My darling husband sent me an email today with a link to a video about role-play for couples. I think he’s trying to tell me something but, well…judge for yourself…

I never did link to my most recent piece in last week’s issue of CityBeat because I was busy doing other stuff. Like breathing. But I’ve had testicles on my mind today for some reason—Sam will be so thrilled—so I thought I’d go ahead and put it up right here.

Ruby Swingin’
Originally uploaded by elladog.

Happy Monday.
Love,
Ruby

The Emporer stated today in the familiarly grating, condescending, father-knows-best tone which defines him and serves as evidence of his tiny Texan penis, that Iran is giving weapons to the insurgents in Iraq. He admitted with confidence that he has no proof of this but he’s going to see to it that something is done about it. Dawg-gone it.

I don’t usually subscribe to the Hallmark Holiday that is Valentine’s Day but after hearing Georgie Porgie’s press conference about the maybe-maybe-not-just-trust-me-on-this-one Iran weaponry, I’m making an exception. I’m sending the following cyber-valentine to the bully who’s made the past six years endurable only with the aid of mind-altering substances and lots of kinky sex.

To Mr. Bush:
Go fuck yourself.
Love,
Me

Here is a bumper sticker I saw this weekend on the back of a gigantic SUV:

Dear God: Why is there so much violence in schools? Signed, Concerned Student
Dear Concerned Student: I’m not allowed in schools. -God

Shortly after this sighting, I came across another over-sized vehicle with a sticker that read:

Not Of This World

And today, there was this little omniscient diamond in the rough that made my endometrium tingle:

If Mary were pro-choice, there’d be no Christmas.

Can you imagine? NO CHRISTMAS??? Try telling that one to Santa.
So…Who the fuck are these people? Do they have some sort of inside information? Because I’m thinking that they’re simply insane. I’m thinking that none of them are from this world. I’m thinking hat they’re aliens from the same world and wherever that world is, I would like to respectfully suggest that they go back there. Immediately. Because their little freak show is scaring me.

HE:
I have to go to bed.
I’m going to bed now.
Me and my phlegm are going to bed.

ME:
My phlegm and I.

HE:
Right.
My phlegm and I are going to bed.
Don’t worry about us.

Well. It’s happened, people. I am officially a columnist at the alternative weekly San Diego CityBEAT and once I’m done icing down the bruises from pinching myself, I’ll be able to fully concentrate on worrying about my next bout of writers block. I’ve spent the better part of today feeling alternately thrilled and overwhelmingly unworthy.

As it happens, the cover of this week’s issue of CityBEAT, the only alternative weekly in this town, was shot by my dear friend Angela whom I love even more than the scent of fresh gardenias. It was her first cover and I’m guessing by the looks of it, she can probably quit her day job. Not that she wants to; she loves her day job. But she’s talented enough to earn a living taking pictures. It was serendipitous yet deeply meaningful that my virgin column (definitely the last bit of virginity in me) appeared in the same issue as her virgin cover (I can’t attest to Angela’s virginity).

This past summer my friend Kelly, the associate editor at CityBEAT and apparent reader of this blog, approached me about whether I’d be interested and/or have the time to write an opinion column for the mag. Thinking it would never come to fruition because who wants to read my drivel anyway, I offered a nervous and rather self-conscious yes. I was thrilled but also petrified, not the least bit confident I was good enough. Be careful what you wish for, right? I think Kelly really pushed CityBEAT to try me and I’m appreciative enough that I promise to never let her look bad again when I shoot her with a wide-angle lens.

After lots of things happened that I won’t go into here for fear of serving as virtual Ambien, I submitted a sample column that ended up getting printed, today, in beautiful black and white. If you move past the brilliant cover to the inside editorial, my friend Dave Rolland has written the most incredible introduction a girl with zero experience could ever hope for. I cannot fathom that he put this combination of words together to describe me. I think perhaps he’s on drugs and I wouldn’t be so upset if he shared just a little. I’m flattered and humbled. These are the most amazing things that anyone has never dared to utter about me, let alone print on paper and distribute to a wide audience. Of course my husband says really nice stuff about me too, but he’s under contractual obligation to do so.

Speaking of my husband, he’s been my biggest supporter in everything I do, including but not limited to my writing and photography obsessions, even when it means I have less time and energy for him. Without his endless encouragement, patience and selflessness, none of my pictures would have the depth that they do and my scribblings would still be relegated to the dusty pages of old journals.

Before my first column could be printed, I had to eliminate 175 precious words (“cut the little darlings” as Toasted Suzy says) and I couldn’t do this myself as I was far too attached to every syllable. Enter another wonderful friend, the lovely and talented Jessica, who generously read an early draft with a friendly but expert eye and gently helped me refine it. She could probably work some magic on this post, come to think of it. But she’s busy planning her wedding so this is what you get.

Another road block to publication was coming up with a title for my column. This was the most painful part of the entire start-up process and I think I’d not like to do it again; a bikini wax is far less brutal. Fortunately for me, a large group of CityBEAT staffers participated in an e-mail firestorm brainstorm that was brilliant, funny, kind and just sick enough to make me feel like, with a bit of tweaking, I should fit right in. In the end, I came up with my title and all I can say to this is thank Goddess for the eleventh hour; if there were only a tenth, my column might have been called Hey, Mr. Pussy which didn’t blow the editor’s hair back and wasn’t quite the mood I wanted to convey. Instead, my column is titled Backwards & In High Heels, a nod to feminism, multitasking and Ginger Rogers. Google it. Ultimately, I feel as though I’ve been welcomed into the club with open and frisky arms.

(Holy CRAP this really is like an acceptance speech. Sorry. I’m almost done.)

I’m pretty sure there are many more people who were influential in my being given such a great opportunity and I’m thankful to all of them. (Cue music.) None of us humans enjoys successes in a vacuum and though I wrote the piece, this little village has taken me far and has helped me begin to believe I can do it. To all of the people involved, both those I’m aware of and those I’m not, I recognize the risk you’re taking with me and I hope I don’t let you down. (They’re giving me the signal to wrap it up.) Okay, I hope I haven’t forgotten anyone. Oh! My lawyer. I’d like to thank my lawyer.

You can read my first column here if your eyes aren’t already bulging out of your skull from wading through this thoroughly self-indulgent babble. I have to excuse myself now while I go thicken my skin and get ready for hate mail.

Today is the 34th anniversary of Roe v. Wade and I thought it was worth a mention here on ye ole blog. I am vehemently pro-choice. I know, I actually hear the gasps of surprise emanating from the lips of each of my 13 readers. You probably neeeeever imagined this to be so. But it is and you’ll get over the shock in a moment. Sit down. Have a sip of water. Smile. As it happens, I’m a woman who has lived on two sides of the choice issue in my lifetime and I have benefited both directly and indirectly, as have all women since 1972, from this landmark legal decision.

When I was nineteen, despite my responsible and unfailing use of contraception, I became pregnant. I was on a full scholarship to college and was completely unprepared emotionally, physically and financially to have and/or raise a child. I chose to have an abortion. It was a difficult yet personal decision, one that I made with my boyfriend and my doctor and the support of my mother. It was the right decision for me at the time and I make no apologies for it nor do I harbor any shame about it. I am grateful to all of the women of another generation who worked so diligently to assure my right to a safe, legal and private abortion.

Now I’m raising a daughter who was adopted. She is here in my home, in my life, in my soul, on this planet because her birthmother chose to carry her to term, chose to go through an agonizing birth and chose to give her a better life than she felt she could offer. She had the freedom to choose abortion but she was the braver woman. This was HER choice and as I’ve said many times before, she chose the more difficult path. Without question. She has my intense gratitude and I let her know this as often and as clearly as I possibly can.

It’s so easy and such a cop out that (white) men in suits attempt daily to dictate exactly how women of all shades should be permitted to go about their family planning. The hypocrisy is crystallized as they so willingly participate in the fun part of making a baby and yet quite often turn and run away after having created one. Which happens. All. The. Time. Then there are the religious folk who line up outside of health clinics with their offensive signs and their righteous morality as they harass women seeking what is constitutionally theirs, women who are already existing in a vulnerable place, an emotional morass that’s hardly impervious to the awful pressures doused on them by such blind fanatics. These self-serving zealots operate under the pretense of being “pro-life” when they clearly care nothing about the lives of the women they stalk. And most of these people who are so interested in what happens with a few little cells in the uterus of a woman they don’t know and don’t care about, also care not for what happens to the too-many unwanted children after they are born. Step off, I say to all of them. As the adage goes, if you don’t like abortions then don’t have one.

It comes down to this: two women, both Ruby’s birthmom and I, each had the hard-earned freedom to make a choice. Nobody forced me to have a child I didn’t want and nobody forced her to abort a child she couldn’t care for. These are deeply personal decisions and no judge or jury or pastor or president has a place in the decision making process. That any one individual or group of individuals should have a say in the private medical choices of another individual or group of individuals (I’m speaking specifically of women here but this can be generalized to the larger population) is preposterous.

May Roe v. Wade withstand the violent assault under which it now cowers so that all of our daughters will have the right to privacy, dignity and respect when it comes to their own personal health decisions.

There is no sense and no sanity in objecting to the desecration of the American flag when we tolerate, encourage, and as a daily business promote the desecration of the Country for which it stands. -Wendell Berry

Photo by Angela.

We returned 3 days early from a not-so-relaxing vacation to our lovely little home which was filled with the remnants of our early holiday celebration. Our house, the eaves of which were still adorned with twinkly white lights, smelled like homemade confections and the bed was wrapped in warm flannel sheets beckoning me to slide in and snuggle up. I’ve taken a lot of trips in my day but this was by far the very best homecoming to date. Tear inducing, really.

The best part, though, was looking at the wall above the fireplace which before we left I’d filled with the various greeting cards we recieved in December. Looking back at me were the lovely faces of people who grace our lives and the many children that have transformed couples into families through both birth and adoption. It’s a beautiful thing to take stock of what matters in life, to be so present in the moment and to be thankful.

Last night and very last minute, we got a sitter and went to an intimate gathering to celebrate the passing of one year and the welcoming of another. It was so much fun and just what I needed.

Surrounded by friends like these, 2007 is bound to hold great things.