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That title is really really really long, huh?

I have a lot to say, so I’m going to list it to make it easier on me poor addled sleep-deprived brain.  And it ain’t going to be in the order of the title either. 

  1. Why did I get two kittens?  What are their stories?  Why was I even considering getting 1 kitten when I had two fiercely gorgeous bitches at home?  Because I’m a sucker for a sad story and cuteness, that’s why.  The woman, Bobbie, who had given me Roslin, called me 3 weeks ago in a tizzy, telling me that Roslin’s mother had given birth to a litter in her (Bobbie) neighbor’s lawn mower bag.  Bobbie and the neighbor got the kittens and mommy cat situated in a box on Bobbie’s porch.  All seemed well, until that afternoon.  Her town was having a block party and the motorcycles spooked the mommy cat.  She took one of her babies with her and left the other 3.  If you recall, Roslin and her litter mates were abandoned by the same mommy.  Apparently, she’s extremely skittish.*  Hayden was one of the three abandoned by mommy, Nina was the one kitten that the mommy took.  So, Hayden has been hand-fed since day 1.  Bobbie found Nina walking around the backyard last week and brought her in the house.  When I got there, I was coming for only Hayden.  I wanted a boy cat and Bobbie was holding him for me.  But, then I saw him cuddling with Nina.  She looked up at me and I gasped.  Bobbie told me that she had homes for all of the other kittens, but not for Nina.  I just didn’t think and said, “I’ll take both of the babies.”  And that’s how I became a crazy fucking cat lady.  If someone told me a few years ago that I would have this many animals, I would have laughed in their face.  Damn.
  2. And why aren’t people who have multiple dogs mocked and labeled?  I know a lady with 6 dogs and nobody calls her crazy.  Just sayin.
  3. I have to clean my office.  Bad.  You can’t see the top of my desk because of all of the junk in there.  I’m sure nobody cares that I need to clean my office, but writing it hear seems like a promise to myself.  It’s written down, so now I must do it.  Or something like that.  I’m sure I’ll put it off another week or two.
  4. I think I’m going to start recording podcasts again.  They were fun and maybe I can talk some of my friends and family members to be guests.  I’ll talk my sister into it tonight.  Now, if only I could remember how to post the podcasts…
  5. Oh, and I found a webcam in my desk drawer.  How long have I had it…who the hell knows?  I’m not even sure if it’s a good one.  It’s probably one of those webcams that has a delay by a second or ten and the playback is like watching a record skip.  And the audio is out of time with the visual.  I’ll have to check it out.  Maybe I can show you how big of a bitch Stella Marie is.
  6. Oh, Stella Marie.  She is pissed.  I mean, PISSED!!!!!!!!!!  She is all like, “What the fuck is in that bathroom moving around? Why must you do this to me?  I am a spoiled brat and don’t want to share you with anyone?  It’s bad enough you brought that pain in the ass Roslin home…two more?  Bitch, I will claw you until you scream.”  Roslin is so scared of Stella that I had to accompany her to use the litter box.  Yes, I had to stand there while she pooped and Stella hissed like a fucking mental case.  And let’s not even talk about my lack of sleep because of Stella Marie’s hissing, spitting, yowling, growling, and screaming.  Such. A. Drama. Queen.  I told her yesterday that she might as well get all of that foolishness out of her system right now, because the kitties are staying.  She turned her back to me and walked away growling.  She had dingle-berries on her butt, so that kind of diminished her haughtiness.  Of course, I had to cut them out.  So, I guess in some strange way she won that argument.  She certainly wasn’t wiping my ass.
  7. I have to cook cook cook for my mother’s party tomorrow.  She graduated from college, yay, and we’re throwing a gigantic party.  I hate the prep, but it’s so worth it in the end.  It should be a great time.  I’ll try to take some pictures.  All of my stinkies (Morgan, Connor, Rylee, and Colin) will be there. 
  8. Morgan wants a kitten and is coming to visit me today to see my babies.  My sister-in-law promised that if Morgan made the principle’s list she would be able to get a kitten.  She already told me that she’d name that kitten Keira or Zoe.  I asked her, “What if it’s a boy?”  She cocked her head and gave me a raised brow, “Aunt Debbie, I don’t want a boy cat.  How can I have a secret club for girls and have a boy cat?”  Makes perfect sense.
  9. Blog Drama.  Or better yet, Blogworld Drama or whatever you want to call it.  I’ve read about 5 posts in the past day dealing with it and I’m like, what the hell, and creeped out.  Does anyone take this blog shit (or life!) that seriously?  I mean, come on people.  It’s the one way you can be sure I will lose my interest in your blog, write about blog drama or posts dedicated to haters or whatever.  I used to do that and then I realized that it was retarded.  So retarded.  I have haters and I don’t give a shit if they come to my blog 100 times a day.  Happy reading to all, even the people who hate me.  Maybe that’s why my blog isn’t as popular as it used to be.  I don’t care about the blogdrama crap and I’m certainly not signing up for that club.  It’s so tedious and middle school and I have better things to do, like clean my office or learn ninja moves or poopy-scoop 4 litter boxes or masturbate or clean my bellybutton.  When I read a blog, I want to hear about a person’s days or thoughts on politics or how good he/she were fucked the night before or some creative stories or something that challenges my believe system and makes me go and learn something new…that type of shit.  Who buys into this form of Blogs of Our Lives bullshit?  It’s kind of disturbing.  Stop it.  Stop writing about it.  You’ll be happier.
  10. I just realized that my whole family will be at my mom’s tomorrow for the party.  Oy vey. 

*Mommy cat was fixed last week, thankfully.

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Thank you all so much for your kind words and emails.  I haven’t really been in the mood to write back, but I wanted to let every one of you that wrote that I appreciate your words more than anything.

My aunt is hanging in.  She is peeing on her own again, so that’s pretty good news.  She has two tumors that are pressing against her kidneys, which is causing the severe pain and other problems.  She received radiation the other day in hopes that it will shrink the kidneys enough to bring her pain from 10 to 6.  I spoke with her the other night and you can hear the pain in her voice.  She sounds out of breath.  She knows she’s dying.  My heart broke when she told me that she didn’t thing she’d be at this point so soon.  She thought she had more time.  Fuck, what do you say to that?

There were two deaths in my family this week.  Well, not really my family but people close to my family so I call them family.  I found about the second death last night, which caused me to have another sleepless night.  I took a vacation day today in order to rest.  I feel like my brain was mush.  I tried to get myself moving this morning, but my body was like…no, go back to sleep.  I took 2 Tylenol PM’s at 5 AM, called in to work, and passed out until about 10.  I can’t remember the last time I was in bed at 10 in the morning.  I felt like I slept the day away.  Now, I’m just relaxing.  It’s a beautiful day and I’m on my porch with my kitties writing while listening to Pandora.

In other news, I think I’m going to give up Mr. Wood.  Maybe.  I don’t know.  I’ll still admire him from afar, but I don’t think he’s interested.  Yesterday was the first time I saw him since I said “bless you” and nothing.  I didn’t see him until I got to my stop and he was ahead of me.  He parks near me.  I walked by his car, a white cadillac, and it was a perfect opportunity to say hi since nobody was around, but when I looked over at him he turned his head.  He also lives close to me, because I pulled out of the parking lot behind him and he went the same way I go for most of the trip home.  I’m thinking he’s probably married or he has a girlfriend or doesn’t think I’m attractive or something like that.

And when I think about a man driving a white caddy, I think…pimp.  I’d still go out with him if he asked me though.  There’s something about him.

I’m getting more into running than ever.  It’s weird, but I feel by body coming back to me.  The athlete I once was.  Once upon a time, my body was a fucking machine.  I ran 6 days a week and lifted weights and did yoga.  It’s been many years since I’ve been able to run the way I’m doing it now.  I feel good.  I’m doing a whole bunch of races this summer, hopefully working up to full marathons.  My goal is to eventually qualify for the Boston marathon in the next couple years.  I know I can do it.  I just have to train hard and keep myself focused on that goal.

Oh, and someone asked me if my boobs shrunk with all of this weight loss and exercising.  The answer is no.  I’m still a DD.  The only thing that’s shrunk is the bra band.  I’ve been a DD since I was in high school and I reckon I’ll still be a DD when I’m 100 years old.

I’m off to chill out.  I have a new favorite chick flick movie, The Jane Austen Book Club.  I love it.  I’m going to watch it again.

Have a great weekend.

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There is a tale in Buddhism where a woman’s son has died.  She is filled with grief and goes to her neighbors begging them for medicine that will save her son, bring him back.  One of the neighbors refers her to Buddha.  She goes to him and begs him to save her son.  Buddha instructs her to bring him some mustard seed, but there’s a catch to this.  She must get her mustard seed only from a family where no son, daughter, father, or mother has died.  The woman goes from house to house and they all had mustard seed, but she found no family that had not lost a loved one.  Learning the grief of death is experienced by all, she takes her son into the forest and buries him.  She then goes back to Buddha and he offers her some of his wisdom.

My aunt is in the hospital.  I found out last night that she will not be coming to visit this week because she’s in so much pain.  Now, the hospital.  They admitted her today.  She was in so much pain that there was no way they could give her morphine and send her home.  It seems like her kidneys are shutting down too.  She’s having trouble urinating and this has resulted in an infection.  It’s only a matter of time before she gets called to be with her father and her beloved dog and many of the others who have passed before her.  I don’t want her to suffer anymore.  I want her to be in peace.

I wish they could take parts from me to use on her to make her better.  I’m strong.  I’m healthy.  I can handle it.  Take anything you want from me.

My aunt is my godmother.  She is my other mother.  She is a beautiful soul.  She has a heart made of gold, sweetness, love, comfort, and generosity.  She is not supposed to be taken from us…not just now…not this way.  My children were supposed to know her.

I’ll find a way to keep her legend alive.  I’ll find a way to keep her spirit alive for the future generations.

Right now, I’m the woman in the story with my mustard seed.

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I had one of the most mundane wonderful weekends ever. I love the low excitement, regular life stuff.

I took Friday off to do spring cleaning. I cleaned my whole place and my porch. I bought a new shower curtain and rugs for the bathroom. I bought a new springtime flag and a pretty sign to hang on my door that say “Love to all who enter here”. Yes, I’m corny like that. Here are some pictures.


Yesterday, I bought some birdseed and wild animal feed.  I spread it around the front and side yard and have enjoyed watching the squirrels and birds go crazy.  I like feeding the wildlife.  Some people get pissed off about it, but I say screw them.  It makes me happy to hear the birds chirping and the squirrels fed.

I did laundry this morning and I have to say, probably for the 1000’th time, that I hate the laundry mat.  Hate hate hate it..  I do my laundry every two weeks.  This includes clothing, towels, and sheets.  I usually take up about 6 washers.  I get there today and it’s crazy busy.  I load up the washers and sit down to wait.  A younger man and his mother are loading up dryers near me and he starts yelling at her.  Calling her a fucking liar and how if she died he wouldn’t fucking care.  He kept repeating, “I wouldn’t even fucking care.”  I shot him a dirty look which he caught.  After a while, I loaded the dryers and sat back down.  A young Mexican woman sat down next to me with a baby.  I smiled at her and she smiled at me.  I happy to inform you, my wonderful readers, that she had her canine teeth capped with vampire fangs that had gold stripes going down them.  Fucking classy, right?

My aunt got some bad news recently.  I seems that some of her tumors have grown.  She’s been in a lot of pain and they put her on morphine.  I’ve been around cancer to know what this means.  She’s coming to NJ to visit in two weeks and I have to make the most of the visit.  I have to be honest with myself and admit that it might be the last time I see her.

I’m watching No Country for Old Men and it’s good, except I’ve come to realize that the older I get the more I can’t deal with these violent movies.  I don’t want to watch them, it makes me sick and disturbs me.  And I can’t take all of the animals being killed.  I know they really weren’t killed, but I don’t want to think about it.

I suppose my sister is doing okay.  I haven’t heard anything.  My dad hasn’t called me since she got out of the hospital.  I guess he doesn’t need me.  I asked him to give me her address and a telephone number where I could reach her.  And I’m still waiting.  Nice, huh?

And lastly, I hate cell phones.  I hate when people call me on my cell to tell me stupid shit or to just talk.  I have a home line and when I’m not home, leave me a fucking message.  Unless it’s an emergency or if you need me to pick something up for you or something like that, there is no reason to disturb me while I’m shopping or driving.  I have no desire to talk on the phone in front of strangers.  Again, leave a message on my home answering machine and I’ll call you back.  I know it’s old school, but I like it that way.

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Oh well…

I’ll be back after the weekend.

I have the blues.

And I’m tired.

Okay, bye.

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What was I doing?

I wasn’t going to write about my personal September 11 experience here. Too many had come before me and told their stories, some with personal experiences so intense that it hurts me to read what they have to say.

I’ve changed my mind. I think this will be the only time I write about this. After this post, I’ll say goodnight to these moments in my life.

When my foreign friends and I would talk about these events, they would sometimes compare 9/11 to events that occur in other countries every day. I tried to make them understand that, while the attacks and violence that occurs in other countries is horrible and scary, nothing like this has ever happened here. Not to civilians. We were all brought up to believe that nothing like this could happen here. This kind of violence wasn’t something any of us were used to. It happens in other countries, not in America.

It was a beautiful morning. I woke up around 8 AM. I had the day off and was planning on enjoying a relaxing day at home. I was working at Barnes and Noble at the time. The shift work was killing me and I was physically exhuasted.

I got my cereal and coffee, and was watching CNN. I always watch the news in the morning and I am not a big fan of the Philly local news programs, so CNN was my fix. I was half paying attention when the anchors report that a plane hit Tower 1 of the Twin Towers.

Like everyone else, I thought it was a small plane. As the news got more information, they panned to the Towers and that’s when I saw that horrible image. The second plane crashing into Tower 2. I dropped my coffee.

I don’t know how to describe how I felt. I was petrified. I had friends that worked in the Towers. I had friends who lived in lower Manhattan. I felt sick.

I called my mom, who was working in Philly at the time. The company was sending everyone home.

The next thing I know, they’re saying that another plane just crashed into the Pentagon. What was next, I thought?

I got up and threw up.

Then Tower 2 fell. I knew my friend Michelle was dead. I just knew it. She worked on the 93rd floor.

After the Tower 1 fell, I walked out and go into my car. I drove aimlessly for a couple hours. I went to my mom’s house. I went to my dad’s house. I went to the grocery store. I got home and walked around. I just couldn’t go home.

I got home to several messages that night. Michelle…missing. My friend Nicole, whom I thought had quit her job, was pretty much confirmed dead as she worked on the 95th floor of Tower 1. My friend Rich’s boyfriend’s apartment in the hot zone, we would later find out that the building was condemned from damage and most of his possessions were completely ruined from his leaving his windows open. It was a really nice day.

The next few days found two other friends called to work on search and rescue teams. One of them becoming so traumatized by what he had seen that he still cannot talk about it today. Body parts, random personal items such as wallets and memos, the sound of the chirping from the trapped firemen. My other friend will talk about it, but has so much anger and sorrow in his voice that it’s hard to listen.

I went to work the next day in a daze. People were coming in all day looking for newspapers documenting the day. Everyone wanted The New York Times. It was almost sick how crazy the rush for newspapers was. This was my generation’s Pearl Harbor.

I still have my copies of The New York Times, Newsweek, Time Magazine, National Geographic, People, etc… They are buried in my closet, wrapped in plastic. Don’t know why I have them, but I can’t throw them away. I almost did last year. Something in my heart stopped me.

They never found Nicole’s body. Parts of Michelle’s body was found in the search effort and identified by dental records. Rich’s ex-boyfriend moved to New Orleans. I suppose he doesn’t have the best luck.

Do I think something like this will happen again? Yes. I think it will be worse. Nothing has changed, except that our politicians have used this day to promote wars and policies that will do nothing but make us bigger targets for those who hated America already.

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Things are not going to work out with Dr. John. I went over to his house for the first time last night and I learned some things that my friend Kelli and her husband didn’t even know.

Here’s what happened…

I got there for around 6. In time for dinner. He ordered a pizza and had a lovely dinner. He asked me about my day and we discussed the shooting on Monday. We started kissing and ended up in his bedroom getting it on. Nice so far, right?

After the sex we were laying in his bed talking when I saw it….a giant framed picture of Jesus on the wall opposite the bed. Um…..what the fuck? He saw me looking at it and said the following, “I love Jesus so much I had to have him in my bedroom.” Huh? I find out that he has a Jesus picture in every room. I hadn’t noticed, but this kind of freaks me out.

I get up to use his bathroom and sure enough, there’s a picture of Jesus. And a cross. I felt sick to my stomach. I come out of the bathroom and see a giant cross hanging over his bed. I know it’s over. I can’t do it.

I know that many of you are Christians and love Jesus, and that’s great. I’m a pagan. Yes, you heard right. I can take meeting a guy who is Christian and has strong faith, I just don’t think we’d have a future with such different beliefs….he admitted he was a Promise Keeper.

After we got dressed and went into the living room to watch TV, he started talking about his faith and how he’s born again. All I’m hearing are sirens warning me. It was the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had with someone I just finished fucking. Dirty fucking to boot. Seriously.

He was talking about his journey to Jesus, his words, and how he found the Promise Keepers. He said they made him whole. I choked on my water. I’m fucking shocked. I thought they were against premarital sex and all that kind of terrible stuff. Now, you all know that I’m a feminist. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I am a card carrying NOW member, Planned Parenthood donating, Pro-Choice, march on Washington kind of feminist.

I tell him this. He frowns. He tells me he’s surprised by this. He then asks me if we can still see each other. I tell him no. He asks why and I say “Because you’re a member of an organization that doesn’t believe that I own my body, therefore you won’t be reaping the rewards of it.” I got up and left.

I had a good cry. And now I’m kind of pissed off. I knew he was too good to be true. I’m still in the ‘what the fuck’ stage of this. How did I not see this coming? I’m crying again.

I’ll leave you with a sadder story. I was doing dishes tonight and I sneezed and phlegm shot out of my mouth and then I sneezed again right away and snot shot out of my nose, and then without having the chance of catching my breath, I sneezed again and pissed myself. Awesome, huh?

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What if you had a life experience so powerful and so life changing and so controversial that saying the words to the story anywhere outside the confines of your head scares the shit out of you?

I have a story. A good one. One that would break the hearts of my family members. One that would make people judge me and hate me. One that could potentially ruin friendships, both present and future.

It’s a story that I’m removed from enough that it’s itching to get told. Not here. This story has no place in this medium. This story is something books are made from.

It’s all I think about, this time in my life. It influences every decision I make in my life. It influences my words here, and how I think about each and every one of you. These aren’t always bad things. But, let’s just say that I see things from a different perspective than most women. Not in a better way, just different.

I’m very choosy about the things I tell people regarding my past. Believe me when I say that you all haven’t even glimpsed at half of who I am. This part of my story is especially hidden. I would even lie about it to protect myself.

Writing about this time in my life may be cathartic or demon slayingish. For a long time, I couldn’t even think about it without being overcome with fear, so writing about it was out of the question. But I can now see it with clear eyes and I’m trying to sort through it, especially how I feel about it. But, to put those words out there is harder than I thought it would be. I could write it as fiction, but I don’t think I’m that good of a liar. There are things about this life experience that only the one who walked in those shoes would be able to describe how soles got worn. You know what I mean?

Anyhow, my question is…..if you had something like this in your past (and no I didn’t murder anyone), would you write the story?

*** If you must know, you can email me but have faith in that I will not tell everyone what happened. So, please forgive me if I’m not interested in divulging this secret to every last one of you. Only the people whom I trust and am close to will know. The rest of you should be happy with what I’ve already given you.

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Well, I wasn’t going to leave the comments open on that previous post but I’m glad I did. Not only are you all angels, but it’s unbelievable that so many of us have been victimized like that. The emails I got were amazingly powerful and heartbreaking.

Thank you all for your words of support and for your kindness. They mean more than I can say.

I got a lot of emails asking me how I can be so comfortable with sex and sexuality after being raped. I feel compelled to answer those questions by giving you a little more of my story.

After it all happened, I went through a few years of being an asshole. Yup, a serious asshole. I left that school after my sophomore year and started going to a community college part-time. I went to work full-time. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I was in a dark place.

My friend, D, finally convinced me to go to therapy and I did. I went 3 times a week and slowly came to terms with things. My therapist suggested that I start volunteering at a local rape crisis clinic and I did. Through the stories of those women I started to heal and to realize that I wasn’t alone. But, I needed more answers.

I finally went back to college full-time, a Behavioral Sciences major. My first semester, I took a class in sex crimes. My professor, who would later become my advisor and friend, was an ex-profiler for the FBI and counselled sex offenders. I told him my story and said that I needed to find out all I could about the men who do this. And I did. I wrote two independent studies on the subject, one on sexually predators and one on the corrections of sex offenders. I was invited to several conferences and meetings held by renowned experts in the field. Know thy enemy.

I came to several conclusions eventually. One was that what happened to me wasn’t my fault. Two was that what happened to me had nothing to do with me. I think that even if I had known he liked me and I reciprocated, he would have eventually been violent. It’s in his nature. He’s a type 2 rapist. Narcissist. The third thing was that I can’t change the past, but I am responsible for what happens to me now. And the fourth was that what he did to me had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with control and humiliation.

So, I started learning about sex and sexuality. Turns out that I loved the subject and was fascinated by all of the ways people practice love making. Besides, every time I hold myself back he wins. So, I can’t let him win.

I have to enjoy life. I can’t dwell or let past experiences ruin all of the potentially wonderful things in my life.

And that is the story.

***

This weekend I was a cooking and baking fool. Saturday night I made this and a chocolate cheesecake. Yesterday I made this and this and a maple cake with a pecan icing and homemade bagels. Yes, you heard me right. Homemade bagels. Plain and cinnamon raisin. They turned out great. Fuck yeah, I rock.

***

  • I keep putting off joining the gym because I know the weather is going to get good again and then I’ll never be at the gym anyway. In the meantime, my clothes are getting tight. It’s killing me. I hate dieting, but I might have to for a little bit until I get outside and work out. I also can’t wait to get outside because I feel like shit.
  • With the weather being so cold and me being single, my leg hair is out of control. Mostly because I’ve been to lazy to shave them. Yeah, I’m just a hairy legged woman. Don’t worry, I always keep the crotch and pits in order….but my legs were nasty. I shaved them last night and now I just keep rubbing my legs because they’re so smooth. There is no point to this, I’m just rambling.
  • My sister is definitely having the baby tomorrow. Stay tuned for that.
  • I’m rereading all of the Harry Potter books to get ready for the 7th book. I know I’m a dork and that’s okay. Make fun of me. Those books are super awesome and now I’ve been tuning in to the Podcasts.
  • I think I’m addicted to Podcasts. I love them.
  • I went grocery shopping the other day and I forgot graham crackers for the chocolate cheesecake crust, so I was driving by an Aldi and I stopped. I know what I’m about to say is super snobby, but that is the most depressing grocery store I’ve ever been in. Really. I’d cry.
  • I still have my Christmas lights up. Yeah, I know I’m a loser. It’s just too fucking cold to take them down. They’re frozen to my stairs. At least I don’t turn them on. That would be bad.
***

My guys Tim and Rich came over the other night to have some drinks with me. Rich is a republican. A gay republican. A gay black republican. Yeah. Here is a sample of our conversation from the other night after we’d each had a few drinks.

Me: “I don’t date republicans. It’s a rule I have.”
Rich: “How do you know if he’s a republican.”
Me: “I ask.”
Rich: “That’s kind of rude.”
Me: “No. It’s not rude. It’s crucial information.”
Rich: “Why?”
Me: “It’s crucial because I don’t have sex with republicans. If, by their opinion, I’m not intelligent enough or responsible enough to make my own decisions about my body then I don’t think any republican should reap the benefits of my body.”
Rich: “Isn’t your dad a republican?”
Me: “Yes, but I don’t fuck my dad.”
Rich: “That’s nice, Debbie. You know, I’m a republican.”
Me: “Yes, that’s weird. You’re like the African tribesman who sold his people to whitey or the Jewish police who turned in their own people to the Nazi’s.”

crickets chirping,,,,,dumb stares…..lots of blinking

Tim: “Oh Debbie.”
Rich: “I just think that the conservative line is closer to my beliefs and how I worship God.”
Me: “But doesn’t God hate the gays? That’s what I’ve been hearing lately.”
Tim (holding his hands to his head): “You’re a mess.”
Me: “Stay out of it Timmyboy. Listen Rich, don’t you think your picking your politics because of your religious faith is retarded? What about common sense? I know that’s a difficult concept to grasp in this day and age, but how can you support a party who wants to destroy your people.”
Rich: “Which people? My blacks or my gays?”
Me: “Does it matter? Pick one.”
Rich: “I think that in the end God will make it right. If I don’t have my faith I don’t have anything. It’s the way of Christ. I can believe that even if I’m gay.”
Me: “You know I’m not Christian, my dear.”
Rich: “What’s the supposed to mean?”
Me: “I don’t follow the Christian way.”
Rich: “You don’t believe that Jesus is our lord and savior.”
Me: “Um, no. I don’t. And Christianity didn’t come until many many centuries after Jesus died. It could have been anyone, but they chose to write the myths about him. It’s history and mythology. I don’t believe mortals can be gods anyhow. If you can shit, you ain’t it.”
Rich: “You’re retarded sometimes, you know that? You don’t think gods can shit?”
Me: “Maybe thunder is caused by the gods farting.”
Rich: “No more drinks for you. Well, all I know is that I follow what the bible says.”
Me: “Which interpretation? Most of those stories were stolen from the Jews anyhow.”
Rich: “Oh, I don’t think we’ll ever agree when it comes to this subject.”
Me: “I think if I had to pick one, I’d be a Jew. They are the chosen people and I always wanted to belong to a tribe.”
Tim: “I seriously wonder how your brain works Debbie. You amaze me sometimes by your wackiness. It’s one of the reasons why I love you.”
Rich: “I love you too. You’re fucking nuts.”
Me: “I think I’m going to form my own tribe. Invite only. You guys wanna join? We’ll be super cool. We can get matching sweatshirts.”
Rich: “Can they be purple?”
Me: “You are so gay.”

I love these guys. I miss them. They are going back to NYC on Monday. I want to go with them. They are an awesome couple. I asked them to adopt me. They’re thinking about it. Oh, and Tim is a bleeding liberal. They have a rule to never talk about politics inside their home.

We have all gotten into heated arguments about the hot topics of today and I think it says something that at the end of it all, we respect each voice of dissent. We keep each other sharp. Plus, Rich makes a mean mango margarita.

And that’s a wrap.

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