The Daffodils are Almost Here!

Today, I am Tickled to be a Democrat

So, as you recall, yesterday Mike Turner did his thing and the Republicans took to the fainting couches and demanded apologies from everyone. When those apologies were not forthcoming, they had a press conference. Yes, a press conference. People. I repeat, the Republicans had a press conference to express their shock and outrage that anyone would dare suggest that some people have issues with Obama being black. No word on whether there were staffers with fans to flutter at them as they had to recount their shock and outrage, but they did briskly call the press conference to a close, according to Woods, when asked about the racist behavior of certain folks this weekend.

When he was asked about the tea party protesters who heckled and spit at Democratic House members, including various civil rights icons, over the weekend in Washington, Mumpower called an abrupt end to his big media event and walked briskly out of the room.

Outside the Legislative Plaza’s dingy little pressroom, Turner just delivered his retort:

“All I said was some people are against Obama because he’s African American. That’s all I said. If that strikes a little too close for comfort for them, that’s not my fault. They need to have a little self-soul searching on that. This is a party that hasn’t had a real initiative since the Emancipation Proclamation. They’re the party of no. And they’re trying to make me the bad guy in this. If they’re having a hard time sleeping at night, it’s not my problem. They need to go talk to their priest or their preacher about that.”

We don’t think that was an apology.

Now, in order to really savor what comes next, you must understand that the rumors about the feud between Gary Odom and Mike Turner have approached legendary status. So, I’m sure that when the Republicans called on Odom to denounce Turner, they thought they were laying too tempting a piece of bait out for Odom to resist.

But what happened?

Odom just fucking rocks it. Fucking rocks it.

I like it. It’s nice to see Democrats with a little swagger and on the offense.

I’m sure the conservatives are about to concern-troll the fuck out of this whole thing, but I’m going to enjoy it in the meantime.

We are Family, I got all my brothers (and a sister-in-law) and me

So, I talked to my dad this morning who got me all in a tizzy because my sister-in-law got the shit knocked out of her by her latest ex in the process of becoming her latest ex. She says he dragged her down the driveway and deposited her at the end of the street as a way to let her know it was over.

She’s having some problems getting the things she needs from the local shelter. I’m not going to go into it, because someday my nephew could read this crap. But let me just say that it is both entirely possible and very likely that she was being abused by her latest boyfriend (who, honestly, I think is the same guy she’s been seeing since she and my brother moved away from each other) AND it’s entirely possible and very likely that she would be a highly problematic person to try to help if you were a shelter.

Anyway, she said to my dad, “[My brother] is the only person I can talk to about this stuff.”

I think we all know what that means, but I’m calling it right now–if my brother ever gets a place of his own, I am betting you today that she ends up living there with him.

I am a little concerned that, if my parents move to Georgia and my brother moves in with them (and I’m feeling there’s a better than even chance this will happen), she will also move in with them.

More than a little concerned.

Pretty damn terrified.

The Butcher and I Develop a Plan. I Plan on Calling the Plan ‘Henry’

As long-time friends and/or blog readers know, I have wished, since long before I had a house, to have a magnolia tree outside my bedroom window so that I could open my window at night and smell the smell. The plan was to wait until we pulled out the septic tank to put in any trees in the front yard, but you know, we pulled out the dying hackberry and the other tree in the front yard was dead when we bought the place (though we didn’t know it until the next year, when it never got leaves) so that came down and the other tree in the front yard might just be an over-ambitious bush, which has got to be pushing 50 years itself and keeps seeming like it might die, and the Butcher is taking the privet along the creek out which will leave a whole total of a tea rose and a tea lilac (no, there’s no such thing as a tea lilac, but I’m inventing it) in my giant front yard. (I think the three small trees in the iris bed are technically on the side of the house).

You can’t have two tiny things in a giant front yard.

It’s just depressing. And it feels like bad Luck to be pulling out a bunch of trees (even if they needed it) and not at least putting a tree in.

So, last night, I stood on the front porch and the Butcher wandered around the front yard, pretending to be a magnolia tree so that we could decide the best place to put it.

And as soon as my tax return comes in, I plan on buying me a magnolia that will grow to be huge and smelly and beautiful in my front yard. And I will name it “Henry.”

I cannot wait.

The Sexy Pajamas

Oh, I know, I had ambitions to devote a bunch of time this month to the secrets of womanhood, but I never got around to it, even though it seemed like a good idea. I’m going to tell you why. Because, in the end, there’s no such thing as something that is universal for all women. Not the way our genitals look, now how they function, not if and where we grow hair, not what kind of sex we like, nothing.

I was reading a blog recently of another feminist in which she was debating why “transmen” annoyed her much less than “transwomen” and it was basically all the same nonsense about how transgender women are really just men sneaking in to women’s space so they can, I guess, ruin it with boy cooties.

I don’t know. I’m not the greatest blogger about transgender issues. My stance is this. I would never question a person who was born with ambiguous genitalia (if I were somehow in a position to know what his or her genitals looked like) if he or she said “I am a man” or “I am a woman” or, hell, “I am not either of those words.”  And I respect their right to have surgery to bring their bodies in line with the truth of themselves or to not want to have surgery, but just be taken at their word. Well, to me, once you accept that that’s the truth–that people are born with genitals that don’t give you the expected signal for what gender they are, then that’s the truth. There are people who are born with genitals that don’t give you the expected signal for what gender they are.

If you say you are a woman, that’s good enough for me.

I know that sounds simplistic and I am kind of cringing to write it, but this is the kind of stuff where you just have to cringe and be willing to look foolish and hope that your mistakes are taken as good-faith mistakes.

But that’s what I want to say to all y’all, regardless of your gender, when you wonder about women. There are no great universal secrets to us. There aren’t things you can’t know. There’s nothing that happens to us that’s so gross or disgusting that it’s somehow improper for you to be curious about it. And there are no universals. Each woman you meet, the woman you are, is different.

We live in a society that depends on everyone agreeing that women are so different and mysterious from men that we must be treated differently and, in many cases, that men, delicate men, must be protected from knowing the truth about us and that women must protect men from the gross baseness that is our nature.

These are not easy ideas to overcome. They’re pretty entrenched in our culture and they’re passed along often without us realizing it.

So, if you have questions, ask. Not me. Or not just me. But the women in your life. For that matter, the men in your life.

Oh, god, this was a cheesy opening to what I was going to say, which is this.

I totally forgot that I needed to do laundry until late. And then I forgot that one of the dryer settings has given up working. Which means that my regular pajamas were still wet at 10:30. And so, I put on the sexy red satin nightie.

You know, the one you save for special occasions, that, if you’re lucky, stays on for about ten seconds?

I just want to say this: Could there be a more hot and uncomfortable piece of clothing in a girl’s repertoire? I’ve never tried to go the whole night in one, but this isn’t a pajama. This is a slinky, slippery oven.


It’s rare that I read a post that I think will equally delight Newscoma and nm… Okay, I have never before today read a post I thought would equally delight Newscoma and nm, but today! Today is the day.

And, who knows? The rest of you also might get a kick out of it:

Medieval Bigfoots

Oh, I know. You want to spend a moment just tickled by the thought of it before you click through. I understand. Just, when you do click through, don’t miss the footnotes. They’re hilarious.

The Best Thing I’ll Write on Pith All Week

Though, in all fairness, Ridley fixed the end for me, so he gets the credit for how nicely that last paragraph turned out.

I have to say, sometimes, when I read the legislation this state proposes against illegal immigrants, I really wonder if the point isn’t to just cross some line that would make any decent person react with violence so that then these legislators can be all “Oh my god! See! I told you they were violent menaces to our society!!!!! We must come down on them with the weight of a thousand more boots!”

It’s like they want to see how many times they can hit someone before he throws the “first” punch. And they’re really hoping for that “first” punch to justify what their doing. It’s disgusting.