About Kelli Dunham
My life has been such that I’ve watched a fair number of people die. Close up and personal. It makes me a great party guest.
Being the youngest child of a rural family that loves alcohol and ambition in equal parts, I’m never wholly impressed with New Year celebrations.
You call that drunk? We puke up more vodka before 9 am than most people drink all day.
You call that planning for a New Year? My dad read us Brian Tracy’s “Seven Goal Setting Habits” in our cribs.
Of course, if you want to bypass the alcohol and go right to ambition, you’ve got to keep really really busy, so my wall is always covered with post it notes detailing my quarterly goals and foci no matter what time of year it is.
Adult children of alcoholics overcompensation notwithstanding, I’m a sucker for a good slogan and I’ve been thinking about one for this next year. I’ve decided on “just hit send”
“Just hit send” was a mini-meme created by the thoughtful Anne Elliott at the New York book release for Cheryl Burke’s My Awesome Place in October of this past year.
When my contact in Huntsville Alabama (author Jane McNeefe) started promoting my Huntsville show, she told me there was one guy I really needed to meet: James Robinson, the executive director and one person staff (cough-but mostly unpaid-cough) of GLBT …
One Mamma Grizzly. One Million Moms. One southern convention center. And one nervous queer in an American flag shirt. What could go wrong?
In my 20s I was a nun and they frowned on taking time off from the soup kitchen to go on queer comedy tours.
“No no no not a tour bus.”
I was yelling at this point because I was on the phone with my mom and was therefore, as per usual, competing with the musical intro to the Gaither Family Gospel Show. I remember The Gaither’s show well and even fondly from childhood, but it is not easy to have a conversation over it.
I had called my mom on April 14, which I had mistakenly believed was Mother’s Day (I am not so good with details) but as it turns out, Mother Day’s is in May. Now we were both engaged (stuck?) in that fun conversational no gendered-person’s land wherein I try and explain my super queer life to her, and she feigns understanding.
“Not a tour bus mom,” I repeated, “I’m going to be taking a Megabus.”