This is a story of my 2.5 year old and how she elicited gasps of horror from a couple dozen mothers while I tried unsuccessfully to control my laughter.

DISCLAIMER: I realize I share entirely too many stories and photos about my child in a massive public forum. And, the WORST part about this is that I honestly hate people who do that, especially because so many of the “Listen to the hilarious thing my gifted/talented/world-saving child did!!!” stories are just so painfully mediocre that they make me want to punt a kitten. Additionally, I also realize that I’m completely biased and unoriginal because I think my kid is genuinely awesome. So, just so you know, I’m totally self-aware about the image I’m painting of myself as a suburban mother whose life revolves around a toddler. I get it.

So, there are free movies every Tues-Thurs morning at a massive multiplex up the road from us that we’ve been attending as we can. Because these are free, I don’t mind leaving 45 minutes in when Chloe is no longer interested in staring at a giant screen, even when I let her do running commentary.

Today’s feature film was the agonizingly formulaic “Arctic Tale”, which played out like every other here’s-the-story-of-a-modern-baby-polar-bear’s-life-and-how-it’s-going-to-die-because-you-”need”-to-buy-a-giant-car-YOUAHOLE!! Aaanyway, there was a scene in this movie in which a large polar bear sets its sights on a baby seal and begins to pursue it, thundering through the water as the music mounts and children all around us begin to cry out in their “IT’S GONNA EAT ME IN MY SLEEP!!!” terror. Just as the cacophony of kids screaming reaches it’s pinnacle, the “auntie” of said baby seal swoops in and thwarts the predatory bear’s mission, much to the relief of everyone in the audience…

…Except my angelic, blonde haired, blue eyed, pink dress-laden daughter, who slaps one hand to her forehead, reaches an upturned palm toward the screen and yells, “Ah, COME ON!!!”

The glowers of sheer disdain and pure judgment from my parenting peers couldn’t quell my hysterical laughter for the next five minutes until the Bear, now disillusioned with the film’s lack of baby-seal-mauling scenes, insisted we “leave to home.”

I have the best sidekick ever.

So, apparently I’ve become a total woman (I mean that in the derogatory way, by the way.)

In my last blog entry I talked about how I was going to bed with this sense of heartbreak and longing. Finally, after about 5 or 6 days of it and desperately trying to figure out what it could possibly be and/or came from, I mentioned it to my husband. Without hesitation, he said, “Well, the Bear’s been gone in the last week; maybe you miss her?”

I immediately burst into tears.

My mom and dad offered to take over Toddler Wrangling Duty while my husband and I made the move to our new house, which was an incredible blessing. It saved us so much time and energy and really allowed us to get things done efficiently. (Plus, we got a mini vacation over the weekend to attend a friend’s wedding! Hooray!) And it wasn’t what most people would call a huge deal but I got to sleep in until 10 a.m. almost every morning, listen to anything I wanted to while packing, abstain from changing anyone’s diaper, stay out as late as I wanted, etc. for a WHOLE TEN DAYS. It was kind of amazing - something I haven’t had since our honeymoon.

But when he mentioned her absence, I realized that that’s exactly what I was missing. She’s been back now for a couple days and, even though there’ve been some crying spells and a little neediness, it’s been wonderful to have my little sidekick back to rouse me at 6 a.m. and make me have a productive day where I get outside and I have to stay positive no matter how I’m feeling. It’s good for me.

So there you are. No depression here - just complete estrogenal fits. Awesome.

So, we’re on Day 2 of Moving which means that I’m running back and forth from our rental house to our new place, cleaning and flinging random odds-and-ends into boxes and trying to cram all that into our car but I’m finally starting to get excited.

I have plans. We’ve already painted a giant red accent wall around our stonework fireplace (much like the one at our old place) and we’re going to do the same old-Tuscan-style ragging effect around our kitchen and paint our bedroom that soothing light green color so we feel like we’re living in a tropical paradise. But I want to customize the crap out of the house. I want glass doorknobs everywhere (those things are EXPENSIVE at antiques shops) and we want to install a Dutch half-door on our front door (we might even hang a flower box off it) and we want to build an arbor out back and I want blooming-berry vines covering the brick parts of the garage and corners of the house and I want to turn the hill in our backyard into a terraced garden with tons and tons of veggies and fruits and, one day, I might even install aerialists’ ribbons from our huge vaulted ceiling and learn how to do all that like I’ve been wanting to for forever and… and… and…

We just have ideas, okay? Lots of them. And the freedom to do whatever we want to a house is both exciting and overwhelming. I mean, I can doodle Pearl Jam lyrics all over the walls if I want and no landlord is going to get mad at me! How cool is that?! (My husband may be livid but meh… that’s what primer’s for…)

But, for right now, we’re focusing on unpacking the three trillion boxes we have lying around and getting rid of the Thomas Kincade border in our master bathroom. Eughck.

This week I am:
~ Making 20 sugar scrubs
~ Advertising for our moving sale this Thursday
~ Making wedding and baby presents
~ Packing my rental house
~ Cleaning my rental house for viewings
~ Closing on a new house (today!)
~ Getting my annual haircut
~ Pitching Yum in the Tub to Glam Lounge
~ Chasing a 2 year old
~ Getting my cat declawed
~ Welcoming one of my besties into town
~ Keeping my husband sane
~ Getting in touch with the 3 hostesses I’m working for in May
~ Finally applying for a small business license and Tax ID #
~ Launching a new blog
~ Cleaning the landfill off my desk
~ Going through everysingledrawerandcloset purging things we haven’t used in years to minimize our Clutter.
~ Getting into mini arguments because my husband wants to keep 3 boxes of Spanish notes and magazine clippings of landscapes from 6 years ago.
~ Remembering to brush my teeth and put in my contact lens. (That’s not a typo; it’s singular “lens” on purpose.)
~ Buying paints for the house
~ Trying to get out to the Saxapahaw River Festival
~Staying up till 2 am with my brain whirring on some weird chemical obsession about really really inane topics (Subject the other night was: Mid-90’s Songs I’ve Probably Forgotten - both in “Liked” and “Unliked” categories.) and then being angry again that my doctor in Myrtle won’t just give me a phone consultation like a normal doctor and that I can’t go to my new doc at UNC until June.
~ Trying to keep it aaaalll together.

Dear Ru,
Let me start off by saying that I’m a fan. I have been since the moment I heard you told me I’d “betta werk” and I probably will be forever. I bought your books, I’ve watched your underground documentaries, I’ve worn your t-shirt… I’m there. I think what you stand for is amazing and you’ve been incredibly instrumental in the gay rights movement, acting as a sort-of ambassador into pop culture and helping to promote pride and joy within the LGBT community. I think your messages of love are powerful and I think you’re a perfect role model (both in and out of your drag persona) in that you show incredible confidence but you’re never mean or underhanded. I think you’re incredible.

And it’s no secret that you’re a smart guy; you’ve had to be in order to break into a still homophobic mainstream and maintain a career that’s lasted almost two decades. If you’d come out and just been a boozy, flighty queen, you wouldn’t have stood a chance against all the inevitable hatred you’ve garnered and you never would’ve been able to command respect from those who let you through the Pop-Culture gate in the first place. You know this.

Additionally, you know that “RuPaul’s Drag Race” is more than just another trashy reality show. This became obvious to the public the moment Ongina was awarded the MAC spokesmodel position and began to cry before admitting to the world that she’d been secretly living with HIV for years. That was the moment we realized that this show wasn’t just about men trying to out-fab each other but it was a means to educate the world to another facet of gay lifestyles and help those who don’t understand to embrace gays/lesbians/bisexuals/transgenders as people instead of just faceless political opponents. Sure, there’s cattiness and overblown drama and obvious creative editing choices (it makes for good TV) but what RPDR stands for in principle and as a televised show in mainstream America is very very important. Again, you know this. You’ve said this yourself.

I don’t believe that one should live their life being diplomatic to further a political agenda by any means but, frankly, the decision to name Tyra Sanchez the winner of RuPAUL’s Drag Race: Season 2 was almost a step backwards and a complete slap in the face to those who have been working to dispel stereotypes about drag queens. Your personal tenants of what makes a drag superstar are Courage, Uniqueness, Nerve and Talent (and, yes, I get and appreciate the joke.) Granted, as a performer, Tyra has tons of uniqueness and she’s obviously very clever in her creative endeavors but that’s where the good stuff ends.

First of all, you’re a very big proponent of being a sassy queen and not a bitchy one for the sake of dignity and class and you honestly couldn’t have picked a worse candidate for that out of the contestants this year. Secondly, you’re fully aware how much intelligence is needed to hold a position as a popular gay/bi/lesbian/trans icon but you’ve totally contradicted that by choosing a girl who is dumber than a sack of hammers, socially inept beyond reason and can’t put together a sentence if she was being paid a hundred bucks per word. Unless she’s onstage, she has the personality of a jar of mayonnaise.

And aaaallll of these things are cliches that the gay community has been desperately trying to distance themselves from when it comes to public relations.

Frankly, if you wanted us to appreciate and embrace Tyra, I don’t know why you’d choose to approve the editor’s choices to make her look like a self-centered idiot who is just rude beyond reason. Obviously this was a decision you stood by and I’m baffled as to why you’d want to paint that picture of a contestant that you knew you were going to choose to represent the show and your work.

More than anything, though, I’m frustrated - with this and all the other public decisions that are made that keep the gay community in the stereotypes that don’t allow us to advance - and a little bit disheartened. Because if you’re not going to try, why should anyone else? The last thing the queer community needs is someone on the inside working against them.

Unfortunately, Ru, you betrayed your own advice and f*%#ed this up.

Most sincerely,
Castallare

In hopes to retain SuburbanBohemian.com as a space to share my personal life’s ponderings and events, I’ve opened ILoveBeingSouthern.com as a place to separately continue with the Things I Love About Being Southern series. (It garnered a big enough following to warrant that, I thought, so we’re trying it out.) I want to have a professional presentation eventually but, for now, the basic Tumblr format will have to do. Look for updates in the next month or so.

Oh, I thought I’d try a little blog marketing, so feel free to check us out on Facebook, too. (What am I becoming?)

So there you go. Tell a friend.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Sometimes I’m convinced I’m among one of The Greatest People in the World, destined to change everything and become some sort of revolutionary whose legacy lives on in textbooks and monuments and then there are [more] times that I’m thoroughly convinced I’m not even capable of basic functionality, let alone an original thought. On some days I am sure my life is charmed and on others that it is damned. I am positive I am a genius one moment and then sure I’m nothing short of a complete imbecile a few moments later. Sometimes, I’m sure that I’m rife with obsessive insanity while also being the most level-headed person I know. Most days my life is a meaningless exercise in mediocrity while, on others, there cannot be a person more gifted and adored than I. Just when I start to believe that I am somehow better than someone else I become aware that everyone is better than me. A few times a year I feel like I am the epitome of beauty with flawless features and then I shift back into seeing a masculine, overweight, average-at-best face in the mirror. Many days I feel like my years in recovery and therapy have lead me to believe this superior, self-accepting and self-realizing person who is capable of navigating human nature with more ease than most people and, in just as many days, I feel just as much like the Hindenburg reenactment I was when I was being hospitalized for complete insanity, codependency, addiction, etc.

The minute I finally know that I know what I’m talking about my entire reality shifts and I don’t know anything about anything, all over again.

I believe that everyone is busily searching for themselves until the moment I am sure that I’m the only one who gives a damn about seeking out identity.

I don’t understand how I can love and hate people so fervently all at once.

I’m positive that I’m not a sane being. And that I’m exactly like everyone and nobody else.

Recently, I have been emotionally distraught over the disgusting act of cruelty that happened to Constance McMillan. I cannot understand how, 40 years after the Civil Rights Movement began, we are still teaching each other that it is alright to hate others because they are different or because we don’t agree with them. I cannot understand how Christians really believe they are doing God’s work by lying about His supposed hatred with someone else and how they could think that treating His children like this would be an effective way to encourage them to attend their churches.

Anyway, I could go on and on about how sick this is, how wrong this is, how I hope Constance is listening more to those who are sending her love and support than to those idiots who are trying to get her to hate them back and how I hope she knows that she is perhaps the strongest teenager I’ve ever heard of for going up against an entire town and enduring this with grace. And I could especially go on about how I dread the day that I will have to explain, with shame and embarrassment, that people actually humiliated, beat and killed other people simply because they wanted to love someone that other people didn’t agree with, much like how my parents explained Segregation to me.

However, I think The Bloggess did this topic the most justice with far more poise and eloquence than I could so I’ll send you in that direction and work on trying to forgive these hateful people in my own heart.

My point in posting this particular entry is simply to state this:

In 2000, I attended the Soccastee High School prom with a girl. There were no questions asked. There were no raised eyebrows. There were no death threats. There was no press coverage. There was no picketing, no rallying, no angry parents screaming about how we were evil and wrong. There was only a prom in a small town in South Carolina where everyone did the same things that all teenagers do at proms across the country - got nervous beforehand, ate at a restaurant while way overdressed, danced a little, talked about what everyone else was wearing, got drunk afterward, perhaps lost their virginities, etc.

Whether or not we attended the prom together as friends or as lovers was never asked of us by anyone. Nobody pointed and laughed when we had our picture taken together. Nobody made snide remarks under their breath. Nobody stopped and stared when we went out on the dance floor together. It was peaceful. It was normal.

This was ten years ago in a state that only took the Confederate flag off their capital building a month later.

My point is that there is hope. Just like in any group of people, the loudmouthed, ignorant idiots cannot be expected to define the whole bunch.

Although it is rare in any region, I was raised in a family that believed in unconditional love. My parents and grandparents taught me to be colorblind, to ignore others’ social statuses, to believe in the goodness of people without smothering them with stereotypes before I’ve even met them. In my house, anyone was welcome around our family’s dinner table as long as they used their manners and didn’t smoke or drink in the house. My family taught me to forgive people who wanted to hate me and judge me and make my life difficult because they thought I was different. They taught me not to fight hatred with hatred and how I would be a better, more peaceful person if I learned to forgive and love. My parents told me that this is what Jesus taught and that’s why they were proud to call themselves Christian. I don’t think they ever thought that hatred was an option, even though I’m sure they were tempted on a daily basis.

This is what I was taught to believe. This is what I intend to instill in my child(ren).
I am not unique because of these traits. And I am Southern, too.

On a personal front, things have gone from drab and increasingly depressing to amazingly optimistic, which has arrived only just in time.There’s something really taxing in having to force optimism and I think after a while, feigning hope for the sake of forward movement starts to eat away at you, too. It’s certainly a better mental state than pessimism but after you do it long enough, the stench of bullshit starts to seep into everything and you just start feeling ridiculous.

Anyway, first and foremost we’ve found a house that we’re in the middle of shuffling legal/financial paperwork around for. It’s about 30 minutes away from where we’re living now which puts us closer to the metropolitan sprawl but also means that our options were limited to squished, prefab suburban developments that weren’t our first choice. However, the house we found is adorable, full of sunlight and has a backyard that’s pretty divine. We’ve already started making artsy/hippie plans for home improvement and I’m totally nerding out with excitement over the garden I’m plotting. I’m going to spend the next year cultivating a composting system and digging/structuring terracing in the hill where I plan to put everything. (It’s HUGE, but the slope is such that it won’t support anything other than low, spreading shrubs.) I’m planning the basics, like tomatoes, carrots, squash, herbs, etc. but I also want to put in a few apple and peach trees, some blueberry bushes and maybe some grapevines along the back wall. Also, we’re going to rig up a rain barrel system so we can cut down on water costs so I’m researching DiY techniques for getting that started. And the hubs is contemplating taking the government up on this offer to help fund solar paneling, which would be perfect in our specific location and would also solidify our complete liberal, conservationist dorkiness to anyone in the immediate vicinity.  Utlimately, we’d love a small house in the middle of nowhere with tons of land and not so much bustling commercialism on our doorstep (the natives of New Hometown are entirely too excited about thenewTargetandWalMartandmovietheatresopeningjustacrossthestreetohmygahd!) and, honestly, we don’t want to settle in this county/state/side-of-the-country/hemisphere any more than five-ten years (at most) but we’re happy with what we can afford right now and are comfortable committing to it for the foreseeable future. With this house, we don’t feel like we’re “settling” and that’s the best part, I think. Also, with this specific location, my blog will still be aptly named. Score!

In other news, it seems that my personal business ventures are finally picking up and that elates me to no end. Not to whine about financial matters but, since mid-January, my various enterprises have been at a dead standstill and I’ve started getting really down and uninspired to continue. Being in a new town hindered my ability to book any new parties and the post-Christmas retail slump took a severe toll on the sugar scrubs and I kinda got to that self-pitying “I should just give up… wahhhh.” point. However, out of nowhere, about the time the temperature spiked and the sun came out, everything just sort of sprung back into action. I’ve randomly gotten three party bookings in the last three days (huzzah!) which is exciting enough but I’ve also introduced 4 new flavors to the Yum in the Tub line that people really seem to be responding to. Oh! And in a couple weeks I’m going to be featured in the Test Kitchen section of BUST Magazine (!!!!!!!!!) and I’m so excited/nervous I can barely stand it. The assistant editor sent me an email asking for a hi-res image and my address so she can send me a copy of the mag and seemed really positive about it so I’m hoping they don’t publicly loathe the coffee scrub I sent them. (However, my husband optimistically pointed out that, even if they hate it, I can always market myself as “As featured in BUST!” without assuming that anyone will remember the review.) So we’ve started prepping the website for that and it’s going to look AMAZING in a couple weeks when we debut it as a freestanding site and no longer linked to Etsy. (Now is when I’m eternally grateful I’ve married a graphic designer. Seriously, this website looks like I dropped a couple grand on it. I’m aware that I’m bragging right now.)

It just seems like everything’s on the upswing on the whole. The Bear is getting to be outside more because of the weather, which puts her in a better mood and makes the day flow better, my sister moved to NYC and left me her Jeep, which means I can fit my running stroller in the back and hit the trails at a local park every morning, produce is getting back in season so the prices are slowly falling, I’ve been meeting and hanging out with a lot of new people from various venues and social circles and have even started talking about building a burlesque/cabaret troupe with a local gal which would be amazing. (My past attempts have always been thwarted but the dream lives on.)

It just seems like things are racing upward, which is as much of a relief as it is a cause of great excitement. I know, it’s all too cliche to hit the “reset” button and try to redefine one’s purposes/goals/intents at this time of year but I really don’t mind falling into that trap when it feels like the Universe is piling on the support. I’m finding that my motivation and momentum are renewed and the extra boost makes me want to work harder to get started on more of the projects I’ve been putting off because of my “Schmeh, whatevs.” attitude in the last few months. It’s only been a week or so and I’m already getting more done every day than I have in the last month.

It’s nice. I like it.

I’m sick of watching/reading/hearing people publicly apologize for something they said that offended some random group of people. And, as much as I’d like to be angry at the parade of hyper-apologetic wimps that stream across the headlines, I really am more pissy at the public they’re talking to, who are sitting around being offended and tapping their toes for an apology. But when it really comes down to it, I’m kind of just incredulous that few people are actually recognizing how unbelievably ridiculous this whole scenario is in the first place. And how avoiding/learning to deal with it is painfully simplistic.

Look,

1) If you say something, MEAN IT.

This doesn’t even apply specifically to people who are public figures. This has to do with all of us. It’s pretty basic. If you say something, make sure you mean it. And that’s not a stand-in for that cheap “Keep your words sweet; one day you may have to eat them! ::giggle!::” line kids like to use as their senior year yearbook quotes. If you know what you have to say is going to piss people off, you’d better make sure you can stand behind it all the way. Because when you don’t, and you come out offering an apology, then you not only look like a wuss with no brain, but you totally shoot your credibility in the foot for… well, for forever.

Here’s a perfect example: In January 2010, Sen. Harry Reid decided to show everyone how incredibly antiquated he actually was by mentioning that Barack Obama made a good candidate because he had no “Negro dialect, unless he wanted to have one.” (Wow. I’ll bet he still calls black waitors “Jackson”.) Anyway, when the book was released and everyone [understandably] pitched a bit of a hissy about him being a douche, he came out and apologized for what he’d said. Okay, it’s one thing to say something stupid off the cuff (See? I’ll admit that Obama’s flawed.) but when you go out of your way to have something published in a book that obviously was taken through a few editing sessions and still voluntarily included, maybe you probably meant it. So coming out and apologizing for saying it kinda makes you look even dumber, because we get it. We know you’re just doing it to save face because you didn’t think it would bother anyone. And our opinions of you have already been set, knowing all the work you had to do to get those words in print. So at least have the self-respect to stand behind your statements.

I’m not saying I approve of him (or anyone) being a douche, but like Evelyn Beatrice Hall said (although usually miscredited to Voltaire) “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.” That’s one of the things that’s rad about America- we’ve got free speech going on for us. Sure, I think Carrie Prejean is a hypocritical, plastic moron who is perpetuating disgusting stereotypes about young American women but I believe she has the right to say anything that’s on her mind and stand behind it. I believe we all do. And, luckily, I’ve got the Forefathers on my side with this one, so I usually don’t have to censor myself.

And this all brings me to my next point.

2) If you’re alive, you’re going to offend someone at least once before you die.

My grandfather was literally the kindest human being I’ve ever known. He was a prestigious businessman who came from very very humble, rural roots and was incredibly generous and active in his community. (Fun Fact!: He orchestrated the Japanese surrender ceremony on board the USS Missouri on September 2, 1945. We have a photo of the event with him in it, just after escorting the foreign officients to their position and he actually had one of the pens that signed the treaty until my Gran just tossed it because “we just don’t need more stuff.”) When he passed away in March 2000, the congregation at his funeral spilled out onto the steps of the large church where it was held. He’s the kind of person whose acquaintences can’t even find the audacity to take the time to try to find something they didn’t like about him as a person…

… And yet I’m positive that he offended a few dozen people in his life. At least.Just by being who he was.

The thing is that just being who you are is going to offend someone. Period. If you’re a Repub, you’re going to offend a left-winger. If you’re a feminist, you’re going to offend an idiot… er, a chauvanist. If you’re privileged, you’re going to offend someone who isn’t. That’s just the way of the world. So trying to live your life without stepping on anyone’s toes is fruitless, no matter what.

I’m not saying you should go out of your way to offend people. That’s Madonna’s job and, frankly, that schtick got old in the late-90’s. I’m just saying that you should stand strong for whatever you stand for. Because if you don’t, then you’re going to look like a spineless idiot and there are more than enough of those in the world right now. Try to change the status quo. Don’t back down. It’s going to be hard but wouldn’t it be worth you to be important for a cause you believed in than unimportant and standing for nothing? I can’t believe anyone would settle for that.