Archive | February 18, 2009

Maddow Widowers’ Support Group, open for business

mwsg When the esteemed Dr. Rachel Maddow, Ph.D. (that’s Pretty hot Dyke, for those unfamiliar with academic acronyms) blew onto the national TV scene as a commentator for MSNBC, tons of gals’ undies got all up in a wad. And I mean that in a good way.

Coast to coast and up and down the internets, the Sisters of Sappho were all: Jumpin’ Jehosephat! It’s one of us up there! And of the butchie stripe, heretofore The Gender That Dare Not Speak Its Name! (At least it dare not speak its name on the television set, and according to reports by those who watch the series, if you were to search for this in between part of the gender spectrum on even something like The L Word you would be searching a long, long, long time.) But back to Dr. Maddow: She’s smart, we all said!  Plus she’s leftie!  Plus she’s not apologetic about any of the above!  I even got a little giddy myself (exhibit A).

There was just one eeensy, teensy problem I hadn’t anticipated, in my initial glee: having one of my kind representing on the TV set meant that I got to witness my beloved watching one of my kind representing on the TV set.  (Cue sound of record player needle being scratched violently off the vinyl.)  Yeah. So when we all laugh at Dr. M’s rapier wit, the beloved laughs just a leeetle bit harder than I do. You get the idea.

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Rainy day funfest

parachute

Everyone could feel in their bones that the moment was approaching.   There was a buzz in the place, an undeniable magnetic force, pulling us all to the same room.  People were a-quiver.  A-dither.  A-twitter.  And at the appointed hour, it came, and it did not disappoint.

PARACHUTE TIME.

The lil’ monkey had just been queueing up for the bathroom when she felt the feeling in her joints, and had to go.  I mean, go to PARACHUTE TIME.  

“Sweetie, I’m all for you getting jiggy with the parachute, but are you sure?  Are you really sure?  Can you hold it in for the whole dealie?”

“Yes, Baba, yes!”  She was breathless.  Put me in, coach, put me in!

“Alright then.  Just remember, whenever you need to, we can always cut out and make a beeline for the potty.”

“I won’t need to, Baba, I won’t need to.  I can hold it.”  And she did.

What I enjoyed, almost as much as her parachute time joy (and her brother’s fascination, as he watched it): two other lesbian dads/butch mamas in the place that day, in addition to moi.  I nearly peed me britches with enthusiasm.  

 

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