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Each morning I wake up and try to convince myself that there is good in the world and my fellow humans and I are part of a vast interconnectedness of love. Each evening I go to sleep knowing that people are idiots and the human race deserves everything it’s getting.

Last night I made the mistake of watching the NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams. A news show so depressing that they had to add a segment called “Making A Difference” to highlight one happy thing at the end of each broadcast so people don’t kill themselves with grief and despair. On last night’s show they highlighted the new Georgia gun law that lets registered gun owners carry their gun…well…anywhere. Sure if you want a gun, fine. But what’s going to stop someone from yanking it from that sexy new leather hip holster and blowing your head off? Nothing…

That kind of thinking puzzles me, and so does this next story:

 Cops find loaded gun in Tennessee woman’s vagina

NYDailyNews: A Tennessee woman being booked for driving with a suspended license was slapped with weapons charges after cops found a loaded gun in her vagina, The Smoking Gun reported.Dallas Archer, 19, was arrested at around 3:15 p.m. Monday and brought to Kingsport jail, where cops found the tiny gun concealed in her private parts, cops said.A female cop was performing a routine search when she noticed an “unknown object” in Archer’s groin.She and another female officer then took the blond perp into the bathroom, where they discovered the 4-inch North American Arms 22LR revolver.

Of course you want to know how big a gun are we talking about, so here’s a pic:

North American Arms model NAA22S mini-revolver, chambered in .22 Short.

Police said the $250 gun originally belonged to John Souther, a retired car salesman from Kingsport.

Souther said it was stolen from his 1994 Mustang last year while the car was parked in front of his home.

“Oh gosh,” Souther, 70, told The Smoking Gun after learning where his gun was found.

The “little fellow,” he said, would need a “bath in bleach.”

Archer was charged with gun possession and introducing contraband into a jail and released after posting $6,000 bond.

Of course you want to know what kind of an idiot we’re dealing with here. So here’s a mugshot:


Thanks Dallas Archer, for reminding me that the human race is doomed.

I have a confession. I hate Johnny Weir.

Let me rephrase that…I hated Johnny Weir when he was skating in the Olympics. I cringe watching ice skating because it’s inevitable they’re going to fall and Johnny Weir made me cringe even more with his over the top affects after his routine. In my opinion he tried too hard. He tried too hard to flip that foot out when he skated and he tried too hard to flip that lisp out when he talked. I’ll drink with an effeminate man any day, but you have to embrace the woman in you, not shove her to the top like undigested food trying to come back out. It’s just not cool and it’s certainly not relaxing to me.

When I heard he was to be a commentator at the Sochi Olympics my heart fell. “Oh great”, I thought. Now I’ll be double cringing again. As usual in our house, my girlfriend gets to watch what she wants on TV, and of course she likes ice skating. I was doomed. I tuned in and my shoulders were already rising to my ears when something amazing happened. Johnny Weir started talking like a real person. No affect. No force. Just a relaxing and informative commentary on the skater that took to the ice. “Wow” I thought. “This doesn’t suck”. The next night we were watching ice skating again, because (for the love of God) that’s all the Olympic coverage was showing in primetime and I listened to Weir again. And he didn’t suck again. And I loved that he had changed into another fabulous outfit.

The next night, which of course had ice skating on in primetime, brought Weir on again with another intriguing outfit. From then on I closed my eyes at every triple axle and opened them for Johnny’s commentary. I was a Johnny Weir convert.

I’m telling you this because commentators for the Kentucky Derby have just been announced and yes, Johnny Weir is one of them. I’m doubtful that he knows any more about thoroughbred horse racing than I do, but I bet he will give a concise commentary and have on an absolutely striking hat while doing it.

OutMagazine: The Most Exciting Two Minutes In Sports just got a whole lot gayer. NBC has added Johnny Weir and Tara Lipinski to the roster for their Kentucky Derby telecast. The figure skaters, who worked together before as commentators for NBC’s telecast of the 2014 Sochi Olympic Games, will be NBC’s fashion correspondents at the race.



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I am the only woman in an all male artist studio. I have worked with these guys for 16 years. My office window used to overlook a strip club and there is enough testosterone and alpha-male posturing that I fantasize about bringing an axe to work almost every day. I have had my boss bang on glass to the girls going to strip, and now know not to look when someone says “there’s gum on my pants”. I know what everyone’s poop looks like and what they would like to do to the secretary down the hall.

I walk the tightrope of being the chummy girl-liking lesbian and the feminist that tries in vain to shut down the constant misogynistic banter. My mind splits in two just like that axe cleaving thru the center of someone’s skull.

Don’t get me wrong, an art studio is a great place to work, but the range of conversations swings from what my dog did last night to what your mom did last night. It wears me out and I find myself googling how to dispose of bloody bodies at work.

I’m complaining because the only other female in the office was a hamster I kept on my desk. (I told you it was fun working at an art studio). I’d say hello in the morning and put her in her magic ball to roll around the office. For some reason the guys kept the language down because a female rodent was rolling thru the place…like a little sexual harassment officer checking on everyone.

She kept me from bringing that axe to work…

…and then I found her dead in the cage on Monday morning.

I was devastated. I know…it’s a rodent who’s lifespan maxes out at 2.5 years…I should have seen it coming. Kids flush these things and goldfish down the toilet all the time. I just hadn’t realized how much her little furry heartbeat was my lifeline to staying out of jail for murder. As long as she rolled around the office I would buy hamster treats instead of that axe. And now she’s gone.

The morally correct thing to do would be to buy another rodent. We buried her near the bike path down by the river next to half a dozen other hamsters and gerbils we’ve buried. Yes, I’ve fantasized about killing my coworkers for quite a while and have stunted the urge thru rodent therapy. But something is stopping me from getting another animal.

A part of me thinks I’m still missing my furry little friend and it’s too soon. The other part of me is thinking that buying rodents is not the best way to process office dynamics in an art studio. I seem to be frozen as to what to do next. Hamster or axe? It is a Moebius strip I run around just like my furry friend’s magic ball. Each time I circle thru a corner I fold back on myself without an answer.

It might boil down to cost. The cheapest axe I could find was $18.75. Hamsters and gerbils range $10-20 depending on what kind you get.

I think I might go to Petco at lunch and bargain hunt for a rodent…if they don’t offer me a deal there’s a Home Depot right across the street. I could have a hamster wheel rolling or mug shots taken by the end of the day.


Most of my dreams revolve around me immersed in a math test knowing no answers and having no clothes. I wake from these visions in a cold sweat, thankful that I’m out of school. This morning I woke in a sweat of a different kind…

When my dream starts, I am a lesbian contestant on RuPaul’s Drag race. You laugh, but it was a serious matter. How is a lesbian supposed to compete with drag queens? I wear makeup to funerals and weddings–these girls sleep with false eyelashes on. All night long I sewed fabric and used cosmetics trying to get the right look to impress Michelle Visage on the runway. My super ego was exhausting me by the time I had my high heels on.


The only oasis in this desert of drag was that I got to sit next to my crush, Courtney Act. Yes…she is even prettier up close. Smelling like vanilla sugar cookies, she bestowed hints and chirps of encouragement as I donned a long brunette wig. I was ready. I felt fierce and fishy. And then the music started…

Gentlemen…and lesbian…start your engines, and may the best woma—

Bam. At that point my id shoved my super ego to the hardwood floor and I was whisked away from the runway. It was probably for the best. I was sure to snap an ankle in the stilettos Courtney had chosen for my look, but I was willing to give it my all.

I now found myself in a biker bar. A straight biker bar. I was back to wearing sensible shoes and I quickly surveyed my surroundings. It was one step down from a clan meeting. This would usually be the time in real life where I would crawl into a shadow and quickly find the next exit. I want no trouble, but I look gay so in this bar I had found it. I was back to my lesbian self, but still carried the tingle of self-confidence that RuPaul’s contest had accorded me.


I walked up to the nearest table and threw down my gauntlet. “If I can beat you up, I get to make out with your girlfriend.”

A line of burly, bearded men grinned and accepted my challenge.

In a turn of usual dream events, I remained clothed and had to answer no math questions. I handedly ninja-flipped each and every one of the guys that walked up and then made out with each of their girlfriends. This went on for some time.  I was just about to suggest that one nice blond (as a matter of fact she did look like Courtney Act) go somewhere more private when I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I woke to find my Labrador standing on my bladder. (She’s a blond lab. Coincidence, I think not.) I was sweating and shaking all over, but not in a bad way.

During the following long cold shower I thought what a great day this was going to be. I felt like a drag queen walking down a runway–ready to beat up or make out with anyone that comes my way.


Outsports: The Baltimore Ravens, Atlanta Falcons, New England Patriots, Indianapolis Colts, Cleveland Browns and New York Jets are the teams most interested in drafting Michael Sam, the Baltimore Sun reports. If drafted, Sam would be the first openly gay NFL player.

The NFL Draft will be held May 8-10 and has seven rounds. Depending on what analyst you read, Sam is projected to go anywhere from the third to seventh round. It’s possible that teams other than the six listed by the Sun are interested in the University of Missouri defender. There are a lot of feints thrown about in the weeks leading up to the draft.


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