As we were walking up to Turf Paradise, the local horse racing track…
Liam: “Every time we come here, there’s a plastic bag flying around the parking lot.”
My mother: “Maybe that’s a sign we should bet on a horse with ‘plastic’ or ‘bag’ in its name.”
Liam: “Or maybe it’s just a sign that people should start recycling, but okay.”
Me: Urban Cookie has the new fall flavors out! You need to try the caramel apple, it’s AMAZING.
Ryan: Everything they make is amazing. They kick Sprinkles’ ass.
Me: Sprinkles is a stupid name, anyway. It’s a name for the world’s shittiest pony.
Ryan: I think my daughter had that My Little Pony.
Me: Was its Cutie Mark a dick?
Ryan: If it was, I’d buy twelve of them.
Me: As long as I get one of them.
Ryan: Fine. Thirteen.
Yes, guys…I have road rage. In my defense, driving here sucks.
(Moving into the left lane to avoid a bus, only to find myself behind ANOTHER bus.)
Me: “Oh, my, God! How is there another bus! They only come every 30 minutes! Wait, is there ANOTHER one up ahead? THREE FRIGGIN’ BUSES! How are there three friggin’ buses inside of half a block!? I didn’t even know there were THREE buses in Phoenix, and now they’re all in my way! My God, how many buses are going to be on this friggin’ street right now!?”
Xavier: (whispering) “Three…”
Me: “Shut it, Xavier!”
Xavier: (giggling)
Yes this is real, and I took it. Right before I burst into flames.
So, the only thing worse than surviving a week-long, record breaking heatwave in Phoenix…is having your air conditioning die right in the middle of it. Four days and three repairmen later…we’re finally back in our house.
Me: I’m no longer a vagrant!
Ryan: Yea! Did you lower the thermostat to 72, just because you can?
Me: The house is finally down to 84, I’m trying not to push it too fast.
Ryan: I had a brand new unit go out once, and the house got up to 95. The cats weren’t happy.
Me: I’m guessing because the fur?
Ryan: I tried to get them wet, but they didn’t like it.
Me: I’m gonna go ahead and let you reread that last sentence to yourself.
The following was texted to me by a friend who was driving through one of the most gang-infested areas of the city…you know…where I used to work. 🙂
Leslie: Oh, my, God! I was just driving through Maryvale, and I saw a white guy on a bicycle, waving a Confederate flag, screaming about ‘Mexicans and n——s’.
Me: It’s the new alternative to pulling a gun on a cop. I call that move, “Suicide by Redneck.”
Leslie: Gotta work better than all the meth he was smoking.
Me: Trust me, that hillbilly has drunk his last Big Gulp. Right now, his carcass is already being eaten by a pack of stray pit bulls and one really badass chihuahua.
Leslie: I hope they don’t choke on all the bullets.
A warning, if you came here for my usual nonsense, this isn’t the post for you, but please click here for a post about fucked up children’s literature, or this one about how I am incapable of returning gifts.
Anyhooo…
Three of my friends (also teachers), and I are sponsors in a community organization which supports LGBTQ youth and allies. Due to the tireless work of one of my fellow sponsors, we were lucky enough to take our kids to march, this weekend, in the Phoenix Pride Parade.
After several hours of staging, just as we were about to launch down the parade route, one of our girls turned to me, shoulders down, eyes huge, and said, “Ms. M, I’m scared,” and my heart stopped for a second. I knew why she was scared. She was scared because this meant thousands of people looking at her…because she was standing in front of them, declaring her true self at the ripe old age of fifteen…and because she knew, somewhere, we’d likely meet opposition that she wouldn’t know how to handle. I squeezed her shoulder and told her that it was going to be fun, and prayed like hell that I was right.
What happened, was that for the next thirty minutes, our kids met nothing but cheers, high-fives, and applause from thousands of strangers, who took a little time out of their Sunday to sit on a curb in downtown Phoenix, and send them the biggest overwhelming cloud of love and acceptance imaginable. A cloud which wrapped around all of them, stronger than any armor man has ever wrought. Long before our mile was up, our girl, once so scared, had her shoulders thrown back and her head held high, and she was the definition of Pride. My heart…it was, and still is, so terribly full.
And, yes, at the end of the route, there were protesters holding terrible signs and screaming hateful things. Wisely, the organizers placed the huge speaker system right next to them to drown them out with Lady Gaga, but by then, our kids were impervious, and the demonstration warranted nothing more than the roll of their keen adolescent eyes, and for that I am grateful.
Love will always be so much more powerful than hate, and self-acceptance is greater than fear. You did me proud today, Phoenix…thank you from the bottom of my heart.
While having a lovely holiday lunch with our entire family at one of Phoenix’s finest old restaurants…
Me: “Awwww…”
Caolinn: “What?”
Me: “I just looked over and you were just quietly looking at your brother and smiling so sweetly at him…it made me so happy to see you look at him like that.”
Liam: “Mom…she was smiling like that because she was kicking me under the table.”
Me: (facepalm)
I have to preface these texts by telling you that Ryan and I have a running joke about Anthem, this very Stepford-esque suburban “planned community”, that lies just north of Phoenix. He claims he heard a rumor about an underground swinger’s scene that goes on up there, where reportedly, the swingers identify themselves to each other by placing purple rocks in their yards.
Ryan: Damn it! I was up in Anthem for that service, and I didn’t get a chance to look around.
Me: You mean that, while on your way to a FUNERAL, you didn’t try and track down some swinger-sign? What’s wrong with you!?
Ryan: We could always go back this weekend. That’s a fun date, isn’t it?
Me: Me, you, some flashlights…good times. What do we do if we find any?
Ryan: “I’m sorry, but we couldn’t help noticing your rocks. We were wondering how you get them off?”
Me: “No, we don’t want to join…nice cold sore, by the way, but we’d like to observe from a safe distance. Outside the ‘Splash Zone’, if you will…”
Ryan: “Do you provide tarps? Oh, no, nevermind, we have rain panchos…that’ll do.”
Me: Good thing I keep those in my car.
Ryan: Yeah, we don’t want anything to get stained.
Me: LIKE OUR SOULS! Bring that vial of holy water I saw in your kitchen.
Ryan: Pretty sure that turns to vinegar the moment it crosses a swinger threshold.
Me: So…Saturday?
Ryan: Sounds good. Bring galoshes.
Maya: “Did you go out with Janie last night?”
Me: “Yeah, we wound up at Joyride with some pack of bankers and attorneys.”
Maya: “Good night?”
Me: “Well, if the mark of a good night is a grown woman climbing through her doggy door to get home…then it was a fucking great night.”
Maya: “Annnnd, this is why I don’t go out with you guys.”
(For the record…it wasn’t me, because there’s no way I’d fit through a dog door built for a Sheltie.)
Fisticuffs and Shenanigans 