Nobody seems to talk about the loneliness of being a stay at home mom. Or the stressors it brings to a family. 

My friends are mostly unmarried and childless. I have two close friends that have young children but they both work full time. I’m an introvert so going out and making new mom friends is intimidating. I’ve met one nice lady in a breastfeeding support group but she has her own circles and is kind of religious. Also, a lot of mom groups are church based in this area and that’s not for me. 

So being a SAHM and finding stuff to do every day with an increasingly mobile baby is suffocating. My husband makes enough for us to get by but that’s all we’re doing. I’ve been looking for work since January but have had very little luck. I feel like a pariah. Working temp jobs looks bad on my resume, like I can’t keep a job for more than a few months but I can’t get the opportunity to explain that to hiring managers. I can’t get a goddamn interview. Fuck. 

Everything is my fault. Our money stresses are my fault because I’m not bringing in income. I fucked up our Flex Spend Account earlier this year by paying last year’s baby delivering expenses with it. I didn’t know I couldn’t do that. My husband didn’t know we couldn’t do that. I tried to be responsible and it backfired badly. That’s the biggest bullshit of all. I was ADULTING and I screwed us over. 

I feel excluded. I can’t get to happy hour every Friday. I can’t even go across the street with my husband to play board games. Our friends were supposed to be there for a few hours then come back here so I could play but it’s now 12:30. I watched shitty TV shows and drank some beer. I didn’t even have anyone around to talk about how good the beer was. 

Even when I go back to work, we have the stress of daycare. Who gets her if she’s sick? I probably won’t have PTO or leave right away and I can’t continually leave a new job to care for my kid. This country is bullshit to new parents. 

Everything is bullshit. I need to stop or this will be a novel. 


Let me tell you about the enriching day I’ve had with my precious, special angel. 

First, I constructed an upcycled, compostable sensory play area to help her develop a sense of self-worth and mindfulness. 

Sensory play with nourishing coffee pods

She is emptying boxes at a sixth grade level. Must be thanks to all the intelligent meditation I did while pregnant. If it worked for me, it’ll work for everyone!

Peanut-free Peanut needed some reflection time after such stimulating play, so she practiced a short yoga flow and ended with a restorative shyvasana. 

Her chakras are completely aligned

Then we snacked on raw, chia and flax no-bake clusters with ingredients grown locally by a man selling them on the side of the highway. He had a long, white beard and referred to himself as The Scepter so I just knew that he had to be legitimate. He said the chia seeds would help me with my aura color and my mana regen. What a wise man!

She told me that she gives thanks everyday so the bib isn’t out of season

After nourishing snack time, we had music class. She is so advanced on her electronic music device – she can play Vivaldi and add her own percussive remix. Future Beethoven over here!! 

Her music is inspired by the struggles of the working poor.

To end our day, we had dinner then she detoxed into her diaper. After which, she fell into her nightly meditative state. I unwound with a restorative hot shower and a glass of my favorite fermented, antioxidant-rich grape juice. 

Take a little time for yourself everyday.

I hope you all have a relaxing, nourishing and restorative weekend. Fight the brave fight my warriors!

I was recently selected by Seventh Generation to participate in their Healthy Baby Home Party. I’ve been active on their Generation Good community since BABBY was born because FREE SAMPLES. I like their products a lot though. I can’t stand using conventional cleaning products, the chemicals irritate my sinuses and skin. I tried making my own cleaning products but I got sick of my home smelling like vinegar. 

Anyway, what this is is they send you a huge box full of neat stuff! Samples to give to friends and a few full sized products to keep for yourself (wipes, dish detergent and diapers). 

The box held: samples of dish detergent, laundry detergent, wipes, wildflower seeds, coupons upon coupons and pouches of baby food. AWESOME. 

I held a little get together with a few friends. I don’t have too many friends with kids though. And I forgot to take pics during the ACTUAL party but I got a few pre-party. 

Hey, Seventh Generation, I love your stuff. Keep sending those free samples! 😉

It’s St Patrick’s Day and what an uneventful one it’s been. 

That’s not entirely true. I left BABBY sleeping on our bed and she rolled off (they sure like rolling once they figure it out). Whoops. Terrible mom moment, but she was fine after I picked her up. They’re resilient little creatures. 

I think I’ve gotten every bodily fluid imaginable on me today. 

Her stupid eczema is flaring up on her cheeks. She sometimes scratches it until she bleeds and there’s goddamn blood everywhere. Two major poops up the back, some spit up and there’s always drool. Well, I didn’t get peed on. St Patrick’s Day wasn’t always like this…

My past-SPDs were filled with lots and lots of alcohol. And green attire despite not being Irish. I’m still not one hundred percent sure what the day is celebrating but I’m pretty sure it isn’t drinking yourself into a stupor and vomiting on the sidewalks. Thanks to being progressive, a feminist and on Tumblr, I’m aware that it’s probably cultural appropriation to do that. Not to be a Debbie Downer. 

There was a restaurant I worked at for over three years that was above an Irish pub so they’d have an all-day SPD celebration – it was the worst. I would still be emotionally recovering from the all-day NYE celebration when they would count down to midnight in Ireland (6pm CST). It was like Groundhog’s Day, the movie. Wall-to-wall people who were drunk and didn’t notice you trying to squeeze by with a tray full of drinks and shots. At least the owner was cool and didn’t mind if you snuck a shot of whiskey here or there. 

I still like alcohol, I just have no patience for drunk people. I don’t think I’ve been drunk drunk since BABBY was born. Chalk it up to breastfeeding, newfound low tolerance and no desire to parent while hungover. I remember my first beer after she was born. It was Blue Moon but it was GLORIOUS. I’m also over drinking crappy beer/wine/liquor. If I can only have a few drinks, I gotta make them count. 

I had a small glass of wine just now instead of loading the dishwasher. Call it a mental health break. She woke up and is currently sleeping on me while I type this (multi-tasking!). Once she’s down, I’m having more and then actually loading the dishwasher. I hate doing it but it’s eleventy times better than hand washing, which I grew up doing. 

I’ll have to blog about the house I grew up in sometime. Not like the familial environment, I mean the physical house. 

Later, gators. 

I made a baby six months ago. Well, I technically made her 41 weeks before that but she came out of my abdomen Alien-style six months ago.


 Where the hell did six months go already? Six months of endless diaper changes, poop up her back, nursing, pumping, clogged ducts and a bout of mastitis. First Halloween (she slept through that). First Thanksgiving (she cried through a lot of that). First Christmas (she was more interested in the tissue papers than her actual gifts). First New Year’s Eve (her first party!). First Valentine’s Day (she let Mr Foxxi and I eat Los Aztecas in peace, thankfully). 

She’s such a sweet baby. A peanut in the lower percentile of weight and height but I don’t think I could lug a 20lb baby in her car seat around just yet. We have a unicorn sleeping baby -most nights, don’t worry. Last night was a rough one; it’s been a three coffee day. 

I mentioned 41 weeks at the beginning. The stubborn peanut didn’t want to come out. I was induced, labored for 20 hours, pushed for three until they saw her ear when I was pushing instead of the top of her bald head. Babies shouldn’t come out ear first. The OB said he’d let me push for another hour to see if I could make progress, or we could opt for the c-section. Super low pressure, it wasn’t an emergency but when I agreed to the procedure, everyone clicked into surgery mode.  They have a practiced routine there. 

As they were getting things ready in the operating room, our nurse gave me a shot (to drink, not an injection) of some lemony juice to settle the acid in my stomach. She told me to take it like a tequila shot – I never wanted a shot of tequila more. I mean, really, what harm would it have done at that point? It didn’t work. I puked like five times after getting the spinal tap, which was totally easy lying down numb from the chest down. 

About ten seconds after bringing Mr Foxxi in (he had to deal with the old school waiting in the other room until it was time for him to come in), she came out. He accidentally touched the blue sheet and was yelled at by the surgical team. They popped her stubborn head over the sheet so I could see her and I immediately started crying. I won’t forget Mr Foxxi on the other side of the room taking pictures and going, “She’s beautiful. Honey, she’s beautiful!”

August 26, 2015. 8lb, 3oz. 20″. 5:50am. 

Ok. Getting your abdomen sliced open hurts. A lot. A day later a nurse was trying to get me out of bed. She said, “sit up without using your ab muscles” Ummm…

You don’t walk upright for at least a week. You don’t realize how crucial your abs (or lack of) are to your body’s mobility. You shuffle around like an old lady. If something falls on the floor, that’s its new home. As if postpartum isn’t hard enough, you feel like a complete piece of shit because you can barely do basic things. Hormones make you cry at everything, and the pain makes you cry too. But it eventually gets better (if it doesn’t, talk to someone about postpartum depression). 

Fast forward six months. I’m fully healed aside from a cool scar on my bikini line. I’ve gotten into a good swing of this parenting thing, sorta. Maybe. Does anyone ever? They’re lying if they say they have a handle on it. Breastfeeding is going better than I would’ve imagined aside from that damned mastitis. That shit will knock you on your ass. Oh, and clogged ducts. And milk blisters. And now a more mobile and distracted nurser (ow, seriously). 

Some days are wonderful. She has the cutest smile because she’s trying to figure out how her mouth works. I think she gives kisses, or she could be trying to eat me. Some days are hell and I’m counting down the minutes till bedtime. I think that’s most parents’ reality though. Babies gonna baby. 

Politics are great (in a sick, sad way) but it just doesn’t beat the peanut butter/chocolate combination.  Sometimes, reading about new abortion restriction laws being put up to state ballots makes me want chocolate to be able to deal.  It’s sort of a small, sweet reminder that the world isn’t a completely terrible place.

I’m a Pinterest addict, it’s sort of embarrassing.  But I justify it by finding super awesome recipes from stay-at-home Mormon mommy bloggers, who somehow have time to write ridiculously long blog posts while homeschooling their eight children.  They lure you in with pretty pictures of food, then you see them mention “faith” or “God” in their little bio blurb or the LDS badge on the sidebar.  The Mormon mommy blogger network is an incredible phenomenon.  But this blog is about peanut butter cups and not the woes of organized religion (some other day…)

Besides, this recipe isn’t even from a Mormon mother so no worries there.  But trust me when I say that this recipe is stupid easy – so perfect if you need to bring treats to a holiday gathering and you cook so little that you forgot how to turn on your oven.  This does take over an hour to do, so I watched the last few episodes of season 5 of “Parks and Rec” in between chilling.  Also, my brown sugar has gotten so hard that my arms hurt from trying to get some out of the glass jar and mix it with the peanut butter.

Stupid Easy Homemade Peanut Butter Cups (from “Saving with Shellie”


1 1/2 cups of Chocolate Chips
3/4 cup of Peanut Butter (the recipe says 14 tablespoons. You’ll use 2 tbsp in the melted chocolate)
2/3 cup of Light Brown Sugar


  1. You can either melt the chocolate chips/ 2 tbsp of peanut butter in a double-boiler, which you can replicate by using a glass bowl over a pot (make sure the bowl fits comfortably without moving around) of boiling water. Otherwise, you can microwave the chocolate in 15-second intervals until it’s completely melted.  Just don’t burn it.
  2. Line a muffin tin with 12 cupcake wrappers (if you want to be impressive, find holiday themed ones).
  3. Fill the bottom of the cupcake wrappers with the melted chocolate  and spread some up roughly 1/4″ up the sides to create a little crater in the middle.
  4. Put the muffin tin in the refrigerator for 15-20 minutes to set (Watch “Parks and Rec).
  5. Mix the remaining 12 tablespoons of peanut butter with ⅔ cup brown sugar. This gives it the Reese’s peanut butter texture.
  6. Once the chocolate has set, add about 1 1/2 tablespoon of peanut butter filling to each cup and smooth it out without spreading the peanut butter all the way to the sides. Put the muffin tin in refrigerator for about 20 minutes to set (Another “Parks and Rec”).
  7. After this has set, pour the remaining melted chocolate over the peanut butter and place back in the fridge.  Your chocolate chips should still be melty at this point – if not, just heat a little until it’s runny.  I tried to make little swirls on top but it didn’t work out.
  8. Refrigerate for an hour and enjoy!

See pics!


Three Ingredients: Brown sugar, chocolate chips and peanut butter. Whatever brands you like.

Step 1/2: Ingredients and cupcake liners.


I have boring cupcake liners!

Step 3/4: Fill the bottom of the cupcake liners.  I hadn’t spread the chocolate up the sides when I took this photo (forgot, whoops!) so just use your imagination.


A little sloppy, but nobody’s judging display here.

Step 5: No photos of my struggle with my brown sugar.

Step 6: Peanut butter filling.


The filling doesn’t need to look perfect, but try to make it fairly even or you’ll have lumpy tops. Just don’t spread it to the sides!

Step 7: Chocolate top layer


I got super sloppy here. Whatever, you’ll put them out of the cupcake tray anyway.

Step 8: NOM NOMS


They’re a little rich so you can really only eat about one at a time.  They’re larger than the Reese’s version, but either just as tasty or tastier.  I sort of want to experiment with a mini cupcake tray to make smaller ones.  I didn’t take these to a party, they stayed in my fridge all week.

Well that was the first installment of FoxxiEats!  If I can get my ass to keep up a better blogging schedule, I’ll throw recipes in here randomly as a break.  Or maybe I’ll do recipe posts but hide them in political posts like how Mormon moms hide their recipes in posts about church camps (trickery!).

K, done. Bye.

And not that my apology will seem like much, especially considering my family’s shoddy history with the military.  My older brother was kicked out of the Air Force three weeks into basic training for smoking pot – months before we invaded Afghanistan.  My dad, coming from a family who went to Catholic church every morning and twice on Sunday, got into some trouble with the Holy Family of my town when he was a kid and eight years later was deemed “morally unfit” to go to Vietnam so he never had to fight.  Both of my grandfathers and some of my uncles have fought in our wars, and their sacrifices mean the world to me and others.

On Veteran’s Day and other holidays celebrating the troops, it’s expected to see Facebook statuses, tweets and nice little graphics honoring and thanking our Vets for their sacrifices.  They mean well, and I have friends who have fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. But what do they accomplish?  I’m sure they appreciate your sentiments of thanks, albeit hastily typed and full of grammatical errors sometimes (I mean, you can’t take the time to proof-read your message to veterans?).  But instead of thanking them, we should be apologizing to them.

Apologizing, first off, for cutting your food stamp benefits which an estimated 900,000 of you are on because it’s difficult to find work in this economy and as a returning veteran.

Apologizing on behalf of Republican politicians who are so proud of how “pro-military” they are, yet vote against any bill that may help you in some way.  At the same time, using you as props in their public appearances.

Apologizing that roughly 22 of you take your own life everyday because your benefits are delayed and you can’t get the help you need and deserve.

Apologizing for the treatment of the bodies of fallen veterans at Arlington National Cemetery, a place specifically created to honor your sacrifices.

Apologizing for the fact that so many of you are homeless or are at the risk of being homeless.  I once walked by a homeless man in New York City who’s cardboard sign stated that he was a former Marine.

Apologizing to newer veterans for sending you to fight and see your friends die, while companies are profiting off two wars we started under false pretenses.

I know this has all been said, and I’m probably not the only person writing a blog about it today.  I am anti-war, and I’ll admit that I have generally looked at the military complex as a whole in disdain, especially for the way they treat the very people working for them.  Years ago (we’re talking high school) I had a button that said, “Support the Military, Not the War” and that essentially sums it up for me.  I don’t have to agree with a war or the reasoning behind it, but I can support the individuals who feel the need to fight in them.  Some may join because their family members have served, others want to help their country and some mostly want the money for their education.  We hoist the veterans onto a pedestal and talk about how important they are to our freedoms yet the above happens on a regular basis. It shouldn’t be like this, especially since America spends more on defense than the next ten countries combined.  I would prefer our military focuses on humanitarian efforts rather than “fighting terrorism”, our spending go towards rehabilitating them and our country.  But it probably won’t change, at least not for awhile.  For today though, veterans, I salute you.  And I also wanted to let you know that you can get a free deep-fried onion from Outback Steakhouse today.


This is a non-political post – unless you count the fact that we were standing up for our Mexican server dealing with some racist old women.  I’ve been thinking about this incident lately because it’s hilarious and I feel that this story needs to be known by more.

I waited tables for many years, as did some of my friends.  One of our favorite things to do was to drink at lunch on a Monday because we weren’t working.  On this day, my friends Amy and Lily (using pseudonyms here) went to a favorite local Mexican restaurant that has $1.99 lunchtime margaritas and the best fresh salsa. We ordered our food and sipped away at our incredibly strong margaritas – this place has some killer ones, like two will get you sufficiently buzzed.

At the booth next to ours (my back was to them), these older women were speaking to their server in the most condescending and ignorant way.  They spoke loudly and slowly to him as if he were deaf, although his English was fine.  He had just taken our order had been pleasant and funny to us.  These two women, who are probably terrible customers at any restaurant, had just received their food and had tons of requests for him.  But instead of being polite about it, they proceeded to yell, “MUCHO QUESO! MU-CHO QUE-SO! MOAR CHEEZZZEE!”

They were like the horribly obnoxious American tourist on vacation at a Sandals resort who only bothered to learn how to order more food and drinks- “Uno ser-vaysa pour fave-er!”

My friends and I stopped our conversation and looked at each other to say, “These obnoxious, ignorant old hags..”  We silently sipped our margs and uncomfortably listened to them complain to each other about the service and food.  Their chile rellenos sat untouched at their table while they bitched at and about their server until they realized that the rellenos had gotten cold and then decided to complain about that as well.  They even went as far as to ask for a new server.  They assumed out loud that he had just crossed the border yesterday, topping their statements off with racial slurs.

When our server walked by to get us more water, Lily stopped him and said, “I think you’re doing a great job, I don’t know what their  problem is!”  We had been whispering to each other about these women, who may have caught on that we were irritated at them.  The one lady turned around and started hurling insults at us.  But they weren’t good insults, they were the weirdest ones we’ve heard like “rabbit tits”, and “meth wig”.  She started saying loudly that we should be ID’d and said, “Look at us drinking on a Monday we’re so cool and twenty-one, hehehehehe!” in a mocking voice – they had bigger margaritas than us.  The lady then got up and walked around to our booth, grabbed my finger and started bending it back calling me a little meth freak, because I totally look like I smoke a bunch of meth.  I yelled, “Don’t touch me, whore!” and she ran back to her seat.  Other patrons stared at us and I hoped that they could figure out that these women were terrible people and bugging us, and they went back to their meals.

We received our food and started eating, all while the women were still bitching random insults at us.  They suggested that I had a wig, was on meth, had “rabbit tits” (which I still don’t know what those are supposed to be).  May I remind you that Lily had essentially started it, and I forgot to mention that Amy was telling the women how horrible they were but I was receiving the brunt of the attacks, a fact we still laugh about today.

I have a rare talent of becoming a random target of a crazy person, whether it’s creep-o men or girls who’s ex-boyfriends I’m dating.  It’s not a wanted talent and I wish it would go away because it makes me uncomfortable.  I usually manage to remove myself from the situation either by myself or the help of friends.

The exchanges continued for while longer.  The two women got their bill but -hold up– they had major issues with it.  They complained about their untouched chile rellenos and about how expensive their fishbowl margaritas were.  Now, I’m not really sure what was said to cause the next incident to happen. I may or may not have called them trash – but in my defense they were talking about calling their daughters to come beat us up because they were too old and it would look bad.  The lady who physically assaulted me before came back to grab my wrist and twist it.  She screamed at me, calling me a cunt multiple times.  I barely flinched, looked at her straight on and said, “Well, at least I don’t have a dried-up cunt.”

The expression in her face went from rage to a blank stare and back to rage as she registered what I had said (thanks, fishbowls).  She had a second of deciding what to do next, then decided that slapping my forearm really really hard was the best plan of action.  I screamed and some of the waitstaff, who had been lingering nearby watching everything unfold, rushed in and pulled her away from us.  The manager told them to leave immediately – but they still had to pay for their lunch. The manager checked to see if we were alright… But we still had to pay our bill.

I don’t really get trolled that much on Twitter, maybe once in awhile or if something of mine gets a lot of retweets. I don’t really attack people or troll them either because I’m not a confrontational person. Not that I can’t stand up for myself, but you have to admit that it’s nice when everyone agrees with you. I’m also kind of lazy and get bored with arguing back and forth with someone so I usually just block them.

The people who do confront me on Twitter rarely say anything worth responding to. Like, I got called a stupid tree-hugger one time. It’s usually that, or “libtard” (which, by the way, is the dumbest name. Would Sarah Palin approve of that?) or ugly bitch. Nothing creative, but I don’t have high expectations for most people who want to argue with me anyway. Then when you don’t want to argue with them, they think they won and start gloating. I call it the “IF I YELL UNTIL THIS STUPID LIBTARD IGNORES ME THEN I WIN” method. You don’t win an argument by being the loudest, biggest dick around. I’d rather debate someone who can voice their argument in a respectful way.

I see a lot of people who I follow who can get really nasty in arguments with people. I feel like they just feed into what the other person wants them to do – get emotional and angry and mean so they can call you out on it. I cringe when I see an argument go that route. Let’s keep the civility, or at least let the other side be the dickheads.

But to get to my original idea (got distracted. Ha) – politicians want to distract voters with non-issues by focusing on things that are “wrong with America” when they really aren’t.

For example: Floods of illegal immigrants (you know, the non-white ones) are coming here to take all of our good paying jobs like leaf blowing and fruit picking. They’re destroying our great land and the fabric of our society! They’re not paying taxes and feeding off the system! (false, false, false…)

Spanish speakers are taking over and they won’t learn English so something something destroying America. I recently had to unfriend someone on Facebook because they flipped out over a flyer they saw that was predominately in Spanish – it was about getting a translator for government documents. I had to add a comment about how a flyer in Spanish takes the cake for the worst injustice ever (and this person lives in North Carolina if you want to talk about being distracted from real issues. I’m side-eyeing you NC). I saw a McDonald’s billboard in Chicago that was in Spanish. I wonder how many Republican heads exploded upon seeing that?

Now, I’m all for learning the predominate language of the country you plan on living in as it will make your life easier, but even if you were fluent in German wouldn’t you still like to read things in your native language? Especially have a translator for important documents?

Oh, and gay marriage – it will destroy marriage as we know it. Forget that marriage used to be a way to secure villages, borders, kingdoms, etc- it was more of a business transaction. I’ll marry your daughter and in return I won’t have your kingdom burned to the ground.

This shit is a distraction to keep voters from focusing on how politicians are fucking us over and over without lube. They wave a shiny immigrant over here to hide their lobbyist sponsor over there. And the sad part is, the majority of Americans fall for it. They’re convinced that immigrants, gays and the angry Kenyan in Chief is out to get their jobs, guns, marriages and God. It plays to the single issue voter – vote for the candidate who staunchly opposes abortion but ignore the fact that he’s trying to cut your Social Security benefits.

I wish people would do a little more research into what is really wrong with our country – it’s not the gays, or the public school teacher or the immigrant day laborer. Do some real digging on the candidates you support and don’t vote for them because they share your views on one issue. This advice will just blow away into the wind though and we’ll just be here arguing over immigrants while corporate lobbyists buy our so-called representatives.  Keep your eyes focused on 2014!

The title was somewhat influenced by the title of a 1999 indie movie called “But I’m a Cheerleader”, a movie about a high school cheerleader who is suspected of being a lesbian by her family and friends and is sent to a straight reform camp. She continually insists throughout much of the movie that she can’t possibly be a lesbian because she’s a cheerleader. “…But I’m a cheerleader!” The movie is meant to mock the Pray Away the Gay camps/groups that seem to still be around for some stupid reason. It’s a decent, funny movie, and there’s a cute message about accepting yourself in it.

The original point of this post was to talk about something that some straight people feel the need to add after saying how supportive they are of gay rights, marriage equality, etc. “I’m for gay marriage/equal rights… But I’m not gay.”

Wow, good for you! Have a cookie! Good thing you added that last part in though, or a gaggle of gays might have swooped in to hit on you relentlessly. You sure wouldn’t want anyone to suspect that you might play for the other team just because you support their right to get married. Wouldn’t that be awful if people thought you were gay?

I never hear anyone say, “I’m all for racial equality… But I’m not black”. I mean, granted, it’s a bit easier to tell if someone is black than it is to tell if someone is gay.

This topic has been mulling around in my head for the last day or so. My husband and I had the pleasure of meeting sex advice columnist/gay rights activist Dan Savage in Madison, WI this week. He follows me on Twitter and was happy to meet me (humblebrag). I posted the picture of two of us as my new profile picture on Facebook, and a bunch of my friends liked it. One of my husband’s friends commented and asked if Savage was my “freebie” – my celebrity who I get to fuck in the odd chance that I could ever meet this celebrity and convince them to fuck me and my husband couldn’t call it cheating; he gets one too (I think it’s Rachel McAdams). I said that it would be really hard for Savage to be my freebie seeing as how he had a husband and is “very very very very gay”. The friend responded that he knew that Savage was a gay marriage supporter, but had no idea that he himself was gay – which had my husband and I scratching our heads and going, “REALLY??!”

The friend then went on about how that he was fine with that if Savage was happy, and that he supports gay marriage “… But I’m not gay.”

So, why do people feel the need to add that? Probably because there is still plenty of stigma against the LGBT community, and being perceived as possibly being gay would be baaaaad! In my experience its been mostly men who have added “…but I’m not gay” to the end of their equality support statement because, dude, No Homo, I don’t want to stick my face into the genitalia of the same gender (as if that’s all there is to being gay).

I’m guilty of saying this at well. But I would like to believe that I stated in a way that was not to cleanse myself of perceived lesbianism, but to prove to other straight people that yes you can support gay rights and still be attracted to the opposite gender. I was the Vice President of my high school’s Gay-Straight Alliance – my good gay friend at the time became president and wanted me to help him move the group forward as it was only a few years old – and gaining straight allies would really help spread the message of acceptance around the school. This was in 2003-2004, the gay marriage debate was becoming a more national topic to the point where it was unavoidable to not have an opinion on it. I’ll admit that before really getting involved with the GSA, I was unclear on what the rules were for gays to get married (I learned that at the time in most states it was Rule #1: Absolutely Not Because The Bible).

And although the group was titled Gay Straight Alliance, many people in the school assumed it was just full of gay, bi and questioning teens hanging out (or as one rumor put it, having a bunch of orgies). I would ask friends and classmates to come to meetings and they would say, “…But I’m not gay.” To which I would reply, “Neither am I, but they need straight allies.”

So basically, my fellow heteros, my point is that you shouldn’t feel the need to add, “…but I’m not gay” to the end of “I don’t have a problem with gay people or anything,” (again, good for you, you want a cookie?). If you’re secure in your sexuality, then it shouldn’t matter what other people might think. And if you’re not secure in your sexuality, then maybe you have some deep thinking to do. Just be a good straight ally and fight to combat the stigma of homosexuality that is still prevalent even by those who claim to not having any issues with it.

And hey, what’s the worry? So what if someone of your gender hits on you? It should be taken as a compliment, and most have the courtesy of leaving you alone after you politely decline their advances. I say most because there are some that persist even after you insist – coming from a girl, most straight guys don’t get that hint either. And this may be the one occasion where it’s acceptable to say, “Thanks for the compliment/drink, but I’m not gay.”