I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings about marriage growing up.  At first I was all for it.  I didn’t quite have the Cinderella dream, but I wanted to get married someday and saw myself with a husband and two or three kids and dogs and cats.  Later I leaned that marriage had it’s complications. Not domestically, although of course it does, but politically, like that it may have been started so men could own women.  This soured my taste for it.  Then I came out as a lesbian and with its historical muddiness and my own personal rejection from the club, I denounced it.  I said things like, Why would gay people even want to be part of this historically burdened institution.  Why waste our time fighting for marriage.

But now I feel differently.  I was asked a few years ago to facilitate a marriage for a straight couple.  I became a minister online and read a lot of other people’s ceremonies to understand why they would want to commit themselves for life and also to come up with what to say.  What I learned in that process was that the most important reason to get married is not legal or religious, but social.

Now, I’ve learned this from experience.  I got married a few weeks ago.  I think it was mostly inspired by my little-girl self who always wanted it.  But what I experienced taught me much more than what I learned studying about it. Marriage may have had a lousy beginning, but today it is a glorified institution we all should have access to if we want it.

I was cheered like a rock-star; my whole family (like 50 people) flew in from all over the country to be there; strangers beeped their horns when they saw the toilet paper and shaving cream on our car; my flight attendant gave us complimentary champagne when I said we were on our honeymoon; the concierge at our hotel, my friends, the flight attendant, the check out lady at the grocery store, everyone said CONGRATULATIONS! like I’d done something important.

People didn’t seem to care that I married a woman.  But everyone cared that I got married.

My mom’s thinking about having a New Year’s Eve party. She asked me if I would come. I made a face that meant, “Maybe, if nothing better comes up.”
She said, “Oh, I get it. If one of your lezzie friends has a party, we’re out.”
She was right.
Now I’m wondering: is this progress, my mom saying lezzie?

Here’s my story from Lip Schtick, which deserves more than one star.  It got one star because my very own girlfriend Victoria tried to rate me and messed up obviously and then didn’t know how to change it.  So ignore the star system.  It’s probably wise to ignore the star system on all Youtube videos, since the stars were probably put there by somebody’s girlfriend.  Probably somebody’s girlfriend who knew how to rate the thing with 5 stars. Clearly not my girlfriend.

Lip Schtick was a co-production of Lip Service and The Open Tent.  We created a night of true, Jewish stories told at Books & Books during Sleepless Night Miami. Go to www.lipservicestories.com to watch all the stories.  Let me know what you think.

My friend, Lauren Beiley, invited me to a Jewish Federation symposium called Women with Muscle. I didn’t really want to give up my morning (because I’m writing a book and I need my mornings!) and so I asked her if she really needed me there to fill up space and if so, I said I’d do it. She said she didn’t need me, but that it might be enlightening. Lauren fills space at my events all the time and I could use some enlightening, so I went.

I dressed up because I know what the Jewish women of Miami are like. I grew up with them. They are fancy. I walked into the private house in Pinecrest in my kick-ass jeans and a tight button down shirt that makes me feel sexy and went straight for the food. It was breakfast time and they had fruit salad and bagels and rugalah. I saw Lauren. She came over, we hugged, she thanked me for coming. I said, “Why am I the only one eating?”

She said, “These are Jewish women. I told them not to bother with food.”

I sat next to a girl I played tennis with in high school. Hadn’t seen her in years. I stared at her heals. Three inches, maybe two and a half. She had nice feet and bony ankles.

I crossed my legs and noticed you could see the monkey on my sock peeking out under the bottom of my jeans. Tashi gave me these socks–blue and green stripes with a red heal and a monkey face on the top of the foot. I realized my socks matched the stuffed monkey on my keychain, which I held in my hand because I don’t like to wear a purse. Other women wore jeans, but not many. Everyone wore a purse.

Most were wearing silky blouses or dresses and high healed, strappy sandals.  And lots of make up.  I put on eye liner and mascara this morning, but somehow I still felt like I often did growing up, especially amongst this same crowd, like an oddball.

The symposium was enlightening and really, at 41, I don’t care who wears what or who eats rugulah. But, does everyone feel like the kitty in bunny ears, or just me?

The famous Lip Service has teamed up with The Open Tent to bring South Florida…Jewish stories.  True, personal Jewish stories told by real people. What could be more fun?  

Check us out Saturday, Nov. 7th at 8 p.m. @ Books & Books on Lincoln Road.

Storytellers:  Andrea Askowitz (that’s me), Richard Freedberg, Dale Hershman, Mort Laitner, Chaim LieberPerson, Li-Mor Raviv, and Mitch Weissner.

I know it’s not nice to say these are some of Miami’s most loud-mouthed Jews, but they are.  We are!  In the best way.  Show is free!

My friend Andrea Stern asked me if this was me…

Except I’m not that good at accents.  Check her out.  Her name is Lizzy.

I just like her. Read this essay about the beauty and complexity of America. Because everyone I know was (or is) an immigrant. It has plenty of pictures, like I like. Here’s one of Ponce de Leon. Click on Ponce to get to the essay.

Before Sebastian was born I asked Tashi if she’d want to call Victoria Mami if the baby called her Mami.  She said yes.  

The baby doesn’t talk yet, but Victoria and I have been all over the place trying to name each other.  She wants Mami.  So I went with Mama.  The problem is, we can’t ever remember to call each other that in front of the kids.  And Tashi already calls me Mami, so when she calls out Mami and Victoria comes running, Tashi really means me.

This morning I asked Tashi again what she and her brother will call us when he can talk.  We batted around a few ideas.  I said, “How about Tushi Mami for Victoria, because Victoria has a big butt, and Curly Mami for me, because I have curly hair?”  

Tashi said, “Tushi Mami can be a little embarrassing,” and we both laughed.

“How about Mami and Mami and if we need to decide, Mami Vicky and Mami Andrea?” Tashi said.

Smart kid.

Do early childhood memories influence behavior?  Just wondering. 

Tashi’s always wanted a bra.  Well, ever since she was three.  Now she’s five.  So last Sunday, when I was at Macy’s, I saw a little tiny bra and matching underwear set.  It was so cute:  Pink with a little monkey on the boob part.  So I bought it.

Victoria saw the bra and said, “She can’t wear that! She’s too young!! You’re sexualizing our little girl!!!”

I hadn’t thought of that.  I only thought that a girl who wants a bra is a lucky girl.  Unlike me who grew up thinking bras were the grossest things.  Scary even.  A bra to me meant giant boobs were coming and I wanted nothing to do with giant boobs.  (This was before I knew I was a lesbian.  Later I would want something to do with giant boobs on other women.) But when I was a pre-teen, I wanted little ones that wouldn’t get in the way of my boyhood.  I don’t know that I thought of it in those terms then, but I was a tomboy and a bra just wasn’t my thing.  

I didn’t know what to do with the bra so I shoved into Victoria’s purse and decided to wait (like many years).  

But yesterday, Tashi found it.  She came running to me and asked who it was for.  I said, “It’s for an older girl.”  What I meant was, it was for her, just older.  

She said, “I’ve always wanted a bra.  I’ve always wanted a bra.  Can I have it?”  

I said, “Ask Victoria.”

Now Victoria is the sweetest person alive and she heard Tashi’s excitement over finding this older girl’s bra and when Tashi asked Victoria if she could have it, Victoria said yes.  

Tashi wore it with the matching panties, and nothing else, all afternoon.  She begged me to wear it to school today, but I said it was only for dress up at home.  She frowned, put her uniform on without her bra and went to school. 

All of this reminds me of my second favorite book title:  Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a Skank.  Are we dressing our five-year-old like a skank?

This and other stories about parenting can be read at Offsprung.com where I write as Mama La Gringa.