Don't Get Me Started

Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not. I’m out and proud. When I’m out and it’s raining I carry an umbrella. I used to be in but I hate the smell of mothballs. My closet was huge, complete with a foyer, turnstile, a few dead bolts, and a burglar alarm that had to be deactivated before I could even touch the door handle. And then there was the storm door. It wasn’t until I had lived and slept with a woman for a year that it occurred to me to ask, "Do you think we’re lesbians?" By the way, never come out to your father in a moving vehicle.

Now I’ve written a book. It’s not as easy as it looks. One night, I was working late on my computer when a little message came up on the screen, "You are almost out of memory." Here are my thoughts and observations on everything from gay marriage (Mad Vow Disease) to my morbid fear of mascots (with the exception of the San Diego Chicken). That’s all I’m going to say because I don’t want to spoil it for you. That’s a job for Jesse Helms.