The Obligatory BlogHer Post

So, BlogHer ‘09 is three weeks away. I’m excited. Super excited. Waayyy too excited.

Last year was so much fun, and there’s something amazing about actually being able to hug and poke and prod these people that you call your friends but you’ve never met in real life before.

There are so many people that I’m excited to meet that didn’t come last year. I won’t name them, because I’ll forget someone. There are so many people that I met last year that I can’t wait to see again.

If it’s your first time, don’t be nervous. Nothing to be nervous about. You’ll have a blast. Unless you allow someone else to make that not happen. So don’t.

This is what I look like, in case you don’t know. Just so you’ll recognize me when you see me:

If you’re not going, and you’d like me to carry you around on a stick like I did for some folks last year (many of whom will be here this year!) send an email with your photo attached to maria @ immoralmatriarch.com.

So, you going? You as excited as I am? Any worries or concerns?

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Listening to: Radiohead - High and Dry

Rented: Gaydar Schmaydar

If I weren’t my mother’s daughter, I would have seen this coming. But I am, so I didn’t.

On my way home from a shitty date with a boy who was younger and more immature than I had anticipated…..but totally hot…and with huge guns….

Sorry, I got sidetracked. So, anyway…..I’m driving home and I call my friend to tell her exactly what a failure it was. As she often does, Yajira invited me over for coffee and a chat. This was not unusual. I can’t count how many times I have stopped at her house in the evening on my way home from either work, my sister’s, or shopping and talked shit with her over café con leche. I drove the half mile out of my way and parked in the alley behind her little apartment. I went upstairs where my coffee cup awaited me.

Yajira and I have been friends for several years and while we are both social workers, we disagree on many things. The biggest being religion. Despite her crass sense of humor and her work at a local agency that is frequented by a primarily gay population…..Yajira remains true to her Catholic upbringing and will frequently spout off about those who will burn in purgatory. Including herself and most of her clients. I generally find her preaching to be comical. She generally finds my lack of belief in the trinity to be sinfully and acknowledges that, as a fellow sinner, she will see me in hell. I frequently wonder how much of that bullshit she believes. This has been the nature of our relationship for years. We agree to disagree, we joke, we drink, and we philosophize.

So as I sipped my coffee and gave her the rundown of all his faults, I was taken aback by her shift in conversation. She asked if I recalled a dinner that we had at a local restaurant several years ago. Well, of course I did. We had a blast. And?…..She divulged that she had seen someone at the restaurant who she knew and the rest of us hadn’t seen her talking to this woman. (where is this conversation going? I wondered…..are you in the mob or something??). Only one of the women at the dinner, which had been mostly co-workers, had seen the interaction. Jennifer was a real live hippie all grown up……pushing thirty, holding down a “straight” job, and still smoking pot every weekend. She was younger than both Yajira and I and particularly enthralled with Yajira. Apparently she had seen this conversation and caught the gist of it and had followed Yajira to her car and asked her about it. (At this point in the story, I’m about to scream “What?! what did she see? were you putting a hit on somebody? and what does this have to do with my shitty date?…….but I waited and listened instead.). Jennifer followed her to the car and confronted her about the conversation with the stranger and Yajira admitted that this was a woman with whom she’d had a relationship.

At this point I’m confused and in hind sight, I really shouldn’t have been. It should have clicked with me instantaneously. This was why the homophobia was prevalent in an otherwise intellectual and liberal social service worker. This was why, despite the fact that she had accomplished more than all of her siblings put together, her very religious mother displayed open disdain for her. This was the missing puzzle piece that made the picture come to life. But it took me a moment to step back and focus. To make the scenery clear.

As if my lack of insight was not already as glaring as it was, she then magnified it by telling that after that dinner and the confrontation, she had slept with our mutual friend, Jennifer. This also should have been an “a-ha!” moment……but it wasn’t. And I was still trying to incorporate this information and reconcile it with the individuals I thought I knew when I heard Yajira say something to the effect of “Well, you’re coming, aren’t you?”. I couldn’t control the slight giggle as I said bluntly, “No, hon. I don’t the time or the inclination for that”. She made another statement indicating that she was expecting me to come to her bedroom with her. Stop playing girl! you know you want to come in…… No, I really don’t. Sorry. and I left.

So now she’s not answering my calls. I didn’t intend to bring it up if she didn’t want to talk about it. I only wanted to let her know that as far as I’m concerned, this changes nothing. I have plenty of friends who are lesbians or bi. I would see this as no different. I’ve had friends who were not out before……this, to me, was no different. I had no intention of outing her to anyone, hence the rented blog…….if anything, I think that the whole thing says more about me than it does about her: that I have no gaydar. Despite having numerous friends in the lgbt community…….I only know them when they plaster it on a billboard. Gaydar Schmaydar.

**obviously, names and details have been changed. otherwise I wouldn’t have posted to someone else’s blog. duh.

Innocent until proven guilty.

Some people are not mourning Michael Jackson. Fine. I don’t care.

Some of those same people are criticizing others’ mourning him by screaming that he was a child molester. That, I do care about.

I would like to reiterate that he was not a child molester.

He was found innocent, remember? There was never any proof, remember? And many, many people have had their lives destroyed by false accusations from children, at the behest of money hungry parents, over zealous social workers and authority abusing police detectives. Or sometimes because the kids themselves are just liars.

I don’t need to give you examples, do I? You’ve got Google.

Let me ask you this: if your son came to you and told you that a man molested him, would you accept that man’s substantial amount of hush money and disappear or would you want to see him burn - either at your hands or at those of a jury? I’d like to inform you that if you chose the previous, you are shitty parent, although I suspect you knew that already.

I do not believe that boy was a victim of Michael Jackson. I believe he was the victim of his money hungry father (remember, the mother always said Jackson was innocent). I believe the second little boy was full of shit too. Maybe his parents were hip to the ‘let him be strung up and found guilty and then will sue him for everything he has in civil suit’ method? Who knows.

I believe they killed him. Or we did. Either his addiction to those drugs he began taking to deal with the pain and stress of those accusations, or his desire to have the public that he spent his entire life pleasing love him again - one of those things killed him, that’s pretty clear.

I think that Michael Jackson was a lonely man. One that was a victim of severe abuse and one that wanted nothing more than to have a normal life, to recreate a childhood that he always dreamed of. I believe that he used his money to try to relive his existence, make one of his own. I believe that the emotional and physical abuse he suffered damaged him and his decision making abilities. If we were to round up and shoot all the people that did dumb shit in the world, we’d all be in line for that execution, yes?

Does no one ever stop to consider why he shielded his children so adamantly? Maybe because he didn’t want them to grow up the way he did. He didn’t want the piranhas and vultures of media and society ripping them apart like they did him. Maybe he was determined to give them a real childhood, one that he never had, so that they wouldn’t end up twisted and confused like he did.

I understand why some people think he was guilty, I do. All I’m saying is for me personally, I don’t take accusations like that lightly, and I am not willing to say that he did anything like that, with the little bit of knowledge we have about the situation, paired with my own ability to use my common sense and reasoning skills.

I believe that he was innocent.

Maybe he wasn’t - I don’t know, just like you don’t. We can sit around and debate all the ‘facts’ all we want to. He’s dead, and I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. We don’t know shit about that man. We never did. We knew what we saw. We knew what we were told. We knew what many mocked and ridiculed. We knew what he gave us, what we took from him.

I will mourn Michael Jackson without any qualms or hesitation. I will remember him as a man that changed music. That changed history. As a great musician and humanitarian. As a good heart, as someone who brought joy to millions of people, all over the world. I will remember and mourn him as just Michael Jackson. Because he was innocent: never proven guilty. Because I believe that he never hurt a child. Because he himself was a victim, of his father, of his life, of himself, and of us.

Sometimes I don’t want to be a mom.

It’s too hard. I’m too tired. It’s too much work. It’s too expensive. I’m not capable. I didn’t sign up to do this alone. They get on my nerves. I want to be free. I want to be a “normal” 24 year old. I want to have a life. I don’t want all the responsibility. I’m sick of the whining. I don’t want to get up at 6am and make breakfast. I have cramps. I’m sick. I’m in a pissy mood. I want to watch something besides Spongebob. I want to be able to do what I want to be able to do, when I want to do it. I want to walk the length of my bedroom without stepping on something. I want to cook and serve rice without spending ten minutes picking it up off of the floor afterward.

I love them. I love being their mom. Most of the time. Sometimes, I don’t. That’s just the truth.

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Listening to: Modest Mouse - Fire It Up

Answers: 26 Questions Men are Afraid to Ask Women

So, C.J. asked them, and I’m answering.

1. Do you have the same threesome fantasies that we do and if so, what’s the right way of going about making a threesome happen?
I do. My fantasies are for two men, and I sometimes think that most guys are less ok with that than the alternative. I don’t blame them, really, I’m definitely too straight to sleep with another woman. I’d fondle her boobs, but that’d be about it, so I’m sure the dude would be all “this is lame”, zip up and walk out. Making it happen? Is by presenting it, making sure you reiterate constantly during said presentation that it’s totally on the woman’s terms and walking away from it.

2. And how do we make it happen with your best friend?
You ask the best friend, see if she’s down, and if she is, we stop being best friends and you have a better chance. If she’s not, we stop being boyfriend/girlfriend anyway and then you’re a stranger, which also gives you a better chance.

3. If I leave the door open when I’m peeing because I don’t want to miss the game, are you going to be upset?
No. I’m all about being open with natural bodily functions with your partner. At least the dude being so. Pissing is cool. Filling the house with your death cloud is not though.

4. Can you pay the bill if I leave my wallet at home?
I can try, or I can run really fucking fast if you leave the table under the guise of taking a piss but are really starting the car up.

5. Are you really turned on by having sex during your period?
No. Not at all. I’ve done it before, but it was on the last day, it was his bed/sheets/towel and his idea. Worked out well.

6. Who would you side with, me or your best friend?
It totally depends on who’s right. Or who has a Green & Black’s bar to bribe me with.

7. Why do you have to tell me about how hot Johnny Depp is?
The same reason I have to gush about how hot every other hot guy is. I’m a lustful creature.

8. What if I can’t remember your mom’s name?
I could care less.

9. Should I call your mom, “mom”?
No. I will never call your mom, “mom”. You may call mine by her first name.

10. Does body hair really bother you so much that you’d make me go through the same amount of pain that you experience when you give birth? If you think that’s an exaggeration, think about the fact that you think giving birth is the most painful thing that could happen to you and recognize that we can’t understand that pain so how can you say that a guy getting waxed doesn’t nearly equally giving birth.
I will be the first woman in existence to admit that the comparison is valid. But my contractions were completely painless, so what do I know? And yes, back hair bothers me that much. All other hair, as long as I can see your skin beneath it, is totally fine.

11. You check out other guys too, don’t you?
All the time.

12. If yes, does that mean that your gender is naturally hypocritical?
No, it just means we’re liars.

13. Farting is a natural biological operation. I realize that’s not a question but I thought you should know.
I totally agree. Feel free to let one rip.

14. Is it the size of the boat or the motion of the ocean?
Heh. You’re asking me? I would say that I’d prefer a big’un if I had to pick.

15. Do you poo?
Regularly.

16. How do we make the first kiss less awkward? Standing there, waiting for you to go in your door and wondering if we’re supposed to kiss you or walk away isn’t easy for us.
Just fucking do it. Be smooth though. Let your arms linger around our waist after the hug should be over, fingertips on the small of our back. Reach up with one hand and pretend to move our hair behind our ears, or just stroke our cheek. Cup our jaw and go in for the kill. That romantic, sappy shit totally works.

17. Can I have a gun?
Can I shoot you with it?

18. What if my best friend accidentally sees the naked pictures I took of you?
Don’t care.

19. When is the appropriate time in our relationship to start calling you my old lady?
Never.

20. Roses. Do you really want roses?
No. How about a gift card to the local movie theater, or

21. If we have a fight and I know you’re wrong and you know you’re wrong, why do I still have to be the first one to apologize?
Because you probably said some really fucked up shit that supersedes my wrongness in the heat of the argument. And even if you didn’t, I think you did.

22. Can I still be friends with my ex?
Depends on whether she still wants you/you talk about her like she’s the hottest thing walking or you still love her/you have kids/etc. It depends.

23. Do you believe in the Sasquatch?
No. But I don’t not believe either.

24. If I can devour a Big Mac in 45 seconds, is that hot? My buddies think it’s pretty cool.
Not hot, but really fucking impressive.

25. Speaking of my buddies, if I go out with them one night, what time should I come home? And don’t act like my mother about it.
Whenever you want.

26. Will you still love me when my six pack suddenly becomes a keg?
Definitely.

P.S. if think my tits are worthy of winning a contest, vote for #23 over at Lotus’ place.