Sunday, December 26, 2010

Got Milk?

There's a snow storm coming to NY. I just wanted to remind everyone to get milk. You should probably get eggs too. And bread.

ps-Oh, and whiskey for Irish coffees. Just a thought.

Friday, December 3, 2010

A Blog About Ricki Lake & Emily Vitella

The other day, Lizzy and I were driving into the city. We were listening to 1010 Wins for traffic reports because that's what you do when you're in a band (read: when you're a mom). You stop listening to music and you listen to news and traffic reports in your car. At least I stopped listening to music. Except The Music Together CD from the babies class. Digressing...sorry.

As we drove through the mid-town tunnel, we heard a terrible thing reported on the 1010 Wins. They said Ricki Lake was divulging government information. Lizzy and I were taken aback.

"Ricki Lake?" I shrieked in disbelief.

"Wow...." Lizzy replied in a stunned voice.

"I went to Bucknell with her sister, Jenny." A fact I liked to reveal every single time Ricki Lake's name worked its way into a conversation.  Jenny and I weren't necessarily friends, but she was in one of my classes. I can't remember which one, in all honestly. But she was. In a class with me. And Ricki did attend her graduation. So Ricki Lake has been to Bucknell.

I loved Bucknell.


She was so great in that movie Hairspray.

And I loved her in that other movie.  You know, the one where Kathleen Turner murders someone for wearing white shoes after Labor Day.

And her daytime talk show. She practically became the Oprah of our generation. Or at least the next Sally Jesse.

And then she did a great documentary on pregnancy and giving birth called "The Business of Being Born." I basically planned my entire birth experience based on that documentary.  It was actually Thomas' birth...and my experience, right? The documentary threw Sarah into such a tailspin, she nearly ordered a birthing pool as the credits rolled up the screen.

And now...she's a terrorist? 

What a weird turn for the Ricki Lake story to take.

"Ohhhh..." Lizzy said, slightly befuddled. "It's Wiki Leaks."

"Ahhh," I confusedly replied. "I don't think his sister went to Buckell."

Then Lizzy and I sat in an Emily Vitella-like "never mind" silence for the rest of our drive.


Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Blueberry and Banana Pancakes.

 The babies are in a transitional period developmentally.  They're starting to say enough words so we can sort've get through a day together.  But they're still babies in the sense that they fall off chairs, though they insist they can sit (and stand) on them like "a big boy" or "a big girl".  Or they think they can eat ice cubes and not worry about choking, or they can cut oranges themselves with the knife they've figured out how to get out of the silverware drawer I swore was baby proofed, or they insist on going to the potty even though I know I'm going to strip their diaper off just to watch them play with the toilet paper and flush.  The problem with the potty scenario is I've got two babies, so if one is on the potty, the other is stripping their diaper off themselves, roaming freely around the house.  And, well, guess how that ends.  Even if you guessed right, you still need to push your imagination one step further.  Seriously.  Push yourself. 

And I'm not sure who taught them these expressions - "big boy" and "big girl."  I most certainly did not, and my actions are even more to the contrary.  I still try to rock them in my arms (at 30 and 25 lbs. respectively) and feed them milk from their sippy cups.  They play along for one or two rocks, but then even they seem a little freaked out by it.

Anyway, the point of my blog is this.  On Thanksgiving morning, I made blueberry and banana pancakes for breakfast.  And since that morning, I've been on a "pancakes for breakfast" kick.  I'm not eating them...really, I'm not...I mean, a bite here or there...with no syrup...but I digress.

Today we had the babies three year old friend over for my now famous blueberry and banana pancakes.  She lives around the corner from us.  She's a little older, and a littler more versed in how to behave when there's only one alphabet train to ride.  And as soon as she came in for her pancakes, I inadvertently bragged to her mom about what "great sharers" my two are, "even though they're younger", I continued on, "because, well, they have each other, you know, so they're used to having to share." 

It was like they heard me say it.  In fact, they did hear me say it.  And from that moment on, the entire morning became the worst morning in the history of the twins.  It was like the terrible twos started right then and there.  This morning at 9:15am a milestone was marked.  Thomas and Kate now have a before and an after.

I'm going to start feeding them oatmeal again tomorrow.

Photo taken by my neighbor Patty just after pancakes. Fortunately, we're still friends. And don't let the twins fool you.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Civil Rights and Vitamin D

Me and my daughter Kate.
Since I originally posted this blog five years ago, there have been many significant updates to same sex adoption and equality. But even with the Supreme Court's passing marriage equality for all, Family Equality Council still strongly recommends that same sex married couples still go through the process of adopting their own children.

In many states there is still a lack of clarity around who the second parent is with regard to same sex couples. While it is always presumed that the husband is the legal father of a child, regardless of whether he is or is not, a particular county or a particular hospital may not issue a birth certificate with married same sex parents listed in the parent fields.

In New York State, Sarah and I are listed as 'Parent' and 'Parent' of Thomas and Kate. We were forced to revoke the title of 'Mother' when petitioning for adoption, a point that sticks in my craw because I am Thomas' and Kate's mother. Thomas and Kate have two mothers. Just like some of their friends have a mother and a father, who get to be listed on their children's birth certificates as such.

If you look at the birth certificates of Kim Davis' children, she is listed as the mother. Just stating facts.

Take a spin down memory lane, and if nothing else, look how little baby Kate is in these photos:

Originally posted November 23, 2010:

My partner, Sarah, gave birth to our daughter, Kate, in February, 2009.  Please note, I refer to Kate as our daughter, because I consider her to be mine too.  I was the first person to ever see her enter the world.  And I watched her take her first breath.  I held her hand while she lay under the heat lamp in the delivery room.  She was struggling with her breathing, and I could tell something was wrong.  So I stayed right by her side while the nurses busily cleaned and measured her.  She coughed up some liquid that was stuck in her lungs.  Everyone assured me it was a totally normal occurrence, but I had a complete heart attack and thought something was wrong, just like a mother would, instinctually.

Anyway.  The state I live in doesn't consider me her mother.  Or even her parent, for that matter.  She's got cousins in California she's never met before who actually have more legal rights to her than I do.  I'm the one who changes her poopie diapers every day, and the one who takes her to the park with her brother, and the one who marches around the Music Together class holding her hand.  But some people she's never met in California could take her away from me if I don't pay a lawyer several thousand dollars to help me legally adopt her.

Did you know that if a single mother gives birth to her baby, she can fill out the birth certificate upon being released from the hospital and put any Tom, Dick or Harry down as the biological father?  And his name will appear, just like that, on that child's birth certificate as its father?  Good to know, right? 

When I gave birth to Thomas, I wrote Sarah's name into the box reserved for "fathers," just to see how they'd issue it.  When the birth certificate came in the mail, it listed father as unknown.  I guess the issuing office caught on that most men aren't named Sarah.

So, in order to adopt my own daughter, I have to provide the state with the following:
  • A certified letter from the donor bank confirming that I purchased donor specimen
  • A certified letter from my fertility doctor confirming I underwent a procedure to get pregnant
  • A notarized letter from my doctor confirming I am mentally capable of caring for my own daugter
  • Anotarized letter from my doctor confirming I am physically capable of caring for my own daughter
  • A social worker visit to my house confirming it's a safe environment for my daughter (and son) to be raised in.
  • Finger printed.  I have to go down to the police station and get finger printed. 
That's not even everything I have to do, but it's all I can bare to list.  And Sarah's got to do all the same things so she can adopt her son.  And, of course, all of this costs a lot of money.  I mean, money we're willing to spend.  But I'm just sayin'.  Why don't we just give me my Civil Rights already so I don't have to spend my days racing around getting certified letters and physicals and finger printed. Not to mention wasting some social workers time coming out to my totally regular, normal, healthy, loving, house where my babies are being raised by two mothers who adore them, surrounded by cousins and neighbors and grandparents and aunts and uncles who equally adore them.  Talk about a waste of time and tax payer money.

Here's the silver lining...

I went for a physical for the first time in about a hundred years so the doctor could tell me and the court that I'm healthy enough to raise the babies I'm already in the process of raising.  And the doctor found that I have a vitamin D deficiency.  How random is that?  That's the sunlight vitamin.  I live in a beach town, for heaven's sake.  I guess I should stop slathering on the sunblock.

Anyway, I found this great vitamin D supplement that bundles itself with omega 3s, all in one pill!  I've been meaning to start taking omega 3s, so this is a total win/win for me.  If it weren't for my Civil Rights deficiency, I'd never have known about my vitamin D deficiency.

Silver lining, indeed...

ps-Kate's cousins from California will be here for Thanksgiving.  So they won't be total strangers anymore.  But I guarantee you they won't be changing any of her poopie diapers while they're here.  Again, just sayin'.

Me and my daughter Kate.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Monkey See Monkey Do.

One of the babies was Monkey See.  The other was Monkey Do.  But then Monkey See peed on his costume.  So we changed him into a fireman costume.  And his sister became a butterfly.  Quite frankly, they both seemed happier. 


Monday, October 11, 2010

Islands in the Stream

Atlanta Pride show was a blast. Great crowd...! And our friend, Tim Brantley, sat in for a rousing rendition of Islands in the Stream (video clip to come).

Here are some photos:

Warming up with Tim Brantley

On stage with Tim

The band

Flights takin off! More later..
Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Atlanta Pride!


I will try to live blog this weekend from Atlanta. We're playing the main stage on Sunday in Piedmont Park (on at 5:40PM). I've got a cough and running a bit of a fever, so I can't wait to get on the plane and sit next to strangers (actually, probably Nini & Tony. sorry, guys).

I'm taking airborne and that emergen-c stuff. Did I spell that right? The babies were up all night coughing and burning fevers too. It's not pretty in my house today. No strep throats, though. Cause I know that was your next question question.

Thank god Nick Jr. runs programming 24 hours a day. I'll stop mocking them for that. Cause Little Bear at 3am came in damn handy...

More from the fields,

ps-speaking of fields, I miss John Lennon. What a tragic loss for the planet. Happy Birthday Mr. Mad Genius.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

P-90X & Weight Watchers - A Blog About Not Getting Gooey.

I gained a lotta lotta weight when I was pregnant.  Have I mentioned?  In one three week period, I gained 16 pounds.  I put on 60 pounds total, probably more by the time I gave birth two weeks early.  So we can only imagine the damage I could have done had I eaten my way to full term.

Within about 5 days after giving birth, I lost 30 pounds.  The next 20 shlopped off at about 1/10 of a pound per month.  I'm exaggerating, who me?  But at the one year post pregnancy mark my body did something amazing and dropped 10 pounds for no reason.  I'm sure it's got something to do with hormone balance shmalance, and if I googled it I'd find some scientific reason for why my body was able to drop 10 pounds suddenly while I gorged myself with 1 year old birthday cake across the entire month of February.  Who's complaining?  Not me.

Here's my point.  I've been reluctant to blog this right away because I wasn't sure I'd have the guts or stamina to stick to it. But I need to lose 13 pounds.  Yes.  The final 10 snuck it's way back up to 13.  So I'm doing a little Jennifer Hudson Weight Watchers action combined with the P-90X workout regimen to get there.

Every morning, Sarah and I get up at 5:30am to do a workout.  I thought it was going to kill me to lose those extra hours of sleep in the morning.  I was sure the twins would steam roll over me by mid afternoon, I'd be so exhausted.  But miraculously, the opposite is happening.  I have so much more energy during the day.  It's seriously a miracle.

So if you've ever thought about doing the P90X workouts, do them.  Tony, the trainer, is a little bit off his rocker and talks in all these weird voices that creep me out a bit, but he says some funny things too.  In one of the workouts he talks about how he's 45 years old and does not want to get old and gooey.   For whatever reason, that gooey word has stuck with me and it's motivating me to move forward every morning.

Here's a video of my boy Tony in action.  Every morning is a different workout routine so you don't get bored.  And I'll look for some videos where he uses some of his weird voices so we can all psycho analyze him.  I think when people use creepy different voices, ala baby talk, they're hiding what they really want to say.  But I have to wait until this workout series is over before I rip into my trainer's mental health.  Cause I'm the one clinging onto the final 10 (and lying about it cause it's really 13) pounds like a security blanket.   

As Tony likes to say at the end of each workout video, keep pressing play...
And as my daughter Kate Spencer would say, "bah(bye) goo"...

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

A Response to my Friend @ninicamps' Latest Blog.

 Nini Camps, a prolifically talented singer/songwriter turned blogger - photo by BonBon

My dear friend (and colleague) @ninicamps is blogging now.  My blog entry today is in response to her latest post titled Jon Mayer and BB Torch.  As if she and I don't talk enough on the phone, via email, through Twitter, and Facebook, we will now add cross blogging to our forms of communication.

I feel passionately that her blog post be addressed, and her obsession with the melodies of Jon Mayer nipped in the proverbial bud.

Nini.  Stop allowing Jon Mayer melodies to "hover" before songwriting.  Not because he isn't a talented artist.  And not because he doesn't write good songs.  In fact, sometimes he even writes really really good songs.  There's no arguing he's a very gifted guitar player.  Honestly, when I hear him or watch him, I'm impressed.

That does not rule out the fact that he is a giant egomaniac in need of being ignored, by all of us quite frankly, but most certainly by as gifted a songwriter as yourself.  

His songs are good, but there are BETTER songs and more talented guitarists worthy of hovering overhead as you sit down to pen the next great "Yesterday."

Ahh, let's start there.  "Yesterday."  Listen to that song.  And listen to Paul McCartney.  Any Paul McCartney.  Even the worst Paul McCartney song is better than the best Jon Mayer song.  I bet even Jon would agree.  Maybe.

And speaking of Jon's.  How about swapping out Mayer for Lennon?  Please Nini.  Please.  Please listen to Abbey Road or Rubber Soul or Sgt. Pepper's.  I'm begging you.

Great guitarists.  May I point in the direction of Mr. Warren Haynes, a prolifically talented songwriter as well as a godly gifted guitar player.  Listen to SoulShine, Old Before My Time, or Beautifully Broken.  Warren Haynes is My Reason for Reason...And speaking of Reasons for Reason, allow me to suggest the melodies of Mr. Rob Thomas if you're in search of inspiration (or accidentally blocking yourself from being able to write a melody).

Derek Trucks is indisputably (according to Sibby & me) the greatest guitar player of our time.  He's the heir to Duane Allman, and that's the ghost all the greats are chasing.  Duane sits on Derek's shoulder.  Not Clapton's.  Not Beck's. And certainly not Mayer's. 

Let Patty Griffin hover overhead when you sit down to write (I know, she literally already does, with her b&w 8x10 hanging on your beam).  And while I realize blocking ourselves is not the end result we seek when listening to great artists, Shawn Colvin is ideal listening if you're looking to shut yourself down creatively.  Sheryl Crow's also great for blocking both your writing spirit and your production spirit.

Stepping away from blocking ourselves, may I suggest Jason Mraz.  He's current.  He's a good guitarist.  And he seriously knocked it way the hell outta the park with "I'm Yours" - way further out of the park than anything Jon Mayer has ever written.  Seriously.  Ever.  That Jason Mraz guy keeps figuring out ways to cross over to top 40 radio DESPITE the misery of the record business.  Invite him to hover.   

To all the Jon Mayer fans I've completely offended, I must be honest.  I think JM is incredibly talented.  His voice even kinda melts me.  I just think he should quiet down a touch (he's claiming to have done that already, but he still needs to take it down another social media notch).  I'm not saying don't listen to him.  I'm just telling Nini to let someone else less obnoxious hover when sitting down to write.

As for your phone issues, typos on iPhones are becoming part of the venacular.  Hahaha = Havana, which is always a lot of fun to explain to your lead singer of Cuban descent.  Stick with the iPhone, not because you can or can't send emails, but because you can download that killer guitar tuning app.


Be sure to read Nini's new blog, "In Ink...A Working Title" and leave her comments because comments make bloggers feel good.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Mama's Rebel Rockers

So, @spitfireellis has been pushing me to get the babies into some type of organized anything, and I've been avoiding it, because, well, I always hated organized things.  I quit nursery school.  I quit day camp.  I cried every morning when I had to go to school.  I came up with every illness you can think of.  I'd put the thermometer against the radiator.  You name it.  I did it.  Organized things blew for me.

Until college.  I friggin' loved college.   And I loved my sorority even more.  Oh, indeed, you read that right.  I was in a sorority.  The President of it, even.  GO PI PHI! 

Anyway.  I worried that I might have been projecting my fear of organized things (read: forced socialization) onto my babies.  So I relented.  I'd heard about this great little Music Together class right here in town, and I signed my babies up.  For those of you pro socialization types, It's not like they're 20 years old and got home schooled (though I see absolutely nothing wrong with that, to all my voracious readers who school their children at home).  They're 18/19 months old.  There's still plenty of time to figure out how to play nice in the sandbox. 

As many of you know, I've got two little tykes.  They've got some opinions.  And they're just moving off two naps a day.  In fact, some days they still take two naps.  In double fact, most days they still take two naps-ish (if you call the afternoons where I watch them on the baby cam stripping their clothes off, jumping up and down across from each other while howling laughing in their cribs a nap).

Said Music Together class falls smack in the middle of their first nap time.  The one that they no longer, technically, take.  But since @spirtfireellis was no longer accepting the "nap excuse" from me, off we went to "music school," as I have been referring to it when speaking to the babies to prepare them for their first class.

"Coolbutts mama?" Thomas asks, whenever I tell him he's going to music school.  "Coolbutts" means school bus, and he's obsessed with them and knows you ride in one when you go to school.  And I say, "No Thomas.  Aunt Cappy's coming with you though."

And then both babies say, "OHHHHHH, CCCCAAAAAPPPPPPYYYYYYY."

All kids, at least in my family, LOVE Aunt Cappy.  And let's be honest, what's not to love?

We walk into class, remove our shoes, and see this lady wearing a guitar.  Thomas turns to me puzzled and says, "Nini?" He's wondering who this Nini imposter is wearing the guitar.  And I look at him equally puzzled that he wouldn't ask, "mama?", but instead asks, "Nini?"  And now Kate is repeating, "NeeeeNeeee, NeeeeNeeee," and I really don't want to explain to the Music Together lady my who life story so I just pretend my kids are making up words, because you can do that with the name Nini.  Sorry Neenz, but you kinda can.

Thomas refuses to ever sit down.  Kate refuses to ever move off Aunt Cappy's lap, so she's a no go on the marching moment.  Thomas wants the decorative train perched upon the highest shelf in the joint.  Kate refuses to give the drum and mallets back.  Thomas keeps heading to the door saying, "bye," long before class is over. 

Seriously.  I don't know if I projected it onto them, or if it was nap time, or what the deal was.  All the other moms/caretypes and especially the teacher, were totally cool about it, and neither of my kids were full blown melt down disasters.  But they were, hands down, the rustiest at partaking in the organized-ness of the class.

By the end of our 45 minutes, Thomas did high five the teacher, he did find the cutest girl in the class and follow her around, and he did walk around screaming "HI" to everyone in the room (granted, at the top of his lungs during inappropriate moments while the teacher was singing).  And Kate did eventually return the drum and mallets (granted, only in exchange for two stickers).

Upon exiting the buidling with Katie in my arms, she looked at me and said, "Mama, nigh nigh," which translates into "Mama, night night," which translates into "I need my nap, NOW, Mama."

One thing I do know.  Babies are not supposed to tell YOU when they need to nap...

So.  We will return next week.  We will pray the transition from 2 naps to 1 is closer to being accomplished.  And I'm secretly happy that my two little muffin heads were the biggest Rebel Rockers at the Music Together class.  But DO NOT tell them I said so...cause they're going to need to figure this socialization stuff out before mama blasts off on a big tour!  Home schooling on the bus in NOT an option!


ps-Nini's got a new blog.  Go read it. 

Friday, September 10, 2010

An Official Statement from the Office of Kristen Henderson.

 A photo of Kristen in her office being interupted at work by her sister, Cathy.

I woke up this morning compelled to make this public proclamation. 

October is my favorite month of the year.

I will lay forth my reasoning in an effort to pre-empt the hysteria that will likely ensue in the comments section of this blog. 

October is neither too hot or too cold.  This means people cover up enough of their bodies with clothing so that we don't have to see things we never wanted to see in the first place, but we don't have to bust out heavy duty parkas.  I always wanted to use the word parka in one of my blogs.

Like toes, for example.  All summer long I am forced to look at peoples toes, and many of you don't really take care of business the way you should.  Toe nails shouldn't be too long, people.  They also shouldn't be too short or non existent.  And I shouldn't know that they are.  In October, your toes are covered.  Thank you for this, October.  

And thighs.  And belly buttons.  Unless you're, ya know, on TV where you've surgically altered yourself to look outstanding, I prefer not to see it, #TBT.

The leaves are changing, but they haven't completely fallen off the trees.  So it's not a mess and it looks really pretty.

October smells good.  You can still barbeque and sit out on your porch.  You don't sweat to death doing so.  Sea Cliff has an amazing mini mart that rocks.  Pumpkins.  And Halloween.


I blogged.  I'm back.


If you can guess what TBT is an acronym for, I'll send you something free from the Antigone Rising online store.  Maybe.  Depending on how many of you guess right.  Good luck.


Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Proof is in the Dry Humping. The Bachelorette Blog.

Who are we kidding?  I'm watching The Bachelorette.  Of course I am.  Is it sucky reality TV?  Then of course I've got it on the DVR list.  Judge me.  Don't judge me.  Whatev.  I'm watching it.

I go into these shows knowing full well they're scripted, or at least....steered....a certain way.  I mean, the ex-girlfriend happens to have a camera in her apartment when one of the bachelors calls her from the bachelor pad?  What are the chances of that?  But I just suspend disbelief for the hour, pull out my spoon (or "poon" as some people call it in my house), and eat it up.

This blog is not intended to be a social commentary on the Bachelor/Bachelorette.  It's just to say that if you are watching, and admit it, you kind of are, she's clearly going with Roberto and moderately-shlubby Chris will be the next Bachelor.  Right?

And when I say moderately-shlubby, I mean he's a bit-awkward-not-that-good-of-a-kisser-from-what-I-can-see-on-the-tv-but-still-sorta-handsome-and-bohunky.  I personally think he's good lookin', and if I were the bachelorette, which I am not (for obvious reasons), he'd be my pick.  Especially since he lives on Cape Cod (free place to stay during women's week for me and my posse, sorry Chris...). 

If I really think about it, Chris is so the guy whose last girlfriend broke his heart and "turned gay," right?  That's such a whole other blog that I'll just stop right there.  But remind me of that when my blog welleth run dry.  There's a guy type that dates girls just before they become lesbians.  It's true.  And Chris L. is that type.  #thisdoesnotmakealialesbian-ordoesit? 

Seriously.  On that last episode, I thought the Bachelorette could have been impregnated under the water in Tahiti.  She and Roberto were dry-humping pretty....intensely...through their bathing suits.  Hah!  Nasty to type, but true nonetheless.  Does it even qualify as dry-humping if they're under water in wet bathing suits?   I just think that ups the odds of getting preg.  And I'm a bit of an expert on fertility issues my book, Times Two, out April, 2011 (Free Press). 

All I'm saying is that Bachelor Chris wasn't getting any dry humping.  And according to my rule, the one getting the most dry humping wins.  They should probably edit out dry hump scenes if they don't want me to blog spoil the ending for them.  Silly, ABC. 

So I'm calling it and wrecking it for all you faithful watchers (are you still denying that you're watching it?).

Ali with Roberto.  Chris L. is the next Bachelor.  The proof is in the dry humping. 

See you at the finish line.


Friday, July 16, 2010

There's a Dent in my Leg.

I've heard it's good form to every now and again follow up on an old blog post with whatever the latest is on a particular story you may have blogged about.  So, here's my attempt on an update to a blog post titled Sleep Deprivation and the Bed, Bath and Beyond.

A few months ago I posted about an incident that occurred to me in the parking lot of Bed, Bath and Beyond.  Do some of you remember that post?  I bet you don't remember it as much as I do.  For those of you who did not read the post, you can click this link and read it now.  And for those of you who did read the story but would like to freshen up on it, you can go ahead and click on that link too.

Ok.  So.  The other day I went clothes shopping.  Some of you know about this, because I was tweeting from the stores.  New everything.  The main objective of the shopping extravanganza was "clothes that fit".  No, I haven't given up on losing the last 5 pounds (I haven't @ninicamps, I swear).  But I have given up on trying to squeeze myself into "last years shorts, Mr. Henderson."

That quote is a family joke.  I know I'm not Mr. Henderson.  But my brother is.  And his 3rd grade teacher once humiliated him in front of his entire class by asking him if he was wearing last year's shorts.  Because, obviously, the shorts he had on seemed a little tight.  I'm letting him relive the humiliating experience all over again in my blog.  Sorry, Tommy.  That teacher was a full on hag and if I ran into her on the street today, I'd punch her for saying that to my little brother.  And the next time I see you, I expect you'll punch me for putting that story into my blog.

Anyway, shorts that fit were my objective.  While at J. Crew trying on a pair of shorts that did fit, I noticed this weird line across my leg.  It was....a dent.  Aghast, I thought....cellulite?  I gained an awful lot of weight while pregnant, and I've taken it all off ('cept those last 5 that I keep hawin' about).  For those of you who have gained and lost weight, well, you know that leaves your body in a weird way.  Things start showing up places you'd never expect.  Skin gets loose.  It's just...well...your body's just not the same.  So this dent, literally...a my leg...really threw me for a loop.  I chalked it up to being caused by the massive gain and eventual loss of weight stemming from the birth of the boy - heavenly hunk of deliciousness that he is.  I'd suffer 50 more dents to have him.  But still.  A dent? 

Until a few days later as I was pulling into the Whole Foods parking lot.  It happens to share a parking lot with Bed, Bath and Beyond.  The very same Bed, Bath and Beyond I took a tumble in, for lack of a better description.  As I pulled into the lot, I recalled that tumble and - BAM! - a light bulb went off in my head.

THE DENT!  It's not from being fat and then being skinny-ish ('cept for those last 5lbs) again!  It's from SLAMMING FULL FORCE INTO THE BACK BAR OF THIS VERY GROCERY CART COLLECTOR PHOTOGRAPHED HERE IN THIS BLOG!
And to think!  I was headed to Whole Foods to healthy food shop for things to combat my newly discovered cellulite thigh!  Actually, the dent in my leg had nothing at all to do with the aforementioned cellulite.  It's not cellulite at all!  It's just....A DENT IN MY LEG CAUSED FROM SPRINTING DIRECTLY INTO A METAL BAR.  


I have a dent in my leg?  Will it go away?  Is it dangerous?


 ps-I have not ruled out that the dent in my leg is actually a dent in some sort of non-cellulite-ish fatty tissue.  Even though my leg isn't really fat.  There must be fat in there, right?  I really don't know.  Are there any phys. ed. or trainer type people reading this blog who can delicately and expertly explain to me what this dent in my leg actually is?

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Everybody's Pretty Pissed About Lilith.

I've been reading some extremely hairy reviews on Lilith Fair.  And when I say hairy, I mean not so good.  As a longtime fan of Sarah's - I mean, does anyone not like Sarah? - I'm bummed for her.  I think what she and the Fair did for women in music in the late 90s was pretty g-damn awesome.

But alas, here we are over 10 years later.  And the Fair, from what I'm reading, is a bit of a tour-tanic.  So, let's pretend for a moment that we're the promoters of this event and it's our shirts that are being lost.  Economy aside, what do you think is going wrong?

Here are a few of my thoughts in no particular order:

-Not enough Indigo Girls.  Let's be honest.  You need Indigos more than Sarah to make it feel like a festival, and they're only on 3 dates this year.  #FAIL.  Amy Ray brings the camaraderie.  I've been on enough female bills (including Lilith) to know that girls don't play nice together backstage.  Caddy.  Trust me.   Amy makes sure everyone plays nice and comes out singing "Midnight Train to Georgia" together at the end.  No Amy = No good.

-Not enough really hot-right-this-second names on the bill like PINK.  Or like Rihanna.  Or like Miley (eek, that's promoter Kristen talking, not regular Kristen).  Or, d'uh - GAGA!  Or GAGA and Beyonce - TOGETHER!  Who else?  There must be about 100 others I'm not thinking of.

-They need to get a really hot reunion of some sort on the bill.  Like...thinking, thinking....Destiny's Child could have been interesting.  I mean.  Not that interesting to me, personally.  But maybe to people who buy tickets.  Or....Fleetwood Mac on Lilith could've been cool.  Not that Lilith is lacking in the "people-over-40-who-wear-pleated-khaki-shorts" demographic.  OH.  I've got it!  THE RUNAWAYS.  That would have been an AMAZING reunion and OH SO TIMELY.

-Change the name, but make sure it's marketed as something born out of Lilith Fair.  Like, hmm.    Lil-ish Fair.  Alright, we need to work on alternate names.  But Lilith feels, well, a little too BeBe Newirth to me.  And when I say that, I mean tired.  It yawn.

-What if you put some BOYS on the dates.  Whoa, I know.  Call me crazy as a loon, but, what pisses us female artists off the most is how exclusive the boys clubs are.  They've got room for only one female artist on a festival, or one female artist in the rotation at a radio station.  What if the new "Lil-ish" INCLUDED instead of EXCLUDED and put one or two guy-like artists on the bill, just for shitz and ticket sales.  Sarah can come out to sing a few songs with them to make it feel Lilithy.  Oh, I do hear the naysayers already.   The whole point of the festival is to give the girls their one place on planet Earth to go be in a festival without feeling excluded.  BUT AT LILITH REDUX WE NEED TO CHANGE SOME OF THE OLD RULES.  Work with me, people.  We're trying to sell tickets to a festival.  The only thing we have to fear is fear itself, not boys on festival bills.

Seriously, though.  I want you to imagine what dudes would be willing to play the festival...hmmm.  Oh, I just thought of a GREAT ONE!  Adam Lambert!  He'd KILL IT at Lilith.  And you know he'd be so down to do it.  And then he and GAGA can sing a duet!  Whooooop.  I'm loving this new Lil-ish Fair!     

-Ok.  Here's my last change.  And I know I could get tarred and feathered for even uttering this.
Drum roll please..........Don't make Sarah headliner. (LOUD GASP!) 

I know, I know.  Blaspheme.  But if you rename it, and have Sarah perform on the main stage earlier for some of the dates, or even have her play the more intimate 2nd stage solo with just her piano on other dates, wouldn't that be a nice change of pace?  It sure seems like a lot to make Sarah carry the mother lode on her shoulders when she's 10+ years past her...well...biggest years...I say delicately and with boat loads of respect.  

Alright.  I'm done thinking about this.  And I'm wondering what you all think?  Did you go?  Did you like it?  Did it piss you off when people who paid $50 were now sitting next to you in your $250 seats?

Bark back.

Back Stage Lilith Fair 1998:
That's Garrison Starr and me kneeling down in the front meeting for the first time.  Garrison now co-writes with Antigone Rising on a regular basis.  You just never know who you're kneeling next to anymore, right?  Please note, Amy Ray (upper left) invited AR to join everyone on stage for "Midnight Train To Georgia" moments after this photo was snapped.  

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Move That Bus, Webisodes Past...

We're culling our video footage from the past several shows and mentally gearing up to edit another webisode of "Move That Bus."  In the meantime, catch up on a few of the most recent ones you may have missed so you're all up to date!

Episode 5 is  when we rocked the Cherry Lane 50th Anniversary Party. 

Episode 4 is the Bandanagate webisode.  If you don't know what that means, then you just need to watch: 


Tuesday, June 29, 2010



Oh, the day after Pride.  Whoops.  Make that two days after Pride.  So sad when it's over, really.  It's Christmas for gay people.  Seriously.  Make some noise.   

So here are a few more photos I never got around to posting.  I miss it already, don't you...?

 Look closely at this shot.  That's just people for blocks and blocks and blocks.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  You could have walked on heads and never touched the ground all the way from the stage until you were ordering mozarella sticks at an outdoor table at the Bus Stop Cafe.  True story, make some noise.

 These are two of my very best friends with one of my other very best friend's.  Leslie Bell, Patty Bell, and @ninicamps (in her Pride tie).  I love the Bells and I love @ninicamps, so I like that their photo can be included in the Day After the Day After wrap up Blog.

@ninicamps was especially struck by the absurdity of this photo-op.  Just beyond the sign were the sea of people photographed in the top shot.  I mean, it was quite obvious which way the PrideFest was.  But evidently it was somebody's job to hang that sign.  Quite needlessly.

  @anthonysrecords (or Tony), the band's stage manager and tech.  He's our everything.  Without him this past Sunday, we'd have been lost souls.  We're just so grateful our Tony keeps showing up.  Antigone Rising <3 Tony.  Period.   

 The following shots were sent to me by @Diane.  I love when she sends me photos.  Because then I post them to my blog.  #rock.  Make some noise.

This first shot is of @TheBird.  I'm trying to figure out what song she's playing.  Hmm.  I can't tell.  I wonder if she can...

This next shot is of me.  Oh.  And Nini and Sib too.  They sure do get tons of airtime on my blog.  It'd be nice if they started their own blogs and gave ME a little airtime for a change, don'tcha think?  It's time for a spin-off blog, bandmates.  Like when Hello, Larry spun off of Dif'rent Strokes.  Or Maude spun off of All in the Family.  Tap, tap, tap.  Is this thing on?  Private Practice Grey's Anatomy, anyone?  

Healthy eaters.  Indeed, they are...I mean, if they post it, it must be true. 

Have photos from Pride you'd like to share with "Hangin' With Hendo?"  Send them along and if we don't look too fat in them, maybe we'll post them...Though I think we've officially beaten the shit out of Pride 2010.


ps.  One more shot.  This is Bird getting an open container citation.  Oh, wait.  No, it's not.  This is Bird with her cop friend.  But let's pretend it's Bird getting an open container citation.  She's SO bad ass.  Make some noise!   

pss. Vanessa Valtre, the female impersonator who emceed our stage, used the expression "Make some noise" several times during her introduction of the band.  She remained graceful under tremendous pressure, as our intro. dragged on (no pun intended) quite a bit due to techncial difficulties.  Frankly, she was awesome.  Make some noise.


Sunday, June 27, 2010

The End

Pride was awesome! Nini is officially a free shit 'ho'!

Wachovia and The Grapes Council need to pay @ninicamps.

In defense of her visor, Nini says, "it keeps the sun off my face."

For real.

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Make some noise!



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Hendos with Lt. Dan Choi

Major Pride Moment:
Hendos with Lt. Dan Choi!

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Purple Balloons!




That's really Cher!

And that's really Sibby:

and this is really our posse!

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NYC Pride

We're getting along much better backstage at this Pride event. Just sayin':


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NYC Pride Live Blog Starts Now!

After a brief and unsuccessful altercation with a police officer who would not let us pull the van up to the stage, we are now parked where we need to be...

Pride starts NOW!
Mainstage mayhem:

Backstage shenanigans:


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Friday, June 25, 2010

I think I Made this Word Up.

So.  One day I was vacationing with Sarah and friends in this little enclave in Maine.  I can't remember the name of the town, because I forget things regularly now.  But I bet some of you will know the name of it.  We stayed at a Bed & Breakfast that named rooms after gay celebrities.  We were in the Jodie Foster Suite.  I swear to god.  They had a framed photo of her up in our room.  It was.  I mean.  I can't even.

Anyway.  It was a beautiful summer beach town and we were with friends.  Does that last sentence require any commas?  We might not have stayed in the nicest place in town, but it was only one night.  We ate lobsters, we laughed, we were just happy to be together, regardless of the damp framed photos of Jodie and Lilly Tomlin hanging in our rooms.  As we sat on the water drinking cocktails, we reminisced about early friendships we'd all had.  You know.  Before we realized we were gay.  As we compared stories, we found we had something in common.  Just prior to our first gay relationship, we all had an extremely intense "friendship" with a woman that ended with a big, disastrous, friendship-ending, blow out of a fight.  We could barely recall what the friendship-ending, blow out of a fight was even about all these years later.  All we could remember was that the next thing we knew, we were all gay.

Isn't that funny?  All four of us had the same experience!

So, I decided to start calling that friendship, the one just before your first gay relationship that ends with a disastrous and dramatic blow up, a fresbian relationship.

So as not to alienate all of my straight readers, it's possible to be straight and have a fresbian relationship.  Or is that alienating you even more?  Regardless, to all my straight readers, think back...maybe you've been a fresbian to someone!  Tell us all about it here in the comments section of 'Hangin' With Hendo!'

I don't want to hear that you and your friends came up with that word already.  Because you didn't.  I did.  And I even submitted my definition to Urban, where they have other, albeit incorrect, definitions of the term fresbian.  So, I am asking all of you to click on the link I will provide at the bottom of this blog, and go give MY definition a thumbs up.  I input my definition using a fake name.  I'm not sure why I did that.  But I did.  My fake name is BoysOnTheSide, after the movie that was chock full of fresbians.  So go on and give my definition a thumbs up.


Happy (NYC) Gay Pride Weekend,

fyi, my definition as it reads on

Fresbian defines the intense friendship a lesbian has with her girl friends before realizing she is actually a lesbian. A fresbian relationship usually ends with an intense, and somewhat irrational blow up or break up of the friendship.
Jane couldn't understand the jealous feelings she had when her best friend, Carly, went with Jason to the prom. She was so upset by it, she drove to the prom, made a scene and ended their friendship. It wasn't until four years later when Jane was finally in a lesbian relationship with Dawn that she understood she had been in an intense fresbian relationship with Carly.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Am I Late to the Shaker Weight Party?

So, last night after tucking the muffins into their cribs, I was all ready to settle into my comfy, petroleum based (shame on me), tempurpedic bed when the phone rang.  It was our editor calling to talk to Sarah about some revisions to the second draft of the book (Times Two, due out April, 2011 - shameless plug).  I told Sarah to have the conversation in our bedroom, and I'd just go down to the living room and watch TV until they were done.  I assumed, what?  Twenty minutes?  Turned out to be 140 minutes, but that's a different blog... 

I clicked on the tube and landed on one of my guiltiest pleasures, Joy Behar.  I love when her show is on.  I've seen it maybe 4 times, but every single time she's got a gay themed topic going.  I caught the last 30 seconds of two extremely articulate and handsome gay men discussing the absurdity of our country's lack of tolerance on the gay marriage issue, but that's not what this blog is about either.  Oh no, it is not.  It's about the commercial that Joy Behar or the network that hosts her fine program cut to after the debate.  Please note, I do not believe the two are related, or that the network intentionally placed this ad to run right after the discussion.  I just wanted to make the point that Joy is awesome and stands on the proper side of my issue.  Thank you, Joy.  

So.  The commerical.  I found it on You Tube, and I've come to realize that I'm a little late getting to this party as the initial air dates are from 2009.  But I still found it worthy of posting.  I'm a girl who has major flabby underarm paranoia.  It is truly my worst fear to one day discover I am the owner of saggy, swinging, underarms.  So if there's a new product on the market to help combat it, I'm interested.  But seriously?  I mean.  SERIOUSLY?

Roll the video:

Seriously.  They're serious.   


ps-BP=Brad Pitt, hence my Fight Club themed title for the BP blog.  I guess I over thought that, huh?  Cause I think only @lorraine got it...