Stupid Girls

Friday, August 20, 2004

First night in new house

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I had the bed made. I had the curtains up. I had candles and pretty lamps.

I made supper. I filled small casseroles with cheese/salmon/tomato custard, topped with brocolli, tomato and shrimp, wrapped in filo and topped with cheese and butter. I baked a thick rib eye with a wasabi rub, onions, brocolli and mushrooms. The appetiser was Oaxaca cheese and grapes.

We went to Kmart for an oven thermometer; this oven has neither temp. marks nor thermostadt, apparantly.

We're looking at area rugs.

We're planning to build a cat "kennel." It'll be chicken wire and lattice.

We stopped by her place for some stuff.

We screwed in light bulbs at the new place.

We plotted and planned.

We cuddled and talked.

We got more of her stuff this morning and I just finished packing another load of my stuff, too.

I'll pack another load this evening and we'll go over together for the night.

It's very quiet and comfortable.

We will be ok. We scare each other sometimes, but that's to be expected. And this is a radical change. Hell, moving alon is radical; moving in with someone who's only been a lover for three weeks is potentially suicidal.

She told her sister. Everything: that we're lovers and all of it. wow.

She had a very tiny, orderly, predictable life. She has taken big risks and chances, even accepting my advances. She could have written me off as a minor stalker of slight mental impairament and kept her life just the way she wanted it.

Instead, she's opening up. And other people are beginning to notice. She's softer, friendlier, prettier, more attractive. They don't know why, but they like her more.

I told her last night I don't expect exclusivity. I told her she can't discern the difference between who I am intrinsically and the atmosphere of being with a woman who loves women. It's her first time. She likes men and that's ok by me. I just asked her to let me know if she wants to persue something potentially romantic with someone else.

At first, she said she'd even decline offers to go out for coffee. I explained that was ridiculous; she's allowed to have a social life, for cryin' out loud. I just want to know if she's considering something deeper with someone.

She said there haven't been any offers for eight years. But, I explained, she's much more attractive now, so she can expect some attention.

Being with a woman gets one in touch with one's womanliness. It's just true. So the "vibe" of female eroticism touches every aspect of one's life.

Bottom line: I don't want her to feel she must diminish or restrict her life in any way to be in mine. She's family. She always will be. And, as I've said, I'm more a Lesson than a Life Partner.

We'll be in each other's lives for the rest of our lives, unless something really unnatural happens.

She'll always be my girl.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

keeping it real

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I'm a firm believer in the idea that one creates love from inside one's self. I believe the health of a relationship can be guaged by the health of the individual. I believe it is the responsibility of the individual to nurture the emotions.

I also believe that blaming external factors, including one's partners, for one's discontent or dis-ease in a relationship is an abdication of personal responsibility. Hence, phrases like, "you make me feel..." are necessarily invalid. They are symptoms of an underlying flaw within the person making the complaint.

So, when I found myself, two days ago, miserable, grumpy, resentful and whiny, I knew I had to look, not at my girl, but at me.

Here's what I found.

I have overworked myself with this move. I have until the end of September to vacate this dump.

I sacrificed my health and mental stability, trying to push myself too hard. I became brittle, rigid, ungenerous, dark, brooding, grouchy, suspicious and generally a buzz kill.

So, yesterday, while I waited for the gas company, I set up our kitchen. It took about seven hours. I nested. I arranged. I stored. I cleaned.

Then, I came home and laoded an easy load: big, light weight things from my yard.

My girl emailed, asking to be picked up from work late; she had to stay to cover someone else.

I stopped at the grocery for some fresh fruits and avacados, so we'll have nice things to eat with all the chicken, steak and sausages I'd cooked in Indian kabab sauce.

I showered thoroughly and put on something gauzy, flowing and feminine.

I sent her two salacious emails: short, but to the point. They were teases, references to inside jokes and definately sexual. She's cold and distant at work: she has to be, to get her job done. I wanted to break through the membrane before we even saw each other last night.

I checked my bank balance. I'd been overly conservative, since I made some purchases from eBay this month. I still had a hundred dollars in my account.

I stopped at a pharmacy. I bought her some pretty hair bobs: pink butterflies with rhinestones, pink chopsticks.

I went to her work early and clipped butterflies all over her while she worked. I fed her chocolate Necco wafers. She didn't dawdle with email or phone messages; she was ready to leave with me.

Preparation is ninety percent, you know...

She babbled on about ladders and plans and .....

I asked if she were hungry. She reckoned she was.

I took her to her favorite Thai restaurant and ordered everything we wanted. We just talked and laughed. She joked 'til I snorted green tea out of my nose.

We went to her little room. It's my first time down there; visitors aren't allowed. But her landlord knows she's moving and gave her permission to show her room.

I was amazed! In one, tiny room, she'd built a totally functional, interesting, completely equipped life. I like it because I understand it; I lived in a Winnabego for a year.

I teased her about how much of her stuff folds up. Over dinner, I'd said, "I bet you had one of those collapsable pill cups when you were a kid, huh?" She grinned broadly and acknowledged she had, and had loved it. Then, she told me about her folding sunglasses; I'd had a pair, too.

The more I know her, the more I like her.

We took her folding ladder, folding carrier and folding step stool over to the new place.

I let her in the back door, to the kitchen. She just said, "wow!" She really appreciated my work.

We unloaded the car, chattering like little girls.

She announced, "I want a diet cherry limeade from Sonic." So we went.

We were almost to the volcanoes by then, so we drank our limeades up there, in the fog and lightening, looking out at city lights.

She nodded off in the car on the ride back to my place. I put her to bed and nursed a boo boo.

We didn't talk much. I let her sleep. Osa got on her belly and looked so content. My cats all accept her as family now.

It's after seven; she's still asleep.

I'm taking it easy today. I'm loading only stuff for a romantic evening. We became lovers on a Thursday.

I want the new place ready: a temporary bed, candles, sunflowers from my garden, a nice supper, some music, everything we need in the bathroom....

I want us to sleep in our house tonight. She doesn't know it. It's a surprise. Don't tell her, ok?

I can easily roll up one of my foam mattresses and squeeze it into the back seat of her car. Curtains and bed linens are already there. So's most of the food.

I just want us to be girlfriends tonight. No distractions. No clutter. No pets. No screaming neighbors or bums in the alley.

Just us. And our new house.

Monday, August 16, 2004

she means it

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I've never been so well loved in my life. And she's so careful to pay attention to details: woman after my own heart. She's even researching Domestic Partnership benefits at her job.

So, most of my kitchen is moved into our new house. Gas and electric come on tomorrow and Weds., so I can clean stuff before I put it all away. Man, that kitchen's big! I have room in there for my sewing stuff, too. sigh.

I'm pretty damned tired, just from two car loads. But I sure want to get the hell out of this dump. There are people living in a truck out front, using someone's facilities in this building and drinking Raoul's beer. I'm nervous about parking her car out there.

Rent's paid, deposit's paid on the new place. It's really, finally and truly ours.

I'm working as hard and fast as I can. She's worrying herself to death with details, contingencies and crisis scenarios. Gave herself a headache yesterday.

I explained that, while I've lived on the edge most of my life, I'm just as careful and just as thorough as she is. My style's just different. She got it and that calmed her down a bit. Bless her heart.

She had her live all arranged: everything in its place, no surprises, completely invisile.

Then along comes Rogi, the three ring circus.

Actually, she said I'm like a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon. I love that metaphor: best description of me I've ever heard.

She'll see. I make a good home for those I love. She'll be comfortable, safe, at peace. Pretty soon, she'll be wondering how she ever got along without me.

I am.

Now, I'm going back in my bedroom to, hopefully, examine the insides of my eyelids until she gets here from work.

I fried tons of steak, chicken and Polish sausages in an Indian kabab sauce. That way, I shouldn't have to cook all week. Here, at least. We could use some salads, though...

Her pouty lip juts out like a bing cherry and it's all I can do to keep from kissing her.

I've GOT to get these damned teeth fixed!

Sunday, August 15, 2004


You are reading

Pass the Mic
Mark Anthony Neal,
Twenty years after the release of Roxanne Shante's "Roxanne's Revenge" and
Salt & Pepa's "Showstopper," for the most part women rappers and scholars
are still struggling to be included in the cipher of hip hop culture.

What Men Want
Caryl Rivers, Rosalind Chait Barnett, Women's eNews
Conventional wisdom, promoted by the media, suggests that the traditional
wife is back in vogue. But research shows that financial independence,
education and intelligence are really what's hot.

Victoria's Secrets
Noy Thrupkaew, The American Prospect
The daughter of Mafia boss John Gotti bares all in a new reality series –
and she's every bit as deliciously trashy and colorful as expected.

Stephen Hui, Rabble
The Olympic games that start this Friday in Athens will be the first that allow transexual athletes.

Wednesday, August 11, 2004

eggs in one basket

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Look, I really love you. I think I love you more deeply and tenderly than I've loved anyone in a very long time. As you fall asleep at night, I stroke your hair and whisper to that dark Universe that brought you to me, "please, don't take her from me yet. Not now. Not this one, too. Please, let me embrace her awhile longer. Thank you for bringing me to her."

Never in my life has someone I loved stayed near me for very long. They die; they move. We become seperated by personal differences. My life of loving is full of grief and loss.

And, as much as we've bonded in such a short period of time, I still know: you could disappear in an instant. I'm already preparing for the grief of losing you.

I'm not holding back -- not consciously, anyway. I'm open and willing. I want the intimacy we're discovering together.

And I know I'll really miss it.

But I still say it: you're a Gift. You're not mine. You were loaned to me. You heal me in places I didn't even know were wounded.

I bring you concepts you'd never considered before. What I offer is new to you, and you delight in it.

But I'm pretty sure I'm a pale imitation of what you will have, someday, once you reach your full power and really understand what it is you want.

I know I delight you, and that gratifies me. I also know I'm rather a Lesson than a Life Partner.

You're much stronger than I. You'll need someone just as strong to really give you what you need.

It's not that I'm not trying. Believe me, I'm working my hardest and giving you my best.

For now, that's enough.

I'd love to be your partner. I honestly don't know if I can, though. I've always felt I'm just at the periphery of reality: never quite engaged in it, just a witness, just an outsider. I don't know why this is true. It's not that I haven't made a committed effort at something better. But something is missing in me: something fundamental, something essential. I always miss the point, by a fraction of a degree.

One day, you'll realize that flawed incompleteness in me. I won't be enough for you.

I know this. I accept this. I'm not looking forward to this, but I know it'll happen.

I have only one request. Don't pretend otherwise, once you become conscious of our difference. Don't stay with me out of pity or a sense of obligation. Don't try to drag it on longer than its natural lifespan.

My shame would force me from you. Once I realized what you'd done, how you hung in there longer than was comfortable and sustaining for you, I'd feel so stupid, inadequate and needy, I'd run from you, so I won't have to be reminded all the time.

You see, whatever happens, my sweet girl, I want you for my friend. I want you in my life for the rest of my life. I want us to come together willingly, despite my limitations, to support each other.

We have a hell of a lot of fun together, you and I. I'd hate to lose that because I just couldn't bear to be reminded of how much I'm not Enough.

And there's the issue of my loving you, too.

You see, whatever else happens, I want you to have what you deserve. I don't ever want to think you limited yourself by committing to me. I want you to be available for whatever the Universe offers you that might fulfill you more than I. I don't want to know you missed a chance, because you felt obliged to me. I want you to be free.

You have been more kind, more brave in this journey of intimacy, more generous and more bold than I'd ever have imagined.

Sometimes, I just look at you while you're working. Your pouty lip juts out. Your eyes are laser focussed. I can almost hear you thinking.

I look at those hands that have touched me so well, so powerfully, so gently. They work so well, those hands, building your projects and forming your connections.

I imagine those hands with a partner who could really match you, power for power, beauty for beauty. I imagine you dancing with your equal.

I never imagine myself there.

You've been badly mishandled during your life. You haven't been appreciated. You've seldom even been seen.

I must look pretty good, by comparison. I give you nurture and sanctuary. I'm amusing and attentive. I'm thoughtful and tender.

And heaven knows, you deserve all of that.

But I'm not the only source of such things. I only know them because I was taught.

Now, I'm teaching you.

So you'll be ready, when the opportunity presents itself.

I love you, sweetest woman. I love you more than I thought I could ever love anybody. I'm forever grateful to be in your company. It has meant such pleasure, healing and joy to me.

I'll stay as completely present with you, for now, as I can, my love. I'll give you the best of myself for as long as you'll have me.

But, when that day comes and it's time for you to move on to your destiny, grant me the dignity and satisfaction of knowing I didn't not stand in your way.

Let me let you go with pride.

You're more than I'd ever imagined. I could never have begun to hope for you.

For the rest of my life, I'll be grateful I met you, courted you, persued you and bonded with you.

But Unicorns can't be captured.

Tuesday, August 10, 2004

support system of two

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I got the heeby jeebies last night. I began feeling incompetent, ieffective, too damaged, etc. I got weepy and scared. And we talked.

We fell asleep and woke about four this morning. And we talked.

She says these blogs contain the material for a book. Well, they'll be a year old on August 26th, and there is a LOT of material, especially in this one and in Hood Life.

I need to start organizing material, prioritizing and editing.

She wants us to live together, in a house big enough for each of us to have her own work space. We're negotiating every detail.

It may happen sooner than July 3 of next year. She's thinking of giviing notice where she lives before she leaves in November, putting her stuff in storage, staying here temporarily after the month she's gone and then going house hunting with me in early Spring next year.

She wants me to concentrate on writing and producing.

Now, this girl is no slouch. She knows things. She knows methods. She knows marketing. She knows management. She knows people.

She says my writing is no different than the cooking, produce growing, arts and crafts and other things I've done to earn a living. But I could sell my skills to a larger audience, for more money.

She's right, you know.

I lost a lot of time, in poverty. My skills are rusty. I'm behind the times with the technology. But I'm smart and I learn quickly. I have the basic skills. I just need to brush up.

It's been a very long time since someone had faith in me. I mean, besides myself. It's been a long time since someone thought I was worth the time, effort and energy to support me in my work.

She calls me an artist. She calls me a genius.

I try to take it in, always surprised to hear those words come from such a competent mouth.

She doesn't want me to ever worry about being homeless again. She wants to spend her life with me. She wants the last 30 years of our lives to be spent together, in creative and loving partnership. She calls me "home."

I feel the same way. I'm just glad she said it first. Makes me feel less crazy for being absolutely sure I was right to court her so avidly.

I ignored every negative voice in my head to persue her. I wouldn't listen. I was determined to follow my intuition. I'd made a decision to learn to love myself, as difficult as that might be. And I knew she was, somehow, part of that process.

And now, here we are.

Craziest love story on the books, we are.

But it's perfectly logical, reasonable and natural to both of us.

After our talk this morning, we walked the volcanoes and talked some more.

We came back here and I made us breakfast and packed her a lunch for work.

It seems completely normal that she comes back here every night to sleep in my arms and whisper in my ear.

We have the oddest things in common. We were even each born with our tongues tethered to the floors of our mouths and required surgeries to loosen them. And neither of us has stopped talking since.

We tell each other secrets that could have destroyed lesser relationships. Then, we'll hold each other, comforting and soothing old pains.

I can't quite wrap my mind around how blessed I am. Every day, I'm more amazed by this woman I chose. The more I know her, the more surprised I am at how right I was to persist on loving her.

I feel redeemed.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

my girl

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Oh, I know: everybody who has recently fallen in love thinks the object of their affections is the bee's knees.

But let me tell you about my girl.

When my girl realized she'd need a prescription medication that would be hard for her to procure, she went to college and studied pharacology, so she could make it herself, if she had to.

When my girl required some medical equipment after a procedure, she sent a big chunk of change to an outfit that took the money and ran. So, she researched the equipment, learned all the steps to building the contraption, ordered parts online and built one for herself. Now, she's upgrading her prototype. And, once she's happy with how it works, she's posting design plans online, to sell to other women who can't afford the commercial one. She can't sell the devices, because they're patented, but she's sure as hell not going to sit back and let other women who need the equipment get ripped off like she did.

My girl rebuilt a recreational trailer to live in, redesigning the electrical, plumbing and heating systems to fit her needs, so she could lie in bed in the morning and activate the water heater and other devices without getting up.

My girl rode a bicycle in to work every morning, and back home at night, ten miles each way, for months.

My girl can manage all aspects of her job from a fanny pack the size of a small meatloaf.

My girl knows every aspect of communications equipment, and can comfortably operate any studio you throw her into.

My girl is an actress. She can sound like anybody and, pretty much, any thing.

My girl is so gentle, even my most traumatized and suspicious cat comes to her to get his head knuckle rubbed.

My girl understands Steven Hawking and can carry on a conversation about the Heisenberg Principle.

My girl likes to wear pink.

My girl looks quite sultry in black satin.

My girl purrs arousingly at good food, affection, flowers and smart ideas.

My girl has the smartest touch of any lover I've ever known, but has never loved a woman before me.

My girl nurses wounded, frightened people through whatever obstacles are interfering with their plans, and does it with genuine respect and compassion.

My girl pays attention to details others don't even see.

My girl is the smartest person in the room, including me (for once, and what a relief THAT is!), but has the courtesy and self-preservation to be one of the gang.

My girl is a shape shifter. Her voice, face, mannerisms and dialect can change instantly, in the middle of a sentence, to accomodate her mood and her message.

My girl always knows where everything is and what comes next.

My girl is the clumsiest girly-girl I've ever met.

My girl is grace personified when she's emmersed in a project.

My girl doesn't kiss ass, but manouvers the pitfalls of politics and diplomacy like a veteran.

My girl is genuinely curious about everything.

My girl can instantly quiet my jangled and abrasive public persona, just by walking into a room, and I become what I truly am, without defenses and masks.

My girl actually wants to know what I want and need, which unnerves me, because I'm not accustomed to such attention.

My girl doesn't need to be told twice what's real; she immediately incorporates it into her reality.

My girl is the most logical person I've ever met, while being deeply sentimental, in the truest sense of the word.

I'm completely convinced my girl can do anything she sets her mind to, and do it at least as well as any "authority" or "professional" out there.

My girl has a young spirit and an ancient soul.

My girl is literally magic: sacred and rare; she should be treated with respect and high social standing, if we lived in a culture that still respected unicorns.

My girl talks in bed, makes me laugh and weep in extacy, plays like a puppy.

She's a total and complete Gift to me. I didn't "earn" her. I know I really owe the Universe something serious, for lending her to me.

She has been taken for granted, in the past. I can't understand this. How blind can someone be, not to see she's sacred and rare?

The chances of even meeting a person as huge and magnificent as my girl are very slim. Becoming a friend to such a person is even more unlikely. Being loved by her so intimately and so profoundly is even less possible.

I KNOW how lucky I am!

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Guatemala Farm Rape Clouds Free Trade Debate

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Guatemala Farm Rape Clouds Free Trade Debate
Thu Jul 29, 2004 08:13 AM ET

Workers say they warned police in February that the farm's manager had
threatened women with rape if the labor case was not dropped.

Amnesty International says the rape was a warning to dissuade union
members from pushing for compensation from the farm owners and U.S. Rep.
Sander Levin, a Democrat from Michigan, called the anti-union atmosphere
in Guatemala unacceptable.

By Frank Jack Daniel
GUATEMALA CITY (Reuters) - The rape of a teen-age girl on a Guatemalan
coffee farm is raising doubts about the Central American country's
ability to clean up its labor record and win U.S congressional support
for a free trade agreement.

The 15-year-old told police she was washing clothes with her younger
brother on the Maria Lourdes farm in southern Guatemala on July 6 when
they were attacked by masked gunmen, who beat them both and raped her.

The victim was discovered by farm employees tied up near coffee trees
on the farm, which workers say belongs to the family of President Oscar
Berger's sister in law.

The 15-year-old's father is one of 47 farm workers fired in 1992 when
they formed a trade union to pressure employers to pay them the minimum
wage. They went to court to get their jobs back and compensation, and
they have won some interim rulings which the farm owners have not
complied with.

Amnesty International says the rape was a warning to dissuade union
members from pushing for compensation from the farm owners and U.S. Rep.
Sander Levin, a Democrat from Michigan, called the anti-union atmosphere
in Guatemala unacceptable.

"I find it so beyond belief and acceptance that rape is used as a
tactic to fight unions," Levin said in a telephone interview from the
United States.

Guatemala is one of five Central American nations which, along with the
Dominican Republic, have signed a free trade pact known as CAFTA with
the United States.

The deal has become bogged down in the U.S. Congress, which must
approve the pact, largely because of concerns that labor rights and
environmental protections are lax in those countries.

Democratic presidential candidate John Kerry has promised to
renegotiate the trade pact if elected in November to include "strong
protections" in both those areas.

CAFTA requires Central American countries to enforce their existing
legislation, but critics say this is not enough.

"CAFTA cannot pass the way it is currently drafted. The failure to put
internationally recognized labor rights in an enforceable way is a fatal
flaw and no double talk will overcome it," Levin said.

While supporters of the pact still harbor hopes of getting it through
Congress without changes, they currently do not have the votes.

The rape case, if indeed linked to labor rights, is an example of the
kind of abuse that blights the Guatemalan countryside, where poor
peasants say landowners treat them like property.

"There is law for the rich, but for us, the people, there is no law and
no justice," the raped girl's mother, Margarita Perez, said.

Rural workers' rights came under attack after a U.S.-backed coup in
1954 and have been weak since. Activists say Berger's ties to the
landowning sector cast doubt on his commitment to resolving such

Guatemala's land registry shows Maria Lourdes was owned by a sister in
law of Berger until 1997 and workers say her family still owns the farm.
Farm spokesman Mario del Cid refused to say who the farm's owners are.

No arrests have been made in the rape case. A police doctor has
confirmed the girl was raped. She identified her attackers as a security
guard and the manager of the farm, prosecutors say.

Prosecutor Rodolfo Hernandez said initial investigations showed it was
not clear whether the rape was related to labor disputes at the farm.

"Just because some trade unionists want to link this with the
administration of the farm does not mean that's the way it is,"
Hernandez said.

Workers say they warned police in February that the farm's manager had
threatened women with rape if the labor case was not dropped.

Farm spokesman del Cid said he suspected the workers were manipulating
the rape case to remove the farm manager from a team negotiating a
solution to the 12-year labor conflict.

The dispute has lingered for years in Guatemala's notoriously slow
labor tribunals.

The farm owners have not complied with court rulings to reinstate and
pay compensation to the sacked workers, most of whom continue to live in
houses where they were born on the perimeter of the farm.

Since Berger took office in January, the government has made progress
on a number of high profile rights cases dating back to Guatemala's
36-year civil war.

However, the attention brought by the Maria Lourdes case hurts
government claims that progress is being made on improving treatment of
Guatemala's rural poor.

"We see an incongruence; we are witnesses to daily rights abuses in the
agricultural sector," said Henry Hernandez, spokesman for Guatemala's
government-appointed Human Rights Ombudsman.

Guatemalan law makes it almost impossible to form trade-wide unions, in
effect limiting unions to individual companies.

Violence against workers frequently goes unpunished and illegal
lay-offs are common in industry and agriculture.

After world coffee prices collapsed several years ago, thousands of
rural workers were laid off without severance pay from farms where they
were born and raised.

Reuters 2004. All Rights Reserved.

Deborah James, Global Economy Director
Global Exchange
415.575.5537 direct line
415.255.7296 x245
415.255.7498 fax
2017 Mission Street #303, San Francisco, CA 94110

Lila Lipscomb, A Star of Fahrenheit 9/11, Speaks on the Iraq Invasion and the Death of Her Son

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* Lila Lipscomb, A Star of Fahrenheit 9/11, Speaks on the Iraq Invasion and the Death of Her Son *

Lila's son Michael was 26 when he was killed in Iraq. Lila shared her story with filmmaker Michael Moore and became a central character in Fahrenheit 9/11. She spoke recently at the national convention of Peace Action.