It's All The Same, Just Different

A famed neurosurgeon recently needed his own surgical equipment to remove his foot from his mouth when he said some rather disparaging remarks, on national television, about gay marriage.  What surprised me most about this entire episode is how clueless the doctor seemed about what a hot button gay marriage is.  I love to bring up the subject, along with race relations, gun control, and/or  abortion when I am stuck in a dull dinner party. Talk about waking the dead! Just a word  of caution, though, from an experienced rabble-rouser. This is not a trick you want to do at a sit down dinner where there are steak knives involved. Just saying. 

 I have gay friends and straight friends, and, from what I have observed, all couples have the same issues. Her mother is a buttinski.  His sister thinks you are made of money.  One likes the mountains, one likes the beach, so they take turns yearly to decide where to vacation. One drives, one navigates, then they switch positions after a while. One is obsessive about checking the batteries in the smoke alarm and one doesn't even have a clue where the smoke alarm is. In other words, gay or straight, 90% of the time marriage is two people dealing with hum-drum boring crap.  

A friend of mine in Minnesota emailed  me last week, lamenting that, "there are days this whole single lesbian thing just doesn't work. Right now there is a furry, dead thing outside my front door and I don't know what to do. " 

I had no advice to give her, as when it comes to dead, furry things I am pretty useless, but I did assure her that committed heterosexual relationships have their challenges as well.  My two most serious relationships have been with a devout Christian and a devout Buddhist, and neither one would empty the trash. 

I am convinced that, gay or straight, every one of us has, at some point, awaken in the middle of the night, looked over at the lump sleeping next to us, and, in the words of Richard Gere, asked, "Who is this gerbil?" Then we probably rolled over and went back to sleep, knowing that the snoring lump in our beds is the one person who would be there to help us with dead, furry things outside the front door. 

And who knows? Maybe one day s/he will even learn to empty the trash.

My Medical Condition

I don’t normally don t reveal such personal information, but I must share with you my recent diagnosis of a peculiar ailment.  It is so rare that it has only been verified in people from Baltimore.  More specifically, only people who live in my condo. 

According to Gray’s Anatomy (the medical book, not the television show) this is my condition:

“Looseous Greymatterous:” the anxiety-driven fear of the inability to get home because of falling snow.  This ailment generally manifests itself in strained neck muscles due to the patient’s constant turns to the window to see if a snowflake has fallen, blistered fingers from checking the internet for weather updates, and the inability to concentrate on anything but the following:

“Do I have enough books to read in case of a blizzard?”

“Do I have enough gas to get me all the way home?”

“OMG, DO I HAVE ENOUGH DORITOS IN THE HOUSE?????”

I believe this ailment could have its origins in the Big Blizzard of 1977.  I was in college but stuck at home for one week with only the following reading materials: Text books from “Religions Throughout the World” and “Philosophy 204,”plus a whole bunch of “Cosmo” magazines.

I read and reread those books out of sheer boredom.  I swear, on my deathbed, its going to be a toss-up as to whether I request Last Rites from a priest, chanting from a Buddhist monk, or a tube of Posey Rosey lipstick and to die in the arms of a unmarried male doctor.  

Also, during that memorable week, my sister ate the ENTIRE bag of Doritos one night while watching some stupid horror movie marathon.  I remember standing on the front lawn, my fist raised to the heavens, and swearing aloud, “As God is my witness, I will never be in this position again.  I don’t care if I have to lie, cheat, steal or beg, as God is my witness, I will never be bored or saltless again!” 

Okay, maybe that last part was more or less a dream, but in my heart the emotions were there. 

The people I work with know that the first snowflake triggers this condition, so they stand clear of the door.  I once left the office so quickly after spotting flurries that I left skidmarks on one of Dr. Lifesaver’s lab coats.  To this day, I am afraid to ask him if he was wearing it at the time. 

Maybe I have been selfish in keeping this knowledge to myself.  Perhaps I should tell the world about this little-known disease. Maybe we can all work together to find a cure. Hey, I know…let’s do a telethon! I’ll be there as the living face of this dreaded disease.

Unless, of course, it snows that night.  Then I’ll be home, watching it on TV with an open bag of Doritos.  

A lil Scrabble do ya

I love words; their ability to communicate the power of our emotions, to describe unbelievable beauty or deeply seated joy. So its no surprise that Scrabble is one of my all-time favorite ways to pass an evening. I have two friends with whom I play  most often, and, let me  tell you, we get intense.  When Eliza and I get into it over a rule or the spelling of a word, the people around us hide the kids, move the furniture, and place their bets. Eliza, who knows more words than anyone I've ever met, gets her talents naturally. I once placed Scrabble with Eliza and her 89 year old mother, Townsley.  That geriatric wordsmith wiped up the floor with me.

The last argument Eliza and I had was when I played the word "gonna."  Eliza said it is not a word. I said it is, citing the famous, award-winning movie, "I'm Gonna Git You, Sucka." I swear, sometime its hard to play Scrabble with white people.

Anyway, because I am a such a lovely person, and I had forgotten to bring any weapons that evening, I conceded. That time.But I still say that if the word is good enough to be in the title of a Wayans Brothers film, then, by golly, it is legitimate word.

We are a merciless crew.  One time, Kitty showed pity for me, and she has regretted ever since. Mature player that I am, I was  whining about how I only had low scoring letters and not enough vowels, and whatever, so Kitty threw me a Scrabble bone and gave me an opening to play a  quadruple-letter slot. I, of course, jumped on it, using all of my letters to play the word, "Chortle."  The  points, along with the bonus 50 points earned for using all of my letters, came to a whopping 130 points.

That made me chortle like a madwoman. Kitty did not chortle.  As a matter of fact, I don't believe she has chortled since.

Since I can't play Scrabble every single night, I suffice with playing "Words with Friends" with my friend, Jenn. By the way, did you know that I was the person with whom Alec Baldwin was playing WWF when he got kicked off the plane? Sure, Alec never revealed it was me, as we have a very psychologically complex stalker-stalkee relationship. Every time I see him in the courtroom, I wave a blow a kiss and he responds by doubling his security team. That Alec, he is a riot. 

Anyway,  Jenn was hesitant to begin playing with me, as she swore up and down that she was not good at spelling or vocabulary.  So I gave her my best playing tips (both of them!!) and now she is kicking my butt seven ways to Sunday. Note to self: Do NOT let Jenn talk you into playing poker with her.

So if any of y'all out there in blogger land want to do some intense Scrabble playing one night, let  me know. You bring the weapons, I'll bring the chortle. 

The Expatriate

Thinking about the upcoming winter has many people daydreaming about moving to a warmer, sunnier place. Before you go packing those bags, please let me share the story of Miss X.

Miss X, for reasons that I ...er, ah, she..will no longer admit to remembering, decided several  years ago to leave ol' Balmer for greener pastures. Her life needed  shaking up, she decided, a challenge. Miss X sold her house, quit her job, said goodbye to everyone and everything she ever knew, and just drove away one fine morning.

She chose a place where few people spoke English.

A place where there were only two types of weather:
dang, it's hot, and
dang, what's the name of today's hurricane?

A place that smelled like one thousand exploring cow farts.

A place with bugs...bugs that flew, crawled, slithered, or burrowed, all with the temperament of a pissed-off toddler.

Why, oh why, did Miss X choose Florida?

Miss X 's realtor found her a charming mo-bile home in what he described as a "quite little neighborhood."  That's how Miss X found herself right smack dab in the middle of the Senior Citizen belt, which stretch-marked from the "Welcome to Florida" sign all the way to the Keys.

The neighborhood was, indeed, quiet...at times...not, however,  at 6 am, the time when most of her neighbors liked to mow their lawns, release their barking dogs for some exercise, or just gather together and bitch about Eisenhower. But come the wee hours of 8:30 p.m., Miss X found herself on her lanai, alone in a silent, dark community.

There were entire days when Miss X's only human contact came from the daily obscene phone calls she received. Miss X couldn't ever prove those calls came from her pervy neighbor, but Mr. Calhoun gave himself away by stopping every few words to take a puff of his inhaler. Plus, the calls stopped around 8pm, the exact time it was lights out in the Calhoun residence. Coinky-dinky? Miss X thinks not.

High unemployment being what it was, Miss X found herself waiting tables at a very famous chain restaurant. (Rhymes with Spacker Sparell). Poor Miss X soon discovered one of the sad ironies of life--a college education means shit when you are trying to balance a tray full of hot food and cold drinks. She realized that she was, really and truly, the world's worst waitress. It didn't help that most of the  patrons were also her elderly neighbors, who, very conscious of money, left pittances for tips. Miss X understood; after all, the pay from So-So Security is way low, and the cost of inhalers and local obscene phone calls is way high.

Miss X had to admit the truth to herself:: she had made a mistake. She needed to get back to where she once belonged. Just six months after saying goodbye to Baltimore forever,  Miss X was back.The city was just as noisy, dirty, smelly  and crime ridden as always, but, to Miss X, it was a slice of heaven. It was home.

So, the moral of this little tale is : The grass ain't always greener. And, most importantly, STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM FLORIDA. 

Fifty Shades of Stupid

I admit it...I got caught up in all the hype for "Fifty Shades of Grey." For those of you smart enough to save you money, please allow the Grey-Haired Goddess to review this book for you.

College senior Anastacia Steele (her middle name must be Sheila, or Susan, or Samantha....trust me on this) meets handsome, multi-zillionaire Christian Grey. For reasons that are never clear, he falls immediately into lust for Anastacia. She rejects him because she is a dumbass woman who is already in a relationship, sort of.

She graduates from college, and Christian tries to assist her by setting up interviews for dream jobs with his colleagues. Anastacia refuses this because she is a dumbass woman who wants to make it on her own. 

Christian, seeing her need, buys her a new car and computer. She insists that she will not accept these gifts, but will use them as loans, because she is a dumbass woman of independence,  if not financial security. 

Anastacia flies from Oregon to somewhere down south to visit her mother and step-father. Christian pursues her in his private jet. At this point, any normal woman would have sensed some stalking danger, but Anastacia, because she is a dumbass, trusting soul, begins to think that maybe Christian is a good catch after all. 

Still with me? 

But Grey-Haired Goddess, you might ask, what about the hot parts? Ah, the hot parts. Hmmmm...in my opinion, the supposedly hot parts were more....tepid..room temperature....but perhaps you should decide for yourself:

Anastacia decides to give herself to Christian, and discovers his "kink" about sex. The first sex scene lasts about 2 paragraphs...talk about a quickie! The second sex scene is a little longer, but still as scorching as day-old oatmeal. 

After meeting her parents and his parents and getting all into each others lives and sexual preferences, Anastacia decides to leave Christian because she is a dumbass woman who thinks perhaps she needs to investigate life on her own.

The End. 

For any multi-zillionaries out there, please be aware that the Grey-Haired Goddess will be most happy to allow you to buy her new cars, computers, beach houses...oh, really, anything that you rich little heart would like. I am  sweet that way. 

In exchange, I promise not to snicker at any of your preferences, and ensure complete confidentiality. 

After all, I am not a dumbass.

Thou Shalt Not Gossip... Part Two

"No, no, not questioning...well,  maybe just a little. I mean, that no gossiping thing, well, its really gonna lose the chick vote, you know what I mean?"

"No, I don't, " God replied.

"You married? " Moses asked.

"No."

"Engaged?"

"No."

"Ever had a long-term......"

"No."

"Ah, you're not one of the Greek gods, are you?"

"NO!" God sputtered. 

"All I'm saying is, the girls, they like the gossip. It gives them something to do, besides having babies and fending off Roman soldiers."

"Hey, which one of us here is GOD?"

"Hey, which one of us here has ever gotten laid?" 

"Oy vey," God said.

"Just a suggestion. Why don't we..."

"We?"

"...we get rid of that don't gossip thing, and replace it with something nice for the ladies. My wife is always kvetching that nobody appreciates her, so how's about something like, "I command thee to be nice to your mother."

God thought about this for a moment and replied, "You know, that's not bad, kid. How about, "Thou shalt honor thy mother."

"I like that," Moses said, "Thou shalt honor thy mother and thy father."

"D'uh! Who said anything about fathers?"

"What? All your father has done for you, and you want to break his heart?"

"Okay, fine, " God said, proving that even God isn't immune to Jewish guilt. "Look, I'm outta here. You clear about your mission? Freeing your people then delivering the commandments?"

"Got it, Chief," Moses replied.

And off Moses went, and he did free his people, and he did deliver the commandments. And, for the remainder of his life, whenever he heard anyone gossiping,  Moses would beam at them and say,

"You're welcome."

Thou Shalt Not Gossip...NOT

One day, a long time ago, a simple shepherd named Moses was tending a flock. Suddenly, he noticed a burning bush to his right...a bush that seemed to be calling his name.

"Hey, Moses....yeah, you, c'mere," the bush commanded.

"I don't think so, " Moses replied. He wasn't in the habit of answering to talking bushes which were on fire.

"C'mon, kid. It's me...God. I have chosen you for a very special mission."

Intrigued, Moses sauntered over to the bush, his shepherding rod in hand just in case this was a practical joke his brother, Aaron, was playing. If it was, that long overdue smackdown was surely in Aaron's immediate future.

"Wassup?" Moses asked, suspiciously.

"Well, its about time. I have been burning here for about 2 hours trying to get your attention," God admonished Moses.

"Yeah, well.....you know, we're in a desert. It's like, a hundred degrees out here. If you really wanted to catch my attention, why didn't you show yourself as, I don't know, a snow cone, or a piece of ice? I would have come running for that."

"Look," God answered, "Can we just get down to business?"

"Or a big pitcher of cold beer. That definitely would have..."

"Moses!" God shouted, "Concentrate, okay? Here's the scoop: you have been chosen to lead your people out of slavery, then deliver the Ten Commandments to them so they have guidelines for living good and righteous lives. Got it?

"Okay, " Moses agreed, "but not tonight. I have bowling tonight. Hey, can I see those Ten Whatamacallit's?"

"Ten Commandments, " God corrected him, "Sure, take a look-see."

Out of the sky fell two large tablets, with Five Commandments written on each.  The tablets landed at Moses feet, and he stooped to retrieve them. After a few minutes of reading, Moses spoke up.

"Hey, God, listen....these are real good and all...."

"Thank you, " said God.

"Except for this one....Thou Shalt Not Gossip. Listen, bud, I don't think that one's gonna fly, "

"Are you serious, Moses? You are questioning the Lord, your God?" God really knew a lot about voice projection, and now his voice was booming.