H1N1, Anyone?

Sunday night. Started feeling bad, like a fever was coming on. Took my temperature. Not because I thought I had Swine Flu Mexican Flu H1N1, but because I had a tennis match in the morning and wanted to call my teammates, if need be, and find a sub. But no temperature.

Monday morning. Wake with a sore throat. Lymph nodes feel swollen. Still no fever. Play tennis, only to get rained out, silently cursing the powers that be who ignored the meteriorologist's 60% chance of thunderstorm and tornado warnings.

On the way home, get the heroic idea of stopping by the grocery. Full throttle rain now. Get nearly soaked as I make my way across the giant parking lot. In my tennis skirt I shop, crocs and soggy socks, wet head, chilled by the air conditioning. (In cenral Texas, no matter what the weather, the air conditioning is on to near freezing. It was no different on this rainy Monday.) Load my rain soaked groceries into trunk. Proceed home to feel still worse. Take an allergy pill.

Tuesday morning. Still feeling bad. Take temperature again.

Brief aside: Getting ones hands on a thermometer, in my house, is no small feat. Not unlike wrestling The Ring from the hands of Gollum. My husband being Gollum, tired of tracking down the thermometer because "Nobody puts it back where it belongs!" "Nobody" meaning me. Gollum keeps it hidden in the high cliffs of his cave-closet. Each time I must climb those cliffs and snatch Gollum's preciousssssss.

But again, no temperature. Now assume a sinus infection is brewing and am not contagious. Fortunately, and uncharacteristically, a light day is scheduled at the office.

Wednesday morning. Still feeling bad. Full day scheduled, including evening appointments. Take a decongestant, an ibuprofen, and an allergy pill. By the time my 3rd-from-last client arrives, full symptom onset: head hurts, stuffy nose, watery eyes, coughing, and sucking down one throat lozenge after another.

Call to husband Gollum. Tells me the local news said mold spores are super high. Am allergic to mold spores. So here is my answer.

Wednesday night. Make mistake of opening email written by a Texas physician, forwarded to me by a friend who is a school administrator. The M.D. warns that he is hearing "privately" from the "CDC" and "Health Department" that this strain of flu is worse than "the media" is letting on. I won't go into the email's dire details, of which Gollum is ultra-cynical because of the homeopathic remedies suggested at the end of the email.

My eyes lock on the line which says this flu produces "a distinctive 'hoarseness'" in its "victims."

Attempt to clear throat and speak. Believe my voice has gotten distinctively "hoarse."

Mind races. Think back on relatively quiet weekend. Was I exposed to anyone who might have been carrying the flu?

Remember that Gollum and I went to a small Mexican restaurant for dinner on Saturday night. The wait staff were speaking Spanish.

Gollum now insists they were "Mexican Nationals" because of the familliar way they "pull their hair back in a tight pony tail" and "wear their shirts really, really tight across their stomaches." (WTF? Where does he get this?) I argue that they looked quite Americanized to me.

Uncertainty festering, I head to bed. Take an allergy pill, an ibuprofen, a decongestant, and two benadryls (to combat the decongestant's incomnia side effects).

Thursday morning. Wake from long night of stuffy nose, scratchy throat. Had strange and frustrating dreams that involved deciphering between deviated septums and non-deviated septums (I am confused, too. This is all I remember.) Get up and decide to cancel appointments for the day. The "hoarseness" in my voice is obvious to my clients. Am grateful for this validation of my need for a sick day.

Thursday afternoon. Here I lie on my sick-sofa, as our country waits on the verge of a flu-pandemic, wondering if I am the first and unknown case of an Anglo-American woman with H1N1 Influenza.

The link provided on the CDC website "Is it a Cold of the Flu" is not working (argh!) so no help there. I won't go to the doctor. I refuse to subject myself to "the look" from the receptionist and "the nod" between LPN and nurse practitioner which says, "another paranoid fool with too much time on her hands who thinks she has the swine flu."

So for now, cool heads will prevail. I am convinced, despite my hoarseness, and every flu symptom listed by the CDC except a fever, that I have a monster sized simple cold.

I will not send Gollum to the drugstore to buy a stash of face masks as recommended by the CDC. I did send him for Ricola throat lozenges, however, hoping he would remember that I like cherry flavor. But no, he brings lemon. I open one and feel as though I am sucking on lemon flavored amonia tablet. I will, however, wash my hands frequently, throw away my used tissues, drink a lot of water, and follow common sense guidelines.

And I will enjoy an unexpected afternoon of blogging.

UPDATE: If anyone wants to check the number of H1N1 flu cases verified by state, check at the CDC website, here.

Bikini Pig Tissue Box can be found, here.

formerly despised, a modern trend wins over, if only for one night

One weekend recently, on impulse, SAM and I stopped at a low rent dive bar. Not to be confused with our favoritest-ever dive, The Horseshoe Lounge, located just south of downtown. Yes, the one that inspired Austin songwriter, Slaid Cleves, to write this song.

On this particular night, it was the first evening since giving birth in a very long time where all three kids were out for the night. Ahh.

The seriously cheesy dive we visited shall remain unnamed. It's former name, I learned, was "The Stumble In" but let's call it Bubba's, because that's closer to it's actual name. Bubba's is a slight downgrade from Giddy Ups, in case you ever have the pleasure of visiting deep south Austin.

We've lived in our house for almost ten years. Though Bubba's is within walking distance, we have only visited a couple of times. Stayed for one round each, as I recall. Largely due to sour smell eminating from run down industrial grade carpeting. That cheesy.

So on this night, as soon as we walked in, I remembered exactly why this has been a one-beer stop. Giant screen TV's. Loud 70's heavy metal rock screaming playing in the background. Ozzy Osborne, no less. The music? Forgiveable. It is a bar. The seven giant screen TV's? Not so much.

Bubba's is merely one in a string of establishments we've patronized lately that features TV everywhere you look. The electronic equivalent of torture waterboarding. For instance, a year ago we tried out a new wing bar. I lubs me some hot Buffalo wings if they're done just right. The wings? Edible. Barely. The twenty five plasma TVs thundering down from every direction? Obnoxious.

Last summer? Similar tale. Family trip to Washington, DC. Time to kill before flight out of National. Find a large Irish themed eatery in a cheery neighborhood. Hostess leads us upstairs. Immediately we are assaulted by no less than 50 flat screens showing sporting events from every corner of the globe. Only now do I see the posted signs bragging their record number of flat screens. Time is critical. We take our seats. Thankfully the monitors are silent. Still, my family doesn't converse so much as recoil from furtive glances at each other's exposed nostrils.

Has it come to this? Can we not eat a meal or drink a beer without a television lunging down at us from their high perch like vultures awaiting road kill?

Back at Bubba's, we stay for another round because a band comes onstage that is surprisingly good. Southern rock with the right dose of slide guitar.

During the band's intermission, we turn and see that the giant screens start playing a round of trivia. The game where participants pay for the little blue consoles and vie for the highest score.

Every now and again I get a pleasant whiff of something. Is there an air freshner squirting up above? Cover for sour carpet smell? A quiet guy in a blue collar work shirt sits next to me, alone. A blue console sits before him. I start a conversation and lean in. Nope, not air freshner. It was his deoderant I was smelling. I wonder if he would be offended or flattered if I asked what brand because I liked the powdery scent. Instead I ask him about bar stool trivia protocol. Can non-paying neighbors participate or should tightwads keep our mouths shut? He says he welcomes any help he can get.

The game begins.

Country originally founded by prisoners?

D. Australia!

Author of "The Warden?"

C. Anthony Trollope!

Istanbul was originally known as?

B. Constantinople!

Which city is located below the equator?

A. Sydney!

Our newfound gaming partner is thrilled and blown away. He had never heard of Trollope. (I had recently started my first ever Trollope novel). Or Constantinople (asks us how it's pronounced). His score skyrockets to the top. Wins the round. Now I know how Jamal felt in Slumdog Millionaire. We high five and decide we are best buds for life.

But, sadly, it was all downhill from there. Our moment of glory was over. We're of little help in the next round. It's time to cut out. We say our goodbyes. He thanks us, and then yells, "Hey! Give me your phone number? Next time I play, can I call you?"

Ok, so jumbo screens have their place. But only on trivia night.

never forget a face?

Maybe you are a "super recognizer."

Dave Munger of Cognitive Daily asks if you recognize these four faces? They belong to "extremely famous individuals." If you can recognize all four, he says, "you just might be a super recognizer."

Munger writes, "a team of researchers led by Richard Russell" believe they have found a select group of people who have "an amazing ability to recognize faces." Might you belong to this group?

I happen to think I might be one. Not the least because, while watching rented movies at home, I'm the annoying viewer who must ruin everyone's good time find the controls, stop and rewind, while asking, "Who IS that woman? I know that face! What have I seen her in before?" I usually guess by the end of the film and I'm usually always right.

Write your answers on a piece of paper, then post in my comment section. Or you can post your comment on Munger's site, here. Compare your answers to the correct ones, promised to be posted later this evening at Cognitive Daily.

I will update this blog when the correct answers are posted. So check back to see if we're right.

edward, take off your clothes

Not long ago I gave my daughters the Twilight movie for their birthday.

Moms frequently complain about the inconvenience of raising kids? Well, purchasing a Twilight DVD is one of those times when the sleepless nights pay off.

The girls loved the movie. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I liked director Catherine Hardwicke's adaptation. With a small budget and virtually all unknown actors, she pulled it off. I thought she captured some of the steaminess that is Edward's allure. Added bonus: the director, screenplay writer and book author are all women. Twilight has made box office history.

In a previous post I complained that Bella's character was, well, pathetic. I'm happy to report, however, she improved on the screen. Gone was the perpetual whine about how beautiful and perfect Edward was, the stumbling and clutziness, the passive female deferring to the strong, mysterious male, the girl so willing to take care of her dad.

Hardwicke stayed close to many other details in the book, though. I love the way she portrayed Victoria, James and Laurent. Although I was disappointed in Victoria's strawberry blonde hair. What happened to the "fiery red" described countless times by Meyers?

My main complaint is that Edward needed more of a vampirish wardrobe. Here are a few vampy suggestions to the wardrobe department for the sequels:

1. Nothing too Bella Lugosi-esque. Just something besides that tired wrinkled blue shirt and drab ill-fitting gray coat. I mean, what was that about?

2. Nixay this Members Only throwback:

Please. This would do nothing to tempt me to stick my neck out, even if immortality and all-night-sex comes with the package.

3. More black.

4. More upturned collar.

Yeah, like that.

5. Low slung jeans. Not this:

But this:

With the black belt and boots. A little black goes a long way in vampire fantasy.

As for Bella? Keep her as is. Earthy. Natural. Comfortable in cotton and denim. You know, the real woman look.

Was it just me? Or did Edward's wardrobe seriously interfere with anyone else's vision of hawtness?

For a more indepth review, check out what Roger Ebert has to say, here. I also found a hilarious "rejected screenplay" that hits the nail on the head, here.

when sex goes national

What?

"A million liberals reaching simultaneous orgasm?" Did he say?

Want to join in?

Leonard Pitts, Jr. will tell you, here, because he tells it so well.

image source, here

oh for peeps sake

I almost forgot ... the Washington Post annual Peep Show.

My top three:

#9 - R.e.s.p.e.e.p. my hat

#25 - Peeps on the run

#34 - Purple tunnel of peeps

The Post picked this winner. How about you, reader? Which diorama is your favorite?

image source

true confessions in parenting

BERNTHIS recently listed her top ten winners of the best "how I traumatized my kid" stories. Naturally when I read her original post requesting submissions, I couldn't even remember if I had any kids, let alone harrowing stories about my parenting.

But today, for some reason, a memory came tumbling back. Must have been our weekend trip to Grandma's that did it, with the twins' loud bickering in the back seat and me adding to the cacaphony by twisting in my seat, yelling as loud as I could, "Shut the fuck up!" "Stop all the yelling!" This was over who belonged to a perfectly white, unused tissue laying between them. A single unfolded tissue takes up a lot of room, you know.

So back to my story of how I traumatized my child. This was an earlier trip to the other Grandma, when the twins were too young to bicker but old enough to whine. My husband and I were traveling on a cross country flight with our three kids: our son who had just turned four and our twin daughters, 9 months old, on our laps. Yah. Good times.

You're probably picturing a three-seat-across airplane row: Mom and Dad each holding a baby in their lap, and their smiling son sitting between.

Yeah, so was I. But it was not to be. Airlines had (still have?) some obscure rule that didn't allow five occupants in a three seater row. Whatever. So instead, we had to draw straws for which (lucky) parent got to sit with only one baby and which (very unlucky) parent got to sit, several rows away, with one baby in lap and a squirmy four year old in the seat next to her.

Short straw would be mine.

It was in the midst of the three hour flight. Having already OD'd on the treats we packed for the ride, my son became extremely antsy. I had become extremely tired and impatient. Climbing up onto his window seat, he was flinging himself into the headrest of the seat in front of him. My scoldings and pleadings and bribes were not helping. I wracked my fbrain. I used to run therapy groups for abusive and neglectful parents, for gawdssake. Surely I could come up with something.

That's when my ingenius ploy began.

I told my son, "If you don't sit quietly in your seat, I will push that orange button."

"Then what happens?" He asked.

"The lady will come and yell at you."

His eyes got wide. "Oh." He sat back down in his chair. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and allowed myself a small smile of victory.

A few minutes later he was back at it. This time the inhabitant of the seat in front of him, an older lady with the teased frosted hair and a strong frown line, turned. In that exasperated way, she first looked at him, then at me, as if to say, "Control your little brat!"

So this time I whispered to him, "If you don't sit quietly in your seat, I will push that orange button and the lady will come and take you to the little room at the back of the plane."

He scrambled across my lap and leaned his head into the aisle.

"Where?"

I pointed to the (imaginary) door at the back of the plane."

"Oh." Eyes wider. A few moments of quiet. I could only wonder what was going through his little head.

There followed, of course, more squirming. More flinging. More irritated sighs and neck shirks from the disgruntled frost head.

I continued in my desperation. "And the room is completely dark. Pitch black."

But two minutes later he was undeterred.

"And she'll leave you there all by yourself," I warned.

One minute later.

"And there are lots of spiders in the dark room," I hissed.

The spiders did it. He sat quietly for the remainder of the flight (taxiing to the terminal by this point).

Years later, at a neighborhood barbeque, the host, a fellow mom, educator, and friend, pulled up a lawn chair next to me and said, "So tell me about the room in the back of airplanes. You know, the one with all the spiders?"

Busted.

how will you take your adam?

I haven't posted about American Idol in awhile, I guess because who gives a flip what I think I wasn't all that excited about the offerings the last season or two.

But the current season? I'm excited. (I know, get a life, right?)

American Idol is packed with talent. Originally I was pulling for Megan (not to be confused with calling in and voting) because I liked her unique, jazzy, riffy style. (In the picture? That's a tatoo arm, not a sleeve).

But she pretty much dropped the ball, again and again, especially her last number. I love Bob Marley but she picked one of his least known songs, "Turn Your Lights Down Low."

Let's put it this way: Her performance didn't generate any new fans for the Marley family.

I was hoping she'd pick Maria Muldaur's, Midnight at the Oasis, or something by Phoebe Snow. But oh well. Too late now.

So at this point for me? It's all about Adam. He's got the whole package: amazing voice range (is that alto?) and a look that says sexy rock star.

I just can't decide which Adam I like fueling my fantasy looking at best:

Picture 1: Emo

Picture 2: Elvis

Picture 3: Soul Patch

How about you, reader? Which Adam revs your engine? Take the poll:

the heartland DOES have a heart

On Friday, the Iowa Supreme Court unanimously ruled to allow same-sex marriage to stand.

"Basic fairness and constitutional equal protection were the linchpins of Friday’s historic Iowa Supreme Court ruling that overturned a 10-year-old ban on same-sex marriage and puts Iowa squarely in the center of the nation’s debate over gay rights."

Read the full story in the DesMoines Register, here.

And if there are any Iowa readers who wish to support same sex marriage rights? Click here for instructions to contact Governor Culver and tell him how you feel.

I do (so want your health insurance)

Marry him for his health insurance plan? BernThis posted about a couple who did just that. It's becoming almost commonplace these days.

My husband's first marriage? They tied the knot in his hospital room. A marriage destined for good times, right?

He needed emergency abdominal surgery for a chronic illness and her health insurance (group) had a much lower deductable than his (individual). So they moved their wedding date AND the location. Eventually both insurance plans kicked in and they made out like bandits. Nice wedding gift (unlike my wedding gift from hell).

I believe this double-coverage windfall has been nixed by the crafty (we make the money here, not you) health insurance industry but it worked for them.

And me? Wife number two? All I have to show for it is a husband with a scarred belly and a mediocre story for my blog.

martha's tips for spring queefing

I was blogging last night with the TV turned onto South Park. The volume was muted. I looked up and this is what I saw. I couldn't find the remote so I was left thinking, WTF? Til now.



This SouthPark clip was originally posted here.

So, Martha fans, how are you readying your queef for spring?

who thinks this is perfect?

Motherscribe put together a thought provoking post about some of the more sexually provocative images and products marketed toward our young daughters; and by default, or by design, our sons, too. Please check it out, here.

Coincidentally, just last week I was surfing cable TV when I saw a reality show, "Little Miss Perfect" about pageants for six year olds. You know, where moms make up their girls to look like Fifth Avenue prostitutes little princesses?

Throughout the show I kept thinking, "Who thinks this is perfect?"

It's a trend that the feminist in me finds troubling: Girl as pretty little impractical princess.

Motherscribe's post highlights similar but more disturbing trends aimed at girls and teenagers. The theme there? Teen girl as sexual plaything.

I kept thinking, what do we, as moms and dads, do to protect and prevent our girls from internalizing these messages? From going, "Oh cool. Buy me one, Mom?"

I don't pretend to have the answer.

I do think a healthy and nurturing homelife helps. Being a good role model is important too. Seeing a Dad who respects Mom and doesn't degrade women. Talking about healthy values that apply to girls/boys/women/men, to all human beings, in other words, is an advantage. But more specifically? I'm not really sure.

With my kids, I'm doing what I think will help. I set limits on their clothes, steering them away from provocative attire: no short skirts, no short shorts. I emphasize clothes as comfortable coverings, not showcases for our butts and boobs. I have not yet bought them skimpy bathing suits or string bikini's, aiming instead for full piece suits or tankini's. Of course, they haven't asked yet, either. This is not to say I won't buy skimpy bikinis when they are teens. Just that now, while I still control the purse strings have influence, I talk about the value of diving without having to worry about losing their bottoms. I talk about the freedom of running around the playground without the worry of underpants showing. In other words, here is what you'll like about this choice, instead of focusing on "trashy" or "bad girl" elements, because I don't go there.

Later, I expect, we'll talk about wanting to be taken seriously by boys. Wanting boys to listen to their ideas instead of staring at their breasts. And one way to guide boys in this direction is to dress in a way that is less distracting. But I'm not there yet and know I'll have a lot to figure out.

The other "rule" is no pierced ears until they are sixteen years old. This may seem archaic, and really? It is. But, to my surprise, they haven't complained (much). I tell them that being young is a time to play rough, run fast, ride bikes, do cartwheels and climb trees. They have the rest of their lives to worry about wearing the right color earrings, finding a matching pair, losing the posts, keeping track when they spend the night away, and spending their allowance on jewelry.

With my son? I talk about respecting girls and valuing them as people with minds and ideas, with feelings and preferences, wants and needs. He has a lot of friends who are girls so I know this helps.

Is any of this working? I don't know. But...

Over the weekend our family was riding in the car when we passed a teen neighbor who had just gotten her hair dyed a bright blonde, tinged with blue. One of my daughters said, "Hey Mom, promise me something? One day when I ask to dye my hair, will you tell me no?"

I'd say, so far so good.

when an instruction manual would come in handy

Or The Valium Fairy.

It's 2am. Lying in bed reading. Ready to turn out the light when ...



Heart jumpstarts into angina mode. Who died? Fumble out of bed. (Damn, that's a loud ringer). Answer phone. Small, quiet voice ... "Mommy?" Aw shit, that's right. Daughters at slumber party ... "I can't sleep."

Relief. No, not relief. This will take longer than bad news call. Make a few suggestions and reassurances. Hang up.

Call number two, ten minutes later: Ask if they watched any scary movies ... "Well, yeah." Which one? ... "Disturbia." What's it about? "Something about a serial killer."

Great. (On the family room television? What the hell?) Talk her through deep breathing (searching for soothing therapy voice to replace pissed off voice).

Call number three, fifteen minutes later: Ask if anyone has scared her or done anything to make her uncomfortable (older sibling in the house). "No. Nothing like that. I promise. " More coaching on the deep breathing. Suggest she read until she falls asleep. More soothing encouragement (through gritted teeth).

Call number four: "The lazyboy chair I'm trying to lie down on? It keeps popping back up." (tears). "Can you come get me?"

No, I say. I am not picking you up. (FuckFuckFuck. Should I?) You can read until morning if you have to. Find a spot next to your sister. Keep breathing, honey, and stop thinking about calling me. "Ok. I love you."

I love you, too.

An hour later? I know she is sleeping. But I am not.

Update: As I had hoped, my daughter was asleep by 2:45a.m.
I did not get to sleep until 4:30a.m.

what the nuts?

Need to find a birthday gift for a single friend?

Or a "Congratulations, your divorce is final!" momento?

Fret no more. Nuts are the answer. Click here.

fox news: the new pravda?

As a liberal who has voluntarily ripped out her own fingernails debated with conservative friends, I've been called a "commie pinko" once or twice (name calling: the art of defending beliefs against opponents who use facts to back up theirs).

So I hope I can be forgiven my retaliatory style when it is to Fox News I say, "Your pink is showing."

According to Think Progress, Fox News used a six month old clip of Joe Biden claiming, "the Obama administration is now singing a slightly different tune."

What Fox didn't say was that the clip was taken months prior, during the Obama/McCain campaign, and that Biden was quoting John McCain.

Instead, Fox anchor Martha MacCallum tells viewers to "take a look at what was said during recent interviews this weekend."

Has anyone without a medically disabling memory condition forgotten Biden's stump speech where he hammered away at McCain, claiming he was out of touch with the shaky economic conditions?

Apparently, Fox depends on their viewers not remembering anything prior to the segment aired five minutes ago. Check out the Pravda Fox News clip, here.

brush free

We have food packaging whose selling point is no MSG, no transfats, no animal products, no gluten.

Cosmetic labels which claim no animal testing and petroleum free.

Sunscreens - PABA free.

Water bottles - no BPA.

Can we now have magazines whose distinction is no air brushing?

"This magazine contains no photographs that have been air brushed or in any way digitally enhanced, changed or modified. The women portrayed in this magazine are shown in their natural, un-altered glory."

Or,

"All models depicted within this magazine have signed the 10%-or-greater bodyfat pledge. Because beautiful is a woman with a healthy body weight."

I would subscribe to THAT magazine.

for the smilin' irish eyes

From those of us who wish we had 'em.




If you don't have time to watch the full video, scroll to 3:10.

have you got the beat?

Merlot Mom asked for song suggestions to help get her exercising. I left a list of some of the songs loaded on my mp3 player, but I didn't have anything very recent to offer.

Then I heard this song on the radio today. It fits my bill - fast beat and .. well .. I just like it:

Shake It by Metro Station. Follow the link and listen, here.

Below is my list, in no particular order. Though, about 10 minutes in, I like to skip forward to Salt n Pepa's Push It ... or Shakira's Hips Don't Lie ... because they get me moving. Then when it's time to slow it down, I skip to John Lee Hooker's Catfish Blues.

So, if you see me on the stairmaster, chances are I'm listening to one of these songs. Without my ear plugs, I can't seem to tread above a slow crawl. And time draggggggggggggs.

Can anyone add to my list?

Shakira: Hips Don't Lie

Jet: Are you gonna be my girl

Will Smith: Get jiggy wit it

Everything But (?): Missing (remix)

Marky Mark: Good vibrations

Stevie Ray Vaughn: Love Struck Baby

Red Hot Chili Peppers: Scar Tissue

Janet Jackson: Nasty

Salt 'n Pepa: Pump up the Jam

Salt 'n Pepa: Push It

M.C. Hammer: U Can't Touch This

Run DMC: Walk this way

Tag Team: Whoomp. There is is.

Yaz with Alison Moyet: Only You (longtime favorite song)

La Bouche: Be my lover

Jellyhead: Crush

Black Box: Everybody everybody

Right Said Fred: Too sexy for my love

Cece Peniston: Finally (club mix)

Fun Factory: I wanna be with you

2 Unlimited: Get ready for this

Kylie Minogue: Can't get you out of my head

John Lee Hooker: Catfish Blues

Fine Young Cannibals: She drives me crazy

Robin S: Show me love (club mix)

Harold Melvin: The Love I lost

Santana: Smooth

Image of workout baby found here.

impressed?

This mom, not so much.





How about something a little more challenging, say, a few bratwurst, or a can of refrieds? Then I might think about retiring my plunger.

Video first seen at The Daily Dish.

stop raining on our rainbow

Is there a limit on how many times one little blogger can link to much bigger blogger in a week's time?

No?

Good.

According to Andrew Sullivan's Daily Dish, this quote was overheard at a Prop 8 rally:

"There's no such thing as same-sex marriage. Sex is never the same after marriage."

Still, it's hard to joke about something that hurts those who stand the most to gain, or lose, by these legislative initiatives intended to restrict gays and lesbians from marrying.

New research confirms what most of us suspect and many of us know first hand: anti-same-sex marriage measures lead to increased psychological stress and anxiety for GLBT individuals and members of their families.

In one study GLBT persons were interviewed in depth about their reactions to anti-gay marriage proposals. In another study family members were questioned.

Several themes emerged. Respondents reported a range of unpleasant experiences. Many felt baffled, fearful, alienated and inferior or as "less than human by our government and public."

People were afraid of such serious things as being physically attacked. Others reported fears of losing custody of their children.

Another study compared individuals living in a state where anti-gay marriage amendments passed compared to those states where there wasn't an amendment on the ballot. As predicted, GLBT people whose fellow citizens voted to ban same-sex marriage reported higher levels of psychological distress compared to those living in states where no amendment was on the ballot.

There is a silver lining: Social support helps. Expressions of concern and encouragement from loved ones and members of supportive groups helped relieve some of the anxieties and fear.

Hence my decision to post about these studies. To show that even boring, straight people who take married life for granted stand behind the right of all Americans, no matter their sexual orientation, to be treated fairly under our laws.

The three studies discussed are listed below. You can click on the highlighted links to read the full articles.

“Marriage Amendments and Psychological Distress in Lesbian, Gay and Bisexual (LGB) Adults,” Sharon Scales Rostosky, Ph.D., and Ellen D.B. Riggle, Ph.D., University of Kentucky; Sharon G. Horne, Ph.D., University of Memphis; and Angela D. Miller, Ph.D., University of Kansas; Journal of Counseling Psychology, Vol. 56, No. 1.

“Balancing Dangers: GLBT Experience in a Time of Anti-GLBT Legislation,” Heidi M. Levitt, Ph.D., Elin Ovrebo, M.S., Mollie B. Anderson-Cleveland, B.S., Christina Leone, M.S., Jae Y. Jeong, M.S., Jennifer R. Arm, M.S., Beth P. Bonin, B.S., John Cicala, M.B.A., Rachel Coleman, M.S., Anna Laurie, M.S., James M., Vardaman, M.B.A., & Sharon G. Horne, Ph.D., Journal of Counseling Psychology, Vol. 56, No. 1.

“Negotiating connection to GLBT experience: Family members' experience of anti-GLBT movements and policies,” Jennifer R. Arm, M.S., Sharon G. Horne, Ph.D., and Heidi M. Levitt, Ph.D., The University of Memphis; Journal of Counseling Psychology, Vol. 56, No. 1.

Image source, here.