Missedcongeniality's Weblog

My columns have been rather sparse recently, and other than a tirade a while back about people stepping up and “Owning their sh*t,” I really have tried to keep a cork in the bottle of my opinion. My own personal take on opinions is this: They are like belly-buttons…we all have them, but there are some just a little too unsightly to be exposed.

Until now. I have had a wide range of experiences in my four-plus decades on the planet, but if I’ve learned anything worthwhile, it is this: Love is the most important thing. There is no “unless” to that statement, it stands on its own with a final period at the end.

I’m well aware that I’m about to: annoy, disappoint, irritate, offend and otherwise piss-off a few people with this column, but frankly I don’t concern myself with that. What I do concern myself with is treating people right…and to that end:

I believe in Marriage Equality. There. I said it. Call it what you want, and feel free to respectfully disagree with me. Because if you feel oppositely, I will respectfully disagree with you.  And I know full well, that many people will have stopped reading this by now, and again I’m not concerned about it.

It breaks down pretty simply. I don’t believe “Biblical” arguments from certain groups and organizations on the matter, because the same argument could be made to advocate slavery…  Oh wait it was!  Now we know better.  Not everyone agreed on the matter, but we, as a nation saw the ridiculousness of people “owning” each other.

When it comes to marriage, I’d MUCH RATHER give the right to two human beings of legal age to consent be allowed to marry and have it be recognized as a complete union.  Male or female, gay, straight, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me. Love is love. Don’t hand me the load of crap asking if I believe whether or not a person should be allowed to marry their dog. Come on, get real, and knock it off. (Although, it should be said in the case of my second husband I’d have been better off marrying my dog. At least the dog respected me, and followed instructions)

And now the cat’s out of the bag. Yes, I’ve been married more than once. I have been given the right to make a crappy decision at least a couple of times, and managed to emerge from it wiser, stronger, and qualified to speak on the importance of the matter. Yes, there will be those of the gay community who may rush into a hasty union and therefore have to file for legal divorce. But with a current divorce rate of nearly (or is it now just above?) 50%, my money is on the gay couple to actually lower  that percentage.

Of the gay and lesbian couples that I know, the vast majority of them are in committed, monogamous relationships. And what, you may ask, does it matter that they have the legal paperwork? To them, it does. It means: gone are the days of having to pose as relatives to one another just to be granted access in the hospital as “family.” It means: they are just as entitled to the legal protection of the relationship that mixed race couples eventually won in 1967 in  Loving v. Virginia. It means: when we broke the barriers of the definition of  “family” by having our country acknowledge that supportive, single parents can be more beneficial to a child than the standard nuclear family full of dysfunction, then we began to open this door.

If Kim Kardashian can spend $10M on a wedding for a marriage that didn’t make it 3 months (not her first marriage either, btw) and Newt Gingrich can have infidelity in at least two of his marriages, all the while retaining their ability to continue to marry again; who the hell has the right to tell any of age couple that they are; by definition of their sexual orientation, unqualified for legal union?!?

Please. Just please.  Hypocrites be gone!

And why do I care if  Larry & Peter,  Jim & Darold, Gwen & Jo, or Cheryl & Nancy become legally espoused?  Because I know them, I love them, and I care about their respective happiness’.  It’s time.  It’s past time. I know it, and  you know it, too.

My final statement on the matter came from the Facebook page of George Takei: “Claiming that someone else’s marriage is against your religion is like being angry at someone for eating a doughnut because you’re on a diet.”

Generally, I believe in “Live and Let Live’. But specifically I believe that you damn well better be ready to account for how you live.  It’s the lesson I drummed into my kids’ heads forty-kazillion times. The things you do and decision you make are your own. You can’t blame other people for the things you choose to do. Unless there was a gun LITERALLY held to your head (which will be highly unlikely in your lifetime), you will be expected to full responsibility for the things you say and do. This is what I call “Owning Your Shit”.

Thanks to ‘reality t.v.’ there are those human train wrecks going through life thinking that they are a gift to humanity, and have no Shit to Own.  And are they truly a gift to humanity? NO. Chocolate is a gift to humanity. Wine is a gift to humanity. Polio vaccines, antibiotics, water purification, art, music and the WHEEL are gifts to humanity.  The Jersey Shore cast? Nah. Lindsay Lohan? Um, like, no. Of course there are those of fame and fortune who have striven to do right by humanity, some more humbly than others, but hey, at least they’re doing SOMETHING. Shit-owning, as it were.

If you park in a clearly marked no-parking zone, don’t get pissed at the cop who had you towed. If the sign is there, it was your responsibility to make note and not break the rules. Your choice, your consequence, your shit. Shut up and Own It.

There is a lot of respect to be found in looking someone in the eye, and stepping up to the plate. Have you screwed up at some point and taken responsibility for it?  How did that feel? A damn sight better than trying to hide from it or blame someone else, right? Right.

That having been said, I’m not immune from this law of choices and consequences. Sometimes I’m a goddamn genius, and other times I have two ex-husbands. My first marriage was courtesy of youthful inexperience and a steep learning curve, but produced two AWESOME human beings…so…no regrets, no takebacks.

In the case of the second marriage,  however, I completely ignored the signs that were right in front of me. Short of having my dead Grandmother appear on my wedding day like the spook librarian in Ghostbusters, I was not about to follow my own instincts and better judgment. Bound and determined to do what my gut was screaming against, I took the plunge with blind faith in someone’s unproven word. My bad, and that’s on me.  I chose it, it was disastrous, and I own it. I’d love to sit here and blame the ex, but that’s my point. Regardless of my feelings about his failings (and there were plenty), this is the simple truth:  my choice, my consequence. My shit.

So what’s out there that you’ve been needing to take ownership of? (Yeah, I know I ended that sentence in a preposition, but I don’t care)  Were you snotty with a sibling because you didn’t get something all your way? Too bad, knock it off. Are you pissed at the food server for screwing up your salad dressing? Get over it.  Unless you have an anaphylactic reaction to it, in which case you are entitled to be irked once you can breathe again.

It’s time we all come to terms with a simple truth, we need to Own Our Shit.

We as Americans voted into office the people who had an active hand in driving our nation’s economy into the ditch. The President didn’t flush this nation down the crapper by himself, he had A LOT of help. Some was before he took the oath of office, and some of it since. Regardless of it all, come election day 2012, it’ll be His Shit to Own.

Bottom line is this: you can Occupy whatever and wherever you are allowed to legally…but what’s YOUR Shit to Own?

As I watched the sun setting over Puget Sound on September 10th, I listened in awe to the sounds of music and revelry, I was overcome with a remarkable sense of peace. Nine years 364 days and 12 hours ago, we as a nation has the figurative rug pulled out from under us. Yet at this moment, I stood listening to the sounds of happiness, merriment and joy on the eve of a most somber anniversary.

Ten years ago, a day that started like any other, ended like nothing we have ever seen or experienced before. Some people who were doing nothing more than going about the business of their day were unknowing targets. Others, who knew the risks, offered everything they had to save as many as possible.

For the rest of that week, politics were not important. We were no longer Democrats, Republicans or Third Party, we were human beings. Everyone helped in whatever way they could.

We’ve heard the tales of the heroes; how the ordinary became extraordinary and we empathized with the pain of everyone’s loss. Husbands, wives, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and more.

As a people, we have given time, money and blood to help. Songs have been sung, books written, and movies made. We mourned…

… and then…

…we began to move forward. Every year we commemorate the anniversary and vow to never forget. I’m pretty certain that we never will. We have been forever changed. People will always understand and know the significance of the date.

But beyond the remembrances, we learned about fortitude. We can grieve, and go on. We will not let extremist hate-mongers keep us down. We will celebrate birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and life in general. We love, laugh and live.

Those who perished that day know this truth; take nothing for granted, ever.

In the midst of countless memorials, tributes and ceremonies I was fortunate to partake in an event of celebration and resilience.

A simple festival of beer and blues music. Sponsored by an organization to benefit music programs in elementary schools, the afternoon and evening were not about tears and sorrow, but about hope and promise for the future…because that’s what we have.

And on Saturday evening, as the sun was going down, a blues band named Left Hand Smoke played while people danced, enjoyed beer and demonstrated exactly what makes this country so great. We prevail.

You can help the Highline Music4Life program by contacting Des Moines Rotary Club, or visiting the Music4Life website at: http://www.highlinemusic4life.org/

Writer’s block and wine shortage are two things that I fear. This week, they happened on the same day. Just damn. So my apologies for the two-day delay in the posting of this column.  As soon as it’s finished, I’m off to the liquor store. My mom must be proud…

Speaking of my mom…

She has always told people that when it comes to making friends, my life is an open book. She should know, having been my librarian for years.

Ok, so that analogy was a stretch…but the point is, I talk to strangers. It’s just who I am.  Regardless of all the ‘Stranger Danger’ lectures from my parents, even as a child, I could not help myself.

My husband has accustomed himself to this reality and has adapted accordingly.

He has learned that if I’m in a public setting with opportunities to socialize, I will do exactly that. He avoids going out with me. Okay, not really, but he has developed an incredible ‘game face’ about it.

Thankfully I’ve learned how to read people and am able to tell if they are receptive to chit-chat while seated next to me at the coffee shop. Especially if they have the good (mis)fortune to be stuck waiting for their take out sandwich. Enter Steve and Rebecca.

After spending too many hours web-surfing at Auntie Irene’s Espresso, I had the opportunity to meet Steve and Rebecca, my unsuspecting new friends-to-be. Steve was wearing a Marine (ooh-rah) t-shirt representing his son Eric. Which prompted me (as a military mom) to ask the standard questions: Marines? Duh. Current station? San Diego. Duty Assignment? Infantry…and so forth. Rebecca answered very kindly, and shared with me the same feelings common to military moms.

Steve smiled and nodded in all the right places (he has a good ‘game face’ too) and contributed occasionally as Rebecca and I shared mutual parenting stories and woes. We agreed that age of middle school is toughest…for parents…and observed the blessing/curse that is known as the digital age. We also risked sounding ‘old’ by stating that the current generation of kids simply doesn’t get the value of quality face time. During the course of our chitting and chatting I learned that Rebecca has garnered the Trifecta of Transition:

• Recent Move
• Unemployment
• Empty Nest

All of these happening to her at once. Add to that an active duty son in the Marines (ooh-rah) currently prepping for deployment, and she has every reason to be a babbling incoherent mess. But no. She’s charming, poised and gracious. I think I hate her.

Again, not really. But I do envy her ability to compassionately listen and converse with the ramblings of strangers (me) while remaining patient. Even after her takeout lunch arrived, she lingered and politely let our random conversation wrap up naturally. Her life is nearly an ‘open book’ as mine.

After final pleasantries were exchanged, they headed out, lunch in hand and ready to go about the rest of their day, leaving me with a renewed inspiration to write and an empty wine rack still to be filled. But it looks like someone else just walked in the door. I wonder what they’re having for lunch…