Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Don't Quote Me

Hey guys,

SO glad to be back up and runnin' here in Blog-ville.... SOOOOOOOOOOO much to tell I could just spit!

But first, as I prepare my really good stuff, I want to make sure you know about/see 2 things:

First - You MUST know about the amazing Kim Fiscera, a columnist at She is just now celebrating her year anniversary at the site and it is a good opportunity to go back and read her old stuff:

Second - Do you Perez? Oh, dahhhhling, you must. He is now my favorite queen.

Later, Bitches.


Friday, June 30, 2006

Wazzzzzap Yall?

OK, People.

I hear you and I am back! Thanks for all of your pleading e-mails to get me back to tapping on this keyboard.

Three things:

I moved! (Yes, the U-Haul got me!)

I start grad school September 6th (insert exhaustion jokes here...)


I am a new mommy! Here's pix...

At the the joint...the big house... the pokey

One month later... Stylin' on the way to the dog park...

A lesbian with a dog... what a shocker!

See you soon!

Saturday, April 29, 2006

Behind The Orange Curtain


Spent the afternoon at a 3 year old's birthday party in Orange County.

Straight people. Working hard to ignore me. Their screaming children everywhere.

Women with perfectly (French) manicured acrylic fingernails (didn't those go out with the Indians?) and hair highlighted (or frosted, I couldn't tell) to the hilt.

Men flocking by age. The young ones over the grill.. the older ones over the cooler. Couldn't even make EYE contact with the evil lesbians. But I'll bet you anything they all pondered if their dick could bring us back to the hetero side.

All I kept thing was:

A.) How is it possible to be THIS boring.


B.) Since Orange County is the swinging capital of the world, how many of these plastic statues fuck each other for laughs, while their kids sleep upstairs.

Now THAT would have been a good conversation.

Thursday, April 13, 2006


As always, thank you all for your patience as I get settled into the new house -- AND into my new headspace. My father's passing has changed everything and moving into a new, more adult, less "living like I am in college" mentality is a lotta work!

A few months ago, I wrote about episodes of both "Dr. Phil" and "Oprah" where they discussed "gayness" but couldn't resist the urge to bring Our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ Almighty into the discussion. Discussing homosexuality was fine, so long as the holy rollers had THEIR chance to reiterate their VERY deep commitments to gayness being wrong, acording to God, the Bible, Jesus, Mary, Joseph and one of the many Ghosts from the Scooby Doo Series.

I have fallen upon this phenomenon once again -- this time at NPR - National Public Radio. I wrote a piece for their "This I Believe" essay contest where normal people from all over the country were invited to submit essays in which they proclaimed their innermost beliefs - in 500 words or less. If a person's essay is picked, the author gets to read their essay on the air, the essay is posted for all eternity on the NPR website and it will, eventually, go into a book that will chronicle the best essays submitted. (This is a return to a contest they had in the 50's developed by Mr. Edward R. Murrow)

My essay (below...) was about my belief that being gay is inborn and, esentially, everyone needs to get over it. I thought (if I do say so myself) that my essay was fun, poigniant, concise and had a bit of razz-matazz. I proudly sent it in and hoped every day that my 500 words would get chosen for reading/publication.

Alas, it didn't.

What DID get picked was THIS ESSAY by Greg Chapman. (DISCLAIMER: read/listen to Mr. Chapman's essay ONLY if you are ready for bed or are somewhere near a very soft surface. It is THAT boring...if you are at your computer and you bump your head after it falls forward onto your monitor, your LAL correspondent cannot be held liable...)

I was in bed when I heard Steve Inskeep introduce the essay - about a gay man coming to terms with being gay - and immediately panicked. CERTAINLY they are not going to let TWO queers be a part of the essay contest, right?? Oh Shit! They have picked their queer! And I'm not it! But, wanting to be supportive of my "brother" listened.

Not only was it borning and poorly written - as if on CUE there was the Lord and the bible.

I stared at the ceiling for 20 minutes.... I couldn't believe it.

Now, let me start by saying that I am truly stunned by their lack of openness and insight to queers. You would think that NPR of all places would let a homosexual be involved with out the inevitable nod to the Lord.

Secondly, the other guy's writing sucks. I am all about great writing. There is an essay in the This I Believe contest called "Be Coo to the Pizza Guy" that is delightful. I wish I had written it for its simplicity. And "Jazz is the Sound of God Laughing". Great stuff.

But that other one. They have GOT to be kidding me.

I presented the other essay to the writing staff on the TV show I work on (you know, writers who actually get paid MONEY for their work) and all agreed - Chapman's essay is a big snooze-fest.

So, without further adieu - here is my essay for "This I Believe". Hope you like it!
By: Your Beloved Los Angeles Lesbian Correspondent
Copyright 2005
Registered Writers Guild of America

A lot of people are doing a lot of debating these days about gay marriage, gay rights, gay parenting, even gay rehabilitation… States across the nation are mobilizing voters to make sure that gays are not “equalized” with straights – and even the US Military is talking about re-assessing it’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy to exclude gays entirely from serving the country they were born to.

I believe that who you are is inherent and organic. As a gay woman myself, I believe that my sexual identity is no more interesting or scandalous than my being Irish or being female. I didn’t choose to be a lesbian. It just is. People are pre-wired for certain things. Like being right handed, or liking chocolate instead of vanilla. Can you imagine a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy for lefties?

I tried really hard to be heterosexual. I dated a man for 4 years and made all of the emotional and physical commitments that it entailed. But I was also deeply depressed and suffered from ulcers and back pain. It was as if a dark cloud followed me wherever I went. For me, being with a man was the most unnatural, uncomfortable and unorganic thing I had ever done. But every time my true sexual identity tried to surface, I forced that truth down like a beachball under water, fighting against my true nature with all I had, thinking that societal and familial expectations were bigger and more important than being true to myself.

Regretfully, it took a near death car accident that left me in a bloody ball on the side of the freeway to get my attention. It was not until that day in early January, 2003 that I finally woke up. Faced with the loss of my own life, who I am could no longer be denied. The expectations of others suddenly seemed very small and I lost my will to lie to myself. My true sexual identity began to emerge from the ashes like an unstoppable tidal wave headed for the shore and made me realize this: the day I almost lost my life was the day my life began.

When I finally made the commitment to myself to come out of the closet and live authentically, every piece of my world opened up. I am happy, have great relationships, and the black cloud of depression disappeared along with the closet. And rather than forcing the beachball under water, I am lobbing it off to a friend at a pride rally.

I’m here, I’m queer, and I’m used to it. I am a human being, an American citizen, a daughter, a sister, an aunt and a friend. I am right handed, I am a computer geek, I love the theatre, I can’t stand cooked spinach - and I am a lesbian.

As human beings, we owe it to ourselves, and to each other, to live honestly and authentically.

This I truly believe.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

The Latest and the Greatest

Hey Yall,

Thanks for keeping on this road with me as I move and live in chaos (and boxes to the ceiling!)for a little while longer.

I have (figuratively) taken a grenade to my life... and it is AWESOME!

Last night, I got the last few items out of my apartment - a place I was in for (*cough*) TEN years, and felt sad, happy, excited and, most of all, grateful. Over that decade in the grove, I almost married a man, had my heart broken into a million pieces, hosted my father 2ce, came out, was in a terrible car accident, and grew into a sexual machine after having my first gay sexual experience there. I had tons of parties and contemplated those invitees - some I haven't seen in a while and some I will never see again. All is good.

The new house is the SHIZ NIT. (3 balconies, high ceilings, crown moldings, closet space for an army and built ins for days!) And so big that if I am in the bedroom and need to get something from the livingroom, I really have to consider the trip. It's so far! :-) The grown up life is fitting me well so far - you know, doing laundry and firing up the dishwasher at the same time while making a pot of coffee that will brew in the morning so you have it hot and fresh before work. I have added an hour in the car for a commute, but it is so worth it. Knowing I am coming back to this house makes every moment worth it.

Oh, and the furry beast is loving it too. Hasn't cried once. Must be the big, floor to ceiling windows that provide her with cat TV all day long, huh?

BUT, it seems we have a ghost (a woman who lived there in the 20s). According to my love's psychic cousin, the lady loves me and my taste! And cuz said that the tons of animals that live outside (birds, squirrels, etc.) indicate that the home has had no "trauma". It has a positive, welcoming energy that brings them all around. Love that.

I also love the whole "someone at home who cares if you, ya know, actually COME HOME" thing. My girl and I are getting along swimmingly and enjoying our new "marital" bed - with full on feather bed below and feather comforter wrapped in suede above. It is like sleeping on a cloud and a wonderful haven at the end of the day. As my beloved isn't used to fine linens, there was a bit of arm twisting to get her to my side... but that Leo will NEVER go back to the old stuff. I have her spoiled for all other beds--- and women!


Wednesday, March 22, 2006

A Thoughtful Lesbian...

I haven’t blogged in a while.

I am working, moving to a GORGEOUS new house, and preparing to think about the possibility of thinking about maybe, perhaps, in a few months – going to grad school.

My dad’s passing (3 months tomorrow), totally changed my headspace. There is something about sitting in a hospital room for a week, watching your own father die, that really puts some stuff into perspective. Somehow, watching the man who raised you from a pup suffer and cross over, makes the daily ins and outs if life, and ESPECIALLY Hollywood, seem but trifles.

I am no longer interested in Louis Vuitton emergencies. ((Don’t know what a Louis Vuitton emergency is? Count your blessings.)) The fact that my father couldn’t, ya know, BREATHE was an emergency. The fact that he was in so much pain that he screamed out in agony if he even moved his arm – an emergency. An overpriced, ugly leather bag that some other rich ass hole wants and there is only one? That is never, and I mean NEVER, an emergency.

I am no longer interested in fighting to get into the Do-Do bird cage that is the Hollywood executive ranks. I am no longer willing to feel badly about myself or my abilities because said Do-Do birds don’t want excellence or intelligence anywhere near them. I am no longer willing to compete with Situation Comedy executives who don’t know who Norman Lear is or come into meetings with A list Executive Producers with their fat bellies hanging out. I am no longer willing to give great notes and “save series” only to be left out for a kid who has never had a job before. I’m done.

I am no longer going to spend even 2 minutes of my day fretting about what goes on in West Hollywood. The Ho’s didn’t want me. So the frick what? They couldn’t afford me anyway. (And I don’t mean financially…)

What I AM interested in…what I AM going to focus on – is family, love, feathering my nest and having a purpose. Living like an artsy fartsy college kid is over. I want to live for someone and something other than myself. I want to come home to my lover – and if I don’t come home, I want someone to notice. I want to cook dinners in my own kitchen and walk the dog. I want an extended family who supports my efforts to better my writing and get a doctorate – with the same aplomb as if I was their own. Just because I didn’t have that in my family of origin (except my daddles) doesn’t mean I can’t have it by my family of CHOICE.

And though I stand here with a broken heart, counting the weeks since I helped to hand my father back to God, I am hopeful for the future and my ability to make great things happen in this, the life my father helped create.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Oh No She DIDN'T!

An 80-year-old man went to his doctor for his quarterly checkup.

The doctor asked him how he was feeling and the 80-year-old said "Things are great and I've never felt better. I now have a 20 year-old bride who is pregnant with my child. So what do you think about that?"

The doctor considered his question for a minute and then began. "I have an older friend, much like you, who is an avid hunter and never misses a season. One day when he was setting off hunting, he was in a bit of a hurry and accidentally picked up his walking cane instead of his gun. As he neareda lake he came across a very large male beaver sitting at the water's edge. He realized he'd left his gun at home and so couldn't shoot the magnificent creature but out of habit he raised his cane, aimed it at the animal as if it were his favorite hunting rifle and went 'bang, bang'.

Miraculously, two shots rang out and the beaver fell over dead. Now, what do you think of that?" asked the doctor.

The 80-year-old said, "If you ask me, I'd say somebody else pumped a couple of rounds into that beaver.

"The doctor replied, "My point exactly!"

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Have a Laugh on ME, kids!

I don't know where the hell I have been, but apparently the rest of the country is laughing at a recurring guest on the "Tonight Show" called The Fruitcake lady.

If we have the same sense of humor at all, this download will knock the piss outta you.

And here is a link to the rest of them:

I will be just like her when I am 95. They will call me "The California Yankee!" or "The Lesbo Bitty".

Laugh on...

Thursday, March 02, 2006


Ok, So on a much lighter note... I ask you this:

Is Ellen Degeneres HIGH! I mean, really. Is the bitch smoking CRACK!????

Her "so rudely dumped for the dumb blonde" foxy ex, Alexandra Hedison, (in a BRILLIANT career move) is guest starring on (that horrible piece of crap that we all suffer through because it is the law) "The L Word" - engratiating herself to her lesbionic bretheren, showing how brilliant (and FIERCLY HOT!) she is. Showing full breastage and full buttock in black panties....she has exhibited herself to be the brilliant actress and gorgeous, smart (and truly fuckable) creative force she is.

Look at her! This woman is FINE! And presents herself as a smart, confident, creative, together woman.

Give that up for a "trophy" blonde with less years/mileage on her? I think not. Ellen, you fucked up... BAAAAAD.

So what say you gentle readers???

And YOU, J.F. and/or A.L. - my two "anonymusses" who think no one else in the world is allowed to have an opinion?

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Two Months Today

Tuesday, February 21, 2006


Got yet another "anonymous" comment on my blog regarding my rant on Lesbians having kids and breaking up their homes.

I imagine that the comment is either from J.F. or A.L. Either way, neither of them called, e-mailed or sent a card when my father died... so apparently they were both raised in a barn and therefore their opinions mean a total of, ya know, NOTHING to me.

More later...

Thursday, February 16, 2006


Ok, People. Here it is. In the immortal words of... New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin.... I. AM. PISSED.

I have waxed poetic on this forum before about Gay marriage, Lesbians having children and Married Lesbians having Children. But nothing pisses me off more than married lesbians having kids -- and then splitting up.

See, what had happend was... (10 points for any reader who can correctly identify what that is from...) I was talking to a friend of a friend of a friend today and learned that a friend of mine - a lesbian with a wife and a (owned) home and a dog and a child that her partner gave birth to - had split up. Not ONLY had they split up, my friend had moved out and is already seeing someone else. And all I can picture is the little 3 year old girl looking around the house going "Where's Momma?" Sad.

Come ON y'all. Can't we do better than this? This is, in a word BULLSHIT. I can name 10 (count 'em 10) couples in similar situations and I think it sucks.

Now this child not only comes from a gay household - she comes from a BROKEN gay household. As if one isn't hard enough with out the selfish adults whose pussies need licking moving from bed to bed.

Is this what our founding ancestor lesbians fought for? The right to fuck up our relationships --and human children that we bring into the world by FORCE rather than by NATURE? Children we FORCE to go through life with out the benefit of a father? If you are going to CHOOSE to do any of the above as a lesbian, you had better fucking THINK about it first and move mountains to keep your families together. This Willy-Nilly, fucking Mamby-Pamby "nesting within days of meeting each other" crap has got to stop. Kids aren't puppies. They aren't property that is split up after you two decide you are bored with each other.

I may have reached this age without marriage or kids.... but at least I consider the long term effects of my actions and didn't FORCE a child into this world only to break up with the child's other mother, break up the child's home and (again) FORCE the child to have no home - and visit between two places. In one of the situations I am personally close to, the non-bio mom took off and moved all the way to MAINE, leaving behind her ex (the bio mom) and "their" 3 year old son. The child is now 9 and his forced by the courts to schlepp to freakin' MAINE every summer for 8 weeks and every other Christmas - taking him away from his family that he loves as well as his daily routine to go off with some broad he barely knows who calls him occasionally. This is cruel and inhumante of both bitch-wad AND the courts. I pray to GOD that someday this kid tells this woman off in LAVENDER! And if he does, I want a front row seat!

This is all very fucked up. We owe it to our kids and the lesbians who fought so hard for us to have the rights we do - to do it better, make better choices, and hold integrity and family above all else.

Alas, the queers want the same, exact rights as the heteros have to fuck up their lives, their families and their kids.

I thought we knew better than that.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Checkov Himself Couldn't Make This Stuff UP!!

OK, People! Time for a "stream of consciousness" rant.

Tonite is 6 weeks since my father passed and I have been wrapped up in a miriad of sadness and relief and grief and total inner chaos. My sisters are totally full of crap...But really, this is no big surprise... we are talking about two women (who are 10 and 12 years older than me, respectively) who both have done the whole "husband and kids and a dog and a Ford stationwagon, married in the same boring country club" thing who cannot BELIEVE that they (THEY!!) have a queer baby sister. ("But we're so perfect and important! How could WE have a queer sister! I just isn't done! What will people THINK!!) (**Hell, your queer sister is the most interesting thing about you!)

Anywho! Here's the clincher! (That I have been anxious to share, but didn't for fear of putting even more negative energy out into the air...) -- When we were planning my father's wake and funeral, they were beyond contrary, bossy and mean. I was asked to do the eulogy (hello! I am the one who is PAID, ya know, MONEY to write things every day!) and all they kept saying was "keep it brief, keep it brief, keep it brief!!" (like I am some big, long winded asshole!) THEN, my middle sister (the lawyer who thinks she is the attorney in charge of EVERYTHING - including your beloved Los Angeles Lesbian Correspondent!) had the NERVE! The UMITIGATED GALL to say "Well, when you finish a draft, you need to give it to my husband to look at since he's a teacher. And you should also give it to his brother because he is a teacher, too!" OK, first of all, I am a professional writer who knows more about creativity than my sister could ever dream of knowing. Second, her husband is a fucking MATH teacher! Third of all, her brother in law - a.) I don't know him from a hole in the wall b.) he is not my family and c.) he teaches English to a bunch of 9th graders!

((Needless to say, I ignored her and didn't show the eulogy to anybody. I did, however, read it to my mother in the kitchen and made her cry. She loved it! AND everyone else loved it. I had the whole church crying. I later got a card from my mother in the mail that said she was very proud of me and she knows my father would be, too.))

Then they (my sisters) asked me to put together a computer presentation in Power Point that would have photos of my father on a loop to music so people could see my father over the years. Again - "keep it brief! keep it brief! keep it brief!!" THEN they dictated what photos were to be put into the thing and THEN took the whole project away from me so they (well SHE - my bossy, crabby, hella mean middle sister) could be in charge of everything - peas to nuts.

That's all bad enough. BUT! When it came time to go to the funeral home to plan everything, the funeral director asked us if we wanted the full military honors. My sisters both immediately said "Oh, no. He doesn't need that!" EXCUSE ME! Are you HIGH! My mother, who was sitting there not saying anything, turned to the funeral director and said, "Yes, I would like that." Heckle and Jeckle frowned and made knowing glaces at each other, but my mother was firm. Her husband WAS going to get the full military honors that he deserved. He wanted them, they had discussed it, and it was going to be so. (*My father joined the army and risked his life for this country. I was going to be DAMNED to see the full military honors denied him*

Then the guy asked if we wanted the full Honor Guard from the town's Fire Department. AGAIN, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum said "Oh, no. He doesn't need that" and again, my mother shot them both down. She was calm, and dignified and was having none of them. I on the other hand was coming OUT of my skin! These bitches were trying to deprive my father of the wake and funeral that he so deserved and I was going to fight to the death to get it for him. Luckily I didn't have to. My mother had her own ideas - the ideas she had so clearly discussed with my father - AND she held the purse strings. The woman was going to do what she and her husband discussed, and not a drop less. Thank GOD for my mother, is all I have to say.

You can't make my sisters up, folks. They are SO much worse than fiction. And what is so amazing, is that all of the roles from childhood - the oldest, the middle and the baby - came raging back that whole week in the hospital before he died. All of a sudden I was in a world where I was looked down upon, where anything (ANYTHING) I said was immediately shot down and disregarded. Where any little piddly thing that needed to be done - I was immediately volunteered to do. Where full conversations were had with me in the room, but ignored like I didn't exist.

And I wonder why I am 3000 miles away from these people! If I could be 3000 more miles away, I would be.

WHEW! I feel better.

(Get it -- 3 "sisters" -- Oh nevermind... It's a "recovering Catholic" joke...)

Friday, January 27, 2006 a hole in my head!!!

OK, ya know what, people? There are times in life where you just stand there going "You're kidding me with this, right? No, really! You have GOT to be yanking my chain, here! Seriously! Where's the camera?" And you expect Alan Funt to come rockin' round the corner any second.

This week, one month after my father's passing, I was removed from my abode (*and forced to sleep on friends' sofas) and my home was all ghetto tented - due to, are you ready for this one... TERMITES! Freakin' termites. (And why, everytime I type the word termites do I first type the word termintes??) Vile, disgusting little freaks. Don't they know I am grieving and need my own bedddy bies? Don't these foul little fuckers REALIZE that I am emotionally exhausted and did NOT need the stress of packing up my world, moving it over a county, only to bring it all back 4 days later?

I needed this bulls**t like a hole in my freakin' head.

(OOOH. A hole in my head. Just like a whale... Hmmm? That could come in handy as a lesbian...As could a 10 foot long tounge...That's a thought that is gonna fester...)


Monday, January 23, 2006

One Month Today

Well, it has been one month today... and I keep thinking that I really wish I knew exactly what happens to a human being when they pass. I have plenty of ideas (I think we all do) but wouldn't it be GREAT to know exactly what happens upon death? But on the other hand, the mystery is intriguing and we will find out eventually... But on the other hand, wouldn't it be comforting to actually KNOW where they are?

I picture my dad, free from the human body that held him down for so long, actually having fun. Since so many of his friends passed before him, I wonder if they are all up there raising a pint and having the craic.** He was SUCH a social guy and I imagine him working the proverbial "room", (cloud?) meeting and greeting the old gang, getting debriefed, and giving a briefing. I imgaine that he went off to Ireland after he passed. I felt his presence at the wake, I didn't feel it at the funeral - but I was in a total fog that day. After that, I didn't feel his essence until a few days ago. My story that I am sticking to is that he was zipping around Ireland, visiting the old homestead, getting used to his new status as an angel. A lotta responsibility, that.

**CRAIC - a Gaelic word meaning "a good time".

Sunday, January 22, 2006

What A Weekend

Well, it is Sunday night... and I thought I would get a bit of blogging in before these Santa Ana winds huff and puff and blow me back into heteroville or something... ((OK, EW!)) Seriously, I just drove in from Pasadena and the winds were so strong that I had to white knuckle it to keep control of the car! Whew!

So, Friday was a month...Well, actually, tomorrow is "technically" a month...the 23rd. But Friday was 4 weeks if you count Fridays. And I have had a really weepy, sad, lonely, lost weekend. I knew it would be a rough one. ((My closest closest were all out of town and I was left completely to my own devices.)) ((Nice, huh? A month after my father passes and I am left here to rot all by myself here in my house...)) But I had no idea it would be this rough.

Thursday, I was at Pavillions and there was a table of 5 old guys hanging out together, eating lunch. My eyes filled up with tears. My dad did that with HIS friends... he was very social and loved to hang out the the guys. He had 2 friends who didn't like each other much, but liked my father. My father knew this and used to invite them both to lunch and then incite arguments between them -- then sit back and watch them go at it. He would always come home laughing, knowing he had been the cause of the mischief/drama that ensued.

Friday morning, I saw a fire truck. It was like a "cloak of sad" was thrown over me.

Friday night, I was nursing a Bud Light and watching "Ghost Whisperer" on CBS. (I highly recommend it...) The "ghost" this week was a little boy who had passed after being hit by train during a car accident. The little kid didn't understand that he was dead and once he did, he was worried that if he "moved on", that he would be all alone and no one would remember him. Anyway, once Jennifer Love Hewitt (JLH) convinced the mother that her intuitions were real, JLH told the mother that she had to tell the little boy it was OK to go. The mother was mortified and cried saying "I can't! I don't want him to go!" JLH convinced her and the mother told the kid "It's OK! Go ahead! You'll be safe! Your grandmother will be there waiting for you...I'll never forget you..." Once hearing that reassurance from his mother, the kid was ready to go and passed peacefully. The mother felt the presence of her son go away and she reacted with both joy and sadness that he had crossed over completely.

I was a wreck. Having just been in that situation a month ago, it was both comforting and scary to watch.

My dad knew he was passing for a good month- but hung on till a few things happened. ((Me arriving from CA is one of the main things.)) He was within a few hours of passing when we all gathered around him and started talking to him. I thanked him for being the greatest Dad in the world... thanked him for his love and patience and for our educations. My sister said "We'll take care of Mom" (to which he had a very pointed raising of the eyebrows). For several days prior to that, I remember making a POINT to not say "It's OK to go, Dad" for fear on some odd level that it would be my "fault" if he passed. (the reversion to being 5 years old was amazing that whole week!) Finally, the night before he died, I remember saying "it's OK"... I didn't say "It's OK to GO"... I just said "It's OK"...

A few hours later, he was gone.

THEN, today I was doing some work around the house and "Truth or Dare" was on. Madonna was honoring her father during a show and singing "Happy Birthday" to him all kinds of hugs and kisses and love... and I lost it again. I will never sing that to my Dad again. In person, anyway. But I was so lucky that I had made the choice to fly there on his birthday and get to sing to him one last time. That day, one of the last he could talk, I said "I love you Dad" to which he replied, as clear as a bell, "I love you, too." Wow.

Thank God for blogging... and therapy.

{{And as that Trader Joe's lady says... Thanks for listening.}}


Tuesday, January 17, 2006

The Hole in the Soul

So, Happy Tuesday anyway...

With SOOOOO much to talk about, (I mean SOOOOOOOOOO much...) I have decided to discuss whatever it is I feel I need to discuss in very small bites.

Last night, I was in a kind of "mind blank, stare at the ceiling, see what patterns reveal themselves in the cottage cheese ceiling" kind of haze. Fabulousness oozed from the television as movie and TV star manequins gussied up to slap each other down for those ever important statues of marble and gold.

I have to tell you, NO awards show has ever meant less to me than the Golden Globes did last night. Not one. Somehow, I just couldn't garner the interest. Not even a braless Drew Barrymore in a dress that should get her stylist FIRED made me chuckle.

I was thinking about my father, and how sick he was and how he no longer has to suffer. I smiled at how grand a send-off he had. I thought about how he and my mother came to visit me in LA in 2000 and how big a kick he got out of visiting the Warner Bros. based set of "The West Wing." {{at one point, we were on a part of the set where no one was, so he jumped into the presidential bed - a replica of the real one, I hear - and I snapped a photo. He loved to show anyone he could find his picture in the "president's bed".}}

What I came to, through the haze, a while later, I was struck by this thought... No one will ever love me as much as my father did.

Sure, I still have my mother - and parental love is parental love. But my father was different. This was a man who brought me M&M's every day as a child. Who worked 2 jobs to send us all to college. Who, no matter how early I got up to go to work, or leave on a plane, or whatever - would have a full breakfast waiting for me so I would be well sustained for the day. Who never let us leave the house or hang up the phone without hearing "I Love You". Who, when I was in college and had a terrible flu, drove 2 hours to New York City to deliver my groceries. He handed them in the door to me and drove 2 hours back. He didn't wire me money and tell me to go get them myself. He schlepped 2 hours to hand deliver them himself...and only got to see me for 5 minutes because I was so sick and he couldn't afford to get sick, as bad as his lungs were. THAT is love. THAT is devotion.

I know how lucky I was. I have heard from many people who did not have such a wonderful father and the stories horrify me.

I don't think I knew how good I had it till I was in my 30's. I am happy that I was able to thank him properly before he died.

Say what you need to say, you guys. I mean it. Listen to the stories, write the stuff down. And do NOT let the people you love pass without expressing what is in your heart.

It is THE gift I am hanging on to right now - having said all I need to say. And I am so grateful for that.


Friday, January 13, 2006

Batting A Thousand

Haven't done much writing in the past few weeks. I headed eastward on the 18th of December and got on a roller coaster that has flipped me hither and yon, up down, in out... all of which happened in a fog (purple haze?) that had me truly dazed and confused.

But the truth is, my father suffered for 2 years and gave it all had. But I want him back. He had 77 years of life, including a 47 year marriage. But I want to talk to him again, hear him say "How's the car runnin'?". He raised three kids and got to see 5 grandchildren be born. But I want to see him in the kitchen making Irish bread and tea.

One THOUSAND people showed up at his wake. The line was out the room, into the next one, down the stairs and out the door. It was amazing. Very "dignitary." Very "head of state." I always knew he was a special guy, the type of person who you meet once and you just KNOW you have met someone very special.... But I never would have imagined that 1,000 people would show up to pay their last respects. The crowd included relatives, friends, neighbors, former co-workers, war buddies, people he knew when he first came over from Ireland... He was a fireman for 30+ years so every one of his old fire buddies showed up, as well as every on-duty fire fighter in town. The firedepartment also provided an honor guard to stand by him from the wake to the funeral to the gravesite. In a very "changing of the guard" style, every 15 minutes, firemen/women would change position at the casket - guarding their fallen brother. At the church, the honor guard of fire fighters lined the path as the casket entered and exited. And at the gravesite, they stood at silent attention as the US Military took over. The full military honors included at 12 gun salute, taps on the bugle and a formal folding of the flag that draped the casket, followed by a soldier handing my mother the folded flag. All of this while a fire truck stood silently in the distance.

It was amazing to think that my father had affected that many people. People willing to schlepp out into the freezing cold night the week after Christmas to show respect to MY father. It really made me smile.

And I try to remember that thousand now that I am back in Los Angeles, where, it seems, no one really cares what I have been through. I have gotten a card or two, and a couple of e-mails, but the phone has gone painfully silent.

I guess people don't know what to say. I guess people want to give me the breathing room to deal and grieve and come to terms.

That, or all my friends were raised in a barn.

Friday, January 06, 2006

The Club You Never Want to Be A Part Of...

As I continue my journey through the grieving process (and man, oh, man is it a PROCESS...) after losing my dad on December 23rd, I have been amazed by how the support of friends and colleagues has revealed itself.

The biggest outpouring of love and support and guidance has come from people (mostly women) who have lost their own fathers. Because losing a parent is such a deeply primal experience, I have found a unique kindness and understanding from these women - in the "I lost my father" club... a club you never want to be in, but one we will all join at some point. My two friends who have most recently lost their dads were the very first to call, support, and guide. I know that as time progresses, that I will do just the same. It is a pain that cannot be healed and a hole that will never be filled -- and I know that I will eventually be able to show the same love and support to others going through this. Doing so will be my great honor.

I will leave the commentary of all of those people who have not called, e-mailed or sent cards for someone else to write. I imagine that dealing with someone else's loss is a challenge for most people and my feeling badly about those who have chosen to ingore the obvious will not help anything.

I will write more as my soul feels like doing so. Sooooo much to tell.

Till then,
Your grieving Los Angeles Lesbian Correspondent.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

The Boy from the County Mayo

My Father

December 19, 1928 - December 23, 2005

It is with great sadness that I announce the passing of my wonderful father. He died on Friday, December 23rd, 2005 after a long illness. I was grateful to be the one with him when he died as it was a deeply spiritual experience. I am sure now that he has passed, that he can breathe again, run again and lift a pint again... along with all of his beloved friends and family that went before him. But wow, do I miss him.