Uncle Joe, Miguelito's guest diarist while he's away on vacation, wrote a stunning tribute to our family in yesterday's entry. In just a few paragraphs he managed to boil the reason why our relationship is so special right down to the essence.

On one hand, we are really far from the fringe of kinky (believe it or not). On the other, we are in a different universe from the mainstream as well. If you took away the polyamory, and you took away the lesbianity (Joe's word. I like it.), you'd still be hard pressed to find two heterosexual couples who live next door to each other who'd formed such a family unit.

When Deb and I first started this relationship with Jake and Sara, before we lived next door, we called them our Emergency Back-up Girlfriends. If your primary partner couldn't do something with you or for you, one of the EBGs probably could. Our relationship is still like that, but much deeper. We love each other, we love each other's company, and we're there for each other, no matter what.

Sara was telling me the other week that she really wants the four of us to stay together our whole lives, and I think we all feel the same way. I told her that I felt like I had a loving, invincible support system behind me.

Though we still use the term, Jake and Sara aren't really EBGs anymore, they're part of my family.

In other news, there's some Google Bingo decision making to be done. I got a hit for "first orgasm ever." My card has "my first orgasm" in one of the squares. Does it count? I hate to break the news to me, but I don't think it does. I also got a hit for "Conair Vibrator," and my card has "my first vibrator," which happened to be the Conair. Dammit. So, so close.

God, I love this little town. I was sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigarette and drinking my morning coffee, when our code enforcement officer, Liz, pulled up.

You can take the girl out of the Bronx, but you can't take the Bronx out of the girl. Or is it Brooklyn? Anyway, Liz is a lesbian (No, I didn't convert her. She was that way when we found her.) New Yorker who still hasn't lost a trace of her accent after who knows how many years in Georgia. She stepped out of the truck with her two-way radio in one hand and her big honkin' cell phone in the other and walked up through the yard, pointing at our long luxiurious wild onion stalks with the radio antenna.

"This is your warning. Six inches!" Meaning that your lawn isn't supposed to have anything growing in it higher than six inches. Okay, already, I'll mow it soon.

Then she tells me she has a cold and lights up a cig and smokes with me while we chat. We talked about her various duties and where she was headed. I mentioned how Sara sometimes feels sorry for the Hispanic population of East Point when they get hauled in for drinking in public because it's part of their social culture to gather and drink and hang out. We homeowners can drink on our front porches and stuff, but apparently the common areas of apartment complexes are considered public.

Liz explained how she gave her warnings. She gives the bottle hoisting mime universal symbol for drinking and says, "Bueno. Pero en su casa." I told her I thought the verb for to drink was beber, but you longtime readers know how reliable my Spanish is.

She also knows how to say, "Pick up the trash in your yard" and "Your tags have expired" in Spanish. But she doesn't know enough more to know if they truly understand what she's telling them. She doesn't crack down real hard on these folks.

And she's a really cool person.

That's about enough for today. I got stuff to do. I have to clean up the attic dungeon because Deb and Jake might be having a date up there tonight. I'm supposed to do taxes today, and I'm also planning on taking the recycling and going with Sara on her walk (6 miles).

That's the news from Rancho Lesbiano, where the men are good-looking flight attendents, the women have interchangeable dicks, and the children belong to other people.