Don't Get Me Started

Let's get one thing straight. I'm not. And yes, my brother is Bill Clinton. But not "the" Bill Clinton. These two guys are very different. For one, whenever I hear President Bill speak--on gays in the military, healthcare reform--I hear that sound trucks make when they're backing up. I'm out and proud. When I'm out and it's raining I carry an umbrella. I used to be in but I hate the smell of moth balls. My closet was huge, complete with a foyer, turnstile, a few locks, dead bolts, and a burglar alarm that had to be deactivated before I could even touch the door handle. And then there was the storm door. It wasn't until I had lived and slept with a woman for a year that it occurred to me to ask, "Do you think were lesbians?" By the way, never come out to your father in a moving vehicle. Now I've written a book. It's not as easy as it looks. One night, I was working late on my computer when a little message came up on the screen, "You are almost out of memory." Here are my thoughts and o