I strongly dislike Valentine's Day. For one thing, it draws attention to all us perpetually single folks out there. We are inundated with pink hearts and commercials of things we won't receive unless we buy them for ourselves. (Which most of us will do the day after at 75% off.) Couples are running amok throwing all consideration of the lonely hearts into the wind and showing off their PDA's like a dress at fashion week. And when you are single on Valentine's Day you are required to eat at least three box of chocolates and drink at least one bottle of red wine. So, take that Weight Watchers, probably won't be weighing in this week. I am reminded 365 days a year that I am single thanks to my cat and overused Netflix, I really don't need a full day devoted to shoving it in my face, thank you very much.
I know, I know, I sound like an angry, cynical, lonely, old lady (all of which I have been lately). But the truth is, even when I was in a relationship on Valentine's Day, I hated it (the holiday, not the relationship...). Since I tend to be more of the optimist, coupled with the fact that I am a hopeless romantic one would think I would be a lover of a holiday for lovers. But quite the opposite is true. You see, I'm the type that buys flowers for no reason other than either a) they were on sale, or b) I just felt like it. When I was in love, I always let her know it. I took her on surprise dates, and brought home little treats just to show her I cared. And I did that without the Halmark corporation reminding me.
Then Valentine's Day rolls around. And since I'm the one with short hair and boy's clothes I was expected to make the arrangements. All of a sudden I'm booking reservations three years in advance, buying flowers that are overly priced, and freaking out about the fireworks regulations of Amherst so that I can have the perfect night. Why?! Why should I have to go through all that when just the week before she got a cute little teddy bear holding some flowers? Its just ridiculous.
I know I'm no sort of relationship guru, but I'm only single, not stupid. Its not that hard people. It doesn't matter if you are heterosexual, homosexual, pansexual, transexual, sexual sexual, or want to marry a goat. Say, "I love you" on a regular basis. Always be kind. Treat each other to surprise dates. Bring home flowers for no reason. Go away together when you can. Leave little notes for each other. Have date nights. Don't wait for February 14th to tell the person you love how you feel, because then its just tacky.
So, Happy February 14th everybody! And now its time to break out the wine. :)
Monday, February 14, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Purrfect Woman
There is a new woman in my life. Her name is Millie. True to typical lesbian fashion (even though I am not one) we have already moved in together. Most nights she sleeps in my bed, although sometimes she prefers the floor. She does not really like to go out, which is fine because she is great at snuggling. We love to play all day until one of us (usually her) falls asleep.
She is also a kitty.
I love my kitty. Yes, I caved, I got a kitty. (Don't tell my landlord...) I'm still holding true to the fact I'm not a lesbian. The cat and the work boots mean nothing. But what is it with lesbians and cats? Lets avoid the obvious joke here...this is a family blog. Dirty minds, people, dirty minds. Honestly though, why do lesbians love cats so much? I suppose they are a good replacement for a girlfriend. I mean she is a cheap date. She doesn't point out my faults on a regular basis. She is easily entertained. She won't cheat on me. She shows affection. She doesn't snore. She doesn't drink too much and go crazy. Wow, purrfect!
I love my kitty. But I won't become a cat lady. Yes, I have a Facebook album with just pictures of her. And yes, I show random people on the street pictures of how cute she is. And yes, I have stayed in one or two nights to play with her instead of drinking with my friends. And yes, I have sent texts with captioned pictures of Millie to friends. But I won't become a cat lady. I hope. Someone stop me if it goes to far.
I love my kitty. Just don't call me a cat lady lesbian yet. Please.
She is also a kitty.
I love my kitty. Yes, I caved, I got a kitty. (Don't tell my landlord...) I'm still holding true to the fact I'm not a lesbian. The cat and the work boots mean nothing. But what is it with lesbians and cats? Lets avoid the obvious joke here...this is a family blog. Dirty minds, people, dirty minds. Honestly though, why do lesbians love cats so much? I suppose they are a good replacement for a girlfriend. I mean she is a cheap date. She doesn't point out my faults on a regular basis. She is easily entertained. She won't cheat on me. She shows affection. She doesn't snore. She doesn't drink too much and go crazy. Wow, purrfect!
I love my kitty. But I won't become a cat lady. Yes, I have a Facebook album with just pictures of her. And yes, I show random people on the street pictures of how cute she is. And yes, I have stayed in one or two nights to play with her instead of drinking with my friends. And yes, I have sent texts with captioned pictures of Millie to friends. But I won't become a cat lady. I hope. Someone stop me if it goes to far.
I love my kitty. Just don't call me a cat lady lesbian yet. Please.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
The only man I'll ever love.
There is a new show on the Sundance Channel entitled, "Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys." I only watched one episode before I quit.
For one thing, I hated almost all the characters. But more than that I was hoping for at least one relationship of a gay woman and a gay man. However, that's just not the case. It is all about the special relationship that STRAIGHT women have with gay men. I mean, I get it, who doesn't love a good gay man in their lives....oh wait, most of the lesbian population.
Maybe "most" is an exaggeration but generally lesbians find gay men bitchy and too over the top. And I'm sure gay men find lesbians too butchy and blunt. Gay men are repulsed by vaginas, never mind two of them...touching. Lesbians just hate all men.
Well good thing I am not a lesbian, because I love gay men. In fact most people would say I am a gay man, that just sleeps, well used to sleep, when I wasn't unintentionally celibate, with women. Except for my work boots and desire for a cat and Subaru I have no real lesbian qualities. Stereotypically, I possess the qualities of a gay man. I prefer Bravo to ESPN, musicals to strip shows, and dancing to fighting. Now I know not all gays fulfill stereotypes and blah blah blah but this is the world through my eyes so relax.
I digress. Gay men and lesbians do not usually have strong connections. And maybe that is why Sundance did not cast a lesbian and gay man relationship. But they should have talked to me first. You see, I would have told them about this fabulous relationship I have with Boo Bear. And Boo Bear and I would have been perfect because we have always lived our lives as if cameras were following us and imagined our lives to be one big production for Logo.
Boo Bear and I met in Spain in fall of 2007. I thought he was bitchy and fabulous, he thought I was incapable of dressing myself and hysterical. We were both right. As paraded through the streets of Spain with our friends (we called ourselves Los Gays) we realized that we were destined to be best friends. Our friendship continued when we came home and our senior year we lived together with The German and Pat. That year deserves a whole book to screen play to movie deal and not just a few lines in a little blog. Just know that it was amazing and quite possibly the best year of my life.
Boo Bear and I are complete opposites and bring to each others lives what the other lacks. He is the more organized, serious, smarter one with zero street smarts. I am the more impromptu, ridiculous, comedian that could never balance a check book. I text him from fancy restaurants asking what to order or what kind of wine I like. He texts me when he gets himself into some ridiculous situation and he needs to relax and laugh about it. We both text each other before we purchase any pair of shoes.
But its more than what is on the surface. We understand each other in way no one else does. We do not have to talk every day to know the other one would be there in an instant if needed. We know how to push each others buttons just enough to keep each other in check. We can be brutally honest with each other because we know its all with good intentions. To take a line from Grey's, he is my person.
So, Sundance Channel, or Logo, if you want a good show, give me a call. Until then Boo Bear and I will keep on living lives like we are in the spotlight.
For one thing, I hated almost all the characters. But more than that I was hoping for at least one relationship of a gay woman and a gay man. However, that's just not the case. It is all about the special relationship that STRAIGHT women have with gay men. I mean, I get it, who doesn't love a good gay man in their lives....oh wait, most of the lesbian population.
Maybe "most" is an exaggeration but generally lesbians find gay men bitchy and too over the top. And I'm sure gay men find lesbians too butchy and blunt. Gay men are repulsed by vaginas, never mind two of them...touching. Lesbians just hate all men.
Well good thing I am not a lesbian, because I love gay men. In fact most people would say I am a gay man, that just sleeps, well used to sleep, when I wasn't unintentionally celibate, with women. Except for my work boots and desire for a cat and Subaru I have no real lesbian qualities. Stereotypically, I possess the qualities of a gay man. I prefer Bravo to ESPN, musicals to strip shows, and dancing to fighting. Now I know not all gays fulfill stereotypes and blah blah blah but this is the world through my eyes so relax.
I digress. Gay men and lesbians do not usually have strong connections. And maybe that is why Sundance did not cast a lesbian and gay man relationship. But they should have talked to me first. You see, I would have told them about this fabulous relationship I have with Boo Bear. And Boo Bear and I would have been perfect because we have always lived our lives as if cameras were following us and imagined our lives to be one big production for Logo.
Boo Bear and I met in Spain in fall of 2007. I thought he was bitchy and fabulous, he thought I was incapable of dressing myself and hysterical. We were both right. As paraded through the streets of Spain with our friends (we called ourselves Los Gays) we realized that we were destined to be best friends. Our friendship continued when we came home and our senior year we lived together with The German and Pat. That year deserves a whole book to screen play to movie deal and not just a few lines in a little blog. Just know that it was amazing and quite possibly the best year of my life.
Boo Bear and I are complete opposites and bring to each others lives what the other lacks. He is the more organized, serious, smarter one with zero street smarts. I am the more impromptu, ridiculous, comedian that could never balance a check book. I text him from fancy restaurants asking what to order or what kind of wine I like. He texts me when he gets himself into some ridiculous situation and he needs to relax and laugh about it. We both text each other before we purchase any pair of shoes.
But its more than what is on the surface. We understand each other in way no one else does. We do not have to talk every day to know the other one would be there in an instant if needed. We know how to push each others buttons just enough to keep each other in check. We can be brutally honest with each other because we know its all with good intentions. To take a line from Grey's, he is my person.
So, Sundance Channel, or Logo, if you want a good show, give me a call. Until then Boo Bear and I will keep on living lives like we are in the spotlight.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Family Values
I grew up in the perfect little family. A dad that went to work everyday. A mom that baked amazing treats. I was a honor roll student and captain of the soccer team. One brother excelled at sports, the other at theater. We took a family vacation every year (still do!) and church every Sunday. We lived in a perfect little "Pleasantville" neighbor with streets lined with trees and houses lined with secrets. Family dinners were a must and family game night was a regular occurrence. My parents were happy. They had the perfect life and three perfect heterosexual children.
Then I came out of that stupid closet and for the first time felt like I truly disappointed my parents. Hard not to feel that when thats all they told you. Standing on their side of the line I guess I can see how they felt. Gone where the hopes and dreams that every parent has for their daughter of her being swept away by a knight in shining armor and rearing two and a half children, adopting a dog, and living three miles away. You see, it wasn't just that I was gay, it was that I was masculine and gay.
To be fair my "coming out process" wasn't the easiest thing. If I had it my way I would have never told them. But they asked, rather cornered me one night. I mean, I came home from freshman year wearing boy's shorts, a short hair cut, and a new best girl friend...not really discrete. I resented my parents values and expected them to just fully accept me for who I was. They resented the "new me" and expected me to be the same person I had been pretending to be for 18 years. We fought incessantly that summer and into sophomore year of college. I felt like they were ashamed of me and they felt like I was just going though a phase.
Then I stepped back and looked at everything. There were my parents, products of the baby boomer generation, moderate political views, and strong Catholic values. There I was, a confused young person, with one sociology class under my belt, and demanding understanding from people that didn't know what they were supposed to understand. When I stopped yelling at screaming at them, and started talking something happened, they started listening. When I stopped forcing my beliefs down their throat, they stopped doing the same. I realized that I was asking them to go against their beliefs just as much as they were asking me to and I couldn't expect them to change their views if I wasn't willing to change mine. Many discussions ensued, and while most ended in tears progress was being made.
Is has been five years since I came out to my parents. And while I know (and accept) they will never join PFLAG, I also know that they will always love and support me no matter what. I have learned that they are trying and while they still do not agree with my "lifestyle"they no longer ridicule and tell me how disappointed they are in me. I'm sure there will be many more hurdles, but I'm also sure that as they approach we will all be ready.
Then I came out of that stupid closet and for the first time felt like I truly disappointed my parents. Hard not to feel that when thats all they told you. Standing on their side of the line I guess I can see how they felt. Gone where the hopes and dreams that every parent has for their daughter of her being swept away by a knight in shining armor and rearing two and a half children, adopting a dog, and living three miles away. You see, it wasn't just that I was gay, it was that I was masculine and gay.
To be fair my "coming out process" wasn't the easiest thing. If I had it my way I would have never told them. But they asked, rather cornered me one night. I mean, I came home from freshman year wearing boy's shorts, a short hair cut, and a new best girl friend...not really discrete. I resented my parents values and expected them to just fully accept me for who I was. They resented the "new me" and expected me to be the same person I had been pretending to be for 18 years. We fought incessantly that summer and into sophomore year of college. I felt like they were ashamed of me and they felt like I was just going though a phase.
Then I stepped back and looked at everything. There were my parents, products of the baby boomer generation, moderate political views, and strong Catholic values. There I was, a confused young person, with one sociology class under my belt, and demanding understanding from people that didn't know what they were supposed to understand. When I stopped yelling at screaming at them, and started talking something happened, they started listening. When I stopped forcing my beliefs down their throat, they stopped doing the same. I realized that I was asking them to go against their beliefs just as much as they were asking me to and I couldn't expect them to change their views if I wasn't willing to change mine. Many discussions ensued, and while most ended in tears progress was being made.
Is has been five years since I came out to my parents. And while I know (and accept) they will never join PFLAG, I also know that they will always love and support me no matter what. I have learned that they are trying and while they still do not agree with my "lifestyle"they no longer ridicule and tell me how disappointed they are in me. I'm sure there will be many more hurdles, but I'm also sure that as they approach we will all be ready.
Monday, December 13, 2010
One fish, two fish, red fish, dead fish.
Hello blog world.
Pardon my absence these past few weeks. I have been in a weird place that I'm sure has been worsened by these damn hormones that flow through my body once a month and remind me that no amount of boys attire can delete estrogen. I never wanted this blog to become a pity parade of my life, and I have a tendency to be a bit dramatic, so I have been avoiding posting because I was afraid of what I would write. But alas, my good friend, red wine, has encouraged me to update my loyal readers on my so called life.
Well, I'm still single and poor. Actually, I'm singler and poorer than the last time I posted. How can a single girl become more single you ask? Easy, my fish died. Let me explain. Boo Bear bought me a fish. He said it would be a good test run to see if I could handle a cat. I mean how hard is it to keep a fish alive. Turns out, very hard. I had the little guy for just about a month before he croaked. I was devastated. I was sure it was some omen I was destined to be alone forever. I mean if I can't keep a fish alive, how am I supposed to take care of a cat...never mind a kid! Okay, I may be rushing things, but I told you, I can be dramatic.
Well the fish was really the start of a downfall. Since then I have questioned every decision in my life. In a recent discussion with a friend who is about to embark on a wonderful adventure working on a cruise ship I expressed how jealous I was. When she suggested I join her, I immediately went on the website in search of an application. Then two thoughts occurred to me: one, I should wait until I'm sober, and two, how can I leave the kids I work with? At 24 and single I should be free. Roaming the world. Having strange, wonderful nights. Instead, I'm looking at my crooked, pathetic christmas tree and drowning my day in a bottle of wine. What happened? Please don't get me wrong, I love my job, and I love the kids I work with. But I am becoming increasingly more aware of how close to settling down I am and that scares the crap out of me. My friend says I'm just in an, "in between place." I feel like I'm in the middle seat of a plane between two sleeping, obese people and I have to pee but can't move. I know, dramatic.
Is it just be or does being 24 suck? Its a scary world with decisions that are beyond my years and expectations beyond my abilities. I want to run away and settle down all at the same time. My head is spinning and I'm pretty sure its not just the wine.
Pardon my absence these past few weeks. I have been in a weird place that I'm sure has been worsened by these damn hormones that flow through my body once a month and remind me that no amount of boys attire can delete estrogen. I never wanted this blog to become a pity parade of my life, and I have a tendency to be a bit dramatic, so I have been avoiding posting because I was afraid of what I would write. But alas, my good friend, red wine, has encouraged me to update my loyal readers on my so called life.
Well, I'm still single and poor. Actually, I'm singler and poorer than the last time I posted. How can a single girl become more single you ask? Easy, my fish died. Let me explain. Boo Bear bought me a fish. He said it would be a good test run to see if I could handle a cat. I mean how hard is it to keep a fish alive. Turns out, very hard. I had the little guy for just about a month before he croaked. I was devastated. I was sure it was some omen I was destined to be alone forever. I mean if I can't keep a fish alive, how am I supposed to take care of a cat...never mind a kid! Okay, I may be rushing things, but I told you, I can be dramatic.
Well the fish was really the start of a downfall. Since then I have questioned every decision in my life. In a recent discussion with a friend who is about to embark on a wonderful adventure working on a cruise ship I expressed how jealous I was. When she suggested I join her, I immediately went on the website in search of an application. Then two thoughts occurred to me: one, I should wait until I'm sober, and two, how can I leave the kids I work with? At 24 and single I should be free. Roaming the world. Having strange, wonderful nights. Instead, I'm looking at my crooked, pathetic christmas tree and drowning my day in a bottle of wine. What happened? Please don't get me wrong, I love my job, and I love the kids I work with. But I am becoming increasingly more aware of how close to settling down I am and that scares the crap out of me. My friend says I'm just in an, "in between place." I feel like I'm in the middle seat of a plane between two sleeping, obese people and I have to pee but can't move. I know, dramatic.
Is it just be or does being 24 suck? Its a scary world with decisions that are beyond my years and expectations beyond my abilities. I want to run away and settle down all at the same time. My head is spinning and I'm pretty sure its not just the wine.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
East vs. West (1)
There are many jarring differences between the eastern and western parts of the commonwealth. So, my beloved reader(s) (Hi Boo Bear!) you can be sure there will be more than one post addressing this issue.
I grew up in eastern mass. This means a few things:
1. I think everything is 20 minutes away.
2. I use words like "bubblah" and "packie" and phrases such as "bang a u-ie"
3. I think everyone, except myself, is an awful driver.
4. I was sure the alphabet only had 25 lettahs.
5. I thought hippies stopped existing in the 60's.
6. I thought the state stopped at Worcester.
I went to college/currently reside in wester mass. This means I have learned a few things:
1. Everything is still 20 minutes away.
2. "Bubblahs" are out of fashion, now you carry water in some sort of tin can or glass jar.
3. People of western mass are the worst drivers, evah.
4. Living amongst western mass natives will force you to relearn the letters of the alphabet (but as soon as you get on the pike you seem to forget the 26th lettah all over again).
5. The hippies just moved west.
6. This state is huge!
The biggest difference between eastern and western mass however is the food. I only knew of a handful of grocery stores growing up; Stop and Shop and, for the bigger events, BJ's Wholesale club. I grew up in an Irish Catholic family. We ate chicken, broccoli, potatoes, chicken, carrots, meat loaf, chicken, and on Fridays, pizza, oh and chicken. I didn't know what tofu was until I was 22. I had never eaten peppers, asparagus, or lettuce until I was 18. And why would you shop any where other than Stop and Shop?!
Well thanks western mass for once again educating me on the ways of the hippies. Ever hear of Whole Foods? Well maybe you have, I had not. That store scared the ever living shit out of me. Aisles and aisles of nuts, berries, spices, and vitamins. Cases and cases of tofu chicken, tofu steak, tofu pork, and tofu tofu. Well thats how I imagined it any way. I was way to terrified to enter that place.
I finally went once. I was 22. My roommate tricked me into going. I broke out in cold sweats walking into the store. I was sure some sort of alarm was going to go off and hippie ninjas were going to attack me because they new I was an impostor. Well that didn't happen. But just to be safe I didn't go there again for a while.
Well now I have a boss, whom I love very much, but is a western mass hippie. She is all about organic things and loves trying to make me follow her ways. I will never eat organic peanut butter. Its just not natural! Well maybe it is? Who knows, all that having to stir the oil business creeps me out. Give me Jiffy, its what moms who care give their kids.
As part of teaching my kids community skills The Boss decided that bringing them to the buffet at Whole Foods would be a good learning experience. I panicked. I was sure I wasn't attacked the first time that I went because everyone gets a free pass and they expect that after you visit their store you will throw away all your clothes and start wearing all natural hemp clothes and drinking out of glass jars and eating tofu and change your name to Earth Shine. I tried to convince her to go somewhere else, but it was pointless.
We went to Whole Foods. I forgot which day we were going, so I wasn't able to prepare. Caught off guard, I walked in wearing Nikes that were made in China, jeans that weren't made out of hemp, a plastic water bottle and the smell of a burger on my breath. Just to be safe I made the kids refer to me as Earth Shine though. To my surprise, still no ninjas. I breathed a sigh of relief and out of respect, got stuff from the buffet that I cannot pronounce.
I still don't do my regular grocery shopping at Whole Foods because I still get anxious walking in there. Plus, my heart is with good old Stop and Shop (and all of my savings thanks to that handy Stop and Shop car key chain!). But I cannot tell a lie...I do stop at this Whole Food place for a good buffet dinner now and then. Just don't tell the nice lady at the register my name isn't Earth Shine.
I grew up in eastern mass. This means a few things:
1. I think everything is 20 minutes away.
2. I use words like "bubblah" and "packie" and phrases such as "bang a u-ie"
3. I think everyone, except myself, is an awful driver.
4. I was sure the alphabet only had 25 lettahs.
5. I thought hippies stopped existing in the 60's.
6. I thought the state stopped at Worcester.
I went to college/currently reside in wester mass. This means I have learned a few things:
1. Everything is still 20 minutes away.
2. "Bubblahs" are out of fashion, now you carry water in some sort of tin can or glass jar.
3. People of western mass are the worst drivers, evah.
4. Living amongst western mass natives will force you to relearn the letters of the alphabet (but as soon as you get on the pike you seem to forget the 26th lettah all over again).
5. The hippies just moved west.
6. This state is huge!
The biggest difference between eastern and western mass however is the food. I only knew of a handful of grocery stores growing up; Stop and Shop and, for the bigger events, BJ's Wholesale club. I grew up in an Irish Catholic family. We ate chicken, broccoli, potatoes, chicken, carrots, meat loaf, chicken, and on Fridays, pizza, oh and chicken. I didn't know what tofu was until I was 22. I had never eaten peppers, asparagus, or lettuce until I was 18. And why would you shop any where other than Stop and Shop?!
Well thanks western mass for once again educating me on the ways of the hippies. Ever hear of Whole Foods? Well maybe you have, I had not. That store scared the ever living shit out of me. Aisles and aisles of nuts, berries, spices, and vitamins. Cases and cases of tofu chicken, tofu steak, tofu pork, and tofu tofu. Well thats how I imagined it any way. I was way to terrified to enter that place.
I finally went once. I was 22. My roommate tricked me into going. I broke out in cold sweats walking into the store. I was sure some sort of alarm was going to go off and hippie ninjas were going to attack me because they new I was an impostor. Well that didn't happen. But just to be safe I didn't go there again for a while.
Well now I have a boss, whom I love very much, but is a western mass hippie. She is all about organic things and loves trying to make me follow her ways. I will never eat organic peanut butter. Its just not natural! Well maybe it is? Who knows, all that having to stir the oil business creeps me out. Give me Jiffy, its what moms who care give their kids.
As part of teaching my kids community skills The Boss decided that bringing them to the buffet at Whole Foods would be a good learning experience. I panicked. I was sure I wasn't attacked the first time that I went because everyone gets a free pass and they expect that after you visit their store you will throw away all your clothes and start wearing all natural hemp clothes and drinking out of glass jars and eating tofu and change your name to Earth Shine. I tried to convince her to go somewhere else, but it was pointless.
We went to Whole Foods. I forgot which day we were going, so I wasn't able to prepare. Caught off guard, I walked in wearing Nikes that were made in China, jeans that weren't made out of hemp, a plastic water bottle and the smell of a burger on my breath. Just to be safe I made the kids refer to me as Earth Shine though. To my surprise, still no ninjas. I breathed a sigh of relief and out of respect, got stuff from the buffet that I cannot pronounce.
I still don't do my regular grocery shopping at Whole Foods because I still get anxious walking in there. Plus, my heart is with good old Stop and Shop (and all of my savings thanks to that handy Stop and Shop car key chain!). But I cannot tell a lie...I do stop at this Whole Food place for a good buffet dinner now and then. Just don't tell the nice lady at the register my name isn't Earth Shine.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Its all just so complicated...
I had a conversation the other day with Cool Dude about life. He has his all planned out. I do not. Awesome. He has dated someone for 5 years. I have not. Great. He has his wedding planned. I do not. Sweet. He is 14. I am 24. Yay.
His plan is to have all the people he loves live on one street. He also wants us to all marry each other. I love the way this boy thinks. I mean, it makes sense, right? Having all the people you love in one place...brilliant. I had to break his little heart though and inform him I would not be marrying another (male) teacher from where I work and he is a student. Our conversation went like this:
CD: Well if not him, another boy?
Me: Well, probably not...I'll probably marry a girl.
CD: So you are a boy?!
Me: Noooo, I'm a girl.
CD: But you have to marry a boy then.
Me: Well sometimes girls marry boys, and sometimes boy marry boys, and sometimes girls marry girls.
CD: Ugh its all just so complicated.
Poor guy. It is so complicated. But its only complicated because our society teaches little kids that it is complicated. Mind you, Cool Dude has your typical western mass hippie parents that don't care who marries who. But he watches a ton of movies and in every one the girl and the guy end up together.
Some of my kids do get it though. This past summer we were talking about families and one of the little boys told the group he had two mommies. I held my breath thinking a ton of questions where about to be thrown at this little guy but then another student said, "Lucky! Moms are the coolest and you get two!" Ah, the beauty of their logic.
Cool Dude will be okay though, he said as long as he can get married first and I come to his wedding and say, "congratulations" he doesn't care who I marry. I'm 99.9% sure I can promise both those things.
His plan is to have all the people he loves live on one street. He also wants us to all marry each other. I love the way this boy thinks. I mean, it makes sense, right? Having all the people you love in one place...brilliant. I had to break his little heart though and inform him I would not be marrying another (male) teacher from where I work and he is a student. Our conversation went like this:
CD: Well if not him, another boy?
Me: Well, probably not...I'll probably marry a girl.
CD: So you are a boy?!
Me: Noooo, I'm a girl.
CD: But you have to marry a boy then.
Me: Well sometimes girls marry boys, and sometimes boy marry boys, and sometimes girls marry girls.
CD: Ugh its all just so complicated.
Poor guy. It is so complicated. But its only complicated because our society teaches little kids that it is complicated. Mind you, Cool Dude has your typical western mass hippie parents that don't care who marries who. But he watches a ton of movies and in every one the girl and the guy end up together.
Some of my kids do get it though. This past summer we were talking about families and one of the little boys told the group he had two mommies. I held my breath thinking a ton of questions where about to be thrown at this little guy but then another student said, "Lucky! Moms are the coolest and you get two!" Ah, the beauty of their logic.
Cool Dude will be okay though, he said as long as he can get married first and I come to his wedding and say, "congratulations" he doesn't care who I marry. I'm 99.9% sure I can promise both those things.
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