March Madness

So, I normally try to avoid "March Madness" like a strain of Ebola, but this year has been different. Growing up, my dad never missed a minute of the NCAA tournament, particularly any and every University of Illinois game, much to the inconvenience of his household of all non-basketball-loving girls. My mom, my sisters and I never really understood Dad's obsession with the tournament or his fanaticism for his beloved Illini. That was, until I went to school at the University of Kentucky.

For those who don't, and never have, lived in Kentucky, it's difficult to explain what college basketball means to this state. As a UK freshman (even one who spent the majority of her time in the Fine Arts building,) I found out right away what it means while I was living in an enormous complex of dorms. And so, as any good Wildcat, I dutifully joined my fellow co-eds in the "party dorm" room (black lights and strings of Christmas tree lights strung year-round, a TV sound system that could be heard on all 24 floors of the building... it's the same at every school,) and proudly cheered my UK on to win the 1998 NCAA championships.

As my friends and I watched UK get closer and closer to winning the big game, it was decided that we would "storm the streets," running down a couple of blocks from the dorm where thousands of excited Wildcat fans gathered to celebrate. However, those of us wanting to preserve the memory in photos decided to stage the "win" for our pictures with about 15 minutes left in the game. That way, we wouldn't have the burden of posing for the camera while hauling ass down the street, whooping and hollering like wildmen among the flying beer and discarded clothing. And even as a NON-sports loving, "too-cool-for-school" art major, I can honestly say that this night, celebrating without inhibition with a couple thousand of my fellow UK fans (including the National Guard in riot gear) was one of my favorite college memories.

For my out of town, non-sports-loving (or caring) friends, this year's big tournament is down to the Final Four, and UK will play the University of Louisville this weekend. As a UK alum living in Louisville, this rare match-up of the two big-time rivals makes even me excited for the game. So, like my dad and everyone else (at least those with an ounce of Kentucky blood,) I will again cheer on my team. But, to me, it's not about the game or even winning. It's about the common goal and sharing in an experience, like I did as a college freshman, with my friends, my alma mater and my new home state. Okay, okay, it is about winning! GO CATS!

(And if UofL wins, I'll be proud of them too. No, really.... I get to hang out with friends, drink beer and celebrate either way.)

In memory of Pat Murphy, whose enthusiasm for a good celebration made a sports fan out of even me.

She Aint No Caroline Ingalls!

Whenever I'm tempted to say something on Facebook about politics, religion or bodily functions, I say it to my mom instead. Nothing offends that woman! Seriously, the cruder and more controversial, the better.

A few days ago, my mom text me during work to demand that I immediately google "Zum Bum." So, thanks to the wonders of the internet, I found out that "Zum Bum" is a freshening spray for "bums" (butts, asses, anuses.) WTH, Mom?!! Half amused and half disgusted, I texted my mom to thank her for the disturbing image she had now imprinted in my brain. I also admitted that her randomly "googling" on the internet was a scary thought, considering her bawdy sense of humor and precarious curiosity. This statement seemed to only inspire her. Then, I messaged my sister to see if Mom had shared her new "find" with her. Sure enough! And in response, my sister had suggested that Mom spend her internet "free time" playing online Wheel of Fortune or Solitaire instead.

As expected, Mom, laughed off her daughters' caution and suggestions. Instead, she sent a follow-up text proudly letting us know that she had just found out what "fap" means. Thanks, UrbanDictionary.com, my mother and her horrified daughters will never be the same.

My Wish for V-Day

Happy Valentine's Day! No, really, I mean it. Yes, I'm single, not currently dating. No, I don't have plans with all of my other single girlfriends (or gay husband) to trash-talk love or leer at all of the happy couples at the restaurant. I'm not even going to go on and on about how the holiday was made up by the greeting card companies or how you shouldn't wait for just one day a year to tell someone how you feel  (although I do, and you shouldn't.)

The thing is, I've been single on Valentine's Day and I've been in a relationship, and the results were the same. The day is what you make it. When I was dating someone, there was pressure to be happy and romantic and find the "right" gift appropriate to the amount of time you've been dating and where the relationship "stands." And when I was single, there was pressure to be miserable and cynical and drown your "sorrows" in red wine and self-pity. So, this year I'm not letting my happiness (or unhappiness) be dictated by what other people think you should do and feel on one particular day.

Sure, I've experienced Valentine's Day both single and "coupled," but truth be told, my favorite ones were when neither of those mattered. When I was young, my parents didn't go out and leave my sisters and me alone or with a babysitter for Valentine's Day, and they didn't treat it as a holiday just for couples. For us, it was a day when Mom would make a heart-shaped cake or cookies with sprinkles and we'd eat them off of doilies. It was sweet and harmless and all-inclusive. And shouldn't that be the point?

So, whether you're planning a romantic dinner for two or pizza delivery, bottle of wine, pint of ice cream for one, I still hope you have a lovely Valentine's Day!

P.S. The cynic in me wanted to share this Valentine-themed website sure to make you (single or coupled) gag on your candy hearts. Really?

  

WTF Winter?

Like a menopausal woman, I am always, and I mean always, warm. While most other people at work/in the movie theater/in the Kroger freezer section shiver in chilled anguish, I exist comfortably in short sleeves and bare legs. Seriously, I haven't been able to wear a sweater in years! So, imagine the despair and discomfort I feel with the arrival of that cycle of nature, the unwanted visitor (that bitch!), that unwavering beast that strikes the best of us with personality changes, irritation and turmoil. That's right, ladies, that "special" time has arrived... El Nino is here. What did you think I was talking about?

This winter has been the warmest in history (okay, the warmest of any I can remember.) It's already late January and no snow storms, no icicles, hell, the temperature has barely gotten below 40 degrees! And this pisses me off. Without seasons, everything is just out of whack. No, there's no tangible evidence to show for this "aura" that seems to be present. It's like having a full moon every night. And I'm pretty sure I heard wolves howling outside last night, but that could've been a couple of drunk college kids reaching for the doors of the neighborhood liquor store only to find that it is closed, or a couple of displeased "residents" at the home for severely disabled fifty feet away. (I'm not poking fun of them, this is actually a regular occurance on my street.)

This annoying temperate weather that has punished us here in the "Upper South" this winter is vastly different from the snowstorms and bitter cold that I remember growing up in the Midwest. And in a lot of ways, my experience making snow ice cream as a child and ability to drive on 2 inches of ice makes me a winter expert around here. When 99% of Louisvillians are frantically rushing to buy bread and milk before "the big storm" (which usually amounts to about an inch and a half of snow, a legitimate weather emergency here) I'm given the opportunity to demonstrate my lack of concern, my resistance to such hysteria and, inevitably, my superiority over the common man. Yes, I and my Chicago-born friends thumb our noses at your utter panic. But, this winter El Nino has robbed me of my disdain, a feeling I look forward to every year! 

Some may point out that the cause of the moderate winter that irritates me so much is actually global warming at work. However, I prefer to have a name to call the phenomenom that irritates me and causes the world around us to spin slightly off axis. And, so, as I sit here in my tank top and shorts, I curse you, El Nino! If I had wanted to mow the lawn and drink frozen cocktails with little umbrellas on the patio year-round, I would have moved to Miami instead of Louisville. So, now, I am going to hibernate in my one-bedroom apartment, protected against the 50-degrees and sunny January weather, until Derby Day.

Just An Old Married Couple

It has been ages since I posted a new blog. As it is for most people, for me, December was a whirlwind of work obligations, holiday gatherings, visiting family, planning resolutions for the New Year (this year, I decided to skip ahead and make resolutions that begin on January 2nd which involved quitting that new yoga class, giving up the low-carb diet and maintaining all of the unhealthy vices that carried me through 2011. Afterall, these are the kind of resolutions that assure success to an "overachiever," like me.) But, I've also been spending a lot of time the past couple of weeks hanging out with my gay husband, "Corky."

Although he doesn't live here full-time, Corky's job brings him to Louisville a week or two out of the month. When he's in town, Corky often stays at my place - my one-bedroom, one-bathroom, one-television with one comfortable seat in the living room place. And Corky is not one who travels lightly. For a five-day stay, he typically brings every piece in the set of his baby blue luggage packed with an outfit for every occasion (real or hypothetical,) a different bottle of cologne for each day (I'm not lying,) and more hair products than I've used in the last three years combined. But, we make do with the limited personal space of my one-person apartment and have a great time.

Like an ordinary couple, Corky and I spend the evenings catching up after a long day at our jobs, we order Chinese food, share a bottle of wine.... paint each other's nails (him whining that I got polish on his cuticles,) try on high heels and choose a movie based solely on the number of shirtless men it features. Like I said, just a regular couple. And like a regular (married) couple, the honeymoon is most definitely over in this relationship. Last weekend, as we reluctantly left the house for the evening, unwashed, unshaven and otherwise not giving a damn, I pointed out our utter lack of making an effort, to which Corky admitted that he'd be wearing his pajama pants if he hadn't shit them earlier in the week. Ah, yes. There are no secrets between these girlfriends.

As much as I tease poor Corky about his gypsy lifestyle sleeping on my couch and similarities with Kato Kaelin (just kidding, Cork!) I like having him as my part-time roommate and full-time GBF. I wouldn't trade our friendship, our "old married couple" ways or our week-long slumber parties for anything! Everyone should be so lucky.

Glue Gun Mafia

I admit it, I have occasionally been one to make fun of scrapbooking, craft fairs and "primitives" (beat up old crap, err... "crafts," which are still a mystery to me.) Crocheted tissue box covers, Santas painted on driftwood and teddy bears dressed up like historic figures are NOT my idea of "fine art." For Pete's sake, I have an art degree! Well, not exactly art, it was arts administration, which is similiar but for art-lovers with no talent for creating it. We just operate the businesses that make money on the art.

But, for the last couple of months, I have been attending gatherings of the "Glue Gun Mafia," craft workshops for the semi-hip. GGM sessions have included bird and peacock feather jewelry making and crafts for wine-lovers - wine glasses dipped in chalkboard paint, wine glass charms and etched glass candles. Although I was reluctant to join this creative clan due to my aversion of all things crafts, I have had a blast at GGM! I've learned, through these sessions, that a "craft" doesn't have to be made with fuzz ball pom pons, appliques or puffy paint. They can, instead, be cool, useful items that actually wouldn't embarrass me to show to my gay boy friends (harsher critics than Martha Stewart!)

My dislike of crafts, particularly craft shows, stems from growing up in the late '80's and early '90's when entire houses were decorated in country blue and mauve and ducks were the "theme" of every kitchen, at least in my small town. At the time, craft shows seemed to pop up in EVERY school gym, church basement and public hall. As it was THE thing to do, I (along with my mom and sisters) was a frequent attendee, along with every puffy painter, doll clothes maker and popsicle stick artist in a thirty-mile radius, of the craft show.

Now, I don't mean to offend those who really do (even in this day and age) enjoy a good craft show. There are some quality items, I'll grant you - jewelry, for one, and other artful things made with skill and taste. I'm just saying, there are good crafts, and there are bad crafts, and you'll know the difference when you see them. What craft shows really need is the magic touch ("fairy dust," if you will) of the gay man. No self-respecting queen would allow the appliqued, Halloween-themed sweatshirts or lace-strewn toilet paper cozys, not the "fabulous" gays anyway... And until craft shows get "queer-eyed" (in the style of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy,") the only crafts I want to see are those of the Glue Gun Mafia. Here, every Martha Stewart-worshipping queen can hold themselves with pride.

Glue Gun Mafia at Regalo
Tuesday, Nov. 22
7-9 p.m.
http://www.facebook.com/events/203720813035538/

'Tis the Season

"I saw peter today... 'tis the season!" says a text message from my mom today. Actually, such off-the-wall colorful messages aren't so unexpected from Mom. My sisters and I tend to get them regularly. The website "Parents Shouldnt Text" was made for my mother! If you're not familiar, you should be. This hilarious website features some of the best (and worst) examples of text messages from parents sent to their children. My mother should get a share in their earnings, because, I'm fairly certain that she was the inspiration for this phenomenom. It's not that Mom's texts are ever unwelcome, it's just that they're pretty darn funny from a mother to her child.

Today, Mom's text was actually a reference to a really old Folger's commercial that has been shown every Christmas season for as long as I can remember, at least since the early '80's. In my family, the arrival of this commercial marks the official kick-off of the holiday season. Although it's a silly, sappy, completely overacted and outdated piece of "theater," it's sentimental to my family. I consider it almost like a family memory, or at least, a family tradition.

Another sign of the season for us is the arrival of the "Little House on the Prairie" Christmas episodes. As I've mentioned a time or two, my sisters and I grew up on "Little House." The stories of the Ingalls in Walnut Grove (and, at one time, Mankato, for you true fans who are fact-checking me) were a huge part of my childhood. One of the earlier, particularly nostalgic Christmas episodes was based on the "Gift of the Magi" theme (Laura and Pa both got Ma an oven, Pa got Laura a saddle for her horse, Bunny, who Laura had sold to the Olsen's to pay for Ma's oven...) and it was an emotional killer! There's also a later episode where the Ingalls girls are grown-up and everyone tells about their favorite Christmas memory. Just the mention of Hester Sue singing spirituals brings a tear to every Cooper girl's eye. Seriously, it's a true blubber-fest. And it's fantastic!

And, so, with the inaugural "Peter" sighting, the holiday season has officially begun, at least for my family. The "big day" is still weeks away, but soon there will be lots more texts about Christmas lists, travel schedules and the menu (no jello and don't mess with the mashed potatoes, please!) between us. And, no doubt, there will also be more reports from my mom and sisters about "Peter" and those damn "Little House" episodes as they start to play more and more throughout the season! It's nice to know that even as adults, those silly (and actually bad) TV moments from the '80's are still as affecting and sentimental to us as they used to be. Afterall, what's Christmas without Peter?!!

"Peter Comes Home" Folger's Commercial, circa 1982:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4kNl7cQdcU