If not now, when?

William Shakespeare wrote “Love is not love which alters, when it alteration finds. Nor bends with the remover to remove. Oh No! It is an ever-fixed mark.”

I’ve been following the controversy surrounding  statements made by the COO of a certain fast-food chain with quite a bit of interest, not because I give a fig over what he thinks. I don’t really give a fig what MOST people think, actually. Opinions are like asses…everyone has one, including me.

What concerns me most I think is that, once again, someone is trying to tell me how to think–Telling me that the way I think is wrong, and using the bible to try and prove their flawed argument. Guess what? I’ve read mine too.  The bit that sticks out in my mind is where Jesus said “Love one another as I have loved you.” It’s all over the new testament. He didn’t specify “do this unless you happen to disagree with one-another’s lifestyles, then go ahead and hate the fuck out of each other.”

Who are you to tell me how and who to love? And that unless I love the way you do, that I am wrong? Who died and made you king (or queen) of the universal laws of love anyway? And why in the actual fuck should the COO of a fast-food chain even publicly state a position on same-sex marriage? Last I checked…um…he wasn’t the one in charge of the country. Every one of his supporters wants to cry ‘freedom of speech’ for him. So we’re going with a legal angle? I’m pretty sure that publicly stating a position on this issue has GOT to violate EEO laws all over the place. Has anyone stopped to think about that? Kinda makes me wonder.

People used to wonder which side of the fence I came down on, and I deliberately let them keep wondering b/c no matter how I answered, technically it would be a lie. I spent 40+ years hiding large bits of myself, denying the way fully half of my heart yearned for affection, because once upon a time someone told me it was wrong to feel the things I felt, and made me feel small, and guilty for feeling them. Well damn it! I’m sick and tired of feeling small and guilty and just fucking WRONG. I’ve had a belly full, people.

So here it is, the big reveal: I firmly believe that love is love. I don’t care if you’re male or female. If I love you, I love you. And if you feel the same way about me, and we choose to express that love in a sexual fashion, then great! It’s not anyone’s business but our own.

That said, I am not a fan of the institution of marriage, and have no plans to marry anyone ever again. Largely because I had a REALLY bad experience in a heterosexual marriage, the details of which I will spare you. But I have hetero friends who have fallen in love and got married, and I fully support them in this. Something like 50-percent of all hetero marriages fail, but neither that statistic nor my personal feelings about marriage move me to protest their love.

What I’m trying to say is my friends who are in same-sex relationships should have the same rights as my hetero friends. Let them get married, if they choose. Why not? What will it hurt? YOUR hetero relationships/marriages/families are in no way endangered by the decision of same-sex couples to marry. If you don’t like same-sex marriages, then don’t marry someone of the same sex. Plain and simple. And as for the morality/biblical implications? That’s kind of between the people in question and the creator, isn’t it? I mean it clearly states in the bible (in the 10 Commandments, Exodus, look it up) “Judge ye not lest ye be judged.” The great I Am is the ultimate judge. That’s in the bible, too.

As for the fast-food chain I mentioned? I’ve never eaten at one, and I have no plans to do so.

What I do plan to do is try my hardest to change the world by expanding one small mind at a time. I am proud to be who I am. I’m me, and that is exceptional. I will not be afraid, any more. I will not hide any more. I am who I am, and that is stronger, and more powerful, than you can ever begin to imagine.

Be fierce and strong, be fearless, be you. Take your love and spread it through the universe…

Drinkin’ to Drink

I’m having a serious catch up with a six-pack of Coors, tonight. I’m not drowing my sorrows, if that’s what you’re thinking. As I take a moment to reflect, I’ve no real sorrows to speak of. My life is going pretty well. So, this is a celebration of sorts. Monday, the ex (we’ll call him “PIMA” — it’s an acronym, yes) and I go to formally file for divorce. Tonight, I’m celebrating the fact that, in 60 to 90 days, I’ll have my freedom, and my name, back.

But that’s not what this blog entry is about, really.

As all y’all know, I tend to write about what I think, or rather what I’m thinking about at the time. I’m kind of a stream of consciousness person. And tonight, I’m thinking about me–the me I enjoy being, and my friends, or, well, one in particular. Kind of wondering where he’s at, and if he’s doing well. We’ll call him “Cowboy”, because that’s what I have called him since the night we met.

This is a love story, of sorts.

I was out with my very good friend, and brother-from-another-mother, the Master-Chief, for a girls’ night out. We’d killed off a fifth, or two, of good Kentucky Whiskey, and decided that breakfast was in order. We were sitting in the all-night diner, when the best-looking man I’ve ever seen walked in, under a big, black Stetson (which will come into play, later). He was surrounded by his usual entourage of friends, because he drew people the way ripe bananas draw fruit-flies, but he wanted to converse with Master-Chief, so he ended up at our table.

I’d like to say he was a tall drink of water, but he wasn’t. I’m several inches taller than he, but that doesn’t signify, because his personality was large enough to fill a room. All dark hair, and darker eyes, olive skin, and finely-chisled lips that just really needed to be glued to mine for several hours. I’ll admit I was smitten.

That big, black Stetson was taunting me, so I put my big-girl panties on, and reached out, plucked it from his head, and set it squarely on my own (Mind you, at this point, we’d been introduced, had shaken hands, exchanged hello’s, and that was it). He looked at me, a smug grin on his lovely face, and informed me of ‘the Rule’–if you steal the cowboy’s hat, you’ve gotta ride the cowboy. I looked at him, pulled his hat down low, and replied, “Alright, then.”

As it ended up, we did kiss that night, in the parking lot, as he re-claimed his hat, with a promise of “I’ll see you later.” (which he kept) But it was four months of intense flirtation before the naughty bits occurred. We called it ‘foreplay’. In my mind, he was my cowboy. And I guess he’ll always own a small piece of my soul, simply because he brought out the best in me.

I often wonder what happened to the lovely, free-spirited, outgoing, vivacious, self-assured woman that I was around Cowboy? I also wonder, will I get her back in my divorce settlement? It wasn’t something I worked at (I wish it was that easy!) but rather, something I just became.

I haven’t heard from Cowboy in a while–largely b/c PIMA didn’t understand the nature of our friendship, and we kind of lost touch. Yes, I loved him, after a fashion, but to be perfectly honest, I think I was more in love with the boost he gave to my ego. I asked him once why we never became more than what we were. He told me, “Because I am afraid I’ll screw it up.” And perhpas he would’ve, or maybe I would’ve. Who really knows? So I am content with lovely memories of Cowboy, and of the me I used to be.

So, in the finer words of Christian Kane, “I’m not drinkin’ to drown anything, I’m just drinkin’ to drink.” Cheers!

I bid you peace.

No man, or woman, is an island…

I firmly believe that there are people who are meant to be in relationships, and be quite successful at them. They are able to roll with the punches, give and take in equal measure, and forgive, endlessly, the small transgressions their partner may commit. It’s in them to do everything in their power to continue life with the partner of their choice. No matter how far they have to go to meet the demands the relationship places on them, they are willing to go that far, and farther. And I really admire people like that. I don’t understand all of  them, neccessarily, but I DO admire them.

Then, there’s the flip-side of that coin. There are people who were never meant for permanent attachments. They go out, meet people, date them, co-habitate with them, perhaps even marry them, but no matter how hard they try, they become bored. This boredom leads to creative ideas on how to ‘spice-up’ the relationship. And if their partner happens to be one of the previously mentioned ‘relationship’ people, they’ll try it. If they like it, it may become a way of life, and perhaps this is enough to help the relationship succeed. If not, the boredom and creativity leads to anger, resentment, accusation, and stagnation. Eventually, despite the best of intentions on both parts, the relationship fails. I fall into this category of the easily-bored. Sad, but unfortunately true.

Perhaps it’s immaturity. This is entirely possible. Yes, I’m a parent, and when the need arises, I am perfectly capable of being the responsible adult. I get up and go to work, pay my bills on time, do the laundry, feed the animals, and my kids, just like any mature person. But being an adult all the time is just so fucking dull! WHY can’t I have the best of both worlds? Why is it wrong to go out to a bar, dance-club, grocery store, library, etc., and indulge my flirtatious self? True, I may have come to the party with a certain person, and have every intention of going home with that same person, but in the intervening time, what is so wrong with having a little fun? And if that ‘fun’ happens to score an interested third party, once in a while? More the merrier. So, yes, maturity may play a part.

On the other hand, perhaps it’s a lack of understanding, on my part. I believe any successful relationship must have a natural ebb and flow. Give and take between the participants is critically important, no matter that it’s not always 50-50. But if one partner’s always giving, and the other always taking, that’s not a relationship, in my opinion. It’s servitude. While some people get off on the ‘king or queen of the house’ bullshit, I have a much higher opinion of myself than that. Leave us face it: it’s hard to kiss the lips at night that chewed your ass all day long. I also do not understand why it’s okay for you to do something, but not me. The double standard thing has never set well with me under any circumstances. I believe in equality, whole-heartedly. You’re no better than I am, so we should be entitled to the same liberties.

More likely, however, I have developed a certain inflexibility in my core beliefs. I was raised with certain absolutes, regarding what a happy, healthy relationship is supposed to mean. And anything less than that ideal is completely unacceptable, and not worth wasting my time on. I have come to believe that the perfect person for me only exists within my imagination, or any of a thousand or so romance novels. I have never demanded perfection. I simply asked for ‘perfect for me’. After more than a few failed relationships, I have come to the conclusion that ‘perfect for me’ doesn’t exist. Or perhaps I found it, once, and failed to recognize it. Either way, I’ve sworn off of serious dating.

As frustrating as this situation may sound, I am alone by choice. As any recent divorcee will tell you, ‘suddenly-single’ makes you ‘suddenly-very-attractive’. I’ve had no shortage of offers. Oddly, several of them have come from FaceBook. I’m seriously considering closing my account. I just can’t stomach one more message that says “You’re really hot. We should talk.” Why? What have you just said that recommends you to me? Or was I supposed to be so overwhelmed with your ability to string six words together in two sentences, that I somehow failed to notice that you are basing your opinion of my worth, in your world, on my attractiveness, or lack thereof? Oh, and hey, by the way Einstein? You forgot to send me a friend request, which, frankly? I would have ignored anyway.

So while it’s true, no man (or woman) is an island, I’m doing a fairly good impression of one, right now. I haven’t totally written off the idea that that magical ‘someone’ is out there. Should they have enough chutzpah to track me down, in the middle of nowhere, I have a shot-gun, loaded with rock-salt, all ready and waiting…