State of Celebration

Gotta hand it to the IRS. I don’t mean literally hand over your owed taxes — although unless you’re a valiant anti-war tax-resister doing civil disobedience, you probably should pay up, especially now that Obama is closing loopholes on tax-avoiding fat cats (no offense to felines of size). I’m saying hand some figurative credit to the Internal Revenue Service for growing a pair (that means ovaries, right?) and taking a stand for justice. Continue reading 

My Lesbian Résumé

Every lesbian has a story. Not just the very few of us like Ellen and Wanda who have risen to actual stardom, but every one of us regular lesbos who has come out, bucked the patriarchy by being herself and continued to thrive in this male-dominated, misogynist world. We are so totally AWESOME! In case anyone ever starts inducting us everyday dykes into some future Lesbian Hall of Fame, I want to get my application in.  Continue reading 

Queersville News Buzz!

Homo headlines are popping. On the global scene, marriage equality now reigns in 14 countries. This spring New Zealand amended its Marriage Act, Brazil gave the green light to same-sex marriage, and France passed marriage equality, including equal adoption rights. The first to marry under France’s new law, Vincent and Bruno, exchanged vows and rings last week. Let’s hear it for liberté, égalité, fraternité! (Et sororité, for un peu more égalité.) Continue reading 

Why Get Married?

The last time you tried to explain why you support marriage equality, did you mention civil rights? Justice? Equal access to benefits? Did you call it “gay marriage?” Wrong, wrong, wrong and waay wrong! Who knew? I always thought the “liberty and justice for all” argument was a pretty good one. I mean our Constitution does guarantee equal justice under the law. But we can talk about equal rights and justice till we’re lavender-blue in the face — it just turns people off. At least the still-undecided voters. Dang. Continue reading 

Let Them Eat Cake

What to do with a three-pound Twinkie

The doorbell rang. I was grating an organic beet for our dinner salad, which we’d have as soon as Wifey got home from yoga. Ding-dong. A quick rinse swirled magenta beet juice down the sink.  Dish towel in hand, I raced to the door. Sometimes the neighborhood tamale maker has her bilingual kid ask if I want to buy any, which I never do because we’re corn and gluten free. “Hello?” I called into the dark. A UPS truck drove away. Continue reading