Top Five 2008

I’m always surprised when I look at what gets the most action around here.  Inflatable old women, Adam Duritz, the best recipe for toffee.  2008 is less surprising, if only for the fact that my biggest changes were your biggest reads and my favorite things, yours.  If you’re new around here, here’s what the top point getters are looking at:

5.  First, Proposition 8.  2008.  Talk about polarizing; mostly me over here and the rest of you over there.  I’m deeply disappointed that it didn’t get resoundingly hollered down.  I’m even more disheartened with the aftermath; accusations that any one group of people was responsible, attempts to nullify existing marriages, and the quiet, steadfast support the nation has given to discrimination.  I’ll start cursing if I go further, but suffice to say, America, you can’t make this one up to me.

4.  Voodoo egg spells. 2006.  I’ve written very little about voodoo since and know practically nothing about it.  I’m not sure what so fascinating about my ’06 string of bad luck except possibly that a) it has stopped and b) I didn’t stop it with a voodoo egg spell. Why?  Why are you still reading this?

3.  Leaving the State Department. 2008.  Foreign Service Officers are a small network of folks, so it wasn’t a surprise that when I finally broke my silence and actually strung the words foreign, service, and officer together, I had to wade through the crowd.  I posted my resignation letter here.  It was something I worked hard on, ran past multiple sets of eyes and cried a good portion of tears over.  In fact, I’d say this single incident brought me more sadness than anything else this year.

2.  Who are you anyway? 2005.  My About page sees about as much action as…well…it isn’t important.  There’s also a password protected portion of this site under The Rest that sees a lot of activity.  I’m thinking of moving that sort of thing to a new home in 2009.

1.  Identity.  2008.  More on leaving a job, a life, a family.  I’m not over it yet, but I there’s nothing left to say.  This post still got more hits than any other this year.  It’s also a reflection of my own mental hits.  It wasn’t easy going from diplomacy to information science.  This identity is different one, a welcome one, but still, an unfamiliar one.  Here’s to getting to know myself better in 2009.

The Scents of Winter

Today a gay male coworker mentioned that I smelled good.  I was struck by two things.  First, it’s nice to be complimented by a man.  There are lots of women in my life (all of whom know how to dole out the occasional compliment) but there just aren’t many men in my life.  Since none of those men are trying to woo me, compliments are few and far between.  Second, I’m not aware that I smell like anything at all.  True, I put on perfume every morning, but I can’t smell it after awhile and I assume no one else can either. Yes, I know this isn’t true and no, I don’t put on more just in case so that I smell like a stinking heap of flowered shit.

Back to the compliment.  I had just come from running up the stairs eating a piece of toffee.  I assumed he enjoyed that I smelled sweet, like candy.  Caramelizing sugar is one of the smells that calls holiday to me.  If I could arrange it, I would arrange for my clothes and hair to frequently smell of vanilla and toffee during December.  Other smells of winter?  Drying winter coats (ick) and that sharp, cold smell right before it snows (mmm).  In the end though, he just liked the smell of my perfume, no doubt triggered by the haul up the stairs.

You’re right, he wouldn’t have known what exactly the smell was if he hadn’t delicately sniffed my wrist.  If he hadn’t requested to delicately sniff the inside of my wrist.  After ascertaining that yes, that was the smell, and after I mentioned the name, Hypnotic, he had the decency to blush.

Sit.

Back to dog training tomorrow.  Although, I admit that I didn’t attend any of the first batch of dog training and so really don’t have much room to complain.  He’s a good dog, but he has his moments where he’s possessed.  I’ve had a dog possessed in the wrong way, the eat-your-face way, so I think I’m lucky he’s possessed in a more…lick-your-face way.  Don’t worry, there won’t be incessant dog training updates.  Although if I get shit on my hand like the last time I tried to keep him from jumping on a stranger while keeping hold of his leash, a bag of groceries and an umbrella, you’re definitely going to hear about it.

Points for having bunnies.

Calling in Gay

I found out late this afternoon that today was call in gay day.  Blame it on the Mississippi, but the news didn’t make it over here to lonely conservative Virginia.  I’m surprised I didn’t read it somewhere earlier, but I assume it’s because I didn’t make it on the gay agenda this week.  Kidding aside, calling in gay is an interesting way to raise visibility.  It’s a way to say “Hey, you know those people that work next to you, that you eat lunch with, that you joke with on coffee breaks?  Some of those people are gay.  Funny how they aren’t that different from you.  They don’t wear feather boas or toolbelts more often than you, they don’t make incessant sex-starved conversation, they aren’t any more (or less) depraved.  Why should they work for the same benefits as you do with fewer rights?”

That’s one way.  My wife says I didn’t get the gay memo cause I’m not gay enough (meaning that I don’t have a toolbelt) but she might say that because I have a different approach to raising the gay profile.  I’m out to all of my coworkers.  It isn’t a “when asked” policy like I adopted early in the Foreign Service, it’s an “always” policy (As an aside, I fully support that discretion as long as you’re upfront when asked or if confronted with an out-of-the-ordinary heterosexual advance.  It’s your right to keep your life private in whatever way you choose.  Further, you should have that right, and sadly, you don’t.  Right now, not announcing your gayness is tantamount to oppressing the whole lot of us, and it shouldn’t be that way.)   No, it isn’t okay to call my partner my roommate (and yes, people still do).  I’m unfailingly nice about it, but I’m insistent.  I apply this niceness, this good sense of humor, this ability to listen and laugh, to making sure the people around me know that, while I choose to be with a woman, I am as normal as they are.  I do my share of the work and I pay enough attention to my colleagues to know when they need a hand (my wife might say I leave it all the goodness at work too often).  I choose to raise awareness by being present, human and likable.  I couldn’t do this if I called in gay. 

Two different approaches, both equally as effective in the moment.  Both approaches leave an impression.  Here’s the link if you want the full lowdown on Day Without a Gay.  Now, in lieu of making you redeem points, I give you the proper Gay Agenda:

6:00am           Gym
8:00am           Breakfast
8:30am           Hair appointment
10:00am        Shopping
11:00am         Brunch
2:00pm          Assume complete control of the U.S. Federal, State and Local governments as well as all other                 national governments.
2:30pm           Beauty rest to prevent facial wrinkles from stress of world conquest
4:00pm          Cocktails
6:00pm          Light Dinner
8:00pm          Theater
11:00pm        Bedtime!

Shunned at the Dog Park

One of the hardest parts of moving has been having to make new friends.  I’ll admit, we weren’t doing spectacularly well at this before, but we were doing well enough that we had other people to make conversation with.  Did you ever take one of those personality quizzes that asked “do you usually have just a few close friends or many friends and acquaintances?”  I’m sure that isn’t the precise wording, but it’s close enough that you get the idea. I always checked the “just a few close friends” option, knowing it wasn’t entirely true.  I have a lot of close friends, but only one or two are nearby at any time and sometimes, like now, none of them are near.  I’m not sure which box D would check, but she seems easy-going enough to make friends anywhere.

We’ve been doing our best here, I’m cultivating the usual round of close acquaintances at work and find that there’s more social potential with this crowd than there was at the State Department.  Perhaps we have more in common, or perhaps it’s knowing that everyone is staying put for awhile.  D has been working diligently on friends at the dog park, important since we’ve been getting the cold shoulder since we got here.

I’m not sure what it is about this dog park, but the exclusivity was reaching a fever pitch until D broke through a few weeks ago.  No matter how hard we tried to make conversation, all we got was a barely polite smile.  I wondered if it was our obvious gayness, but this is actually one place where there are other queer couples.  It doesn’t make sense.  There are only a few dog park rules:
–Don’t let your dog hump unrepentantly.
–Pick up after him.
–Tell other people how handsome their Rover is.
–When dark, negotiate leaving so that no one gets left alone.

We follow those rules to the letter and yet we still found ourselves standing, excluded from the group.  After much debating, I think we’ve settled on demographics as the problem.  With the university being so close, there are a number of undergraduates and their dogs frequenting the park.  I forget how young 18, 20, even 21 are.  It’s hard to be both approachable and friendly when you’re not sure if you’re hip enough and everyone looks ancient.  It’s not everyone of course, I’m sure you were brilliant, sociable and comfortable at that age, but the people at this park, not so much.  Of course, there’s also a healthy mix of older folks, but we seem to fall in a big gap between the two.  So we judge the teens and then get judged in turn, but no one is making friends.

Finally, D broke through to someone who seems friendly enough.  It could be that the woman was hitting on her, but probably, she was just looking for friends, considering she’s as new to town as we are.  So we’ve been carefully cultivating the acquaintance, wondering when it’s appropriate to move things out of the dog park.  This still has its own air of awkwardness as she seems to get along equally well with both of us, but it’s kind of like we’re picking her up for a threesome if we continue on in this way.  At least we aren’t both flirting with her like Lorriane and her girlfriend are with their new friend.

So as we hear stories about how Lorraine is falling all over the hotness that is Lois (instead of her girlfriend who she is trying to make pregnant) we endeavor to not appear creepy to our new friend while still trying to get her to go out for drinks.  What are we…16 yr. old boys?

What’s Worse: Being the “Friend” or Being Nothing?

We were feeling so…supported here.  Sure, the state of Virginia isn’t going to turn over partner health benefits, but we do get partner gym benefits.  Better still, the University’s duel career recruitment program applies as much to gay couples as it does to straight couples.  For a state university in a conservative rural area, I thought it was remarkable that they worked as hard to find D. a job as they did any other spouse.  She got a temporary position that has transitioned into a job that’s a perfect fit and, happily, I think we’re both satisfied with our professional environments. 

The sweet idyll came to a bitter point on Friday when D was officially introduced as a new employee.  The library does this; every town hall meeting brings the 100-strong staff together and rolls the red carpet out for the new folks.  It wasn’t much different for D.  She got a stellar and accurate introduction with one glaring exclusion – me.  Other new staff got the familial nod (“This is Joanie, superlibrarian.  She also happens to be married to Jerry, fellow superlibrarian.”) but I was handily left out of her introduction. 

I don’t need the glory, and usually, I commend people for treating us as seperate, distinct individuals (especially at work) but if mentioning family is the norm, then her introduction should have mentioned her relationship to me.  I’m sure it wasn’t a purposeful exclusion, but it’s part of the unconscious straight-centric world populated by well meaning people.  We exist.  I’m her wife, not her friend or some silent roommate.  If we didn’t want you to know, we wouldn’t wear rings, introduce each other, etc.  Our relationship is no different than Joanie’s and Jerry’s – so if it’s inappropriate to mention ours, it is likewise inappropriate to mention theirs. 

So much for perfect.

Pretty

I got to meet the woman who’s been hitting on my wife lately.  Although defused, she’s still a potential friend as she’s gay, our age and also new to Charlottesville.  Funny how, when I met her today, I was less concerned with the attempt to make off with my wife because she was attractive.  I once had a colleague who preferred beautiful (and tall) people and consequently bestowed automatic goodwill.  For a moment, I can see where he’s coming from.

Democracy is Delicious

D. accused me of being an excitement dampener today.  She even pretended her arm was an excitement meter and every time it passed over me made dreadful buzzing sounds.  It’s true, I suppose.  I’m politically pessimistic in a wholly optimistic household.  

It’s not that I’m not excited about this “historic” event.  I am.  A senator will be elected for the first time since JFK.  A woman could be vice president.  An African-American could be president.  While I believe every election is historic, in that it impacts history irrevocably, I agree that this one is obviously so.  On the other hand, I think I’m entitled to wish the candidates had more to offer.  I realize that’s controversial, especially among the Obama-humping set (continue humping, I agree that he’s the better choice), but I wish I had more confidence that he could guarantee my rights.

Before you write to tell me how WRONG I am, let me assure you that I agree, McCain surely couldn’t do any better.  But being a democrat doesn’t certify you’ll make smart, gay-positive, woman-positive decisions. There is no promise that you won’t horse trade my rights in exchange for the children (or the whales, or the Spotted Golden Tick).  Not to mention that it hurt not to vote for one of the women on the ballot today (qualifications do still count for something.)  I would desperately like to see a woman break through the ultimate political glass ceiling – a similar sentiment I suspect to those fervently hoping Obama will do the same.  

In the end, I want the right person for this country and so I agree with you but I also want the right forward movement for my family.  I’m not seeing it as clearly as I’d like.  There’s no perfect solution.  I’ve met John McCain and he was incredibly nice and smart.  (Yes, I know you’ve met Obama and he is all those things and handsome! and he has a green thumb!  and he is made of gold!)  But you can imagine why I’m the excitement downer around here.  I’m tired of being a horse trade.  Worse, I’m tired of not having the same rights you have.  

Pessimism aside, I love getting to cast a vote.  I appreciate corporations’ efforts to get people out there that might not otherwise take advantage of this right (my ice cream was delicious, thank you).  And I love the impetus for change.  There you go.  I agree with you.

Don’t Tell Me About Prop 8

No, really. 

Maybe I’m just soaked in politics and the Prop 8 hype has sent me overboard.  You heard me.  I said hype.  It’s not that I’m not for it – voting no on Prop 8, that is.  I’m totally for?  against?  Prop 8.  I’m whatever the good gay population of the U.S. should be.  Against.  I’m for it.  Confusion aside (and I’m actually kidding about being confused.  It’s crap, Prop 8, and if you’re a California resident, you should be informed enough to vote properly.), I’m just amazed at the overblown reaction.

I don’t expect you to agree with me.  You’re probably, oh I’m totally donating to Prop 8 right now!   I hope you do.  And then I hope you match it in Connecticut and Arizona and Florida.  Because there are other states with the same challenges.  And just because we all love the glossy, golden skin and sparkling wit of California, doesn’t mean that the gay rights battles aren’t important in the rest of the country, too.   I’ll admit, I was delighted to see Ellen pony up for an anti-Prop 8 commercial.  I enjoyed the clever YouTube Mac/PC take-off starring a truly hot constitution.  But I think, for me, the turning point was the blogger effort to pull donations. 

I must not have a wide enough pool to read.  Of the 177 blogs that hit my reader, at least four of them are either participating in or promoting 8 against 8.  No, I’m not linking to it.  It’s not that I don’t support donations, I just think it’s…trendy…to hop on the Prop 8 bandwagon.  Politics are personal, complicated, powerful.  I do think it’s important to back causes you support, whether it’s financially or through personal action.  But I think it becomes trendy when, instead of supporting your own state, or the state nearest you, or the state that needs the most help (in this case, maybe Arizona?)  you throw your weight behind the cause everyone else is supporting. 

Celebrities are trendy and intoxicating, I know.  But California isn’t going to sway the rest of the country.  Massachusetts couldn’t.  Connecticut hasn’t.  They are bricks in a tower – an awesome, spectacular, glistening, perfect, wonderful, important tower – but they can’t stand alone.  The rest of the country needs the support as much, maybe more, than California with its rich, left-leaning advocates. 

Why not gather donations for a central pot to fight propositions like this in every state?  Why not fight for human rights in Arizona?  Connecticut?  Florida?  Why not focus on political movements in your own states – New York, New Jersey, Georgia – and get pro-human rights agendas moving?  Move past California (unless you live there).  And for pete’s sake, stop telling me about Prop 8.

Are We Spending Too Much Time Together?

Well sure, we’ve always spent a lot of time together.  I’d rather be with my wife more than anyone else.  For one, she’s hot.  She’s alternately cuddly and funny.  She’s capable and smart.  Who wouldn’t want to spend time with my wife?  We haven’t built up a bank of single friends – not that they are single, but that the person is either her friend or mine.  We do have several left over from other stages in life, times when we weren’t all consumed with each other, but we haven’t really added on more.  Before you click off in protest, I realize that this post is oozy and sticky sweet.  I’ve got something for you.  Here:

She – “When we go to Vegas, let’s hire a prostitute.  She can do our laundry.”
Me – “Our laundry?”
She – “Well, they’re legal there.”

Oh yes, dear reader, that happened.  Points for laughing.  Now, this is not to say that my wife isn’t still lovestruck (she is).  But when the words “prostitute” and “laundry” occur in the same sentence, you’ve got to wonder what you’re doing differently. 

Today, we had breakfast together.  We rode to work together.  We went to the gym together.  We drove home together.  We house-shopped together.  We went to the dog park together.  We ate supper together. 

You can guess what’s next.  This is not to say I don’t adore my wife (I do).  But I do wonder if we’re spending too much time together.  But one thing I’m not?  Sick of her.  That’s why she’s my wife.