I'll sleep in that bed!

Please! Look at that bed! Look where it is! Climbing that ladder,...sliding into those sheets! Oy! I am not quite certain how to highlight links to other blogs, but here is where I found this image - http://verhext.tumblr.com/

The day before I start my "Big Girl" job, I cook.

Dish number 1. - Not a dish. Fucking whipped-cream-in-a-can. With peppermint flavor. So good.

Dish number 2. - Spicy Asian Slaw. "Asian". Clearly. Spicy. Yes. Here is the recipe. It's super easy to make. http://lbrookscooks.com/2010/06/17/spicy-asian-slaw/

Dish number 3. - Beef and Butternut Squash Stew. From http://erincooks.com/beef-and-butternut-squash-stew/

Her blog is way better than mine. As you can tell from time I snapped the the photo, it's not cooked fully. I am so excited to eat it. Not as excited to put it in a BPA free thermos container and go to work. I should have been a house wife (minus the popping out the puppies,...).

(Gated) lesbian Communities...

These women made their way to St. Augustine, Florida at the peak of the feminist movement. They bought some land, and made their homes, and put up their gates. There were (and are) of course, residency requirements - be a woman and be a lesbian. 

One resident, Winnie Adams (now 66) is a self-described "radical feminist separatist lesbian". She left her home in 1999 to move to this community. She had at one point been marries and had two daughters. Neither of her daughters are lesbians and are therefore disallowed from living with her. But, oh my gawdess, who would want to?

Nothing against ole Winnie, but a gated lesbitronic community? Scary movie. I don't like the idea of people isolating themselves into gated communities in the first place (think security guards, giant SUV's, pristine and empty sidewalks, and WASP's). And I certainly don't like groups of lesbians. In the woods. Alone. And wearing flannel. And feminizing. I feel like the world is so messed up and peeps need to get together and hash their shit out. The lezzers shouldn't hide in the woods--- just like the rich and white should shield themselves in their cul-de-sac. Head in the sand mentality, perhaps,...irresponsible certainly.

 But, read for yourself. (Be sure to check out the audio/photo montage, too). This community called "Alpine" is alive and well. But, I won't be moving in anytime soon

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/01/fashion/01womyn.htmk?_r=1

Listen, Victoria Stilwell, it's me or the dog,...

The Dog Whisperer, aired on National Geographic was swell. I got my fill of doggies, and training. The wild beasts are eerily reminiscent of my old dog Joe Cocker, whom I would shake the vaccuum cleaner at, rile up, and then run around the house fleeing from his bared teeth. Ah, youth. The host/trainer of the show, Ceasar Milan however? He gets on my nerves, and is sort of creepy in this i-am-a-pack-leader-in-the-sack sort of way. I get this feeling that he'd grab me by the scruff of my neck, give me a little shake, and tell me to get him a glass of water. (If you've had the pleasure of seeing the show, you will know what I am talking about...gross.)  He does have fine teeth though.

Then I found Victoria. Victoria Stilwell is the host of a very similar dog training show entitled "It's Me, Or The Dog".  The training styles of both trainers get the job dog, so to speak. But I have found myself drawn to Victoria's show. Why? This woman is a British, dog training dominatrix. He dress! Her style! Her attitude! She don't take shit off of no dog, and certainly not off any human counterpart. (It helps that she isn't creepy.) I don't get that gag in the back of my throat like I do with ole Ceasar.  I like her enough that I'd try to poo on the rug just to see if she'd come over dressed in that jacket, chain in hand. 

So, check it out! Tell me what you think! .

Here is the link to her site, wherein you can be directed to full online episodes of her show

www.victoriastilwell.com

Crockpot Love!

OK, this just in! The eighth wonder of the world: The CROCKPOT!

This ingenious invention lets you throw semi-disgusting ingredients in a pot, turn a knob, and VOILA! Several hours later, a meal!

There are several things in this universe that are useless. Tupperware with loose lids, glow-in-the-dark sunglasses, and ugly frat dudes are among the worst and most useless creations. Notice that a crockpot (a.k.a. a slow-cooker) is notably not on this list.

Tonight's concoction: Chicken Noodle Soup.


Next time: Chicken shit, perhaps?

Bitches I would lez out for

1. Marika Haggarty/Olivia Benson.
Definitey. Any time. Any place.


2. Madeline Stowe.
A friend once explained her same-sex feeling by saying, "C'mon! Madeline Stowe is gorgeous. Don't tell me you wouldn't make out with her!" Touche.


3. Seattle City Councilmember Sally Clark
Isn't there a saying about power being the ultimate aphrodisiac? Yes, ma'am!

Domestic Violence Can't Be Beat! ...get it?

It happens over and over again, and although I have taken DV (domestic violence) 101, it still ceases to amaze me. It shouldn't, I know. But, when a lady hits a dude, my minds has a hard time wrapping around it. Overwhelmingly so, the numbers paint a bloody picture over the face of women being pummeld, smacked around and pushed by men. The stats for the reverse are just as staggering. In 2001, violence against men accounted for only 15% of the total. That 103, 220 total incidents reported for violence of women against men. Women ringing in at 588, 490 total incidents. (see Bureau of Justice Statistics Crime Data Brief, Intimate Partner Violence, 1993-2001, February 2003).

But, the numbers don't translate for me. A chick doesn't hit a dude? Right? I mean, what kind of half-man takes that shit? Yes, that is some of the rhetoric floating around this noggin. But those words only get tossed around in this salad brain of mine until I remind myself that I have seen it happen in my own home. My dad, a man of the thickest moral fiber, was run over by my mother time and again. It wasn't isolated violent Law and Order moments. It graded, built up, and slowly, my mom let it out bit by bit, night by night, taking the form of mean words or grunting. He said it was her hormones. Or, maybe it was the money. Or, maybe he didn't have dinner ready for her when she came home. So, yes, kids, I know its a reality. And yes, it still weirds me out.

And frankly, I am not interested in fighting this fight. I don't want to write letters to a legislator, or protest on a college campus, or join fucking women studies. I just want to say that it's weird. And it's scary. And sometimes I still can't believe it continues in my own family, even though I've seen it time and again. You'd think my learning curve would be better.