. . . tears for me.

One day you will come
You will wrap me in your arms
Kiss me on the lips
Whisper in my ear
‘I have found him,
The perfect one I can love.’
Glad for you, sad for me.

You’ll look in my eyes
Reminding me of days gone by
‘I wouldn’t be ready’
You will say
‘Had it not been
For my time with you.’
Content for you, heartache for me.

You’ll take me by the hand
Lead me to this lucky man
‘With him, I will share
My ring
My life
My name.’
Rejoice for you, mourn for me.

Your smile will radiate pure joy
And I will remember
The promise I made to you
‘My happiness is yours
I wish only for your peace, your smile’
And I will be
Happy for you. . .

Validation of a Man

As I am increasingly becoming aware of the variety of people who choose to read my blog (although a testament to the morality of our society going down the shitter; however, making me feel very cared about at times), I am intentionally making this entry fairly vague, out of respect for those who may not have the desire to slice open their stomach and display their guts. However, as this has become a function allowing me to process moments of my life, I press onward.
Today, in what could have been a huge setback to my road to regaining (or finally attaining) sanity, saw the cementation of the view of a man that is so immensely important to me. There have been people I have loved, both as friends and as lovers, who have proven themselves to be lesser human beings and not worthy of as much of myself as I put into them. That sounds arrogant, doesn’t it? I don’t mean it to be. However, it is. I am arrogant, pompous, and an asshole. If you haven’t figured that out yet, maybe you should attend one of my special education literacy classes. Got of track, didn’t I? As I was saying, I had a visit today from the only person I have ever completely loved (both as friend and lover combined) [don’t freak out, those of you that are friends, I love you completely too, just not the friend/lover Sonic super value meal kind of way]. In today’s encounter, he proved once again how much of a great man he is, that his love for me (albeit now only friendship) is genuine, tried, and true, and that he is as amazing as I believed and made him out to be. There is such validation to know that the hurt I have been through has not been over someone that didn’t really exist in reality or whose loss didn’t deserve to be wept over. While the opportunity of sharing my life with him as a lover and companion has passed, I still get to walk through this life with a friend by my side who, in many ways, makes a part of me feel safer than anyone ever has. As I have been blessed by tasting love I never thought I could experience, so am I now blessed with journeying along side a magnificent human being. My world is so much better with his existence.
I was so nervous before and so happy afterwards that I forgot to eat for nearly ten hours! I know! I was shocked too! However, I have now remembered. Pigged out on two Philadelphia Sushi Rolls. Nearly threw up. Ate a bowl of cereal. Yes, I feel much better now. You are so sweet to ask! Thank You!

Mathematics

One:
I have been gradually changing my garage (which is unusable for a car) into a garden party room/sunroom kind of thing. Well, it has been so cold lately, that I have only gone out there to put food in the dogs’ dishes and then head back in. I just noticed that my youngest, Dolan, has chewed every single chair of my new table set. Some pieces are almost chewed threw. So, off to PetSmart I went. I got this spray that tastes gross to dogs, and I sprayed it all over everything in the garage. Everything. Including, so it seems, my tongue. Apparently, the taste is not only aversive to canines. That was fun. Still is, even as I write this. Even after mouthwash. Even after eating lunch.
Two:
I have come to new heights in my okayness with being gay. I have reached new harrowing depths to the level of shallowness of which I can descend. I have made Paris Hilton and Donald Trump seem the least shallow people on the face of this earth. I have spent twenty-two years of my life attending school, for nothing. I am beginning the process of getting my third tattoo. However, this one will be invisible. Unless under a black light. Yes, a tattoo for the soul purpose of being shiny in a dance club. Fun stuff. I am making sure to stay away from any number-like figures as I design it, it would suck to inadvertently label myself with the Mark of the Beast. I have wanted a sleeve on my right arm for the longest time, but due to teaching and a variety of other social situations, that has not seemed the most prudent of ideas. This very well may be the solution. We shall see!
Three:
I have given SOME people the misconception (I have no idea how) that I am one of those uber-masculine gay men. I am not sure how they have come under this assumption considering the detail of my scrapbooks, the complete lack of knowledge of sports involving balls [insert your own inappropriate comment here], and my home decorating prowess. . . anywho, the other day, I got a late Christmas present in front of several other gay boys. Inside this package were two extra large My Little Ponies (I had hundreds of the normal sized ones when I was a kid). I squealed in complete happiness, tore open the boxes, and proceeded to braid their mains and tails with a vengeance. Unbeknownst to me, the rest of the men were staring awestruck as the Brandon they thought they knew morphed into a six year old girl, minus the pigtails—not a good look for me.

1+2+3= realization of why I am single

Gonna take a special man to deal with me. :)

Seven Divided by Two

The one thing I have had my entire life is now gone. The one thing I have been able to depend on and pride myself in is gone. It has been gone for awhile now, but it is clearer tonight than ever. I have never been able to claim looks, high intelligence, overt humor, coolness, sophistication, or originality. At least, none on a consistent basis. But, I have always been brave. Always. Maybe I have been afraid of a millions things, many of which are silly and stupid, but on the big things, I have always been brave, and adaptable. Always. Maybe this is the last thing for God to strip away from me, or maybe it is just of my own making and to the disappointment of God. Who knows? But I am no longer brave, I am no longer adaptable. Not like I was. I get stuck. The tears that should be over still live. In and of itself, not a problem, but I heel to them. I let them master me. I do not flow and become other than what I was. I simply stay. I simply hurt. I simply long for what is not. I simply shrink and run away.

The Faggot's Guide to Politics and Other Things Not Dealing with Fashion or Food

I have been in-between books on tape to listen to while I drive for about two weeks now. I love music, but realize when I listen to it on the radio, it all sounds the same and lame (same and lame rhyme, fyi), so I have been listening to Talk Radio. Lots of politics and Dr. Laura. I grew up listening to Dr. Laura, so it is still fun, even when I don’t agree with her, but most the time, she is right on. However, I have intentionally done my best over the past seven years or so to not watch news or listen to all the political bullshit that goes on. Now I remember why. There is never any good news, and you never know who to believe. Plus, there is really nothing I can do about much if any of it anyway. I even listened to George Bush’s speech last night. First time for everything. Must be getting really, really old. I don’t want to like George Bush, I think he has done horrible things for our education system, child, and healthcare services. However, I thought his plan made sense yesterday. It seemed fairly straight forward and real. If we are going to set up a new government for a country, the least we should do is hang around until it is stable. If that is possible, I have no idea, and I don’t really want any more of us to die to find out, but whatever…
While at school yesterday, I read a book about the Hitler Youth. I have never read about them before. This book had interviews with them and some of their victims. It struck me how history is dependent on the retelling. There is no question that the Holocaust was one of the worst things to ever transpire. However, looking from the Hitler Youth’s perspective, I was horrified to realize that I could understand their position. I don’t agree with their position, but I understood it. If I had been raised in that environment, I would have bought into it completely and been willing to be a martyr for cause. Most of these youth did not see the devastation of the concentration camps until after the war when American soldiers took them there to force them to face what they had been a part of. Even then, some of them felt it has been staged by America to brainwash them. What scares me, is that I have a zealot personality. I grew up a zealot for God and the church, and never questioned things until I was older. I was quick to let those people who were sinning know they were going to Hell. I knew I was going to Hell for who and what I am. I don’t feel that way now, obviously, but still. . . the things we are capable of believing, doing, and defending when we are trained is overwhelming.
I also read a part of book that several of my female students are reading, It (shockingly) was very Christian, and taught the girls how to pray for God to send them trials and hardships to make them stronger, have more faith, and be better people. It is true that we should be careful what we pray for. This very prayer was the one I prayed for constantly during high school, along with the prayer for wisdom. I wanted to prove myself worthy for God, to stand under any situation, and never question Him. Well, God answered those prayers, of course. The trials, temptations, tribulations, and pain have been a very consistent part of my life (as are joys, beauty, and wonderfulness). I am sure that teenage Brandon would look at the man I am now and see a failure who turned his back on all that was true and was not strong enough to follow God. Obviously, I don’t see it that way, and am still thankful for those hurts and trials. They have made me stronger, they have made me more loving, accepting, generous, and devoted. They have also given me wisdom, in some areas. At least, I realize I know so much less about the definites about life, love, and God than I ever realized. Surely being aware of your lack of wisdom is in and of itself wisdom. My favorite verse (martyr complex coming up) was always Job 13:15: “Though You slay me, I will praise You” [varies on the translation of course]. I still love that verse, it may even work its way into a tattoo one day, we will see. I am not sure if I have lived up to that verse. I have not praised God through every trial and hurt. Much of the time I have been kicking, screaming, cursing. In some ways, my love for God may be more conditional than before. If God is truly as judgmental and condemning as I believed Him to be, then I want nothing more to do with Him. However, I feel I have a better sense of who God is than I did before, even though I have more questions and doubts than ever before.
And on questioning things and being somewhat controversial, may I point out one more thing? This whole Sadam Husein thing I find completely ridiculous. And, of course, I am coming at this from a hick point of view still I suppose and one that is unaware of all the consequences, and such, but still… What is the big fucking deal? We have been trying to capture this fucker since I was in the early stages of Jr. High. I remember him being presented as the antichrist. We have done how much fighting and war because of this one man? He was captured, put on trial, and convicted to die. Since I could never personally sentence anyone to death myself, as I feel I do not have such a right, I am opposed to the death penalty. However, I have no problem with someone else doing it, so in that sense I am fickle. But, no matter how you cut it, the boy was gonna die. They allowed cameras there to tape part of it (I watched to where they put the black cloth around his neck and realized I had no desire to see anyone die—no matter what they had done, and quickly turned off MSN), who really thought that someone was not going to tape the whole thing and let others see it? This has happened too many times for anyone with half a brain to expect that. Those that say they felt it would not happen or are shocked are either fucking brain dead or complete liars. And still, why are we so concerned about what they were saying when he was hung, how much respect they showed his body and what they did afterwards. This is the man responsible for thousands of murders, for wars, for so much death and pain. This is a man the US has been trying to kill for well over a decade. Finally, after an embarrassingly long time, that goal was accomplished. I don’t wish him to hell, I don’t wish him further pain, nothing; however, I am not going to waste one once of sympathy for his death and what transpired around it. The only sadness for him are the things that must have happened in his life to cause him to be the man he became. Are we going to say these same things in forty years when we finally catch Osama and someone ends his miserable life? Will we be shocked that people were not respectful enough of his body? Probably. We have a tendency to be stupid, repeatedly.
Wow, went off a little there didn’t I? Especially for a topic that I have no real knowledge or qualification of which to comment. But, I am American. Since when do I need to be informed or accurate to have an option or viewpoint?
On that note. I really do feel Brittney Spears is going to make a comeback. She is going to do a whole much more dumb stuff, but she is gonna have killer body back, and a rocking CD. Why couldn’t Sadam and Ossama been a little more like Brittney? Or Ricky Martin for that matter. That would be a fun bunker to be held up in for weeks at a time. Sigh… I am going to dream of being a soldier tonight!!!

Make Sure Your Rubber Fits

The day before New Years Eve, New Years Eve Eve if you will, I decided I was going to go out and met a boy, no matter what it took. Well, on the way to my first stop, which was Diedrich, I drove over a pile of snow. Well, what I thought was a pile of snow. It turned out to be a curb. A curb that ate a half dollars sized circle in the side of my tire. I pulled over out of traffic and quickly got stuck on ice. After much cursing and slamming of doors, I retrieved my tire changing things (no idea what they are called) and proceeded to change my tire. Yes, I do know how to change a tire! Fuck off! Well, the good news of this story is that not only did I met a boy, I meet two! Yep, as I was in the middle of changing the tire, in my fancy shirt, tight jeans, and good boots, these two faggots (and I use the word in the hateful way) walk by, glance my way, and say, “Huh.” Then they kept on walking. The least they could have done was sat and watched and requested for me to work without my shirt on. Assholes.
Anyway, that was not really the point of the story. Today, twelve days later, I finally went to the tire store. I hate going there, it takes forever, costs way too much money for rubber, and is greasy—and not in the good way. Well, I decided I was going to find a new tire store. My old one was is nearly forty minutes away. So, out came the yellow pages and I discovered one less than a mile away. I hop in my car and embark on my latest adventure. Well, I drove past it the first time, and nearly drove past it for a second time due to my fear. But then remembered that I am lazy and don’t want to have to find another one. The place is scary. I might have confused it for the city dump, but it wasn’t that nice. As a true testament to my courage and non-judgmental personality (quit your scoffing), I walk through the front door. Typically, at this point I tell the tire guy what happened and he shakes his head at me and then looks at my tire, then returns to his computer, puts in the data, which tells him which tire best suits my car, proceeds to take an hour to pump, buff, adjust, and romance the damned thing until it is perfect (let’s not talk about how a tire gets more play than I do). After all this he will ask for my credit card and charge nearly a hundred dollars (do you know how many Sonic burgers you can get for that!?!) Needless to say, none of the above happened today. There was no computer, not even a cash register I could see. He looked at my tire and said, “I got two we could use, you want new or used?” To which I eloquently said, “huh?” Is it even legal to use used tires? He wandered into his shop which had a couple hundred tires of varying health and cleanness, and pulled out two. “Which one you want?” he asks. It was a hard choice. The tires did not look the same size to me, so I simply went with the one with the deepest treads; it is the year of the blizzard after all. He swiftly put the tire on my car, held his hand out and said, “Twenty Dollars.” I handed him a twenty, got in my car and drove off. Upon arriving home, and doing a more thorough inspection, I am fairly certain my tires are of different sizes—the new one being a little more robust than my other three. However, for a process taking all of five minutes and costing only twenty dollars, I am thrilled. I will heretofore only buy tires at questionable establishments. I wonder if I can go to jail for having stolen or hijacked tires on my vehicle. . . Of course my large tire will probably cause the alignment (whatever that is) of my car to be altered, resulting in my other three tires imploding and sending me into oncoming traffic and to my impending death. But, hey, for twenty bucks, I can’t complain!
Who knew trying to get a boy could be so complicated? Oh, wait… I guess I did; that’s all I talk about, isn’t it?

BitternessSweet

Beauty Found

There is a beauty in lost love
In the drool on a lap from dog’s latest dreaming
From the memory of a true kiss
The glow of wax as flames flicker
Prayers for happiness for the one who left
In the scent of clove, cinnamon, nutmeg
Recollection of promises never kept
The sound of music from another time
Hope of loves to come or love found again
In death that is proof of living

year of the pig (NOT A WORD!)

So, I figure I should take advantage of the moment. I am not pissed, hurt, lonely, or anything negative. Well, I am very fat currently—even my fat jeans are tight, but give me about three weeks, and I will be slim again. I am sitting on my sofa downstairs, my ‘writing’ playlist singing to me from my IPod machine, Dunkyn and Dolan next to me—ripping apart their adorable stuffed animals. Maybe senseless massacres make me happy. Let’s not look too deeply into that, shall we?
I just returned from four days in Vail with my family. It was a lot of fun. Although, I have had to face a side of myself that less than thrills me. One of the few sports that I have ever been good enough to brag about is skiing. Now, consider the source: Me. I have never been able to spin in circles on my skis, like a certain GG (hate him), but I have always been able to fly down the mountain and never fall. This is especially true when I am with my little brother (he snowboards), we have gotten yelled at by the ski patrol for our ‘reckless’ speeds on frequent occasions. Whatever! Well, this trip was different. I must have fallen a gazillion times. Maybe it was because I was in a new place, that my feet hurt in those damnable ski boots, that it was four below. Or, maybe it was because I am becoming more of an old woman than ever before. The thought of paying so much money just to freeze to death on a ski lift, and slide down cold white stuff, and get wind/sun burned cheeks simply leaves me longing for my scrap booking table, color coordinated ribbons, and textured papers. What am I becoming? Well, at least I will be able to make the skiing pages festive for all those to following in the upcoming generations. That’s another thing… who is going to get this countless hours of investments when I am dead and gone? I will have no children who will want to see themselves in their father’s face when he was but a ‘youngster.’ Dunkyn and Dolan will hardly enjoy them, except to chew on. Oh, duh. They will go to museum of some sort to celebrate the life of this world-celebrate author. How could I forget? It is my gift to the world. Being a humanitarian is exhausting!
Last night in Vail, we went to a ridiculously expensive French restaurant. Good, but completely ridiculous. Our waiter, auburn hair, tall, thin (the exact opposite of my type—I need a Brahma Bull kind of man), but with an ADORABLE face, came up to us, all proper and fancy and began to welcome us to the restaurant. He did this by stuttering nearly incoherently. Turning completely scarlet. Utterly and totally humiliated. Naturally, I fell in love instantaneously. Naturally, by the time the main course made its appearance, our kids were named (Dalton, Donavon, and Savannah), our honeymoon was planned (week in Paris with a quick lay-over at Disney World to visit Ariel), and my last name became hyphenated. Naturally, he didn’t look at me the entire diner, had no idea I existed, and was under the delusion of being straight (the boy worked in a French restaurant, for Pete’s sake, get a clue!).
Upon arriving home, I was able to check my email and Connexion information via internet (that’s right, four whole days absent my computer, no wonder I ate so much). I had some emails from some wonderfully beautiful (or beautifully wonderful, for that matter) friends. One of these electronic correspondences from these efflorescent men mentioned that he is looking forward to seeing the good things that are going to happen in my life this year, that he just ‘has a feeling.’ Well, I don’t care if he is only trying to be nice or make me happy for a minute, I am going to choose to believe it. After all, if so many people are going to put stock in the plethora of Pat Robertson’s predictions of the up-coming year, I can put my faith in a man who is great and only has my best intentions at heart! So, there you have it. 2007: the year Brandon wrote a book, got published, made three million (ok, ok, five million) dollars, met, fell in love with, and married the most wonderful man in the world, grew seven and a half inches, and learned what efflorescent meant! Rock the house, Yo! This year is gonna fuckin’ shake the shack, man! Giddy-up!

smoked gouda and limburger [explicit lyrics enclosed] with a side of belly button lint

Let’s see, today I cried twelve times, wrote sixteen pages in my journal about how miserable and lonely I am, ate six Sonic Cheeseburger, and purged thirty-four times. Hold on a second. That’s not true. Oh, I remember now, I got up early, worked out, ate some bad sushi, gave a massage, played with my dogs, and began writing my book. I even shook my ass to “Man-eater” (just in case you might have forgotten I was a faggot). No tears, no angst, no waiting for the phone to ring. Has a corner been turned? I think so! Course I guess corners are capable of turning back around, but let’s not think of that. Be positive people. Positive!!! Goodness, your negativity is exhausting! I get on here and blog and blog about happy things and joy and butterflies and all I hear is people whining about how the boy they love doesn’t give a shit about them. Sigh, get over it! He don’t care, he ain’t gonna, and neither is that other boy you like, so move on. There you go, that was your pep talk. Feel better? Or are you just confused? Well, get ready…
Speaking of cheese, I really did start my book today. I have been in the planning stages for a few weeks, so today was the big day. I wrote for over three hours. Guess how much I got done. Here is a hint, on my last writing project, about my life, I could have written about fifteen pages in less than that amount of time. Today, I wrote a whopping one and a half pages. Apparently, it is much more time consuming to write into existence fictional characters and give them spunk than it is to vomit all there is to know about me onto a page. The pages are fucking good though. I may stop there, call that a book, and call publishers tomorrow. Who needs plots, story lines, conflict? Just a great introduction is all we really need. Seriously, wouldn’t you have loved War and Peace much more if all it was was the introduction instead of going on for ten zillion pages (because I have read War and Peace—you know, somewhere between Garfield, Archie, and some gay erotic novel).
Did someone erotic? Well, have I got a story for you… Dolan (my youngest) is now four months old. Evidently, this equates to sexual maturity. (And I thought I was early at eight years old, guess not) Let’s just say, you notice a lot more when the dog’s hair is short. I will never complain about having to brush Dunkyn every day again. We have to wait two more months before things can be snipped. Hurry up February 27th!!! For the love of Pete—I had a massage client/friend over and he was scratching Dolan’s tummy and then BAM! Is this what parents feel when they realize that their offspring are becoming sexually mature? I don’t want kids. Of course, I guess I could have them spaded or neutered. Can’t miss what you ain’t got. Plus, I would get bonus points from Bob Barker. Maybe then I can get him to publish my nearly two page manuscript.
I have tried to keep this very low profile, both in my blog and in my life, but {quiet voice} ‘I like boys’, well, not boys, men, at least twenty-five years old (under thirty six [I like long walks on the beach, tattoos—non-skeletal, home cooked meals, diamond rings, constant adoration and sacrifices made in my name, looks and body must be quaffed to perfection and there should be NO body hair, including eyebrows and lashes, if you meet this criteria call me: 555.boy.crzy]. I have decided to come out of the closet, much to everyone’s shock. I will have to send back all the gifts I received for my up-coming wedding to Mandy Moore—well, all but the My Little Pony Dream Castle. How have I come out of the closet you ask? (trust me, you asked) Well, I bought five, count ‘em, five Paris Hilton songs for my IPod today. I can’t stand that girl, nothing about her. Nothing. However, because I am gay (aka, faggot, queer, Hell-bait. . . well, you get the idea), I can put aside all my moral and inner feelings because of a good beat. So, not only did I shake my ever-expanding ass to “Man-eater,” but also to three different versions of “Stars are Blind.” I’d be ashamed if I had morals, but luckily, that option was not available when I chose the super-gay deluxe life model form “Choices Magazine Unlimited—best prices of sin anywhere.” Well, it was an option, honestly, but it was back-ordered, and I didn’t wanna wait the extra five minutes.
So, you see, that is why cats are evil. Well, maybe not evil. However, many of them did kill lots of my chickens when I was growing up, and being close to them makes me stop breathing, my eyes swell shut, and brings on fits of coughing—proving, once and for all, that just because someone can cough does not mean they can breathe. They also tempted the Egyptians into crowning them with the title of gods. Therefore, they lead an entire civilization into breaking the commandment of worshiping false gods. Yes, yes that is sin, just like you praying to your Brittney Spears poster. Oh, wait, that’s me… sorry. So see, just like being gay, cats will lead you to hell. Of course, worshiping cats seems like a much more clear cut case of choosing a life structure. However, there may be a DNA code for Cat Deityization in our blood somewhere. Who am I to judge? Cats also present as this adorable bundle of fur that purrs and craves your affection, then grows into a creature that treats you with distain and claws your furniture—just like what happens to Gremlins—only less water copulation. (which is fun, if you don’t have fur—so I hear) So, you’re right, the verdict is truly that cats are evil.
Glad that is settled.

winds of change are a-blowin

First blog of 2007…
Here is my list of 632 resolutions for the New Year. Oh, wait. I don’t do that. Resolutions are for people who have things to change, imperfections. So not me. However, I am looking forward to this year. As I mentioned previously, one of the few superstitious things I am holding onto (of my own making) is however you bring in the New Year is the theme of how that year will go. Last year was the worst New Year’s Eve of my life, and 2006 ended up being the hardest, most painful, year of my life. Well, good news. Last night was the best New Year’s Eve I have ever had. Ever! TB, JS, SM, TH, and I went to dinner (Mexican food [grease and cheese]), went to JR’s for a bit (first time in six months) and then TH and I went off to a party hosted by his straight Montana friends. I had a blast. Getting to have dinner with four of my beautiful most dearest (yes, yes, improper grammar, you know you love it) friends in the world—we were rather quiet and reserved, but still, just the simple fact of being together (quiet and reserved went out the window as TH and I taught the straight people to dance gay ;) ). Maybe this year will be the best year yet. We will see…
Today, I have been able to label an ache of something specific I have been missing, that I wasn’t really aware of. Sleeping next to someone I love, having their arm laid over my chest, hearing them breathing/snoring, simply having their leg resting against mine. What is that? What is so wonderful about that? I mean most of the time, you are just sleeping and not even aware of anything and are unconscious and drooling. Yeah, because that’s hot. And, it can’t be with just anyone. It has to be with someone you love and trust, otherwise, it is more a nuisance. With the right person, however, it is near magical, instilling a sense of safety and peace. Maybe I will get this experience again this year…
So, as I said, I am very excited about this year, I have a crap load of hope about it and feel that life may do one of those never-ending revolutions that flip everything upside down and allow life to begin anew, emerging yet again from the chrysalis that leads to beauty.
Randomness…
On the way to Diedrich to blog a bit ago, I was listening to one of my Christian music radio stations and the ever glorious and efflorescent James Dobson’s countenance flooded into my car and begin to speak his words of enlightened, progressive message to the wives of the world, of which I have yet to become. He was speaking to them of the chemical reaction that hinders men un-responsible for their natural attraction to a beautiful woman and explains why they are not physically capable of not turning their eyes to the observing of her. He does say that the man is responsible for what he chooses to do with what he sees and keep his heart from lust, etc. I couldn’t help but chuckle (and then curse him a little in my head). I know the Bible speaks of no such chemical, and yet that seems not to bother Brother Dobson. He was throwing around the chemical excuse freely with abandon. Aren’t their scientists who are proving the existence of chemical, DNA, and other such things of which I know nothing of, supporting the homosexual attraction on a very primary basic level? Stupid Faggots! Quit lusting after Ricky Martin’s lips, and wives rest assured that your husband is fully and chemically functional whenever he ogles over the next set of size D breasts the bounce into the room. Just the way God designed those magical chemicals to have him respond.
Oh, and Happy New Year! May it be a year of experiencing the large and small joys of life and love in each of our lives, deepening the connection of our hearts to God, and holding each other close during the times of hurt, pain, and loneliness. Again, I am blown away by all the blessing and examples of mercy and love God provides in the forms of outstanding people (and dogs) in my life.