Where Oh Where Have the Lesbians Gone? Where Or Where Could They Be?

Fear not!  I was on vacation last week, but spent my time cleaning out my empty house and preparing for the arrival of Pittsburgh's newest lesbian, B.  I inhaled enough dust, cleaning fluid and spider webs to bring down the mightiest of women, but persevered in the knowledge that I could spend this week going back to work AND cleaning the house in which I actually live.  Oh Joy!

Stuff has happened while I've been gone.  No, I haven't listened to John McIntire's new radio program — unfortunately, I am at work and it is not really work appropriate topicishly.  Sigh.  So I just have to be content with all the gossip from you guys.  I understand he is a self-styled lesbian flipper.  You don't see much lesbian flipping these days so that's something I'd like to watch.  With popcorn, of course.  And maybe an ice cold Coke. 

Dav-y-oe was on Lynn Cullen's show today.  Also missed that one because of work.  Darn pesky work.  Imagine those foster kids needing homes and funding and services when I'm trying to listen to progressive talk radio.  Darn kids!

Ledcat and I went to see Blades of Glory this weekend.  Hys-teri-ical. Emphasis on the hyphens.  I was high on sushi so no popcorn, but trust me — funny laugh out loud stuff.  Not funny cerebral stuff.  But a great send up of manly homophobia.  Dynamite!

I watched like 10 seconds of news last week.  I did read For Better or For Worse in the paper everyday — April turned 16.  I also went to the Carnegie Library one morning and copied my great-grandmother's obituary. I have to prove she's dead to the folks at the Catholic Diocese Research Chapel in order to get her baptismal certificate.  My grandmother, her daughter, suggested I take her in as proof — Gma is 90! So anyway, I got a chance to check out their geneaologial section which is pretty cool.  I've traced my family back as far as about 1700ish on some branches.  Basically, we've been in Pittsburgh (or Pennsylvania in general) for at least 6 or 7 generations.  I've even discovered I qualify for the Daughters of the American Revolution, which I would love to join just to lord it over my snooty aunt.  But I can't do that.  I'm not sure they acknowledge that patriots sired lesbians.  Oh, blunderbuss!

Ledcat and I also caught a show at the Brillobox two weekends ago.  It was funny, but I felt kind of sad.  You know when you show up at a party and all the hosts sort of talk to each other after giving you a perfunctory “thanks for coming” brush off? That's how it went down that evening.  It is like I am interesting enough to pay money to come here (SMOKING ALLOWED btw), but not interesting enough for a real conversation.  I could have stayed home and watched 60 Minutes and Cold Case during that time slot.  But instead I ate quasi-Italian food and parallel parked in Lawrenceville — to be ignored.  Sigh.  It was probably a combination of PMS and a mood swing, but it still felt crappy.  I think I'm going to keep the smoking/non-smoking barrier as a protective aura for my self-esteem when I go to these things.  Non-smoking venues are filled with people who smile and chat and discuss and emote.  Smoking venues are filled with people who hack, cough, posture and cop attitudes.  Overly simplistic perhaps, but it works for me.  Plus, the mood swing thing seems under control.  I did resist the urge to stand up, give the peformers the old man fist shake and rail against myspacemania.  But only because Ledcat duct taped my hands to the chair. 

That's pretty much the news from Lesbian Central. I have a lot of blogs to read tomorrow.  Sigh.  Plus, that pesky work to do.  And get ready for the great Easter trek to my cousin's house in Dormont. Those streets always confuse me.  And just when I learned my way to G. Street, they move the dinner to her fiance's house around the corner and through three traffic lights.  What the hell is that about?  You don't move Easter dinner.  You just don't.

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