You might be a Lezbakistanian

The other day we watched the comedy special called “Blue Collar something and something…” with Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable guy, and a couple of others. Some of it was prepubescent male humor that we didn’t laugh at but some of it was darn right lyao… anyway… subconsciously it must have rubbed off on us. Because… we were driving down the highway in our RV and we saw this sign at a Golden Corral. All it said was catering available. And I instantly blurt out. If Golden Coral catered your last wedding, you might be a redneck!

Well,… that is all it takes for me to get thinking… I knew right then and there that it was a blog waiting to happen. Not the redneck part though… the “you might be” part. So for those of you that were hoping to hear about how pretty the dogwood were in South Carolina or how the morning dew glistened on the 1st Tee, will just have to wait for another blog.

This blog is call “You might be a Lezbakistanian. “ Yes dear friends, Lezbakistanian, not just lesbians. Lesbian is too general, too undefined. Lesbakistan is a country Pedro likes to call “our people”. It is loosely defined as the womyn we know… and friends of the womyn we know… and some relatives, and some neighbors, while others might be more comfortable with the term honorary Lezbakistanian. I could try to define or describe us more but I will let the blog do it for me.

• If you know how Pedro got her name… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• If you have ever worn a feather boa golfing… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• If you can name all three queens... you might be...
• If you have seen a certain County Commissioner in drag… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• If you are a Z-Ho… you are a Lezbakistanian.
• If you played dirty Santa and the top “prize” of the night is a tie between a Home Depot gift card and Ms Claus T-back panties… you might be a Lezbakistanian.
• Hell… If you earned a toaster oven in Orlando “before the new millennium”… you might be a Lezbakistanian.

I could go on but I am sure some of you may have your own to share. Please feel free to add them to the comment section below or send them to me for future blog consideration.

Peace, Luv, and Marshmella Biscuitte w/2 tt’s,

barbie

march, marCH, MARCH!!!

At first I wasn’t sure how to feel about this Equality March in DC. I’ve done quite of few protests for various causes including Gay Rights, Women’s Rights, Lesbian Rights, Reproductive Rights, AIDS/HIV Health, blah, blah, blah… I’ve gotten a little apathetic, a little cynical, a little out of shape. My Marching muscles (both physical and mental) needed a boot camp or at least a pep rally.

Walking through DuPont Circle district on Saturday was it. Not because we walked for about a gazillion miles nor because the streets were strewn with rainbow flags or because my gaydar was beeping non-stop. The shot in my arm was that is was none of this. The shot in the arm was the normalness of the scene. The streets were filled with tourist, window shoppers, and friends laughing at cafe tables. You had to look closer to see that it was a predominantly gay crowd. This is what normal life looks like for all of us, gay or straight. We have come so far…

The next day at the March it was very much the same. Oh there were signs, and chants, and cheers for all the colorful queers… but for the most part gone were the Drag Queens, gone were Chap clad boy toys, and the radical spike dykes beating drums from previous Marches. We didn’t need those to get noticed. We are not just a fringe community with a few that feel brave enough to show our faces… we are mainstream! We are your neighbors, your bank teller, your grocer’, your pharmacist, and postal workers, all marching without the fear. We are the baby boomer survivors refusing to give up struggle… and we are the students that have picked up the torch and assumed the struggle.

One neo-nuclear family mom pushing a stroller said to me that she was marching in hopes that “her daughter would not inherit the struggle.”

The signs over head say it many ways but the message was singular. EQUALITY… EQUALITY… EQUALITY…!

And if a picture is worth a thousand words… here are a whole bunch for you. click here for my slideshow or click here for individual photos

Peace, Luv, and Equality for All, barbie

Maine Show Off Its Beauty

It was one beautiful day upon Pedro and Mel’s arrival. They could not have picked a better day to arrive on the island. Low 80’s, sunshine, slight breeze… just Beautiful!

They had to take it all in quick cuz around here just as suddenly as summer arrives… it can slips away. Kinda like slipping away in the night Like the Van Trapps’ pushing the car down the driveway to escape over the Alps… Headlights pierce the chilly night… the gastopo (Pedro) was here to stopo summer from disappearing before we could get a good week of gallivant among the floral/fauna and then it was “So Long, Farewell, Aufwiedersehn, Adeiu”

Well before the leaves fall, I should say a few words about their visit. Insanely busy! Pretty much from the moment they arrived until the frantic moment they left… and that is another crazy story… but I digress. I’ll get back to that later.

These two were hiking fools. Not that I blame them… there are so many great hikes of all levels in Acadia that this truly in a hiker’s paradise. They started with the dome of Cadillac Mt the afternoon they got here, Jordan’s Pond Loop the next day, then a non-specific carriage trail (they have no idea where they where… just happy to find the car), followed by the Sand Beach stretch and up Gorham Mountain, and finished with a morning climb to the Beach/Canadian Cliffs. That’s 5 out of 6 days. Not to mention they golfed twice, toured Acadia by car, a carriage ride, a lighthouse tour via the water ways, dinner and lunch in Bar Harbor, ample shopping, a few campfires, a cribbage tournament, and a Partridge in a Pear Tree! I don’t think I wouldn’t have to try very hard to get the twelve days of Xmas… Oh that might be scarey… the twelve days of Pedro? No, I won’t go there.

I saved the best for last of course… There could be no visit without at least one calamity… we are talking Carlette here! The morning of their departure, we are buzzing around the rig having a leisurely breakfast of banana nut pancakes and Vermont syrup while the girls are packing and showering. It was a buzz but a slow buzz. Plenty of time… Carlette asks Ruth to check on her plane to see if it is on time etc… When Ruth notices that the time was about 30 minutes earlier than what Carlette has been saying all week. Suddenly our pace went from la te da to a frantic get in the fr@%king car pace!

To make matters worse, there is heavy construction on the first half of the 44 miles to the airport. I am driving as fast as I dare, with Carlette asking me to floor it. I am making senseless conversation… anything to get Carlette’s brain on a different track. All while I was trying not to kill the little construction dudes with the flippin’ slow signs on the side of the road. In the end, a ride that should have taken us 60 minutes lasted 90… actually 89. Pedro leaps from the car and runs in to “check in” with literally one minute to spare. We arrived at 12:44 for a 1:15 flight. Way too close!. As they are whisked away to board the plane I waved a fond “So Long, Farewell, Aufwiedersehn, Adieu".

So there you have it… summer and Pedro arrived in their own good time, scurried around for a while, and without a moments to spare disappeared.

Soon we to will migrate, but not until the leaves start to burst with color… Alas, that is another blog and until then…

For a better look at the photos and captions click here: http://my.inbox.com/photos/brv?CAID=pJmofCEp44u3FcjvL31cd&_=1

Peace, luv, and mountain trails, barbie

The Rain in Maine stays mainly in Maine

Ruth has been brushing up on her stalking skills. It had been a while and I was beginning to think her gaydar was malfunctioning. And then, and do I dare I use the analogy “raining” lesbos? Having set the record for wettest June in Maine’s history, even the locals are grumpy. And while I’m on the subject, I don’t get this “we” thing. I hear on TV that “we” set the record for the afore mentioned record. I’m not sure I should be included… I am only a seasonal resident or seasonal tourist (depending how you look at it) Is it just Mainers that are included in that “we”? Even if I am included… how did I influence the rain? Ruth didn’t do a dance or anything… I think Mother Nature may have a little more influence than I. I know, I know the global warning and all that. So what’s the action – reaction timing? If I throw away my Sunday paper will it rain on Monday? If I use it to start my campfire rather than a chemically induced starter do I get partial credit? Or are we paying for the sins of our fore-fathers? Like, all the Campbell’s soup cans your mother pitched during your childhood made it rain on my Birthday… Jeez, another thing to blame our parents for. Note to self: recycle more.

Once again I digress. Stalking lesbians was the original subject wasn’t it? It seems to have taken the 4rth of July to rain gyrls and Ruth was Johnny on the spot. Two by two they drove up to our registration office. I have to say, it does made it a little easier for Ruth when they come to you… to registration that is. Regardless, there were 3 couples that joined us for the holiday and the 10 percent rule seems to be in effect. That would be 3 out of 32 campsites rented. And the diversity is also evident. One couple was retired Wimbledon watching women from Florida. Another was a couple was of 30 somethings, city dwellers with all the camping toys and a four legged child in tow. The last was a young family unit with a young son from Maine eking out a family vacation in a tent.

As usual Ruth, she managed to befriend each of them before they made it to their campsite … kind of a dyke concierge. It’s fun to watch her work… and then I can just sit back and write about it later. Lol. That is not to say her customer service is any less to the hordes of heteros … it just doesn’t have quite have the same personal Lezbakistani touch.
And I suppose since this blog is public, I should make it clear. By the word stalk I don’t mean that that any inappropriate or unwanted attention was involved. Nor did she don camouflage darting from tree to tree following anyone, (although that’s a pretty cool picture in my head), and clearly as anyone that has tried to reach us knows, there could be no harassing cell calls cuz we don’t have fr@#%kin cell service. In this context, stalk is a euphemism for:

“Sistah! Come have a drink, we’re building a deck this afternoon - it’s byo_casserole dish and power tool”

or perhaps more appropriate to our current circumstance…

“Sistah! Martinis and Dos Equis are served fireside at dusk - byo_seating and Sapphire, limes provided.”

I hope as I write this that the spring rains may finally be over. It is July after all.

Sign of the day: On the lawn of a drug rehab center said: “Keep off the Grass.”

Peace, Luv, and Muck Shoes,

barbie