Tag / Humor

by Baroness Buttercup

Bring Me Some Water

I don’t know if you’ve noticed among people on Twitter (hell, I don’t even know if you’re on Twitter and in a position to notice), but there are those who use their little profile space to get very specific about their sexual orientation and/or gender identity. Rarely do you see something that just says plain, old lesbian.  Well, unless she’s got a rather non-descript appearance and is wandering through her twilight years, I guess …

What I mean, though, is that you don’t see many people who just identify as a lesbian or a gay man. You know, there was a time when being a single sexual-orientation had quite the cachet. We protested the injustices, we took to the streets, we paved the way toward tolerance and acceptance. And when I say “we,” of course, I mean a bunch of other people with cultural awareness and a sense of right and wrong that extended beyond their own wants and needs. Continue reading →

by Baroness Buttercup

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Riddle me this, Batman … Why is it that when people can no longer see the tiny print in the newspaper or make out the dishes on offer on a menu, they’ll take a trip to the optometrist to get their eyes checked. Or, at least, pop down to the local drug store and pick up a pair of readers. However, when their ears start to show the same signs of wear and tear, they stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that they might need a little outside assistance in the hearing department. Or, is this something unique to my parents?

About five, maybe six, maybe more, years ago I moved into my parent’s house to help them out, as they’re getting older and, apparently, I’m not. In exchange, I pay no rent and am free to write to my heart’s content. I know. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Continue reading →

by Baroness Buttercup

My Brain Hurts

You know that awkward moment when you go to the ER because one side of your face brain-1845940_1920swells 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 →

by Baroness Buttercup

Climb Aboard The Bandwagon!

BandwagonWhat 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.

I still know people who claim to be gluten-free. Are they gluten-intolerant? Probably not. Do they have celiac disease? Almost certainly not. Yet, they continue to avoid gluten. Because bandwagon. Continue reading →

by Baroness Buttercup

Single and Not Ready to Mingle

At what point does being single go from a temporary state to a lifestyle to a life? If you’re a rebounder, you may never have extended periods of downtime, bouncing out of one relationship and right into the next one. Or you could be a person who prefers to take a bit of time after the demise of one coupling to regroup before you’re ready to take up with anyone new.

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That regrouping time would make singlehood a temporary condition. Just a little lull in the romantical area while you reassess what went wrong in your previous relationship and strategize to not to let it happen again. This is also the time where you likely listen to a lot of sad songs, have imaginary conversations with your Ex about what you should have said during that final argument and fantasize about running into him/her/them with your new, hotter partner while they’re looking particularly lonely and desperate or hooked up with some skank. It’s not a good time to be dating.

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by Baroness Buttercup

If You’ve Got It, Flaunt It!

flaunt it

More than once in the very recent past I’ve seen an online comment featuring some variation of the “I don’t care what people do in their private life as long as they’re not all up in my grill with it” sentiment. In other words, “I don’t care if you’re gay, as long as you’re not all gay about it.”

Just today I was told, “You want to talk about the gay stuff be gay don’t flaunt it.” Despite the lack of punctuation, I understand what he’s saying. And I also don’t. I can see how some people would consider our Pride Parades flaunting it. I mean, some of the entries can be fairly outrageous and might be shocking to the heteronormative community. And perhaps two fellows dressed in assless chaps and short-shorts making out in the Home Goods section of the Boise, ID Wal-Mart would also be seen as flaunting it.

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by Baroness Buttercup

Gaylord, Lord of The Gays

gay jesusI am not above engaging in an intense “discussion” with a person, or people, on the internet. Most of the time, I let posts and comments go — no matter how ill-informed or narrow-minded. People are entitled to their opinions and battles should be carefully chosen.

But sometimes, I simply cannot resist jumping into the fray. You can count on counting my two-cents if you insist on saying something blatantly homophobic. I don’t care how much “Christian” good-will you try to disguise it in.

I have no problem with people of the religious persuasion. I am not one of them, but I (generally) respect the beliefs of people who lean in that direction. However, when you take it upon yourself to start judging others—and I’m pretty sure there’s a whole deal in that book about “judging not lest ye be judged” — then you can’t probably count on a comment or two from me.

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by Baroness Buttercup

Vintage Blogging, 1970s Style

If you’re going to get an annual update from a family, it usually comes in the form of a Christmas newsletter. Well, in 1974 my liberated mother decided to get her Erma Bombeck on and send out the update in the form of four-page article called “Dear Diary, or How I Spent My 35th Birthday.” If you’ve ever wondered how a blog-post would have read in 1974 (although, that’s something fairly specific to wonder, so likely, no one has), here’s your answer. Apparently, my mom had the makings of a blogger, long before the concept existed. She was, and still is, a woman truly ahead of her time.

And now, without further ado, I give you February 1974 and my mother’s 35th birthday …

My Actual Family, 1974-ish

“Happy birthday,” he said, as I gagged on the overpowering smell of his hairspray.

Where does it say that a wife should have to endure the noxious fumes of a man’s vanity? Where does it say that the husband has first crack at the hairdryer in the morning? I say, beware, girls, of the nice guy who fits in perfectly with your dreams of the ideal man and father for your children! I am convinced that these so-called “nice guys” are the ruination of the truly liberated woman. I’m so liberated that I find myself in a kind of oppressed liberation. With him sitting on the sidelines, full of self-satisfaction, watching my every move and thinking to himself, “You got yourself into this mess, Anita, and you can get yourself out of it.”

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by Baroness Buttercup

Alphabet Soup

Unless you’re in grade school or younger (and if you are, please log off — this blog is not for you), there are things that make you realize you’re getting older.

In junior high your andy-warhol-campbells-alphabet-soupbody changes. In high school, you get the driver’s license experience. In your twenties, you have college or moving out on your own. Or the pressure to move out. Or the begging and pleading and cajoling to a please move the fuck out already!

Then you turn thirty and everything starts making you feel old. You stop getting carded in bars. Baristas start calling you “ma ‘am.” You sit down to watch the Grammys and have no idea who anyone is.

I also understand that for heterosexuals the clock starts tick-tocking on when you’ll get married and start reproducing. I did not experience this, because when I was that age, marriage equality wasn’t even on the horizon. Perhaps now that it exists, thirty-something lesbians and gay men feel the same pressure to get married, but I haven’t seen any studies or the matter, so I can’t be sure.

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by Baroness Buttercup

Excuses, Excuses, Excuses

I guess I’m not doing the greatest job of resurrecting poor Pucker Up. But in my defense (what? I’m not being defensive, you’re being defensive!), I have been busy writing and doing other projects. That’s unusual for me because generally when I go on hiatus, it’s because I’m in avoidance mode.

I’ve got a profile out on Upwork and I’ve been getting some freelance work via the site, some writing and some animation. I just finished an animation gig that I’d love to share, but the client hasn’t posted it yet, so I can’t leapfrog him and debut it before he does. But, all in good time. I’ve also been doing my fair share of ghostwriting, which I can’t talk much about because I signed non-disclosure agreements. I find that my writing seems to be more popular with European than American clients, although I couldn’t begin to guess why.

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