I like a completely inappropriate, over-the-top, non-PC joke as much as the next Sarah Silverman fan.  I’ve got pretty tough skin and even when I hear offensive shit, I’m like “Ooooh man, that was wrong!” quickly followed by 14 minutes of loud cackles.

But the Mexican Playboy issued this month’s magazine with a cover of a woman depicting of La Virgen.  Are you kidding me?  That’s all kindsa fucked up, mang, to my Mexican people and my Catholic people.  Daaaang, that’s just wrong.  So wrong, I am posting the article and the picture here.

Some weeks ago I was chatting with a friend about the horrific economy.  He lives in San Francisco and unlike most gay men does not have one domestic bone in his body.  He eats out every day and doesn’t believe in cleaning.  Well, like ever.  We were on the phone and he said, “I just got back from Trader Joe’s.  I know I know … I went grocery shopping!”  To which I replied, “Whhuuuuutt?”  He said, “Yeah, I’m worried about The Depression.”  I said, “Seasonal Affective Disorder sinking in already?  Gloomy skies in San Francisco makes you want to grocery shop for the first time in 10 years?  I’m not following.”  He explained, “No. The Depression.  You know, the economy.  I’m trying to watch my spending.”

It is not as though I don’t realize the horrible state of affairs here in America.  Even if I didn’t witness poverty every day living in a city riddled with those without, the news is quick to point out how shitty things are.  He asked, “Do you think it’s affecting you?”  I had to sit back and think about this for a minute.

Living alone on a salary that is not as large as my looming school debt means I am well-aware of every cent I spend.  I live in a SFAH for pete’s sake.  I only buy enough groceries that I can carry at a time and choose very wisely between fruits and veggies, proteins and very, very few snacks (those Trader Joe’s Peppermint Jo Joes were an exception, obvi).  During these abysmal times, I am deeply grateful for my job and my health insurance.  I am grateful to have my bus pass paid for and my utilities included in my amazing $600 rent.  But when a girl wants to add pita chips to her Thanksgiving salad and sees they cost $5/bag (WTF?), I can’t help but notice that things are bleak.

For years I have watched those around me live well beyond their means.  The use of the word “need” surrounding the description of a new pair of shoes or the latest MAC eye shadow or even a new car is not something I have ever understood.  I have never been a frivolous spender.  In my working days in San Francisco, well before the reality of living on loans in grad school kicked in, I certainly went shopping on my lunch hour more than any girl needed to.  But now … I don’t know if my spending habits are a product of my poverty, or a product of reality.  As trivial as it sounds, living with so little in New Orleans and being surrounded by those with NOTHING (forget ‘living with less’ … those people have NOTHING) provided me a deep sense of understanding and appreciation for the word ‘need’.  Now I go to work and see patients suffering from grave illness due to poor health choices, not disconnected from their economic state of affairs.  I understand living without.  For years as I saw my friends buying homes with u-shaped driveways and living in a constant state of ‘keeping up with the Joneses’, I never, ever understood it.

My sister’s constant spending is a very glaring need to fill the emotional vacancies in her life.  I, thankfully, find ‘emotional deposits’ in relationships, time spent with friends, introspection and personal growth.  “Things” have never ever satiated my internal needs and for that, I am truly grateful.  I am not an emotional shoppper, and thankfully not an emotional eater.

Of the million things I am grateful for this harvest season, I am deeply thankful to have a good head on my shoulders.  A fairly adjusted sense of self.  A whole sense of being that transcends my spending, my grocery bill and thankfully my waistline.  Sure, the economy is in the crapper.  But each one of us chooses how we spend, on what.  How we teach our children to seek approval and desires through toys that last a season.  Through a trendy pair of jeans that won’t fit in a year.

I have all I need.  Sometimes a sparse fridge with tortillas and peperjack cheese.  A dwindling shoe collection that this recovering Imelda Marcos-in training never, ever thought she’d see.  Maybe all of us can use these times to reflect on how we spend our money and why.  Look within my dear friends.  Instead of feeding the instant need for now, the right-this-minute craving for the new Wii game, get your ass out and volunteer for people really living without.  I promise you that that investment will last for years to come.  Beyond the next style season.

*SIGH*

Not only am I vehemently pro-choice (oy, funny topic to discuss today following my ranty Catholic post last night) …. but I also work in public health resarch and am a future clinician.  A clinician who will never, ever impose my own personal views on my patients.  A clinician who will provide comprehensive care to all my patients, always taking into account their own lives, their own struggles and their own circumstances.

President Mother Fucking Bush should take note:

You are NOT a provider and should NOT be mandating what clinicians should and should not be doing.

You do NOT have a medical degree.  Fucking A, do have a degree?

If you are anti-abortion maybe you should learn about this little thing called PREVENTION.  If you want to stop abortions, PROVIDE WOMEN ACCESS TO BIRTH CONTROL you mother fucking idiot!

Shit for Brains is passing a law allowing, not only clinicians but PHARMACISTS, to opt-out of providing services and refilling prescriptions for medical needs (ALL pertaining to women’s health) that they do not morally agree with.  Alrighty here’s the thing … You don’t believe in emergency contraception?  BE A GOD DAMN GARBAGE MAN, NOT A PHARMACIST!  Don’t want women to get abortions?  Teach your patients how to use birth control (oh right Catholic clinicians, you don’t BELIEVE.IN.THAT.EITHER!!!) Don’t want to refer for sterilizations?  THEN DON’T!  Why is the goverment mandating ANY of this???

… the National Association of Chain Drug Stores, the American Hospital Association, the American Medical Association, 28 senators, more than 110 representatives and the attorneys general of 13 states have urged the Bush administration to withdraw the proposed rule.

My employer is a Catholic university.  Therefore my health insurance does not cover birth control.  Fine.  They, as a private institution have the right to say without the government intervening, that they do not want to pay for such services.  If I were in need I would still have access to a provider who would prescribe birth control that I would have to pay for out of pocket.   SO ….

The Stupidest Man Ever to Walk Planet Earth is passing legislation that “protects” employees who wish to withhold services from women.  Firstly, these protections are ALREADY IN PLACE by the EEOC.

As an example of the policies to which they object, Bush administration officials cited a Connecticut law that generally requires hospitals to provide rape victims with timely access to and information about emergency contraception.

For the love of all things that are holy, WHO THE FUCK IS HE ‘PROTECTING’??

If he fought nearly as hard to fight the “War on Terror”, fix the economy or hunt down Bin Laden as he does taking away women’s rights, we wouldn’t be in the shit mess we are.

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Dear God are you there it’s me LilSass,

I am fearful of our next 64 days.  I am terrified of what that bafoon may do.  I have no idea how bad it could get but I’m scared.  Real scared.  Please watch over us.

Kthxbai

I’m sorry things are all Religulous over here.  I’m tired but wanted to share this neat little ditty.  Uuuughhh!  Catholics you are nothing if not consistent:

Penance for Obama Voters

At least the Catholics withhold their records being sent to the LDS posthumous baptism list.  At least we’ve got that going for us.

Although I said Sunday was the last post about the Jews, I know the article I linked to yesterday also mentioned Sammy Davis Jr. (a convert) and today I’m gonna go there again. I swear, it wasn’t my intention for DGMS to be All Jews All the Time, it’s just that I came upon this article this morning and couldn’t contain my rage.

~~~~~~~

Saturday night I was in line at the most AMAZING.FOOD.BUFFET at the wedding. “Um, Mr. Alex Tribec I’ll take 17 lbs. of Brazilian meat for $500 please”. Wow. Those people know how to do meat. So … I’m in line with a mormon friend and she mentions my secret Jewish heritage. We’re laughing about it and then it dawns on me … I say, “OMG! I can call your people in Salt Lake. They do all that neat genealogy business and they can hook a sister up!” She was totally on board with that and then I asked, “What’s the story behind that? How did your people get into the genealogy business?” (I like how I mention that as if her people are in the car selling business or in the as-seen-on-tv sham carpet cleaning business.) She says, “Uuugh, I dunno. I think … ugh, it started with Joseph Smith.” Because she is too adorable to wack upside the head, I say, “Right” and proceed to turn around and fill my plate with amazing goodness.

~~~~~~~

So today I visited cnn.com for my morning news (sidenote: I hate cnn cause I think it is 1 step away from the Enquirer) and I come upon this article.

In case you don’t wanna click over on that article but are looking for a quick re-cap, you’re in luck! Here goes:

The mormons have a massive genealogy library wherein ALL of us can access their records and see who boinked who that made each of us. I have always been really fascinated by genealogy and I always thought it was the only good thing to come out of the LDS. Well apparently the lovely Church of Latter-Day Saints are using this library to BAPTIZE PEOPLE POSTHUMOUSLY!!!! Is that not the wrongest thing you’ve ever heard in all of your days? Heck maybe you’re thinking, “Oh how nice. They’re saving the souls of the unsaved so they can be a part of that big rave we’re all waiting for called the afterlife.” Right. It is nice if you HAD INTENTIONS of being baptized or if you’re ok with that kinda thing. BUT THEY’RE BAPTIZING JEWS!!! They are taking Holocaust records, feeding them into their registry and STAGING BAPTISMS for DEAD JEWS!!! Jews don’t believe in Christ, folks. (Well, they think he was a lovely carpenter but most certainly NOT The Messiah). These poor people were KILLED for their faith in the most deplorable mark in world history and the mormons are further desecrating these people and making them Christian in the afterlife. Guys, that is some messed up business. I thought their support of Prop 8 was wrong. Converting the Jews after they’re dead and gone is WAY worse than wronging The Gays.

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P.S. X, since you’ve got some history with the LDS, can you shed some light on this? Is there something I am missing?

Funny Op-Ed in the NYT last week:

Skinny Black Guys of my parents’ generation pinned their hopes on Sammy Davis Jr. His was a big-tent candidacy, rallying Skinny Black Guys, the Rat Pack and the Jewish vote in one crooning, light-footed package. He won South Carolina, but he never gathered momentum. In the end, the Candy Man couldn’t.

Whole article here:.  Finally, a Thin President

Sweaty palms

Heart racing

Elated and nervous

We squeezed into the student union waiting to hear him speak. There I stood with my friend’s mother, an immigrant from Bangladesh, waiting to hear the most monumental speech of my life. In he came to the roar of the applause, the snap snap of camera flashes and the deafening blast of Yes We Can! On that cold February in 2007 each word that left his mouth, flittered through the air buzzing with excitement, entered my ears and seeped into my heart. On the balcony I was surrounded by friends and strangers, rich and poor, white, brown and black; each overwhelmed with their hopes, their dreams and his words. This was it. A sense of new. This is our chance. This is what I have been waiting for.

Sweaty palms

Heart racing

Distracted and busy

Tuesday morning arrived and my work schedule didn’t allow me to focus on the news. Call after call, my to-do list rivaled that of Santa’s and not enough time in the day to think or eat or even breathe. The second I stepped out of that building I was overwhelmed with what I had managed to stuff away all day. This is it. Almost 2 years after his words fed my soul, spoke to my spirit, we would have a verdict. The waiting, the debating, the arguing. The mudslinging, the cover-ups, the gaffes. REMs The End of the World rang through my ears. Or wait, was it Oh Happy Day? I walked in the door, cracked open a beer and refused to look at the polls. It was 7pm EST and I knew staring at the monitor, hitting refresh, refresh, refresh was gonna send me to a sanitorium. I carefully sipped my beer, chatted with friends, made plans, and slowly got ready for an evening with an outcome I could have never expected.

Sweaty palms

Heart racing

Dancing, bus riding

“Thank you bus driver. Drive safe tonight.”

“Oh don’t you worry baby. I’m almost done and then I’ll be celebrating with my family.”

I stepped off the bus and was hit in the face … in the gut really. Not literally, rather by a feeling I was not expecting. There on the corner was a drum circle, cameras flashing, people dancing. Tour buses lined the streets, horns honking, lines forming. Nothing had been announced or decided, yet the feeling in the air was confident … celebratory …. jubilation in its truest form. There I stood among the drum circle and before I realized it, tears rolled down my cheeks.

There was no way to prepare for this. I had no idea it would come on this strong. Without a decision, without numbers, people were electrified already. In the streets danced love, patriotism and hope. Hope comes without a tangible definition. It’s a sense, a feeling, something you just know. Up until that moment I was cautious, hadn’t taken a sip from the hope chalice. But in that moment I stepped into hope, and I wish with all of my might that I could have bottled that energy, capped it in a jar and sent one to each and every one of you.

Sweaty palms

Heart racing

Dancing babies, cocktails enjoyed

Many hours after the results had blared across our tv screens and the candidates had spoken, I went back to that intersection. Back to the energy I longed for while I was inside, letting it all sink in. Horns honking, people climbing trees, letting off fireworks, cheeks streaming with tears, strangers embracing each other. This is what I have dreamt of. This is what our parents speak of. This is not a decision, this is a movement. This is what being American feels like. To feel proud to call this place your own. To rally and dance, to volunteer and register and fund-raise. This is what he talked about. It IS about us. We DID make this happen. This isn’t a one man show, he works for us. We needed him and we wanted him. He told us he was up to the challenge, that he’s dedicated his life to service and I do not doubt him for one second.

I have been blessed to be in the presence of our Great Leader, President-Elect Barack Obama a handful of times. His voice, that distinctive cadence has reverberated the walls, electrified a crowd, motivated an historically lazy generation to get out. Make it happen. Stop bitching and start doing. In fact 14 million more people this election than last, decided to stop bitching and start doing.

An amazing woman said to me last night, “This is about all of us, not white or black. He IS America. The son of an immigrant, the son of a working mother. The child raised by grandparents, the struggling working class making their way to an Ivy League. The lawyer, the politician, the community organizer, the loving father and husband. That is US! He IS America.” More times that I can count, I have felt those very sentiments. Those are exactly the reasons why I voted for him and will continue to stand by him as he walks into a hellava mess. To be able to celebrate in the streets with thousands of other people in the middle of an historic African-American neighborhood here in our Nation’s Capital is an experience I will cherish the rest of my days.

Today I bleed red, white and blue. Today I have hope because I have seen it and lived it, more than I could have expected these past 48 hours. Today I look in the face of every black neighbor, every immigrant on the bus, every African store owner and think, Yes YOU Can! He does personify America but I can’t deny what this day means for 36 million people in this country.

Not that long ago they sat in the back of the bus, used different entrances, hell they couldn’t even vote. It is a day no one could have expected or predicted, but as I look at so many deep brown eyes, so many with dark brown skin, I am deeply humbled. Today, I thank you for marching, for praying, for having hope so many generations ago. You DID overcome. WE overcame. Thank you for your hard work, your painstaking place in our nation’s history. Today we re-write the books. On January 20th, 2009 the man at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. will look like you. His is ALL of us but I see you in every wrinkle in his face, every last gray air.

Thank you America for reminding me why this is the greatest nation on earth. Thank you DC for allowing me to celebrate in your streets, dance with your police officers, kiss your strangers.

Today we begin to heal.