I love New York in June - how about you?

Rainbows are definitely the new black in New York! Where were you when marriage equality passed in the New York State Senate? I was eating a late dinner with Gabriella and a couple of friends. Chinese food. On Shabbat. Very New York, dahling.

We watched the live feed and read the tweets popping up like fireworks on the 4th of July at the top of my screen. Praise for friends and admonishments for foes. Until the subtitles finally read: Cheers and Applause. We won - the battle anyway. We have yet to win the war. But I shan’t be a Deborah-Downer. The glass will be half-full today when we celebrate our victory with our community at our first annual Pride Fest. We’ll celebrate all the people who made phone calls and wrote letters and used social media to influence decision makers and rally everyone to get involved. And we’ll hug all our straight friends who understand that equality is not a gay issue. I’m going to kiss them right on the mouth. I don’t think they’ll mind. I won’t use tongue.

Then we’ll focus on our own New Jersey where Christie has parked his fat ass on our state and let a giant one rip. Crude and foul? Why, yes he is.

No, this weekend is all about happiness and hope and maybe a ride into the city for a quickie wedding. It would be our 3rd wedding and 4th if you count our Civil Union in New Jersey - one is even federally recognized (Yeah Canada!). We’re collectors of validation. Of course, we can’t wait until federal marriage makes the state unions as irrelevant as the lira. Until then, we’ll exchange vows in as many countries and states that will allow it.

The U.S. presidents on Asher's ruler watch the vote-briefly interrupted by recess. Four square anyone?

Well done, New York and Happy Pride to ALL!

Birthday bonanza or The Girls Who Ate New York

43. Nothing interesting to say about the number. I’m sure there’s something of note about 43 in some religion or ancient philosophy or mathematical concept that is worth mentioning, but I don’t know any off the top of my 43-year-old head. And yet, Gabriella surprised me on this random birthday with a get-away weekend in New York. Her nephew Zachary and his girlfriend Ashley stayed with the boys for 2 nights and 2 very full days while we played in New York City.

Friday night June 10th, erev birthday (meaning the night before in Jew-speak), I was feeling sorry for myself. Gabriella did not make it home in time to light Shabbat candles or eat Chinese food with us or bathe the boys so that I could get a leg up on my birthday weekend. She works a lot. I couldn’t complain. So, I got on the phone with my sister Rachel and whined. Gabriella interrupted me.

Gabriella: Look who’s here!

Deborah: What? Zachary and Ashley?!? What are you doing…

G: Tell Rachel you have to get off the phone, and go pack for two nights.

Now, I’m the planner in the family. Also I prefer to be the surpriZOR as opposed to the surpriZEE. Control-freak? Perhaps though I have yet to be diagnosed. I prefer uber-planner.

Deborah: But, what do I pack?

Gabriella: Casual and one nicer outfit.

D: Like jeans and a nice top or like a hoop skirt and parasol?

G: Jeans and a nice top.

D: Do you think it’s going to rain? Should I pack a jacket?

G: I don’t know. Just take it.

Gabriella was starting to lose patience. I outstretched my hand and motioned to shake Gabriella’s.

D: Hi, Gabriella is it? Please allow me to introduce myself to you. My name is Deborah, and I’ll be your partner for as long as I can foresee. Mostly we’re compatible, so we should get along swimmingly, but I will tell you that I’m an uber-planner. I understand that you are the anti-planner, and this may be an issue for us occasionally. You can’t will me to be a go-with-the-flow kind of girl, so you just have to accept that while surprises and spontaneity are conceptually pleasing, I will always react with resistance at first but will eventually relax once I’m able to compose a check list or talk through all the likely challenges that we may meet along the way. (I shake her hand.) Please don’t be annoyed. I’m really excited about spending the weekend with you in an unspecified location. I’m trying to go with it, but it’s making me a little nauseous. It’s my birthday. Be kind.

G: Pack whatever you like. If you don’t have something you need, we’ll buy it when we get there.

Ah, a safety net made out of shops. I stopped to breathe and then threw some clothes in a bag. “I can always buy what I need,” I chanted to myself. I know. I’m bonkers.

We arrived at our boutique hotel. The room was big enough for the queen-sized bed, our roller bag and my thoughts.

Thought 1: Wow, this is a small room. I wonder where all the new clothes are going to go after I buy them.
Thought 2: Is that a computer monitor or the television?
Thought 3: Where’s the hair dryer? I must have a hair dryer, and I don’t see one. I wish I were one of those girls who didn’t need a hair dryer, but I really do. Ok, we’re in New York. There’s a Duane Reid on every corner, and they’re open all night, and…oh it’s hanging behind the bathroom door. Phew!

And then, I was absolutely fine. In fact, I was outstanding. Gabriella organized the perfect weekend of food, drink, performances and pampering. Care for some highlights? Well, I’m going to share some anyway.

1. Sleep. Waking up and going back to sleep and waking up rested. Divine.

2. Brunch. Saturday morning, we went to Gabrielle Hamilton’s Prune. Gabrielle won the James Beard Award for Best Chef this year. Not too shabby.

We sat at the bar and chatted with 27-year-old Roller Derby skater, blacksmith and bartender Zoey from North Carolina. She makes a mean bloody, and she likes salty fish.

3. Beginners. Saturday was a blustery, rainy, crappy day – an invitation to get a pedicure and catch a movie. I needed a bright color for the dreary day.

Gabriella had prepared a list of film suggestions and rattled them off to me. The fact that she had researched movies was gift in itself. The first movie on her list was Beginners. She had me at Ewan McGregor. I loved everything about Beginners. Ewan McGregor, Christopher Plummer, Melanie Laurent and Cosmo. Here's the trailer.


4. Blue Ribbon Sushi. mmmmm

5. War Horse. Puppetry and World War I? Yup. And it’s phenomenal. And so sayeth the voting members of the Tony Awards who honored War Horse with Tonys for best play, direction of a play, scenic design of a play, lighting and sound design.

Shout out to this man who recommended it to us highly:

He was wearing these shoes:

6. Sunday brunch at Café Forant in Hell’s Kitchen-first experienced during BlogHer last summer. Barrington and Fil (not Phil cause it’s Czech as in Filip) were our delightful boy-servants, and our yummy brunch was served up fine by Lea Forant and Carolyn Montgomery.

7. Cafes. We picked up some hot drinks on that cold Saturday at The Bean. Look at our cute baristas. I just had to capture their adorable little souls with my camera. “Look how sweet you are,” I said to the kids as they posed for me. “You should procreate.” They laughed nervously. “You don’t have to be together to make babies. Just make them! Everybody’s doing it.” I don’t think I convinced them.

Before we drove home Sunday afternoon, we sat at Soy Cafe where Gabriella read news type things, and I wrote the previous blog piece. After that, we picked up some Benny’s Burritos to bring back to the family.

When we got home, the boys ignored us. Zachary and Asher were playing an involved game with action figures, and Levi was on the iPad next to Ashley who was asleep on the sofa. After inhaling burritos (because we clearly had not eaten enough all weekend), Gabriella bathed the boys and put them to bed. I love my birthday. And I love Gabriella who loves my birthday enough to plan. Thank you Zachary & Ashley for making it all possible.

Sandra Bernhard at Town Hall

“I hope I will never meet the intersection of geriatric and sexy,” opened Sandra Bernhard at her Town Hall performance of I Love Being Me, Don’t You? on June 8th. She hasn’t, in fact, met that intersection quite yet – undeniably more sexy than geriatric.

Gabriella and I sat right up front and under her nose in the first row, which was such a treat for us. I have been a fan since her outrageous performance in King of Comedy and her unique combination of biting wit and song in her 1988 show Without You I’m Nothing. And when friends in the Middle West would say to me, “You know who you remind me of?” I was flattered even though they made the connection only because they knew few other foul-mouthed Jews. And then when they said, “But you’re much prettier, of course!” I’d answer, “I think Sandra is rock-star hot, and I thank you for the compliment.”

When I first mentioned that I had bought tickets to this show, a number of people commented that Sandra’s last performances paled in comparison to Without You and that I shouldn’t expect much. I kept hope alive because I love my Sandy. During the first song, I was admittedly worried because Sandra hovered over her music stand and sang from her notes rarely lifting her eyes to meet her public. She sang Across 110th Street well (and I’ve been singing it ever since), but I was distracted by how heavily she relied on her music.

And before she could really get warmed up, she brought out her first guest of the evening. “I’m serving dessert before dinner,” she announced and welcomed legendary diva Liza Minnelli. Liza walked on stage to a deserved standing ovation. Whether Liza had sung a note or not, we all had to acknowledge her supreme talent and place in Hollywood royalty.

Liza and Sandra sang Mama Morton and Velma Kelly’s Class from the musical Chicago. It was a funny little number, and by funny I mean more peculiar than ha-ha. Liza got through the song though she certainly didn’t nail every word. She hung on to Sandra’s waste drawing attention to the fact that Liza is about half Sandra’s height. Mr. Roarke stuck to the script while Tattoo relied on shtick to cover up for the words she forgot. Hey, we all forgave. It was Liza Minnelli for fuck’s sake-more geriatric than sexy but still Liza! It was a memorable duet because Liza is Liza, and we were all grateful to have witnessed her diva-tude firsthand.

The Sandra Bernhard Variety Show continued with two more guests. Justin Vivian Bond of Short Bus fame joined Sandra on stage. They punned and bantered like sassy lovers and then belted out a great number from their musical Arts & Crafts. And, they made a very handsome couple.

In between duets, Sandra delivered comedy bits in her classic sarcastic tone referring to Bristol Palin as a juggernaut and telling us “…when people ask me what they can get me for my birthday, I tell them Fancy Nights by Jessica Simpson.” Her droning tones added that special layer of bite.

I had just about had enough of the Duets with Sandra portion. I harbored no ill-will towards her guests, but I wanted more of my Sandy. And then out came Rufus Wainright dressed in sear-sucker, whale-printed trousers and an almost-matching-but-not-quite blazer. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed and forgot to change out of his pajamas or comb his hair. But when I tell you that Sandra and Rufus’s duet was sublime, it’s only because I can’t think of a better word to describe how mesmerized I was by their flawless, soulful rendition of Talk to Me of Mendocino written by Rufus’s mother, Kate McGarrigle. I was pleased they chose that piece over Rufus’s father’s famous number, Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road.

After Rufus, it was all Sandra and her groovy band and back-up singers. There were no more music stands or duets-just smooth operator Sandra delivering herself on a platter, and we ate her up. “I love a person who hangs a dream catcher from the rear view mirror – just in case they fall asleep while driving.”

Sandra is truly at her best when she tells us about her angst-ridden past and escorts us from story to song and back again. Childhood memories, clubbing “back in the day”, comedy, tragedy, we can all see the scenes playing out in front of us while she provides both the narrative and the soundtrack, and it’s always a great ride.

There was one wardrobe change just before the last number. Sandra glided on stage in a long, black fitted dress and her hair in an up-do. But her slow and tormented arrangement of PINK’s Just Like a Pill changed course as her back-up singer helped remove Sandra’s dress to reveal a black, sequenced bodysuit, and Sandra’s wild child took over.

Sandra rocked it like a crazy mo-fo. She must have said to her band and her back up singers, “Let’s go crazy for this last medley of songs! Let’s tear it up and wear them down, damn it! I’m going to run up and down the stage screaming and waving my warms like a krump dancer trying to fly and get all Santeria out there while my black, sequenced unitard rides up my ass crack. You all just try to keep up, dig?”

Did I tell you what a treat it is to sit in the front row? It is a treat mostly-except when you realize you’re operating the camel-cam.

After the show, Sandra greeted her public and signed CDs and DVDs. Of course we waited in line to relish our moments with Sandra. She signed our CD and looked up at Gabriella. “I saw you,” she said to Gabriella whose seat was directly underneath Sandra. In addition to perfect positioning, Gabriella gives great clap.

“I know!” I butted in. “We loved being so close. It was a great show!” I had completely muscled in on Gabriella’s moment. Gabriella assured me later that she didn’t feel trumped, but I must state for the record that it was Gabriella who caught Sandy’s eye.

Gabriella and Sandra's partner of 12 years, Sara Switzer. Hmmm.

Since Without You I’m Nothing, the world has changed. Sandra and her fans have changed along with it. Little shocks audiences these days. Cursing and references to sex and sex bits are the common language now. Anger is emotion worn so well by the young, and we have outgrown those fashions in exchange for a more practical wardrobe and a kinder view of the world. While her critics may be disappointed by Sandra’s smoother edges, I loved her observations of pop-culture and society--still barbed enough to be cutting without being hateful. Sandra Bernhard worked hard for us that night and delivered with style. Thank you Sandra! I love that you're being you!!

Have a happy my-birthday on Saturday

I will not complain about the heat. I will not complain about the heat. It’s not so much the heat, it’s the …. “Yeah yeah, Deborah. It’s the humidity. We get it.” I’ll tell you what else it is. It’s not having $25K for central air. It’s the “I’m caught in an 1875 watt hair dryer set to High & Hot, and I can’t get out” kind of heat. It’s the, “Who’s around to catch me wiping the sweat from in between my boobs before it runs down my cleavage and dive bombs into my navel?”

We’ve only just defrosted from the feet of snow and ice that imprisoned us in our homes and made driving anywhere else next to impossible. The winter boots are still standing next to the back door refusing to admit that it is time to retire for the season. Where was spring? She was here for a brief moment. The flowers blossomed instantaneously and disappeared behind summer’s green leaves as quickly as they appeared. I barely noticed. It rained biblically this spring until it stopped and then it was summer. Just like that. Mosquito bites on the inside of my wrist and my ankles already.

Iced tea. Pedicures. Gazpacho. Drinking & dining on our porch. Cleavage. Other ladies’ cleavages, mind you. Mostly I love summer. I love getting my tan on. I have few vices left. It’s the inner princess in me as well as the undeniable slimming effect a good tan has on my otherwise doughy body. I love the annual getaways to Vermont and Northern Michigan.

What Vermontians do for fun

And I love my birthday which falls around now-ish. Yes I do. I don’t know what we’re doing yet to celebrate-on the 11th in case you'd like to run to the shops in anticipation. Gabriella and I always plan the other’s birthday activities. I know not every couple operates that way. Is it a girl-on-girl thing? Is it a Gemini-Sagittarius thing? Dunno. Alls I know is that we like to celebrate, and we don’t want to have to wait for the decade birthdays to do so. I do know that I will not be able to see my friends Laura Booker and Dina Pearlman perform at Potty Mouths in Maplewood on Saturday. I said to Gabriella, I said, “Gabriella. I want to go see our hilarious friends performing comedically on Saturday.” And do you know what she says to me? She says, “No.” That’s it. Just “No.” “But it’s my birthday,” I says, “and that’s what I want to do.” “No,” she says. She’s a stubborn little thing, my Gabriella. It’s that Sicilian peasant stock. “I’ve already made plans,” she says in conclusion. There is nothing I can say.

I hope all you locals are able to attend while I’m somewhere else doing something else on my birthday. And I wish you all a fantastic my-birthday on the 11th wherever you are doing whatever you do. Everyone should be happy. I’m thoughtful that way. You’re welcome.

Happy accidents - Blogging for LGBT Families Day

My neighbor, Jenny, moved to another country last week. It was probably something I said. Actually, she and her family relocated to be closer to family and further away from exorbitant health care costs and property taxes. I'd envy her if her final destination weren't Finland. I don't have anything against Finland per se, but I'm partial to a warmer climate, and I'm not a huge fan of poached salmon.

Jenny hosted a yard sale to get rid of everything before her move. "I'll bring over some baby items," I said. "They're taking up space, and I really need to unload some of them." I said the words as if I were telling her that I had to floss my teeth. In actuality, getting rid of the baby stuff stung.

We have two boys, but I always imagined we would have three children. We bought our house and our mini-van specifically because there would be enough room for the expected five of us. The attic is filled to the rafters with all the equipment and clothing we saved in preparation for the next baby. I was prepared to suffer through the long, dark days of infancy one last time to create the big family we were supposed to have.

Well-meaning friends asked how I could possibly consider another child. "Well, we've got to hedge our bets. The more children we have, the more likely one of them will like us," I said. On paper, the idea was madness financially, but I just didn't feel finished in the same way some other mommies did after they had their last. "Sometimes, I feel like two are not enough and three are too many," I told my friend with one toddler and twins on the way. "That's how I feel about martinis," she answered. I wish having a baby were as simple as ordering a martini. "Stirred, not shaken, please."

It's not to say that I wasn't tempted by the freedom that waited for us on the other side of the baby tunnel. Both boys were now toilet trained and could buckle their own seat belts. The little one was only two more years away from full-day kindergarten. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was missing.

The economy put the kibosh on our plans. Unemployment forced us to look at the realities of three in a completely different way. The time and money required to get pregnant in the first place was enough to consider selling an organ or two. A year passed, and our window closed.

I will confess to you now that if I could engineer a happy accident, I would. I'd pop open a bottle of wine during a romantic dinner at home, and we'd get a little sloppy and a lot careless. But the reality of a same-sex couple is that there are no happy accidents. No amount of wishful thinking or candle light or alcohol can lead to a baby even at the height of fertility. I think back on all the conversations about birth control with my straight friends. "You're so lucky, Deborah," they'd tell me. "You don't have to worry about the expense and hassle of birth control." "True," I replied, "but I don't have sperm on tap."

At the end of Jenny's yard sale, most of my contributions stood untouched in the front yard. As soon as I carried the last ride on toy back into my basement, I called Harmony House and scheduled a pick up. Everything had to go before I could convince myself that bad business was a sign that I should again procreate.

A woman from Harmony House arrived with three young helpers from the daycare. The ten year old boys loaded the van in the scorching heat, and I offered them all drinks in my air-conditioned kitchen. "Is this a mansion?" asked one of the boys. Trust me when I tell you that my house is definitely not a mansion. It's barely standing and hasn't been painted since Jesus walked the earth.

I watched the boys take in every appliance and every fixture, and we chatted about the goldfish that we inherited from Jenny. "I had goldfish once, but my stepfather poisoned them. He hates me. You have a nice house," said one of my guests. "Thank you," I whispered refilling their glasses.

I escorted them to the front door and thanked them for their help. Each of them gave me the warmest full-body hugs I've ever had the pleasure of receiving. As soon as they drove away, I got in the car to pick up my younger son, Levi, from camp and cried body-jerking, uncontrollable sobs. I cried because my baby furniture was gone and the baby-making shop was officially closed. I cried because my second son was now my baby. I cried because I felt so lucky to have created my beautiful family of four and so fortunate for all that we have. Perhaps the visit from Harmony House was exactly the kind of happy accident I needed.

(reprinted from my column on Patch.com)