I have a dear friend that sent me an email introducing me to a third party he was certain my life could not be without - and vice versa. We emailed and set up a lunch date for this afternoon that I just returned from. I have a new gay boyfriend with whom I fell instantly, and madly, in love.
The clincher? After lunch he asked if I like chocolate (do Catholic bears shit on the Pope - and could they please do so to Elder Hafen?) and then proceeded to drive me to a certain Salt Lake City candy store run by certain people of a certain small size. Happygasms. Of epic proportions.
Those of you that have hung here with me for a while know that I am still in recovery so you will have to finish the rest of this post on your own.
Now that I, and most of my friends, are heading into our forties - we are approaching the time o' the mid-life-crisis. While this term is usually reserved for men that start sleeping with their secretaries and get toupees, tans, man-jewelery and hot, red sports cars - there are plenty of women that have the "Holy Shit!" moment and fly into an existential panic. Or depression. Or both - depending on the levels of chocolate in their systems.
Women in their forties that have children are no longer needed all the freaking time by said offspring, and find themselves suddenly faced with the reality that their body parts no longer point in the direction they used to and that there is a whole trunk load full of dreams they once had that got put away.
Men and women at this point of life pretty much seem to fall apart in order to cast off the old and bring in every wonderful new possibility for themselves. They get to discover what they will come to see, if they so choose, as the unbelievable joy of personal reinvention.
I write as though I am not a part of "they." I sooo am - it's just that my personal life crisis's started so much earlier that, now that I am entering my mid-life-point, I have already been reinventing myself for a bloody long time. The great thing we can come to realize is that we are never done creating and becoming. We get to choose what no longer works and get rid of it and choose what we want to do and experience and become and embrace it and dance with it. We get to keep re-looking and reinventing ourselves until the day we die. How fabulous is that?
Two of my closest friends, Suzette and Dorothy, wanted to shake things up for themselves. Dorothy wanted to learn to play the guitar and Suzette wanted to play the drums. So they got instruments, Suzette got a teacher - Dorothy got online and taught herself, and they started their own "band practice" in the garage of Suzette's house. They were having so much fun they decided to pick a few songs to work up and sing along to. This led to them deciding to challenge themselves beyond anything they were comfortable with - which led to them booking a recording studio and then shooting their own video.
Somewhere along the way they asked me to be their vocal coach, which I was totally willing to do. They were terrified. I have known Suzette since we were 12 and she is the LAST person I would ever think would sing in front of people EVER. Dorothy was pretty much the same. I kid you not, for the first several lessons I was not allowed to look at them. I had to keep my eyes closed or my back to them. But they pushed and stretched themselves into a whole new shape. When I saw the final product I sobbed. What they did was freaking incredible.
Time to get inspired Internetland. Dig it out, dust it off and totally shake it up!
"It's hard to be an adult, lots of things to worry about. Like the water bill."
Heads up Salt Lake, my partner Duane's film "White on Rice" is opening tonight and will play (if supported) through Thursday, October 1 at the Century 16 Theaters.
The other night, my kids and I went to the wedding reception of a gay couple that we are absolutely head over heels for. If you asked my children who their favorite humans on the planet are, these two would both be near the top of the list. For me, there are no words...
Without question they have the relationship I dream of having.
They flew to Boston and were legally married. The justice of the peace that performed their ceremony told them that not one word had been changed for gay marriages - word for word the vows are the same for straight and gay couples. Their reception, attended by family and friends (many of the LDS faith) was held in a very classy Salt Lake cafe. There was delicious food, drinks, music, candles and tree lights, laughter, tears and happy-happy-joy-joy.
So, I spoke at the Affirmation conference again this past Saturday. I talked about the new place I am finding myself with God and it freaked the hell out of me. As previously stated, I would rather publicly discuss my coochie than my spirituality. But, since there were WAY more gay men there than lesbian women, I don't think that would have been a very popular topic. And even the lesbians may not have been interested. For some reason, with the exception of relatives, lesbians don't seem to like me. Almost every single time I go out of my way to introduce myself to a lesbian woman that seems like a totally cool and interesting person, she gives me the stink eye. While my personality might be like champagne bubbles to some people, I am well aware that it is a sword through the head to others. Lesbians are seeming to fall into the latter category. Maybe said personality reminds them too much of the girls they hated in high school. Who knows...
Anyway, talk went well. Although, I was totally misquoted in the Deseret News. I would never tell a gay Mormon to be a Mormon on their own terms. I would tell them not to be a Mormon. And I would never use the words "each and every one of us" unless I was drunk.
Song last night at the benefit concert for Utah's homeless youth went well too. It was the first time I have sung publicly in nine or so years. I thought I would be far more nervous than I was but, while my voice ain't what it used to be, it was so fun to be singing in front of people and flexing that muscle again.
One of the highlights of the entire weekend was meeting Robert Kirby - on whose sense of humor I have an enormous crush. I was so excited it was all I could do to refrain from licking his cheek and piddling on his shoe. Which I practically did anyway.
Sword through the head.
I hope it didn't damage his super cool giant mustache.
Note to my mother:PLEASE tell Emily that when I looked at it her blog I couldn't resist trying the spaghetti recipe there. (Didn't realize your husband was a chef!) OH MY GOSH, IT IS DIVINE. The most delicious recipe I've tried in ages. FAB!!! It goes right into the recipe box, to be made over and over -- esp. for company. YUM!!!!!
At least six: One to change the light bulb; one to deny that there was any change made; one to say that we shouldn’t focus on the change – only the need for light; one to say we don’t teach that the light bulb needed changing in the first place; one to say that the changer was acting for himself and not as an official changer; and one to say “who cares who changed the bulb, don’t you feel the burning of the light?"
A Malaysian woman, Mook Kundor - who is 107 FREAKING YEARS OLD - is afraid that she may soon have to start looking for husband number 23. Her current husband (number 22) Mohammed Che Musa – who is 37 FREAKING YEARS OLD - is currently in drug rehab.
Mook and Mohammed met in the same village where he was her lodger. He is quoted as saying that he fell in love with his wife because it was “God’s will,” that he is still very much in love with her and cannot dream of life with someone else. Ah, l’amour.
Even so, Mook is afraid that, after he gets out of rehab, her sweet lil hubby won’t return home but will go out searching for a younger woman. She says she's “lonely and insecure.” If he indeed still has feelings for her she will "wait for him without thinking of another marriage.” But she has a gnawing feeling. If he doesn’t return home, she has her eyes set on a 50 year old man but hopes it doesn’t come to that.
“I am not searching for a man as handsome as our prime minister but someone to accompany me in my twilight years,” she said. "I realize I am an aged woman. I don’t have the body nor am I a young woman who can attract anyone. My intention to re-marry is to fill my forlornness, particularly during Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting.”
She's right, she could never get a man as hot as Malaysia’s Prime Minister, Najib Razak. Besides, he’s totally mine.
I don’t know which makes me want to take a giant nap more - the thought of (a) being 107 years old, (b) being 107 years old and still trying to hook up with younger men, (c) being married 22 times, or (d) having a husband who is 70 years my junior and is in rehab.
But hey, I guess every human should have love and companionship. Any of you dudes out there wanna hook up with a 107 year old forlorn and insecure woman while she isn’t eating?
I'm looking at a pamphlet I found about the evils of spanking and, honestly, I'm a bit confused.
It says that those who are spanked feel worthless and rejected and that it can lead to criminal behaviour. "Some people find the memory of such events so unpleasant they pretend that they were trivial, even funny. You'll notice that they smile when they describe what was done to them." Well, of course we smile. And it's only funny if the guy doesn't know what he is doing. As far as it turning us into criminals, give me a break. Look, I say if it's not your thing then don't do it. But to label something as abusive and evil just because you don't find that you personally have the... wait a second... oh, they're talking about spanking children.
If one has not experienced, nor given, one's last testimony of the church they once held dear one cannot understand the courage that this took.
When he would not be silent, they turned off the microphone and then escorted him out. No question eyes rolled and judgments were made and he was mocked and pitied behind his back.
But he was brave enough to speak HIS truth. Which is so much more than most can say.
What a wonderful evening. I poured myself a glass of wine, put on Beethoven's 9th, channeled my dearly departed daddy and cooked my guts out.
His Rosemary Chicken Pasta; french bread dipped in, of course, olive oil & balsamic; Caesar Salad; red wine for me and Grape Martinelli's for the Loin Fruit. We sat at the table five times longer than usual - laughing, talking and just being together. It was such bliss, we decided that we will feast like that once a week and gladly eat Top Ramen and scrambled eggs the other six days. Can't wait for next week.
My dad would be thrilled to know people were enjoying his creation, I just ask that you give him credit and a silent little thank you...
Gerald Pearson's Chicken Spaghetti
Sautee: 1 cube of real butter 1 Tablespoon crushed garlic 2 Tablespoons rosemary 2 Large red onions, chopped 4 Chicken Breasts, cut up 1 jar green olives, sliced 2 cans large black olives, sliced
Serve over 1 package cooked spaghetti tossed with 1/2 cube melted butter.
Last night I was in need of an escape so I took myself to a movie. "Julie & Julia" was exactly what I needed - in far more ways than one.
First of all, I got to spend over two hours with Meryl (my true eternal companion), Stanley Tucci never fails to delight me (if you have not seen "The Impostors" you must - the first 15 minutes of he and Oliver Platt is freaking brilliant) and I got to stare at and fantasize about food - something I don't do nearly enough. Seriously, who needs porn when we have the Food Network?
My father was a gourmet chef. He worked at, and helped manage, Scott's Seafood in San Francisco when I was little. He was cuisinely talented, passionate and obsessed. I remember when Dole had a pineapple recipe contest we ate pineapple cakes, muffins, salads, curries... for weeks. We had homemade doughnuts and dumplings coming out our eyeballs. He either created his own culinary masterpieces or made already existing recipes far better than originally planned. When I spent the night at his apartment he would apologize to me for the leftovers then proceed to serve me something that made my taste buds explode and left me feeling like I needed to confess to my bishop.
I always thought that I would be like my dad. That I would be the kind of mom that made delicious and healthy meals from scratch. That my children would have a long list of favorite foods that their mom made. But then I didn't think that I would be raising children alone. And I had no idea then that cooking real, healthy food was so damn expensive. I thought my children would never eat hot dogs. Ha. With my money and time on the strictest of budgets and my energy spread so thin - my sweet kids eat far more microwaveable and thrown together food than I ever imagined possible.
And it breaks my heart.
I used to cook. I know how. It's in my blood. And I miss it terribly. Like singing. It is one of those things that has been hidden, lying dormant, in the depths of me and is screaming to have life breathed back into it.
Like most of my friends who saw "Julie & Julia" I feel inspired to break out the cookbooks and my mortar and pestle and get to work. But, unlike most of those same friends who made two or three dishes then gave up, I am reclaiming this as a part of my life. It ain't going to be easy - I am already doing the juggling act of the century. But it is important. Food is one of the great sensual joys of life that I am totally depriving myself and my children of. Such bullshit.
Baby steps. One amazing meal a week. Tonight, my dad's own chicken spaghetti recipe which is to die for. Or, better yet, to live for.
Yesterday our children got a beautiful pep talk from an articulate, successful man who overcame an under privileged childhood to become the first black President of the United States. A kind human being that knows about hard work and the need for confidence and education took the time to tell my kids, who are also being raised by a struggling single mother, that they must take responsibility for their own lives and education, that where they are right now doesn't have to determine where they'll end up, that no one's written their destiny for them and that they make their own future. He challenged them to set goals for themselves, to never give up on themselves, and to not let their failures define them. He inspired them by asking them what their contribution is going to be. What problems are they going to solve? What discoveries will they make?
Right before this man spoke to my daughter, a girl in her class got up and started gathering her books. My daughter asked her where she was going. Her response: "My mom doesn't want me to listen to Satan."
Let me clarify one thing - I have actually heard Satan's pep talk to kids and it talks a lot about doing drugs to make life better, having lots of sex with kids from detention centers with condoms made of rice paper, burning crosses on the lawns of people you don't like, hating yourself, hating your parents, dropping out of school to become rodeo clowns, posing naked for magazines that don't airbrush and sticking your head up the butts of large zoo animals.
Satan my ass.
Thank you, Mr. President, for giving a shit about my kids.
I really resist doing "commercials" for other people on this blog but once in a blue moon I am asked to share info and agree because, well... I look up and see that the moon is, indeed, blue.
Earlier this year a wonderful man named Jed had finally had enough of the darkness he lived with and took his own life. He was the son, brother and best friend of several deeply loved friends of mine. Surviving the aftermath of any death is horrendous, but a suicide? The searing pain of those left to pick up the pieces is unreal.
This from Jed's sister: "The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention states that every 16 minutes in the US, someone dies by suicide and every 17 minutes someone is left to make sense of it. As you know I lost my brother, Jed, this past March. My family and I have been forever changed by this tragic event. In his memory I have registered a team to walk in the Out of the Darkness Community Walk for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. The Salt Lake City walk is on September 26th, at 10am, at Wheeler Farm. It is a 3-5 mile scenic walk and proceeds from this event will fund research, education, survivor, and awareness programs - both to prevent suicide and to assist those affected by suicide. My hope is that through education and awareness, those suffering from mental illness will be prompted to seek help so that other families don't have to suffer through this same nightmare."
I have gladly agreed to Post Her Link for any and all interested. Team name: Remembering Jed. You can register to walk, create your own team, or donate from that link.
Most definitely a cause worth supporting for a man most definitely worth remembering.
Okay, my Inner Musical Theater Geek loves this! This choir is incredible. It would be amazing to be a part of a group of voices that are that in sync and in tune with one another. I watch this and yearn to sing along. And to poke the mole on the beat box guy’s face with a stick.
If you don’t share my enthusiasm for choral wonderment – the beginning is still pretty damn cool. Close your eyes and listen to the first two minutes. Totally groovy.
A couple of weeks ago I was contacted by the executive director of The Committee for Reconciliation (www.ldsapology.org) which is an organization dedicated to "encouraging and facilitating a respectful reconciliation between the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and the Gay and Lesbian members and non-members who have been hurt by Church practices, policies and politics."
Basically, LDSApology is a group that knows it won't get an apology but is noisily requesting one anyway. Their initial launch got quite a bit of media attention and they are expecting that to be the case with three events they have planned this fall.
The first of these events is a benefit concert for Homeless Youth on September 21, 2009 in Salt Lake City. (Gay youth account for nearly half of the homeless teens in Utah, many of whom have been evicted from their homes because of their sexual orientation.) And, yes-n-yikes, I'll be singing. About 20 years ago my dear friend Kim Simpson helped me write a song called "Goodbye, I Love You" for my father. I sang it then on "Geraldo" and haven't sung it since. Really looking forward to dusting it off and yodeling it again.
For anyone interested in buying tickets, suggested donation is $12 adults, $6 children/students and $30 family pass.
