Notes from the Red Bird House

 Kelli Giddish...Stolen from Google Images Amy Matthews...Stolen from Google Images  What do these two women have in common? Other than a moderate amount of fame in certain circles (Amy hosts various shows on DIY Network and Kelli currently has a supporting role on 'Law and Order: SVU') and a coveted position in a Stacee Ann Harris blog? Let me explain. For years, people have asked me 'my type'. Traditionally, I don't have one. I like who I like and there's no explaining that. Essentially, I date who I date (usually the ones who want to date me, regardless of hair color, body type, or sexual orientation) and I seldom find myself blown away by attraction. I like to say it's more about 'energy', though I'm not sure that's correct either. Right now sitting here, it all seems like a bunch of half truths and partial lies. Kind of like when I used to 'crush' on boys is high school and college; it was more to seem normal and

It's out there in the garage. It is. I know this only because I know this, not because I've checked or looked at it. I suppose it's nothing more than an assumption at this point. I stashed it in a footlocker full of other memorabilia and keepsakes years ago. This, of course, hasn't been important for better than two years. You see, up until last weekend that footlocker was in a closet in my house in Texarkana. Now it's in my garage in Austin. It's purely coincidental. Everything I own is here now, including the footlocker and everything stashed in it. If Lori hadn't been late, I doubt I would have thought of it. Lori was my moving help last Saturday morning and she arrived an hour later than scheduled. Bored while I waited, I dug through a couple boxes. I found my old journals and my teddy bear collection. Then I moved onto the footlocker. What could it hurt? I knew what was in there, but I didn't think about what was in there. Right on top was a stack

Six years of coming here and I'd never had a margarita. Until now. I moved away and found a tolerance for tequila and Everclear margaritas. Today I'm back and having my first Zapata happy hour margarita. The bill will fool you. The price is the same; it's just double the size. The week before we figured that out my best friend drank three, got a hangover, and I almost got kissed. From that day on, there was a limit. One. Ok, maybe two. And I did end up getting kissed eventually (she had two that night). It was then that I decided that I loved a Zapata happy hour margarita. I'd never drank one (I was strictly Bacardi and Diet or just Diet in those days), but I sure did enjoy them. Not only have I been almost kissed and kissed (by more than a couple straight girls), I've had my boobs grabbed and been yelled at for not grabbing back. I've also been the photographer when a friend decided to flash the camera and been told I have a super power (to make women fall

Because I seem to be surrounded by a new group of people who steadfastly believe that I'm either rationalizing or kidding myself about my enjoyment of being single, I'm going to explain all this one more time. I'm not like other people. Let's just start there. I dated only slightly in high school, never in college, and reverted to 'only slightly' in grad school. It took me three years after coming out to get a date. This means that HISTORICALLY I'm single and apparently pretty good with it. I like to believe I could have dated at any point in my life if I'd wanted to date (if I'm rationalizing anything, it's probably this fact) and I've simply chosen not to. I can take this a step farther and say that at any point in my life I could have been in a relationship if I'd wanted to be in one and I've simply chosen not to. This is where I am right now today. I suppose I could date or commit (Lord, don't make me), I just don't want

I discovered yesterday, in the middle of a super long run on a treadmill at Planet Fitness, that I'm attracted to blonds. Given that I was at least an hour into the run, this may have been caused by oxygen depletion and/or low blood sugar. There's really no telling. As a rule,  I don't like blonds. I don't. Never have. Sure, I've dated a few and even crushed on a few, but I always stand by my rule. I don't like them. And it's not because I haven't had much luck with them. Truly, I haven't but then again I haven't had much luck with brunettes or red heads either. It's just that if I'm going to be instantly attracted to someone, it's not going to be a blond. Ever. Of course, all that changed yesterday morning. I saw a woman I was immediately drawn to. And she was blond. Like really blond. Not dishwater, almost blond. Blond blond. Really blond. And pretty and smart and put together. How could I tell this from a momentary 'interac

I'm only moderately ashamed to admit that zebras are helping my sanity. As I wrote a few days ago, I'm unmedicated and busy. I have little to cling to. Yes, yes... Hope floats. It's just that I'm a little to strung out on work and running to make hope a reality. At this point, it's enough to know Hope exists in the abstract. It's partly because of the zebras. They make me happy and calm my soul in a way that little can these days. Once upon a time, God communicated with me through animals. Interestingly enough, He's apparently back to His old tricks. Now given that I'm a newly minted new-fangled Christian, this may seem weird, blasphemous even. God and animals? Isn't that a little too 'Native American primitive'. God doesn't talk to modern people through animals, Stacee (He does it through mysterious pictures of Jesus on garage doors and statues that cry.....skepticism intended). Well, I'm from a different spiritual school. I beli

Where to start? I want to talk about drama and why I hate it. I'm sure to many all that is self-evident. Drama sucks. Why would I want to be a part of it? Ah, good question. I ask that one a lot to my friends who never seem to shake the drama that consistently envelops their lives. Their answer? I hate drama, can't stand it, try to avoid it. My answer? Really? Seriously, you try to avoid it? Well, I'm here to tell you that you suck at it. And that's where the rubber meets the road. I'm not going to make this a gay vs straight blog, not intentionally anyway. Gays have a lot of drama and I'm sure straights have an equal share. It's just that gay drama seems to splash in my direction while straight drama (as long as I'm not giving the impression that I'm pursuing someone's girlfriend or wife) keeps it's distance. I think it has to do with guilt by association or something. I'm gay so gay drama wants me. On the other hand, straight drama ap