Monthly Archives: April 2014
The latest PSA is rather compelling, and this issue affects women (and men) everywhere. It doesn’t matter if you are straight, gay, bi, or questioning. It doesn’t matter if you are black, white, pink, or purple. It doesn’t matter if you are rich, poor, fat, skinny, short, or tall. Sexual assault is happening. It is a crime and it is wrong. It robs the lives of it’s victims. No means no. Check out the video to see some of our favorite men setting the record straight. Remember- 1 is 2 many.
The latest buzz about one of my not so secret celeb crushes, Kristen Stewart, is that she is indeed dating her gal pal, Alicia Cargile. I don’t always write about celebrity gossip, but I’ve been a dedicated Krisbian for years. So, let’s savor this unconfirmed piece of information and give Kristen a warm welcome.
I had the privilege of staying home from work today to spend time with my four month old son. And let me tell you, this kid gave me a run for my money! His usually happy, easy-going nature transformed into one crabby little baby. He was so irritable and cranky today that it took all I had to try to soothe him. I learned another lesson in what it means to be a parent. I’m exhausted. And I’m happy. I’m so excited to be there to soothe him when he’s at his worst, to hold him when he’s in need of a nap, to provide smashed green beans and fill his belly. Sure, there will be rough moments, but I love every second. I am mommy.
74-year-old Navy veteran, Madelynn Taylor would like her wife to be buried with her in the Idaho State Veterans Cemetery, but officials will not allow it. Idaho doesn’t recognize her same sex marriage. She followed standard protocol, taking her discharge papers and marriage certificate to the Veterans Cemetery to apply to be buried there with her wife when she passes away, but was at a loss when they would not process her request.
“I thought they’d say okay because in any federal cemetery it is okay, in any national cemetery,” Taylor said. “I could take the same documents and get buried in Arlington if I needed to, with no problems. But here they said it’s a state veterans cemetery, not a national cemetery. So we have to go by the state laws.”
Click this link to view a video clip on Taylor:
Taylor and her late wife Jean Mixner married at a church retreat in Oregon in 1995, and formally in a California courthouse six years ago.
Taylor, who served six years in the Navy from 1958 to 1964, says that while she could be buried together in another veterans cemetery, she says as a longtime Idaho resident with brothers and sisters here, she doesn’t want to settle. She wants to be in Idaho’s Veterans Cemetery, with her wife by her side.
“I just feel that it’s the right place for me,” she says. “I want Jean with me.”
Source: LGBTQ Nation
When I speak of my single life, I sound like a 50 year old man glorifying his high school football days. I get all glossy-eyed and lost in my own swollen head. I think I sound hot. Seasoned. I reminisce on when I was dating four girls at the same time. On the good dyke clubs “back in the day”. I think I am impressing the 21 year olds that landed in my circle. Like these baby dykes can learn a thing or two from this veteran clit licker. I remember how attractive I used to be with my tan and tiny clothes. I was an avid teeth bleacher. My legs (and more) were always shaved. It was a serious case of “too many girls, too little time”.
Maybe I do sound cool. I don’t know, it’s possible. Or maybe I just sound old.
Truth is, I haven’t been single in eight years. And truth is, I’m okay with it. In fact, I have been married to my wife for almost seven years and we have a baby boy. We own real estate. And a dog. We don’t get drunk and we have a bedtime. I wear comfortable clothes.
I don’t know if people are impressed with the image of the former me. I don’t know if I miss her. I don’t know if I think that if I were single today, that it would be the same as it was. Because the reality is that it would be nothing like it used to be. I sincerely laugh at my fantasy of the younger, goddess-like version of me. The thing is, I have changed. Single, married, or whatever. I’m not the same person that I once was. And it has nothing to do with whether I was a fresh little lezzie or not. It has everything to do with growing up. My priorities went from phone numbers to anniversaries, from new club music to nursery rhymes, from panties to diapers. You catch my drift.
Maybe we all like to hang on to something from our youthful counterparts. I mean, isn’t that what the media and commercialism want us to do? Look younger! Feel younger! Maybe because I’ve had so many changes in these last eight years, that it just seems recreational to embrace a memory or two. Frankly, I enjoy remembering the days where things happened a little faster, women were a little more prevalent, and I was a little shinier.
And as far as I’m concerned, there is nothing wrong with that. Okay okay, and I was a ripe little hottie. There, I said it.
Her skin was softer than a lullaby.
A tune so simple, I’d wished the words were my own.
That voice embraced a song, just so she could set it free.
As she sang, I had to hide the tears.
Her own hair, the color women pay for, left a strand on my coat.
It was part of what defined her beauty.
I insisted she was number one, no matter how sensitive she was.
Weak and selfish, my light shined through her voids.
She answered sweetly to the name only I could call her.
Then painted a picture of her reservations.
A new sense of complication emerged from the rose-colored trench.
And I pitied my intentions.
She came and went until something better became obvious.
I paved that road for which she danced.
Aromatic memories of her perfume are reduced to ash.
I now live my new book, where the words are my own.
She used her eyes like a weapon,
And her tongue just like a whip.
She set her skin on fire,
With the curve of her hip.
She caressed herself gradually,
Using just a fingertip.
Her breath was sweet and heavy,
As she slowly bit my lip.
I embrace her body underneath,
When she invites my hand to slip.
Insatiable thrusting swallowed me,
Wave of ecstasy tightened her grip.
As she trembled and glistened,
Succulent nectar I always sip.
We held each other in our arms,
With steamy flesh, our sweat did drip.
Soon enough she kissed my neck,
Whispered in my ear to “flip”.
It was my turn she said,
Our love making goes round trip.
A day in the life of a lesbian, who just happens to be a mom, wife, and employee.
5:00 a.m. – The alarm wails from the dresser.
5:15 a.m. – The baby fusses in the monitor.
5:20 a.m. – Diaper change.
5:30 a.m. – Let the dog out.
5:40 a.m. – Finally go pee while my wife nurses the baby.
6:00 a.m. – Down two cups of coffee, kiss the wife as she runs out the door, and prepare my lunch.
Fast forward to 8:00 a.m. where the baby is dressed, has been fed a bottle, I am dressed, sporting a very rushed makeup job, and we are driving to the sitter’s house with a packed diaper bag, extra bottles, and my brain, which is sitting on the passenger seat beside me.
It’s busy season at the office, so by 10:30 a.m., I have spoken to 15 clients, handled four scheduling discrepancies, responded to a handful of emails, and derailed my boss from a potential crisis.
12:45 p.m. – Lunch is actually more like grazing as I mull over unedited documents.
2:30 p.m. – Place a laundry list of product orders.
5:00 p.m. – Breathe a sigh of relief and get the hell out of there.
5:12 p.m. – Rush hour traffic.
The very notion of seeing my baby boy at 5:45 p.m. is literally not able to be explained. Warmth and joy, people. Warmth and joy.
6:00 p.m. – Dinner with my wife. Compare notes of our work day. Feed the baby his green beans, which he manages to get everywhere.
6:25 p.m. – Feed dog.
6:35 p.m. – Check email, Facebook, other brain-sucks.
7:00 p.m. – Baby bath time. Jammies.
8:20 p.m. – Tuck in baby boy.
8:30 p.m. – Wife and I are glued to the couch, feet up, yawning with bloodshot eyes.
8:35 p.m. Flip through the channels. Scoff at Miley. Bitch about the weather. Shut it off.
And by 9:00 p.m., I’ve dragged myself to the shower, let the dog out, and packed the diaper bag for the morning. By 9:30 p.m., my lovely wife and I are both in bed, ready to do it all over again tomorrow.
So, there you have it. A day in the life of a lesbian. I scratch my ass and pick up pennies. I love my family. I have to force myself to work out. Pretty ‘normal’ if you ask me.