Let us all follow the Christmas tradition* of reading  The Story of the Lesbian Stick.

~

* Heartfelt atheist blessings to all you people who come here and especially you special ones who have given me so much. xo

Let us all follow the Christmas tradition* of reading  The Story of the Lesbian Stick.

~

* Heartfelt atheist blessings to all you people who come here and especially you special ones who have given me so much. xo

Let us all follow the Christmas tradition* of reading  The Story of the Lesbian Stick.

~

* Heartfelt atheist blessings to all you people who come here and especially you special ones who have given me so much. xo

*

Let us all follow the Christmas tradition* of reading The Story of the Lesbian Stick.

~

*This year it’s dedicated to Max. Thanks, honey! You know how much I treasure that stick. xoxo

I didn’t watch The L Word, but The Real L Word, a new show about Real Lesbians, is providing plenty of excitement at my house. My husband finds it for me on the Showtime channel, and I sit back and talk to the TV for the whole 30 minutes.

My favorite Real Lesbian so far is Whitney, a tough white girl with dreadlocks who acts just like a horny stud. She insists that she’s a slave to her “chemistry” with nearly every woman she meets. She keeps saying “chemistry” like it’s a scientific fact and an iron clad excuse for making out with someone. “I have to admit there is chemistry,” she confesses to a needy girl in a bar who wants to know where they stand. In short, Whitney is just a dude whose balls will explode if you deny him sex.

I also like Mikey, a swaggering blond hipster who can’t get over her own awesomeness. She revels in telling us how stressful her high-powered job is. She loves to boss people around and flaunt her tattoos.

The only time I’ve had to scream out loud was when Tracy revealed the names of her girlfriend’s three children: Nickos, Daughtry and Jagger.

Why isn’t there a fine for saddling your children with awful names? I don’t think I could even be friends with someone who would name their kid ‘Daughtry’. Some things are unforgivable.

As long as the Real Lesbians don’t make me watch them have sex, I’m in. I don’t plan to follow their blogs or tweets, or to buy their special Lesbian iPhone App, but I like all the posturing and soul-searching and unusual facial piercings. I’m also convinced that if Whitney met me, she’d feel the chemistry.

I’m having trouble with Being Present. I find that whatever I’m doing, I’m somewhere else in my head.

This isn’t good. It causes a lot of household problems, because I don’t remember what I started out to do. The only time I am fully engaged is when I’m reading a book. Even reading the New Yorker, I manage to think about something else, or just think about myself trying to take an interest in the article I’m not interested in.

I’m still   doing physical therapy for the broken hip, and today I noticed that while I was exercising my leg, I was thinking about my son’s elbow.

I want to be present, but I’m absent.

Is this due to old age, or all the drugs, or the result of the Internet destroying my attention span? How can I learn to be present without getting the tattoo-reminder?

If you’d rather think about Rumer Willis than my existential malaise, try watching her lesbian kiss from some TV show where she plays a lesbian (ha!) and looks just like her dad.

If you’ve been following your celebrity gossip, you know that Brad and Angie sleep in separate beds, and that Angie is a controlling psycho who giggles when the kids cry.

I have a very special secret to tell you, that you can’t repeat to anyone: No one knows anything about Brad and Angie!

As a highly skilled tabloid journalist, I can tell you that each and every cover story on Brad and Angelina is (shhh!) complete fiction. The fights, the reconciliations, the secret calls to Jen, the arguments, the wedding plans, the ‘real’ relationship, the family dynamics…..all of it made up, for   you, the valued reader of Us, In Touch, Okay, Star, etc etc.

Sometimes, when there’s no story to make up, the resourceful journalist will have to divulge Angie’s Shocking Diet, or Brad’s Bedtime Phone-calls to the Kids. Sometimes, you just have to channel Brad or Angie. When he’s away making a movie, Angie is withdrawn. Or else maybe she’s bonding with Brad’s mom! Or, no, she’s fighting with Brad’s mom.

Whenever I read something exceptionally stupid and far-fetched about Brad and Angie (or any big celebrity) I can’t help feeling perversely envious of the writer who came up with such a whopping lie, thinking, Fuck! Why didn’t I ever think of that angle!

I totally admire the writer who came up with this one, at ShowbizSpy, about Angie’s lesbitious crush on Johnny Depp‘s wife, Vanessa Paradis:

“Angelina,” the source tells American tabloid the National Enquirer, “just loves Vanessa’s raw, natural beauty, and has always said how lucky Johnny is to have landed her. “Who knows? Maybe she wants more than friendship with her?”

Genius! Go check it out.

I think I might be the only person in the world (besides Jesse James) who thinks this woman is hotter than Sandra Bullock. I just tried to get my husband to agree, but no dice.

I don’t care if Sandra Bullock is “America’s Sweetheart,” she looks like a man to me. It’s probably the no-top-lip thing, which I am very sensitive to. Plus, I’ve always had the feeling that Sandra is gay.

Hot or not?

It’s an official tradition*; every year at this time, I have to post The Story of the Lesbian Stick.   If it doesn’t bring a tear to your eye, then you know nothing of lesbians or the Spirit of Christmas.

Love and Blessings, SW

*p.s. This is for Ann xoxo