for gays is a gym membership card – download it and get thee to a gym immediately my gay caballeros!)

I’ve never been someone who has enjoyed the whole working out thing but I’ll do it knowing that I’ll never be gay thin or asked to be a dancer on a box in a club somewhere because I also can’t spend my life becoming the older gay man stereotype of a queen in a caftan. So if I’m going to work out (and I am…no really, I’m going to stick with it this time) and if I must do it, at least I can do it with RuPaul. And we all need a little RuPaul to help us believe that we truly can be “looking good, feeling gorgeous.” New Year – Workout: Pumping House – Don’t Get Me Started!

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I Went In For The Half Priced Calendar And Came Out An Out Of Date Gay – Don’t Get Me Started!

The first weekend in a new year, I have my own tradition. I don’t start working out like a maniac, I don’t go to stores and try to find Christmas decorations at 50% off (what would a Jew like me do with those?) and I don’t make a list of all the things that I’m not going to do anymore because it’s a new year. No, the first weekend of the New Year I go to the major bookstores for the half off calendars. I know, exciting stuff, huh? But this year, I got much more than I bargained for when I made my yearly pilgrimage. I went in for the half priced calendar and came out an out of date gay. Don’t Get Me Started!

First I went to Borders. They stock a particular calendar that few other stores stock. It’s one that is turned out yearly by a local organization and features all of the black performers who have played here in Vegas. Some months feature stars like Sammy Davis, Jr. and some a line of chorus girls backstage at the Moulin Rouge (the only all black owned and operated casino here in the 60’s that only lasted about six months or something because the mob that was running the Strip at the time were nervous that it was where all the stars went after they finished their shows on the Strip and was so popular). They never have this calendar in the 50% off section because it’s made by a small local company. So after perusing the poor selection that was left for 2009, I went to the counter with my one “settled for” calendar and asked for the calendar. The very large boy behind the counter was completely perplexed as I over-explained the calendar. He punched the keys in the computer at the counter but came up with nothing and then asked the manager on his headset. At first it looked as though there was going to be no Nat King Cole for my February this year but then the manager called back on the cashier’s headset and said that these calendars were being packed up to be shipped back and would bring one up to the front for me. Score!

But you see we always have many calendars in our house. I don’t know how it all began but we usually have at least four calendars hanging in the same four locations every year. Now for my home office, I usually have the MikWright calendar but they didn’t make one this year (however they have fab stuff so get to their website immediately – www.mikwright.com). So that meant an additional calendar I would need so I was off to Barnes and Noble.

As I walked into Barnes and Noble, my good shopping senses took me immediately to the calendar section. The usual crap was all you could see on the surface. But see us professionals know you have to look behind the crap to find the decent ones that are left because someone looked at the Erte’ calendar but ended up putting it behind the 365 days of bulldogs calendar. There were some older couples looking for calendars and one aunt that had her two nephews in tow whom she had promised she would buy calendars for on their shopping trip. I found a large one with vintage posters of the National Parks that seemed like a possibility but not so much. Then I walked around to the other side of the calendar discount kiosk. There were some cartoon calendars, an Elvis one, a Marilyn Monroe one, the usual 365 Kitty A Day Calendar (the dog ones always go first and so after the first of the year only the kitty ones are left). Then I saw a “Porn For Women” calendar which had shirtless men doing things like cleaning. One row down I noticed the “Bear Hunter” calendar which I immediately knew had nothing to do with grizzlies but would no doubt feature a few black “bears” (wink, wink). As I flipped it over I saw the twelve pictures that appeared on each month that had shirtless hairy gay men at the top of every month. I was a little surprised to see such an unabashedly gay calendar unwrapped and out on a shelf to be honest. And then, there it was, the “Hung Hunks” calendar. At first I thought that it was my eyes playing tricks on me. Even though the sheets were placed strategically over the naked man’s well, “manhood” as he lay on the satin sheets I knew before I blushingly picked it up (trying to not let Aunt Susan see it or the elderly couple) what I would see on the back. That’s right, twelve men naked with huge hard-ons. There was no perfectly placed wrapping that hid the “members” no, it was a big dick bonanza right out there for the looking published by a gay publishing company. I looked around thinking that everyone must be looking at me looking at the “dick a day” calendar but no one was even looking in the general direction. (In retrospect, perhaps they were purposely trying to not look in that direction, knowing that calendar was there) I stepped back from the kiosk and watched as Aunt Susan guided her nephews to puppies and Hannah Montana.

I don’t know if I was more shocked that the calendar was out there in the open like that or that I was immediately thinking how inappropriate it was to have it out on the shelves like this where Aunt Susan’s nephews might see it. Although the religious right would have you thinking otherwise I didn’t think that it was a great step forward for us gays or that it would indoctrinate or create new gays. No, I was just left feeling that some things were better left on the Internet or in private brown wrappers. I would have felt the same way if there was a calendar out on the shelf that was an “Every Day’s Vagina Day” calendar. And yet there was a real part of me that just felt like a prude, a contemporary to some 1950’s maiden aunt (unlike Aunt Susan). I went in for the half priced calendar and came out an out of date gay. Don’t Get Me Started!