5 Ways I've had to Grow Up

Let's see if you measure up to even the minimum of the standards I have set for you

Many find my child-like nature endearing, but child-likeness can only get your so far in life (or so they say).

Here are five ways I've had to grow up.

#5 That is not a breakfast food...that's not even food!

Oh the days when I just opened the fridge, drank from the orange juice carton, grabbed a few pieces of left over Chinese food, and sat in my pajamas watching the History channel. Hold on..I have to clean the drool off my keyboard.....Yeah those were the days. Now, I've quit smoking, stopped drinking pop, introduced more veggies in my diet, and got a gym membership. At least I can keep the History channel, right?

#4 What do you mean I won't be in school forever?

I found out yesterday the government discouraged me from collecting degrees...at least with their money anyways. So, it's the working world for me. Now, I have worked since I was 16 and often more than one job at a time. But...it's the working WORLD. Before now I was some student with a visa traveling between foreign countries. Now, I'm going there to live! I love my job, so that will take some of the edge off. Oh..and I'll be assigning tests and papers not taking them...this is sounding better by the moment...

#3 Why can't I decorate the apartment with maps from Game of Thrones?!

My girlfriend and I live together in a very nice apartment close to the university. We click on many levels, but recently she has told me that having a map of Westeros in the living room isn't appropriate. Dafuk. Why not? It's Westeros. Very mature. I'm going to paint it on two large canvases and label the cities, woods, roads, the Wall. It's going to be freakin' awesome! I can't even get her to comprise to the stairway. Instead, it's the Man Cave, a.k.a. my catson Oliver's room where his food and liter box reside. Westeros deserves better! Fine, I'll paint a geisha. 

#2 No, I want to purchase Sharpies, beer, and movies, not health insurance

Along the line of having a big girl job, I now have big girl purchases like health insurance. That is not what I want to spend my money on. I get the argument for it. What happens if I get sick? Yada Yada Yada. What happens when I need a specifically red sharpie for a project? Hmmm? That beer ain't gonna by itself..it needs my help! It needs me. Who needs a doctor when you got Season 1 of Game of Thrones? Am I right? 

#1 What's this R word? Respon--Responsibility? Sounds like a disease. Good thing I bought Health insurance

Every one around me is responsible. Even the not-so responsible people are tainting their reputations. No one wants to party any more, at least not by my definition of partying (which pretty much starts with shots and ends with apologies). Bottomless pitchers! Strong shots! Chugging contests? No? Read a book and go to bed early? You know that actually sounds grea...wait a second! It's happened to me too. My party pooper side has arisen. I thought I killed it dead. Damn you Jesus. 

Looking Past the Political Smokescreens: What the Chik-fil-A debate is r...

Ask me what's going on in my life...that's opening a can of worms

It has been forever since my last post which I wrote for the Feminist Blog carnival concerning women in film. My life has been rather hectic, but I think those who read my blog with any regularity or interest might like to know what's been up with me.

The state of Kentucky is more progressive than people think. We were the first southern state to pass legislation concerning civil rights. The town I live in was also very progressive during the women's movement in the 1900s. We all know the discrimination clause that you see on employer applications, in restaurants, and many other places. It says that there will be no discrimination based on sex, gender, race, ethnicity, age..etc. I know these ideas seem disconnected, but give me a second.

What I have been doing is trying to pass a Fairness Ordinance in my community that will add "sexuality, gender identity, and gender expression" to this list. And I most certainly am not the one who lit the torch for this. Residents of Richmond have been fighting for this for years. Even last summer, we had an event called Fairness on Main where we filled out petitions, got support from local business, wrote letters, and attended town meetings to try and get this accomplished.

A few weeks ago, two lesbians were kicked out of a park in my town, because they were kissing during a maternity photo shoot. The Tuesday after, a friend of mine spoke to at City Hall and asked the leaders of the community if, in light of this recent act of discrimination, they supported the Fairness Ordinance. As a person in the audience, I witnessed how, in being caught off guard, the leaders said nothing in response to her speech.

The last two weeks, I have witnesses the power of this community who show up yesterday. We had over 100 people show up on a Tuesday night to support Fairness in Richmond. I spoke as did my graduate professor and without any planning our speeches connected. Towards the end of the meeting, several city leaders agreed to talk about it. Those who didn't knew that they would be getting phone calls and having conversations with those who wanting to talk about it.

So, yeah. It's been awhile since I posted last, but I have been anything but silent.

So that's what makes a woman Brave....

There has been a lot of talk around the camp fire concerning the new Disney princess, Merida, and her supposed homosexuality. It started with Adam Markovitz's article on the Entertainment Weekly website that headlined with the question "Could the heroine of Pixar's Brave be gay?" I will not be the first (nor the last) blogger to explore Markovitz's article, but I hope I can also use this as an avenue to discuss how powerful female heroes (I deliberately refuse to use heroine) are often "lesbianized" by media, movies especially.

Put that bow and arrow down or everyone will think you're a lesbian, Merida!

Markovitz's article commits two fallacies; that of hasty generalization and that of mislabeling. Many bloggers have already addressed how this article pretty much says that if a woman displays any masculine traits and shows no desire to get married, then you can bet the ranch that she is a lesbian. Now, in Markovtiz's defense I think that he was just proposing an idea, but what he really did was re-enforce stereotypes that lesbians have been fighting since Lesbos. Even with subculture labels like "lipstick lesbian" or "femme lesbian," main stream society has a hard time dealing with a strong female character. This leads to my next point. Merida is not a heroine, she is a female hero. There is actually a huge difference. A heroine is like Jasmine from the Disney movie Aladdin. Yeah, she does some cool stuff like use her sexuality to distract the bad guy while Aladdin tries to steal the lamp back, but besides that she is completely dependent on Aladdin to rescue her. Merida is a female hero. She goes through all the challenges that a hero (in the traditional, literature sense) must go through to prove themselves worthy. Just besides her challenge involved her mom does not mean it is any less difficult. It is a challenge against pride, self-admission, forgiveness, and the willingness to change tradition.

This idea of "lebianizing" a female hero is not new. It is all over the movie industry. Any strong, lead female is coupled with another, slightly less strong female for implied sexual tension. My best example of this is Alice from the Resident Evil move series. In the first move the tension was with Michelle Rodiguez's character Rain. In Resident Evil: Apacalypse it was Jill Valentine. In the third and fourth one, it is Ali Larter's character Claire. In the fifth one, they are all coming back. That sounds like some lesbi-drama I do not want any part of. Anyways, you don't have to take my word for it. Watch any one of these films and you can see it. In fact, you can also watch Xena: Warrior Princess, Aeon Flux, and Silent Hill. These are just from off the top of my head.

Of course, I may just be full of it, but I think this article about Merida sort of shows that the media cannot help but revert to stereotypes. There is no such thing as a strong, female lead who is a 10 on the Kinsey scale (or at least above an 8 to account for those college years).

This whole media-spun web also touches on the idea that lesbians are continually sexualized in the media. In fact, the first blatant lesbians in fiction were lesbian vampires who had orgies which included male and female sexual partners. Many times, the lesbians in films are constantly accused of licking pussy from dawn to dusk ( just watch any 1990s teen movie set in a high school). Sure, it's great that there are some lesbians who have been the heroes of films but only at a price. Stereotypes are still enforced which take away power from ALL women. It forces us all to fit into a pre-designed box and shipped for consumer delight.

What can we do? Well, for one you can go see Brave, because it has an amazing message (having more to do with mother/daughter relationships than sexuality). And, of course, I always encourage everyone to look at the world on them. You never know what you might see, and sometimes what you don't.

Pride Number Five

Yesterday was the fifth Lexington Pride festival and probably the hottest in its history. Despite the oven-like temperatures, people from all across the tri-state area celebrated the GLBTQ community.

I've been to the Lexington Pride festival every year since 2008. The first year was very monumental for me. I had come out January of that year and just 6 months later I was walking through Cheapside letting my gay pride show to all of Lexington.

Pan the rainbow crowd

It was quite an experience to say the least. I went with my friend Robeij who had also recently come out. Together, we took some huge steps in maturing and developing as gay youth.

Wet homosexuals

Looking back, I can see how far I have come, how I started to realize that my identity as a person could never be summed up in one word, how I deserved more than what I settled for, how putting your happiness first isn't always selfish, and how powerful it is when people unite together for a common cause.

Dance like nobody's watching

The above picture is from Lex Pride 2009. I love this picture, because I remember this as a moment of hope for me. Many of us, especially in the gay community, face such adversity in our relationships. Those of us who are "out" still live in fear of persecution, religious altercation, and societal judgement in general. Seeing these two women dance and show their lasting love for each other was beyond amazing.

After Pride 2009, the location moved to the courthouse due to growth! In a very short amount of time, this festival had some extreme growing pains and needed room. The 2010 Lex Pride also started having local and national sponsors.

We knew him and C3PO were close but not that close!

As I was looking through all my facebook albums for pictures, I noticed that I always caption it with "hot". I suppose Pride being a hot, homorific day is not all that new.

I'm not sure if the leotard is scarier or the hand that is coming to get me

The outfits at Pride (any year) are always a hoot. This particular fella from Pride 2011 was great. From the frontview, nothing was left to the imagination. I'm pretty sure I could have told you what his kids would look like. 

Pride 2011 was an extra special year, because it was the first Pride that Emily and I went to as a couple. This is not to say I haven't gone to Pride with a girlfriend before, but, for me, going with Emily was great in that she got to see that it is possible to create a world where we can hold hands. We don't have to hide behind closed doors or around close friends. 

<3

So that brings us to Lexington Pride 2012. This was a great year in and of itself. We got to see so many people that we love. And, to me, I saw so many more gay parents this year with their children. It was heartwarming and hopeful. We signed the rainbow truck, had some beer, watching some drag shows, talked with friends, rain through a fountain, drank our weight in water, ate great food, and loved every minute and every one of it. 

LeeBroSto made it on the truck

Short Story: Homecoming

When his parents divorced, Jack was nowhere to be found for three days.  There was a search party organized by the local police department, and the canine unit sniffed the nearby woods for any possible scent. When Jack finally returned, he expected to burst into the house finding his parents taking comfort in each other’s arms or at least embracing over their mutual sorrow.  Jack did burst through the door, but instead he discovered his father with another woman who happened to be from the search party.

Jack lived with his mother and made regular visits to his father who lived at their old house. His mother had decided to not live there after Jack told her about his homecoming greeting.  This made visiting particularly difficult for Jack, because every time he went back to that house he remembered how they had all lived there as a family. He could no longer remember the arguing, flying dishes, and back-breaking tension. Instead he made up his own memories, like when his dad went fishing and brought back three huge bass for his mother to cook. Or when his mother had baked a birthday cake for his dad and loaded it with forty candles. 

After going to college, Jack alternated weekends between his parents. He bragged to his college friends that he got two of every holiday, because his parents hated each other so much. The weekend that Jack killed his stepmother was a holiday weekend, but not one anyone fussed over. He was staying until Monday, so he made sure to pack enough mind-numbing devices to keep him from dwelling on the sadness he felt when visiting his father.  He had grabbed his new tablet computer, but decided against it. His stepmother gave it to him as a last effort to win over the “impossible stepson” as she had called him when he was eavesdropping on the phone a few months ago. Although Jack had been using the tablet at school, he did not want to give his stepmother any hope or satisfaction. He was going to show her just how impossible he could be.

Jack arrived to an empty house which was typical, because his dad and stepmother regularly partied on the weekends. A few years ago when he was staying for a few weeks over summer vacation, Jack overheard his dad in the kitchen telling his stepmother how she kept him young and his pants alive. Jack snarled his noise as the memory tumbled in his mind. He unlocked the door and went upstairs to his old room, the same room he had before his parent’s divorced. It was small having only been intended for a toddler with a toddler-sized bed, but Jack refused to move. His dad even offered to renovate one of the offices in the basement and turn it into a “young person’s pad.” Jack wouldn’t let him. If he was in the basement, it would be easy for both of them, especially his stepmother, to forget he was alive.

After crashing his overnight bag and backpack on the floor, Jack jumped onto his bed. He began to think about how he could be impossible. He mulled the word over in his mouth. What exactly does it mean to be impossible? He grabbed a worn baseball from his desk beside the bed and tossed it into the air. As it came back down, he heard the house door open and a chorus of giggles resounded in the Fourier. Jack went to toss the baseball again, but stopped when he heard the glass shatter on the hardwood floor.  Curious, he opened his door and crept to the top of the stairs, partially hidden in the shadows of the hallway. He saw his dad stumble into the living room and flop onto the couch. Jack could not see where the glass shattered or his stepmother, so he softly moved a few steps down so he could look over the banister and see fully into the living and part of the kitchen. The glass was on the kitchen floor and his stepmother was pouring wine into two huge glasses. Stepping around the broken shards on the floor, she crossed the room to Jack’s dad and gave him a glass while taking a seat on his lap. Jack huffed and turned to return to his room. The top step squeaked and immediately his stepmother’s eyes jolted to his position. “Where you going, Jackie?” She slurred and gulped at the wine. Jack’s face tensed. “Now, now, dear. Don’t bother the boy. He doesn’t want anything to do with the drunken adults.” Jack’s dad laughed at himself and spilled a little wine on his button up. His stepmother jerked up and ran into the kitchen for a dishtowel. “Goddamnit. Who broke something in here?” Jack’s dad craned his neck to see what she was referring to.

“You did,” Jack whispered.

“What was that, son?” 

Jack chortled and walked towards his room.

Even with the door shut, Jack could still hear them. He heard his stepmother’s nasally voice cooing at his father and his father’s idiotic retorts. How could his dad not see that she only loved his money? It’s the oldest motif in marriage and yet he seemed blind. All his dad could see was her blonde hair, puffy lips, huge breasts, and open legs.  He wasn’t surprised when his dad brought her home one night, but he was completely shocked when he proposed to her and asked Jack to be his best man. Jack refused, and they did not speak to each other until after the honeymoon. When Jack perused the photos on his dad’s computer a few years ago, he concluded that he hadn’t missed anything but some bird seed and a fondue fountain.  Jack didn’t know how to explain why the marriage was still intact. He had expected it to last maybe 3 months. Three years later, he still had to look that woman in the face.

Jack finally went downstairs when he heard the second crash of glass on the hardwood floor. At the bottom of the steps, he saw his dad passed out, unfazed by the crash. He saw the kitchen light on and gingerly crept towards the mess. Glass was everywhere. Jack put the palms of his hands on his hand and sighed, “Jesus Christ.”

“Not here.”

He heard his stepmother before he saw her. She emerged from the darkness of her bedroom and walked towards him. Jack could not think of any woman he had ever seen so wasted. Her mascara had smeared from her eyelids to the middle of her cheeks. Her lipstick was heavier on one side, giving her mouth a lop-sided effect.  “You look awful.”

She laughed and grabbed the wooden panels of the doorway to support herself. “No, silly boy, you are the awful one. You know exactly what I am, but what are you?”

Jack’s mouth tightened and he backed into the kitchen doorway on the opposite side of her. “You made this mess.”

She mocked him, mouthing his words in a whiney voice. “You made a mess. Blah, blah, blah.” She laughed and looked down at her dress. Leaning back up, she smiled. “So, how you like the present?”

“What present?” Jack smirked. Here was his chance. Now that she was super drunk, he could be as impossible as he liked. Even better, if she said anything, he could just blame it on the fact that she was too drunk to know any different. “She was the one being impossible,” he would tell his dad.

She almost succeeded in tackling Jack while he was absorbed in self-congratulations. Only at the last minute, did he realize that her drunken stumbling was actually an attempt to crash into him. He moved and she landed right on the glass mess on the floor.  “Look what you did.”

He could hear her weeping, but only saw her blonde hair bobbing as she froze on the floor. Her hands were already bleeding and causing an even bigger mess than before. Jack walked around her and went towards the stairs. His dad was snoring on the couch.

Halfway up the stairs, Jack heard her whisper as she bled onto the floor. “I hate you.”

Jack laughed. “Hate you too, stepmom.”

Jack’s dad woke him up the next morning to tell him that his stepmother had had an accident last night and was dead. His dad sat crying on his bed. “I have no idea what happened, Jackie. We went out to drink and came back. I don’t remember much after that.” He began to sob, and Jack slightly scooted away from him and towards the wall. “The cops said she must have fallen on the shattered glass. Where did that glass come from? Were you home? This can’t be happening. It’s impossible.”

Jack bit his lip, pulled his covers down, and sat next to his father on the bed. He patted his back and put his arm around him. “She was the one being impossible, dad.”

Wicked

Here is my latest short story called "Wicked." 

It is pretty short, so I hope you'll humor me with reading it. Thanks!

Wicked

LeAnn Stokes

The door closed behind her, and she stepped into the liquid light of the nearby streetlamps. Down the sidewalk, she tripped on a dislodged piece of concrete and let out a curse into the midnight air. Although she didn’t fall, the impact smashed her big toe, and the blood slipped from the cracked toenail onto her high-heeled shoes. She limped to a bus stop bench a few yards away and pulled her leg over her knee. The blood was already drying and clinging to her shoes, and a pool had formed in the arch of her foot. She looked back to the dislodged concrete and noticed a trail of blood drops and smears.

            She reached for her clutch purse and realized it was not underneath her arm but had fallen into the grass where she tripped. Putting both hands on the bench, she hoisted herself up with as little pressure on the foot as possible and limped towards the grass. She left a weaker trail as she struggled to somehow hop one-legged to the lawn. Losing her balance, she instinctively set her hurt foot down and yelped from the pain that shot up from her toe to her teeth. The pain prostrated her, and she crawled the rest of the way.

            With the purse in her mouth, she inched back to the bench and pulled herself onto the seat. When she looked down, she noticed that the rough concrete had scratched up her knees. She reached into her purse and pulled out her pocket mirror and some tissues. Her hair was not as bad as the make-up which ran amuck down her face like runaway graffiti artists.  She dabbed at her face and said as the tissue just smeared the make-up worse.

            She clapped the mirror shut and stared at the headlights approaching. She grabbed her purse and went to stand, momentarily forgetting her injury. The pain sent her back down to the bench, and the bus zoomed passed the stop. She yelled and flipped off the back of the bus as it disappeared down the congested street. She reached into purse and pulled out her phone. She pushed the power button over and over and then threw it onto the blacktop. As she cried, she pulled her mirror and tissues back out and tried using the tears to clean the make-up off her face.

            The sound of an approaching vehicle caused her to clap the mirror shut again. She rose slightly from the bench, but noticed that the headlights were too small. As she began to re-open her mirror, she saw her phone lying in the street. The oncoming car was quickly approaching as she pulled herself off the bench and started limping to the road. As she stepped onto the blacktop, the car screeched its tires and swerved in her direction.

           

He woke up in a cheap hotel as the sun illuminated the room in hallowed beams of dust and dead skin. The TV had been playing all night, recapping the same scene over and over. He had put a pillow over his head to muffle the noise, but he wanted to see the pictures. He saw her laying on the side of the road. Her body twisted; her mouth in a wicked grin.

            She was leaving him. She told him after they sat up naked in his bed. Her hair was disheveled, and she ruined her make-up with a sudden outburst of tears. She hated him. He could feel it. As she began to dress, he felt that even the scent of her clothing permeated the room with loathing. He asked her why. He accused her of cheating, and she laughed while buckling the straps on her shoes. She asked him if he had any cigarettes.  He opened the drawer of his nightstand and pulled out half a pack of cheap menthols.  She drew one from the pack and produced a small lighter from her purse. He took one as well and puffed in short, abrupt draws. 

            She was on her second cigarette before he began to plead with her. He suggested couples therapy or even hypnosis. After taking a long drag, she asked him if she could use his phone. He started yelling at her. He called her vain and selfish. He accused her of prostituting and giving him genital warts. The curl of her cigarette smoke wrapped around her like a shroud. He knocked the cigarette out of her mouth and let it fall to the carpet. He screamed and began to pound on the night stand until it cracked and splintered.

            She grabbed her purse and tucked it under her arm. He was still in bed looking at his hands, bewildered at the redness flowing down his arm. She side-stepped around piles of junk on the floor and went to the door. She turned the knob and stopped in the doorway. He looked up from his hands in time to see her standing halfway into the night giving him that same wicked smile.