I’m happy to support your gay agenda, once I find it

Last night “Let it Go,” the song from the Disney movie Frozen won an Oscar.
And it reminded me that I needed to order a copy of that movie for Marlo’s 3rd birthday, because that’s how capitalism works. And because I’m a lazy parent. I will happily buy any new movie for my kids to watch, if it lets me off the hook for 93 minutes (including bonus material).
frozen
I also just learned that this movie has a “gay agenda.” I know! Kind of shocking. But this woman, Kathryn Skaggs or Well-Behaved-Mormon-Woman (WBMW) as she prefers to be called, proved it. You can read about it, here. But use the potty first. It’s a long post.
But now I am torn. Not because I don’t want my kids to see a movie with a gay agenda, but because I didn’t notice that the movie was gay the first time I saw it. I guess I was distracted by the hot chicks and the funny snowman.
More disappointing is the fact that Well-Behaved didn’t actually go into detail about how this movie is gay. I would like to know, because I thought the movie was pretty good with it’s caring theme about sisters and female independence, but I would have liked it EVEN MORE if I knew it was gay.
I loved Mulan, in part because it was pretty gay. All the main characters are cross-dressers. And they save the whole country from evil because they dress up and act like the opposite gender. There is even a song sung by a girl about finding a great girl to marry. What’s not to love?!
So here is my plea: please help me find the gay agenda in Frozen. Because I’m not a very good gay if I can’t see the gay in a Disney movie. Besides, I’m a big supporter of the gay agenda.
A slightly more professional version of this story also ran in the HuffPost.
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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Gay marriage passed in Illinois, but not without some confusion about driving cars

Illinois has passed a gay marriage law. (Yeah!) Maybe Pam and I will get married there. And Hawaii is now also an option. But I don’t want to get side-tracked. The law in Illinois was not passed without some important dialogue from both sides — the right side and the wrong side. And I’d like like to comment on something from the wrong side, before we move on.

This man – Apostle Paul David Rogers – told a radio station that “gay parents are like 5-year-olds who think they can drive cars.” I agree. And I don’t want that to get lost in all the other stuff that he was saying about God ordaining lions and chickens. Because, well, that would be crazy. Those are animals, and animals should not be leading churches or teaching the Bible, mostly because they can’t talk, but also because they probably won’t fit in those fancy robes properly.

So anyway, as a gay parent I would just like to say that I AM like a 5-year-old who thinks they can drive a car. I’m probably not as excited about driving my car as a five-year-old would be, but I’m probably just as bad at it. In fact, the other day I was just giving myself a pat on the back because I haven’t run into our newly painted garage with my car, and it’s been a whole three weeks since it was painted. And more evidence? Last weekend, I thought I could drive to the dog wash to wash the dog, and I got completely lost. I had to call Pam for help.

That said, I have no idea what this has to do with gay marriage, except that both driving and marriage require licenses. And gay people, including gay parents, can now get a license to be married in Illinois. But while you are there, please take the subway if you have kids. Because driving in Illinois or anywhere is a fantasy, for you, my friends. And also for me.

This probably what 5-year-old driving would look like. Which is scary, but not as scary as a lion in papal regalia.

This probably what a 5-year-old driving would look like. Which is scary, but not as scary as a lion in papal regalia.

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The Kremlin says this flag is not gay. What did the flag tell you?

People, remember this name: Miriam Elder. I hope she is duly recognized with a Pulitzer Prize for hard-hitting reporting from Russia like this news about whether or not a Russian flag is gay. Experts, flag experts no less, made this declaration: This flag of Russia’s Jewish Autonomous Region is not gay.

And now, why the confusion? Well, here is a picture of the flag:

gaylookingflag

I know. It’s like saying this lady is not a lesbian:

kd lang

Anyway, let’s chat about this. Because this is not an actual news site, and I’m not an actual reporter, I can say all the things — ask all the hard-hitting questions — that Miriam could not ask. And here is what I want to know.

Did anyone ask the flag if it was gay? No. That figures. Some things never change. We can spend all of our time speculating about whether something is gay or not and no one ever bothers to ask the thing. Oh wait. It’s a thing! So I guess that is the first lesson. Most objects don’t have a sexual orientation, even though lots of them seem to have a gender, like boats and hurricanes, for example.

But the best part of the article are the quotes from the flag experts. First Georgy Vilinbakhov, a Kremlin advisor, notes that “not every rainbow image is linked to sexual orientation.” This is truly disappointing news. All those years I thought Lucky Charms was just for gay people. And then there was this coming out shirt that I had in first grade. No wonder no girls ever asked me to go steady. This was just a regular shirt.

cool_retro_graphic_rainbow_design_tAnd in case you’re wondering why everyone is getting all worked up about rainbows in Russia, “gay propaganda” and other “public displays of homosexuality” have been outlawed in the country. The UN High Commission on Human Rights is involved, so we are talking about some serious shit here. Which means that it has no place on this blog.

Instead, let’s all give thanks (again) for free speech and proudly wear any rainbow-accented clothing, flags, socks or cereal that you have no matter what it means. I am.

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Look for me, I’ll be dressed as a lesbian.

It’s Halloween. You probably noticed. And in case you’re wondering, I will be dressed up as a lesbian. And I’ll be hanging out with a cross-dressing Mickey Mouse and a Rock Star Ariel – because a regular, old princess mermaid just doesn’t cut it these days. My lovely spouse will be joining us, and I believe she will also be dressed as a lesbian. A warmly dressed one, undoubtedly.

I think we’ll make a great crew. And if it works out, maybe we’ll start a girl band. Feel free to suggest some band names in the comments.

And this brings me to my next point. How do you dress as a lesbian for Halloween? Let me tell you, because I learned this in high school French class from a very pretty, popular girl who was sitting behind me. Let’s call her T.

Me: What are you going to dress up as for Halloween?

T: A lesbian.

Me: Oh, how are you going to do that?

T: I’m going to wear a tight black leotard and cover myself with lipstick kisses.

Me: Wow. Hmmm.

Here is a life-size reproduction of what this probably looked like:

mani-tard

And it’s a bit awkward, because the only thing more uncomfortable than wearing a leotard in public is wearing a leotard in public while propagating your own made-up stereotype about lesbians. That and she is practically an adult going Trick-or-Treating with an jack-o-lantern candy bucket.

But, THIS CHICK IS GORGEOUS! And covered in kisses. So now you know why I turned gay.

Happy Halloween!

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As a lesbian, you should know what to eat. Besides carpet, obviously.

After last week’s blow-up over pasta, when the CEO of Barilla told an Italian radio station that he prefers straight people to eat his product, I started wondering what DO gay people eat?

I should have looked this up a long time ago, because, as usual, I have been at risk of doing it wrong. And there is a surprising amount of coverage of this topic, but if you are going to do research, I would strongly recommend that you include the word “food” in your search string. Googling “lesbian eating” takes you in an entirely new world of search results that has nothing to do with food.

So, here is what I learned. First, if you are gay man (of course), there is a book about which foods are gay and which are not. Sushi? Totally gay. Mexican food? Not gay at all, which probably explains why I’m a bisexual. I love both. As of yet, it has not turned me into a gay or a straight MAN, but I have gotten close. I once owned a pair of dress shoes, had very short hair, and wore a suit to work. I had no idea that this was caused by too much Mexican food.

To find out what lesbians eat, I had to work a bit harder. But it was worth it, because I really want to maintain my status as a lesbian. And you are what you eat. (Insert oral sex joke here.) Luckily, I found this article, which takes a long time to load but it’s worth the wait because it outlines some foods that lesbians eat.

According to the article, we enjoy salads (Yes!) and farmer’s markets (Not so much. It depends on whether they have funnel cakes.) And more specifically arugula, goat cheese and pear salads. (Majorly YES. Wow. Weird.) Deconstructed California Rolls. Because we must deconstruct everything — especially the California Roll Patriarchy.

So that’s good! I’ve been eating the right gay foods. Whew! And I won’t be eating Barilla, just for the record. Because this brand is my favorite. It’s little pricey. But it is so delicious.

9-29-2013 2-05-38 PM

So white. So creamy. So delicious. Just 10 times the price.

And I did also find this, but you can never trust those Q&A websites like WikiAnswers.

food

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A right of passage involving a bathing suit and a loaf of bread. Otherwise known as junior high.

I believe I have mentioned that I’m writing a book. And if you want to try something hard and confusing, then this is it. So it’s kind of like my life, which is good, because that is what my book is about. My life. Or at least a little section of my life right before we had kids.

Anyway, last night when I was writing, I came across a dusty and water-colored memory that I wanted to share with you. Because it makes no sense to me, in part because it has both dust and water on it, which usually makes mud.

I was thinking about junior high. Yes. This, too, is a bad idea. And I was drinking vodka, which in spite of being a clear alcohol, never really makes anything more clear. But on with the story.

In physical education in junior high, we used to have swimming class once every so often. It was not on a regularly scheduled day, at least not that I could tell, so that added an element of surprise to the whole thing — sort of like Sacha Baron Cohen dropping from the ceiling onto your head.  And the girls in the class were not allowed to swim if we were having our period. And we were all issued a bathing suit by the school. It was like a school uniform in that it was navy blue, but it was not like a school uniform in that it was a bathing suit.

So, on this one sacred and powerful day of the month, I went to swimming class where we lined up in front of a desk to check in and get a suit. And since I was in possession of menstrual blood, I was not allowed in the pool and had been instructed to tell the teacher that I was “off floor.” This term was code for “standing around in the pool area in a bathing suit wearing a huge sanitary napkin that feels like a loaf of bread between your legs hoping that a velociraptor will show up and start eating people so at least a few people would forget about your sanitary napkin.”

junior high bathing suit + period = public humilitation

And really this story has no point, except that I was completely traumatized, and I thought someone should know about this tragedy. And because it didn’t fit in the book in any way. At least not yet. And most important of all, why is it called OFF FLOOR? What does that mean? I was on the floor by the pool. I remember it well. It was made of those tiny waterproof tiles that are all over including on the walls and in the pool. Why couldn’t they just call it “out of the pool?” Or “unavailable.” She’s unavailable, wink, nod, check out the loaf of bread. And why did I have to wear a bathing suit, if I wasn’t going to swim? And seriously, who would let their child these days wear a bathing suit that was owned by the school? This is tax dollars at work, people. Or at least it was.

So, help, seriously. This is really weird, right? Please tell me something equally weird happened to you in junior high. Tell me! There is a comments section below for that. Write something!

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I am the South Pole and other scientific facts.

I think I just found the best thing on the internet. A university student in Nigeria has found irrefutable, scientific proof that gay marriage is wrong. How did he do it? Magnets. Yes, I know. For years, we have been overlooking this understated household object which could have been acting as our moral compass (because it’s a magnet) for this entire time. Possibly forever, because I think that’s how long magnetic fields last.

 

 

 

Here is a direct quote from his research, from Pink News: “A bar magnet is a horizontal magnet that has the North Pole and the South Pole and when you bring two bar magnets with a North Pole together you find that the two North Poles will not attract. They will repel, that is, they will push away themselves showing that a man should not attract a man.”

And then, he goes on to say that women are like the south pole of the magnet and two south poles repel each other, as well.

So, I have given this some thought. And in addition to being very relieved to finally find my place on the periodic table of elements, I want to personally thank this guy for pointing out other things that I was not aware of about myself. In other words, other ways that I am like a magnet.

1. I cannot stay away from the fridge. It is like a huge force field in my life that is impossible to resist.

2. This explains the whole wanting to go to college in Canada thing. It’s north, which I was attracted to because I am the south pole of the magnet.

3. And probably the most important discovery: This completely explains why I’m not a chick magnet, which is somewhat devastating. But at least now I know why girls aren’t falling all over me. And sometimes dudes hit on me, instead. It’s because they can’t help it. Opposite forces attract.

And I would like to fix this whole chick magnet thing by working on my hair, but I can’t decide on a style. But I think this will help. And it involves magnets, which I now feel very passionate about. You can get your own, right here, but only if you live in the UK, which is where all the cool chicks are anyway.

wor003_design_a_beaver_1

But if you’re not ready to be a chick magnet or you are perfectly happy with your pubes, you can buy one of these magnets, instead. It’s practically guaranteed to turn you into a chick magnet, at least for little chicks that take constant naps and need endless diaper changes.

twowoman_twobabies

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 © Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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