A lot has happened in the last few months, from that fateful email congratulating me on being a nominee for a GLAAD Media Award — What? How? OMG! — to returning to Juneau Monday evening with a 10-lb. award that will also grace the mantels of the likes of Jennifer Lopez and Laverne Cox, among many others.
After missing out on an opportunity to attend a star-studded fundraiser concert featuring Willie Nelson, I decided that when opportunities arise, I should take them, however weird the circumstances might be. So, when I got a text message that someone had recommended me to be on a reality television show set to film in Juneau, I ignored my gut instinct to stay very far away and called the woman seeking a couple willing to fake-buy a home.
Something strange has happened — the real deadline for having a Wearable Art project done is 5 minutes before show time, yet I am already done. I even left the article in the possession of the model so she could practice in it — and so I couldn't change my mind or add to it.
I think my mom is always waiting for me to develop the nurturing and maternal qualities and skills she possesses. Nobody knew I could cook until I lived on my own, even then, my parents may have been disappointed in how these traits manifest. Once, I came home for a visit and offered to make dinner for the family, cooking the meat separately in case of vegetarians — there are no vegetarians in my family.
When I read the list of pre-filed bills for the 28th legislature, I was pretty disgusted to see Rep. Bob Lynn was at it again with a voter ID law. For one thing, Alaska already has rules about voter identification. It requires one piece of ID, or a poll worker to know with certainty you are who you say you are, or you can vote a questioned ballot. Voter Fraud isn't an issue around here, or in the U.S. as a whole. So why is there a bill on the table to fix this non-existent problem?
This weekend, a friend and I went out to dance at a local bar, accompanied by a couple male friends. We were content to dance amongst ourselves, but both my friend and I accepted invitations to dance with another patron, a friend of a friend. His actions that night reminded me that identifying as a 'nice guy' is not the same as being a nice guy.
Actually, I'm a good sport in the sense that I'm a very graceful loser when I fail miserably in a sport (and then quit it), because I have discovered that I have no natural talent for sports and getting upset when I fall, miss, trip, go too slow or otherwise fail would lead to much unhappiness.
Proof of my poor abilities, despite my desire to be one of those sporty and fit types, is in the abandoned athletic gear that has cluttered my homes.
Those are the sounds made by my unwelcome newest housemate.
Beau, the dog, was certain of his presence before I would admit we had a mouse in the house — I'm still convinced he's a lone mouse — but I couldn't deny it any longer when I stared the mouse in his tiny, furry, adorable face in the living room. Beau seems intent on conquering the mouse himself, so I called for him. He doesn't listen well. The mouse took the cue better than my faithful guard dog and scurried back to a hiding place.