Viva la Revolución

Being a lesbian housewife isn't that hard, really. Oh, sure, you have to do a little cleaning, some shopping, make the dinners, and clean up after the cats... the many, many cats... but it's really not as difficult as I expected. I think the key thing is that lesbians tend to be very sympathetic to labourers, particularly female domestics. Generally all I have to say to the Mrs. if I haven't gotten anything done that day is that I had cramps, or was contemplating my spiritual place in the universe, or I suddenly realized the cats were going to die someday, and it's "there, there" and a drink and a rubdown, when I've lifted nary a finger. It also helps that I have a genetic folding deficiency. If I so much as look at a fitted sheet, my fingers all jump out of their sockets at once. In light of my delicate nature, I rarely have to do more than whimper to get away with being completely useless. However, in case of emergency, I do have my backups: a carefully placed utterance of the word "exploitation," and a simple yet colourful serape. I'm even ready to stand on the kitchen table, holding up a poorly-written sign that says "UNION" if it comes to that.

In actuality I am Doing Things, even if they aren't always obvious. I am reviewing my student loan and admissions paperwork. I am pricing web hosting sites and going over PHP/MySQL tutorials while mulling over the relative merits of full vs. partial-Flash site design. I am even (sort of) "working out" sometimes. Then I am getting overwhelmed by everything and switching gears to peruse the TripAdvisor Hawaii forums or play cell-phone Boggle on the stoop. Hey, somebody's got to keep the stoop warm. This is Brooklyn, you know.

P.S.: Did I mention we are going to HAWAI'I?