Thailand, as it happens, is a country whose male-to-female transsexuals make up an unusually accomplished and accepted subculture. There are no legal sanctions against homosexual or transgendered lifestyles, and kathoeys, or drag queens, are everywhere. In the late 90’s, one of the country’s most popular celebrities was a cross-dressing kick boxer who kissed his opponents and wore lipstick in the ring. The second-highest-grossing Thai movie ever made, “Iron Ladies,” tells the (true) story of a transsexual volleyball team.

My boyfriend’s always wanted to go to Thailand, but I never had much interest in the place. But this article may have changed my opinion. I mean, any country that puts transsexual volleyball players on the big screen wins points in my book.

And yes, I’m reading the article to my dad and little brother as I go.

Holy crap. I’m posting from my father’s house. This is unsettling because:

a. My dad lives in the Middle of Nowhere Mississippi.

b. My dad lives in the Middle of Nowhere Mississippi and he has DSL.

c. My dad lives in the Middle of Nowhere Mississippi and he has DSL and I don’t.

d. Dad will eventually become knowledgeable in the ways of email.

Of course, I don’t know why I’m surprised. It’s not like Mississippi is Irkutsk or anything. Dad’s also got digital cable and a Sprint PCS phone. Go figure.

On a completely unrelated subject, I may soon have some pretty sassy news about a production we could be mounting this summer. The rights haven’t been positively secured just yet, but we’ll probably know something this week–good lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise (as they say here in Mrs. Hippie).

Despite my boyfriend’s recent post about the banality of blogging search engine requests, I have to mention one I received today–I think it’s my favorite ever: Is Amy Grant into scat?

Well, is she?

Another trip to Baton Rouge today. You’ve no idea how much fun that is. No, really.

Hey, did you hear about that new pirate movie? It’s rated “argh.”

Don’t blame me–it’s Jonno’s joke.

Today’s Overbearing Monster of Fluctuating Weight: Kirstie Alley. Bitch could drop twenty pounds in a heartbeat if she’d stop chewing all that scenery.

To the person who stopped by for naked pictures of Lynne Russell: did you find any? ‘Cause goddess only knows what I’ve got lying around in here.

Dear Coffee:

I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you today. It’s nothing personal. You look great–in fact, in that sassy new Krupps outfit, you look better than you have in years. I could stare at you the whole morning long, all the while watching a little tiny me reflected in your deep, rich brown. Normally, we’d have already “gotten together” a couple of times today, but…

Well, I never really noticed this before–and please, don’t take this the wrong way–but you have the tendency to be a little, um, cloying. You put little socks on my teeth, my throat, my tongue. And today, before I knew what was happening, you put them on my tonsils.

I know, I should have gotten rid of them years ago (the tonsils, that is). We never got along, they and I. I kept ’em around, though, thinking our relationship would smooth out–and it did, for a while. But now they’re as irritating as ever and I just want ’em gone ’cause they’re coming between me and you.

Truth be told, I think they’re probably just feeling a little neglected. And I can see where they’re coming from–I mean, I have known them for longer than I’ve known you. I tell you what: I’m gonna spend the rest of the day humoring them, and then bright and early tomorrow morning, we’ll pick up where we left off. That okay, honeybun?

Thanks for understanding. You’re my one and only!

xo richard

I think the trickiest part of being in a long-term relationship is remembering why you love your partner. When you see him every day and sleep beside him every night and share a bathroom with him every morning, you naturally start taking him for granted. That means comfort, sure, but it also means complacency, and more importantly, forgetfulness. You forget how much you love him–his laugh, the way he arches his eyebrow when he’s joking around, what your is life with him.

Just a moment ago as I lay in bed with Jonno–him asleep, me watching Liv Tyler pout her way through a muted Armageddon, Gaston lying quietly on the pillow beside me–I stopped rushing, stopped obsessing, stopped making to-do lists in my head, and remembered.

Sappy? Maybe. Saccharine? Signs point to yes.

Sincere? You betcha.

Ugh. Off to a day-long conference in Baton Rouge. I’m sure you’re envious. I mean, who wouldn’t give his eye teeth for a day in the land of pageant hair and Jimmy Swaggart?

I know, I know: it’s weird that we had a houseguest for nearly a week and I didn’t even mention him. I guess it’s because I was so busy that Jonno did all the entertaining; apart from a couple of drinks and a dinner or two, I didn’t see that much of our new friend. Of course, Jonno’s a better hostess than I am anyway–whether I’m busy or not.

Still, it was nice to spend the little time with Patrick that I did. Very friendly, very giving, very low-maintenance: good qualities in a guest. Next time he visits, I hope he and I can spend some of the daylight hours together. That’s when I’m at my best.

Perhaps Jonno and I will even pull together a little soirée in his honor–something special and intime. Maybe I could get these guys to come down and organize it. Contrary to popular opinion, you see, I’ve got no head for party details.