Living In A Bubble

I sometimes have to remind myself that I live in a world that is educated by nearly every organized religious institution known to man to hate me. I tend to live in a bubble where hatred doesn't touch me, I have hand picked my family and friends, and the idea that my choice of lifestyle inspires people to organize and legislate to destroy my happiness, never quite registers. Even though on an intellectual level, I know that Focus On the Family, Pat Robertson, and even my own mother are praying fervently for my conversion to a blissful hetero life, (filled with screaming children who can't wipe their own noses and a husband who has hair on his back and FARTS) my safe and serene existance continues in spite of the many requests made of the devine beings to intervene and zap me with the rod of desire to procreate and invite a member of the opposite sex to share my home.

YUK!

Because I don't hate men, I think the devine petitions of my mother and her army of elderly Italian women might be working. Why should I hate men? I don't have to live with them, I don't have to sleep with them, I don't have to look after the runny nosed children they have stuck me with, and I can change my own flat tires and call the plumber when the toilet is clogged. Some of them are even kind of cute, which is disturbing to me on quite a few different levels, and if anyone ever found out, I might lose my lesbian membership. The other night I had this dream that I slept with Rory's (Gilmore Girls) boyfriend, Logan. And I have to tell you that the things that bothered me about it were not his gender, but his age (oh my god does lusting after a 24 year old make me some depraved lecherous old woman?) and the fact that I slept with him only hours after he and Rory broke up (which makes me opportunistic and insensitive to Rory's feelings, even though she is a fictional character). Not only did I feel awful about boinking an imaginary person, but I felt a little disloyal to my own partner who would certainly not approve of my attraction to a blond boy! In addition to the guilt I felt of breaking the code of stict lesbian behavior, I felt disloyal to my true love Lorelai Gilmore (Rory's mother, and also a fictional character) who I have actually obtained permission from my partner to sleep with if the opportunity ever presents itself. I think I got the bad end of that deal, because the chances of ever sleeping with Lorelai Glimore who only exists on Tuesday nights on WBTV are almost like my chances of getting married to a hairy straight guy and bearing many snot-nosed children.

But so you see how the power of prayer is leading me down the path of depravity? Work with me people, I'm trying to make a point.

In my bubble, I don't need Dr. Laura, or James Dobson telling me that my chosen family is inferior or dysfunctional in some way, I don't need those horrible radio people telling me that I'm not qualified to raise children, I don't need the prayers and good intentions of all of those old Italian women, because in my bubble, I'm happy. In my bubble, I have real love, not some fictional version of happiness, I've got the real thing, no need to wait for heaven, it's happening right now, in real time, as we speak. I have learned to shut out the hatred of those god fearing Christians and embrace love where I can find it, because it gets me where I want to go, and that is a place where all people are welcome, where we don't have to wait for eternity or Jesus to come back to treat each other with dignity and respect.

Life is good in my bubble. I made a conscious choice to surround myself with people who love me, and I have to wonder why the whole world can't unlearn the teachings of the Church or the Mosque or the Temple and live with me in this bubble of choice.

And hey...we have pepperoni pizza on Wednesdays. What more do you want?

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