Incredibly dull afternoon.

Why this sucks is because I’m waiting for my boss to get back from training to catch him up on what he’s missed today, but until that happens, I have nothing left to do today.  And I could be getting our house ready for the mass chaos that is fixing to ensue.

Bryan is so tired, God love him.  I worry about him.

Someone who works with me has a bee farm, so he brings everyone a “bear” full of local honey.  I haven’t been able to make myself take it home yet, because in the afternoons when my sweet tooth starts raring, it’s so easy to just put a touch of honey on my finger and dissolve it until all of the super sweet is gone.

I am so ready to be in our new house.

I’m ready to go buy a new rug, and a new bedset.  Buying a bedset for a man and a woman is DIFFICULT.  I naturally head to the pinks, the bright colors, the flowers.. no, not so much for Bryan.  We finally found a set we can partially both agree on, so that’s exciting.  I LOVE buying bedsets.  Before he moved in, I’d go through one bedset about every four-to-six months.

People are just raving about my hair.  I think it’s because laughing seems rude.  Hell, I laugh at it.  And, just to update you, it is no longer fuscia.  It is now “truffle”.

I think I may have to give in and have it corrected.  It doesn’t match my hair pieces.

I have a new phone.  It’s exciting to have a new toy.  I haven’t played with it much yet.  BUT.. the high point.. if you call me, I can hear you!!  It’s good times.

Okay, I think that’s about all the waiting I can handle.  I’m outtie.

It’s about to get a bit personal in here.

Bryan will KILL me for relaying this to you.  But I plan to be equally unflattering to myself, so perhaps that will shield the blow.  This story just makes me giggle every time I relive it in my head, and I can’t pass up the opportunity to share that kind of joy with my readers.  Jenni, especially, will love this.

So.. I’ve already shared once, but it bears repeating.. for this story, at least.. that I am not a “farting” kind of girl.  I will never audibly pass gas.  Ever.  I dare not say that my body does not create gas, but I WILL NOT ever release gas out into the world.  Knowingly.  I have, admittedly, woken myself up before when my body just finally lets go.

I’ve woken Bryan up, too.  I’m sure the neighbors have remarked upon it. 
“I didn’t know we lived on a fault line,” said Bubba.
“Me neither, Daddy,” said Guntar.  “But you’re the uncle I want to survive this earthquake with.”

Anyway.

Jenni and I were standing in the kitchen one day when there was a whoopie cushion sound.  I looked at Jenni, mortified that she would just do that, with me standing there and all.  “Was that YOU?!” I asked.  Judgementally, I might add.

She looked at me quizzically.  “No,” she said, slowly.  “Sarah, that was YOU.”

I really had no clue.  And I thought, how incredibly stupid am I that I passed gas and wasn’t even aware of what was happening with my lower half.

A few weeks ago, The Boy was with us.  He had been OBNOXIOUSLY gassy all weekend.  Bryan and I were trying to handle it gracefully, but it was at the point where the child couldn’t breathe deeply without sounding like an on-board motorboat.  And it always came at inopportune times.. my favorite was when we were playing Uno.  He would try to talk smack, and then poot, and the timing was impeccable: “You’re not gonna like what I’m fixing to lay down, Sarah.. FFFFTTTT.. excuse me.”

We had several discussions that weekend about how it’s okay to pass gas, as long as you excuse yourself. (Yes, I understand that this is naive.  Nature and peer pressure will take its course, I’ve no doubt.)

The next morning, Bryan got up and toddled to the bathroom.  Where, forgivably, he let a little gas go.

The Boy was playing quietly in his room, and I heard a five year old “Excuse me.”

The child thought it was him.  I laughed so hard, I cried. 

I am rubbing off on him.

On Saturday, I had an experience I really never thought I’d have in Huntsville.  And it infuriated me that I did have to have it, and that a child was involved.  I shall elaborate.

Saturday, lunch break, Delle and I carted several other (younger) cast members to lunch.  It was a large group of us, and we had finally settled on a chicken restaurant in Five Points. (I won’t name them here.  But they’re in Five Points, on a corner, and all they serve is chicken.  You’re smart enough to figure the rest out.)

I should point out that one of our lunch guests is a child that we have known since he was very young.  He is now a sophomore in high school, at Huntsville High.  And he is a homosexual.  He is out, and he is very honest about who he is.  We, of course, don’t ever think of him that way.. he’s just himself to us. 

He’s had a rough year at HHS.  He was jumped earlier this year for whatever reason and was beaten pretty badly. 

So, anyway.  We walk into this CHICKEN RESTAURANT IN FIVE POINTS and all file up to the counter.  As soon as I had put in my order, the children working the kitchen (and yes, I will call them such) began talking LOUDLY about that “flaming fag” out there that they “had beaten the shit out of” earlier this year. 

Admittedly, again, it did not occur to me that they were speaking to anyone in my party. 

Our friend’s eyes fell to the floor and he became very reserved, which is abnormal for him.  Delle’s eyes lit up and she stepped to the side counter and demanded a manager.  I kept the rest of the group out in the dining area so as to not draw any more attention to this horrid display of redneck testosterone.

Delle kindly let the manager know that the personal beliefs of his kitchen staff is none of our business, but when we bring in eight paying customers when the restaurant had BEEN empty, perhaps he should consider reeling in the putrid filth that the kitchen couldn’t seem to contain.  I’ve also voiced my displeasure by sending a formal letter to the owner.

I just figured.. no, you know, honestly.. I HADN’T figured.  It had never even occurred to me that we are still THERE.  That we are still in a place, in a country, in a society where it’s considered tolerable to BEAT another human being because of their beliefs.  Where we can laugh at someone who is different than us, to the point of making them fear for their safety.  I had never even considered that.  It never even crossed my mind.

I wanted to share this with you.  I would never be so brazen as to say that we should all boycott that restaurant, because the manager was most apologetic, and I’m sure I will receive a response from the manager.  We can’t punish the masses for the mistakes of the ignorant few.  I wish I knew a more direct action to take.

Because he is not a “flaming fag”.  He is a person that I have watched grow up.  He is part of our family.  He is a soul.

He deserves the luxury of existing in peace.