Yay to me -- I've kept up this journal now for over a year, and have written in it
every single day except when away on travel – and even then when I had access to a
computer. While I've handing out kudos, yay also to my boss, who yesterday handled
a difficult situation – informing the department of the sudden death of a well-
liked and respected coworker – about as well as it could possibly be done. And to
Rosie OÕDonnell, for coming out of the closet when she thought it might serve to
set a good example. I'd have been more impressed if she hadnÕt waited until right
before she was about to end her show anyway, but she'll probably still face a lot
of flak. I think a lot of people who have learned to accept and respect gay and
lesbian adults in other ways still have trouble with the idea of gay parents. But
Rosie commands a lot of affection from people who see her as a normal person
(whatever that is), so maybe her example will help.
I had the oddest
dream last night. I think it owes something to being around a nursing mother
yesterday, something to the movie Legally Blonde, something to joining the women's
crew from LA on Sunday and most to some very strange recesses of my subconscious.
I was in some sort of class and we were all supposed to be taking turns giving
presentations, but then on the days we were to give them, hardly anyone showed up
to class, so the presenters were speaking to a mostly empty room. I wandered out
of the room during a break and was grabbed by the class's cheerleader clique. They
werenÕt really cheerleaders, I donÕt think – we were all older than that – but
they all had flippy cheerleader hair, careful makeup, and similar outfits on. They
were doing their presentation in a group, and needed an extra woman to fill in,
and would I do it? I said yes, and they thanked me and pulled me into the room
where they hung out. Of course, they knew their extra person wouldn't be dressed
as they were, so they had brought along a little flippy-skirted outfit, sort of
stiff netting petticoat thingy (more like a tutu) to support the skirt, and, as a
crowning touch, a pair of falsies. They explained they hadn't known who they would
end up with, or how she would be built. So they had brought these along just in
case.
They were joking, not meaning to be obnoxious, and I wasn't
offended. One of the women took me into a little dressing room and helped me get
suited up. We got the dress half on, with the top hanging down, and I put on an
oversized bra. The falsies were inflatable; we got one blown up and stuffed in,
then decided it was too big (the nipple was two inches long). The woman showed me
how to let air out; you had to squeeze the nipple to open a valve – actually, it
was very similar to the bite valve on a Camelbak drinking tube, come to think of
it. We finally got that one adjusted to the right size and stuffed into the bra,
but then I couldn't find the other one. I wandered out of the dressing room with
one falsie in and one missing, looking like a mastectomy victim, and went looking
for the other one. At that point, several guys began showing up, and of course the
women let them into the room because they were that kind of women, who would never
send a man away. Some of the guys seemed to be European exchange students who had
gone to my high school, for some reason, though in retrospect their names were
different. I joked with them about the missing breast, and we all talked for a
while, but when I finally found it, it was too late to give the presentation after
all. After that, people milled around a lot more and we all hung out a while
longer, and then I woke up.
Yes, my brain is strange. No, the women
rowers from LA did not wear flippy hair and makeup. And no, I have never worn
falsies.