You know that awkward moment when you go to the ER because one side of your face 
swells up and you think you have an abscessed tooth or the sinus infection from hell, and then they look at you and go, “No, it was a stroke.” And then you just stare at the doctor, for what feels like an eternity, waiting for the punchline. But then you remember that not everyone has the same dark, weird sense of humor that you do. So an ER doc probably isn’t just pulling your leg when he stays throwing around words like “stroke” and “admittance” and “observation.”
So, naturally, once I realized he wasn’t going to wink, tousle my hair and say, “I’m just joshin’ with ya. You’re fine! Now get out of here, you little skallywag!” I immediately asked, “Is it serious, doctor? Be straight with me, I can handle it.” Not really. That’s what I would have said if I were in a Lifetime movie of the week and needed to move the storyline along. What I did was laugh. Continue reading →
What is it about a bandwagon? People just can’t wait to jump on it. They may let one or two go by, pretend they don’t care about a bandwagon. But give it time. Eventually, you’ll see them going by, sitting there, pretty as you please, on some bandwagon or another.
One of the weird things about being a lesbian, and I assume the same holds true for gay men and others of a non-heteronormative persuasion, is that there’s really no societal rules to obey or milestones to reach. For instance, I’ve never looked at my watch and thought, “Oh shit! I didn’t realize how late it was. I better hurry up and find a husband!” And although things are much different now, it wasn’t all that long ago that no one would have thought to ask when I was going to get around to birthing some babies. Back then, lesbians just had dogs. Now we’re collecting babies like they’re on sale at J. Crew. 
he way it really happened or simply the way it’s been remembered, I can’t say for sure. But family history has it that my mother was so enamored and protective of me that she didn’t let anyone — including my father and grandparents — hold me for the first six weeks of my life. So it’s not surprising that at an age when other babies were being potty-trained and learning to walk, I was perfecting my ability to manipulate my mom in order to get anything my devious little heart desired. 
Pucker Up Buttercup 