Fresh Haircuts Rock !

2017-08-04 07.55.09Trump leaves for 17 days vacation today, not like he’s DOING anything productive or noteworthy in the White House or anything…naw…he’s just wasting space and stealing air.  He leaves with his tiny orange tail between his legs.  He signed the Russian Sanctions bill and now Putin has directly said by Tweet that he will now remove DJT from office – because obviously the American Congress cannot – or will not – do it themselves.  If there were a pile of shit on the Congressional floor someone would take on the task of disposing of it properly.  Well, there’s a pile of shit in the White House and I don’t seen anyone with a pooper scooper in sight.  Pathetic.  Sigh…so I am now counting on Putin to get this guy out of our White House, or as Trump calls it “the Dump”….

I had a decent sort of day.  I took Thursday and Friday off of work…mental health reprieve.  Plus I have the weekend as well.  So yeah, I needed some time off to myself.

I stopped in to Loaded Dice, Boston Barber Shop in Rochester, NH today for a nice fresh cut and edging.  I really like how Skinny B cuts it, he’s better than Johnny used to be.  I hear that Johnny got hired back…and then fired within a week…damn dude!  Anyway, Skinny B is the barber at the middle chair in this picture; guy in the white shirt and black apron.  He’s a great barber!  I just love getting my hair cut, and everything about it.  The smell of the Old Spice aftershave,I love the feel of that straight razor as he nicks away the tiny hairs at the edges of my hairline, shh, shh, shh, like gently carving on balsa wood  I love the noise, guys laughing, pool balls clinking into the worn plastic pockets, the hum of the AC unit and of course the “guy talk” that I am SURE is akin to the gossip you do/say/hear at any local beauty salon.  I just love my barbershop!

2017-08-03 14.02.45

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Love

Ang sketch

Love is just a giant little word.  One I am afraid of and have really only said and meant a very few times in my life.  Sure, there is platonic love like how you love a friend for being a friend, or parental love as in how we love our parents.  But there is also a thing called romantic love.  Romantic love is what I speak of here.  I have an issue with it evidently.   When I was younger and more outgoing I chased after love like it was an intoxicator that I just had to have to breath; to live.  But now in my older age here I do far less chasing after this type of love.

Currently I am in a long distance relationship with my lover from Virginia.  Long distance love just sucks when what you crave is the daily touch of another human being.  I want her hands on my body, her kiss upon my lips.  I want the sigh of a woman in my ear.  Distance just keeps all of this from me in a way that feels so cruel and stinging.

Love is one of those emotions I used to try to steer clear of for a few of the more recent years.  I don’t feel like I am very easy to understand for most people, therefore not very loveable to them either.  My exterior is a bit on the harder, rough side and I can be quite stoic in my emotions.  But believe me when I do crack and cry the tears flow like rivers.  It’s not that I mean to be sort of shut down sometimes, but I often am afraid of what to say and don’t want to make mistakes by saying the wrong things.  I tend to speak my mind and that’s not always a good thing I have learned.

Love is a very personal thing for me.  It never has come easy.  I am wary of being burned and thus I take my time with someone.  I have to know that the person loves me that same way that I love her.  I’m a very chivalrous type of Butch, I like to do things that some consider to be male attributes, like pull out her chair, open her car door and entry doors to buildings.  I believe it’s very easy to be kind and chivilrous at the same time.  I’m also one who likes to take care of my woman, make sure she’s happy and contented.  The happier the wife the happier the life!  And that is one very true statement.  And the happier she is the happier I can also be.

As you can see from this post Love has been on my mind heavily lately.  I’m hungry for the touch of another body, and for some ah-mazing sex.  But alas I remain alone here and committed to the path I am walking right now.

Peace!  ~MB

Those Darned Definitions…

cropped-cropped-cropped-001.jpgMan!  Has language changed some radically since I’ve been walking this green earth.  Daily I am surprised by the “new” use of “old” words; the newer definitions and meanings of some.  Start with the word we all know and use in a zillion different ways:  Queer.  Now we know the dictionary meaning to be “odd or unusual” to be short.  But then we all know the meaning when it’s used to describe someone’s sexual preference for the same sex…i.e. “He/she is queer as a three dollar bill.”  meaning that he/she is gay…another word…Gay….now that is supposed to mean “happy and joyful” by the dictionary, but when used to describe me it means I like pussy, and I’m a bit queer.

Today’s LGBT world (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender, for those who may not really know what the letters represent, seriously.)  Yes, where was I …in today’s world we are constantly changing up language.  It’s a far cry from what it was like in the 70’s when I was growing up.  Or the 80’s when I was just coming out and defying the world with my gayness.

There are so many words now to describe or to define who one is in the world.  I could not possibly do justice to all of them here, but I will take a stab at a few of the more common ones just for fun.

There’s the all famous Butch.  The definition of Butch varies so widely now that I am not sure if I am even still Butch!  Hell, it seemed easy when I finally did define myself as such, it felt wholesome and right.  I was a masculine presenting woman.  Butch.  It is my identity, my definition of me.  But what it means to me and what it means to other people can really be confusingly different.  I define Butch for myself as a masculine woman.  A woman who is more comfortable walking the masculine side of the binary, but who is not a man and does not necessarily want to be a man.  (Some people are convinced that all Butch women secretly just want to be men – both straight people and other LGBT people have been known to say this more than once).  I want to wear my jeans and workboots; flannel shirts are a must to my Butch wardrobe.  I don’t walk like a girl, or talk like one.  My voice is very deep, raspy and quite often mistaken for a male voice on the phone.  Plain and simple for me, it’s just how I was constructed by life.   I am a masculine woman, a Butch to the core.  Of course, this is just my definition and will certainly vary from yours or someone elses.

Femme is another widely varying word.  It’s gained some serious notoriety and popularity in the last 10 years I believe.  We have had the word Butch for so long and it’s been more popular for the last 100 years than I think Femme has been.  In my experience I didn’t really have a word for the type of women that I found super attractive until I discovered the word “Femme”.  To me Femme means a very feminine presenting woman.  A woman who revels in the glories of being very feminine appearing, acting and who is often attracted to her polar opposite – the Butch.  (I know this is not always the case, I am aware that Butch/Femme is only one dynamic, and that there are others, please don’t shoot me).

Now there are all these fun descriptive words that you can throw together with Butch and Femme.  There’s about 100 ways to be Butch or to dilute it, which ever you think is happening. Personally, I think the dilution factor is more of what is taking place.  Historically we know that the Butch-femme dynamic kind of started as a cover so that women could see one another  and appear to be a hetero couple…they were hiding from the law and society basically. There’s a LOT more to the history than this, I am seriously over simplifying here for brevity.

Today we have baby Butches, Tomboi Butches, Soft Butches, Hard Butches, Stone Butches, Daddi Butches, etc. etc.  I am sure I have missed a dozen or so other types here…but you should get the gist of where I am going with this. It’s a hard thing to just say Butch is Butch nowadays, because there are so many layers and depths to each “type”.  If you look in Wikipedia or do a Google search for any one of the types you are bound to come up with more reading than you probably need to get to the point.  You can be whatever you choose, and you can define it in any way you want along the squiggly line of the binary.

Same with the femmes, you have the high femmes, diva femmes, lipstick lesbians, queer femmes, and that list goes on and on as well.  I am not as familiar with it as I am with the Butch side of things, obviously and for obvious reasons.  All I know is that I really love femme women.  And the way they embody their femininity is up to each one of them, they can put on a baseball cap and pull the pony tail through the back and still be a diva femme.  It’s all in the attitude I have come to realize with femmes.  They have this great attitude about femininity and they revel in it.

Today’s younger crowd has a ton of other new words too that I just don’t understand.  I’ve come to the realization that I am too old for some of this new wording. But I want to learn!

Personally, I used to identify as a Stone Butch.  I am not so sure about seriously identifying with the “stone” part any longer.  I’m just not sure exactly what stone means to me now.  I know that I am not a “touch me not” Butch, as the word “stone” is supposed to imply in some circles.  I don’t care for some things; for some forms of touch, but I do like to be loved on quite a lot!  I enjoy sex, and sometimes I think the the inference to “stone” is that he/she is not someone who likes to be touched or who enjoys any kind of sexual touch.  I have to say I enjoy both.  While I have my limitations, and my boundaries that doesn’t negate the fact that I am human and need human interaction and touch.  Hell, I love sex.

Stone is a word that gets thrown around a lot more as I’ve noticed lately. I even see it in reference to “stone femmes” now, which I never encountered before say the last year or so.  I’m not sure of how that definition would read or what it would be.  Perhaps one of you readers have more information on this one, or some anecdotes to share on it.  I see it on Fetlife quite often and wonder about it.

So, these are my more random thoughts for today’s blog.  I was just pondering word-smithing and how radically language in the gay community has changed over the decades. Words seem to come into fashion and fade just as quickly sometimes.  It’s interesting as fuck.  You may see me write a bit more about this, perhaps from a more serious angle next time, tonight I am in a fun mood and wanted to keep it fairly light.

Rock on.

~MB

 

 

 

Can We Re-invent Butch?

The passing of Leslie Feinberg has opened up whole new conversations surrounding Butch and Transmasculine identity.

I would like to share in parts of that conversation here and I think it’s appropriate that this blog is called Butch 2.0, it’s time to reinvent a new Butch, a 2015 Butch and it’s time to take back our identity, to wake up and for us to ban together and form a more cohesive union. It’s time to recogize the Femme in the Butch/Femme relationship, and not just focus on the Butch.

I reached to buy a new copy of Stone Butch Blues today online, and was astonished to find the cheapest copy on Barnes & Noble for a little over $67 usd for the reprint in paperback…so even the booksellers have realized the commodity of that book; the book that changed so many lives over the decades. A book about the 1960’s that resonates in 2014. I also found collector copies on eBay for over $269. usd which is ridiculous. I want the book again, but I’m not willing to pay scalper prices for it. I will wait.

So what does reinventing Butch look like in 2015 and beyond? What have we learned from everything to this point?

We talk about “Old Fashioned, Old School” Butches (and Femmes, but I shall focus on the Butch side for this piece). OFOS was a term coined by someone on one of the 90’s Butch-Femme social networking sites (perhaps, Butch-Femme.com? I am not sure) It meant that those who followed the OFOS “rules” would look, act and be like those Butches of yore. They were to be stone, tough, mean and commanding. Yet they knew how to “treat a lady” as it was said. Stone was a prerequisite it seemed, if you weren’t stone you couldn’t possibly be OFOS because they were ALL stone, meaning they all averted sexually intimate touch. (make a glossary)

I get asked a million questions about being Butch. I am lousy in verbal expression. I’m much better with written word, and the time to formulate my words. When I am put on the spot to answer an out of the blue sort of question I am often at a loss for the right words.

The world changes and so do we. Very few Butches today live truly as OFOS Butches, unless they are still of the age to recall such people, or if they are very well into the history of the Butch/Femme movement in lesbian history. The days of back door entries into the honkey tonks that would hide them, the cross dressing Butches that had to look like men to be safer in the world. Those who were beaten for not wearing at least 3 pieces of female clothing, those were the OFOS Butches of yore.

Today we have a new Butch. Once that’s more comfortable in Levi’s jeans, Timberland work boots and flannel shirts. Sunday or wedding dress up is a nicely taylored suit and tie. Haircuts are almost standardly crew in nature. Hoodie sweatshirts will work until the temperature drops below 30F, then we need to don that leather jacket or Carhardtt foremens coat. It’s the pretty typical look for the New England style Butch for sure. At least in my world. There are just certain things that are practical in life and a good Butch is one of them.

Oh there are variations…the cargo shorts and polo shirt with Nike’s types…younger, maybe a baseball hat on cocked to one side and a lip piercing….I’m young, cutting edge and ready to roll. That’s what that look says to me. They’re cute and I want them all for little brothers.

Then there are the super snappy dressers, who I can tell a mile away that they have very little common sense or experience. They may have experience with having it easy picking up women, but once the women figure out that they are more into themselves than anything or anyone else, they drop them pretty hot. I never wonder why they are single, it’s just obvious to me.

There is beginning to form a group of Butches that have had top surgery or a major top side reduction. This was a big topic in 2014. I had mine done in August. I know I got both good and bad feedback on that move..but did it does it make me any more or less Butch? Some say it does, some say it’s an afront to my female body, some say by doing it I want to be in transition to be a guy, and some say hey, it’s your body do what you want. Lots of us who are choosing this surgery are getting the same kind of feedback I am sure. There are entire hateful blogs and vlogs concerning how evil getting top surgery is. They’ll scare ya to death unless you understand the truth that it’s just cosmetic surgery and it’s up to the person who wants it, period. For me it was the best thing I ever did for myself. I was uncomfortable with my chest for years, and now I am completely comfortable. I love having my shirt off and it’s so comfortable to sleep half naked….yeah, it makes me much more happy and comfortable with my body in general.

I do hope that maybe we can have more conversation about this among more Butch bloggers. I’d really like to know other experiences and the such around top surgery.

CALL OUT!!!! I would like to know all of the very BEST in Butch and Trans-masculine writing on the web, blogs, vlogs, whatever and wherever. If you know of any please put them or links in the comments below or contact me directly. I am trying to work on compiling a really thorough list of excellent resource blogs and bloggers interested in community participation.

My 12th Year…Where I Was…Growin Up

From “The Daily Post” “

Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home?”

I was a rather lucky kid.  I grew up in a rather complete family; Mom, Dad and two younger brothers, and two younger sisters – 7 of us total.  We were lucky as kids, we had terrific parents and we weren’t abused or living with alcoholics -like many of my friends tell me of their childhoods.  I had a pretty typical lower middle class childhood, living in a small rural town in southern Maine that hadn’t yet reached it’s hay-day of strip malls and outlet stores.  My parents worked their asses off to support and raise us, and I thank them for the childhood they gave each of us.

At twelve, I was living on a beautiful rural road, with sparsely dispersed houses, in a very historic area of town.  We lived in a huge old house, the first floor being over 300 years old, the second floor added in the 1940’s.  At one time the place had been a large farm, complete with two large barns that each burned long before I was born.  There were the remnants of ancient apple orchards, even a pear tree and lots and lots of grape vines gone wild.  The property was up against land that had been left to the town, thus it was called the ‘town forest’ – tons of acreage of wilderness with trails, old dumps, old foundations and even a couple of very old grave yards…ooooo….that we as kids would think were haunted by the old sea captain buried in one of them.

Along one edge of the property, just over the line into the town forrest, was a swamp with a small stream that ran harder in the rainy season. We played in that swamp for hours and hours.  We built crude bridges, caught frogs, tried fishing and manhandled turtles.  My mother would buy us tall rubber boots for our excursions into the swamp land.  I recall that we had a name for the swamp, but cannot recall what it was now…but it was a beloved place to play, get dirty, find adventure and live out fantasy life as sea captains of small boats we would try to build, or as army guys crawling through the swamp grass and muck in search of the ‘enemy’ neighborhood kids.

Toward the back of the property, behind the house was a small field where there were eight or ten old apple trees.  These afforded us plenty of tree climbing to pick apples.  Mom would make pies for us out of them.  They were old Macintosh type apples.  We would have “apple wars” throwing rotten ones at one another as we scurried for cover behind the piles of old stones used to build crude stonewalls along the border of the property between us and the town forest land.  Farmers would build the old stone walls that are found throughout New England when they would clear land to plant.  They really had nothing else to do with nor other way to dispose of the rocks and stones unearthed when plowing.  So up went stonewalls to mark borders, pen cows and horses, and to keep out the villains.  Our property had stonewalls on all three sides, and was fronted by the road on the fourth.

We had one neighboring house next to us, and one kind of diagonally across the street.  Next door was the home of the two elderly people who sold my parents the home for under $8,000. back in 1972 – when I was 10 years old, and we had returned from living for a short time in New York.  These two became our adoptive grandparents as we had none of our own grandparents living at that time.  The only grandmother I had known had died when I was 10 just after we moved into that old house; the house that would be in our family for 44 years and would be the center of family activity all that time and would shelter a million memories.

Gram and Gramps were awesome as neighbors, and they especially were sweet on my youngest brother, who went there daily for homemade cookies and some hugs from Gram.  One time Gramps even got out and rode the little guy’s bike around the driveway, which was quite comical!  Old man on BMX bike, knees up to his chin…you get the picture I am sure!  He had a big wide grin on his face too!  Gram and Gramp were killed in a head-on collision on their way to camp one weekend when I was 20 and in the US Army in Germany, sadly.  I’ve always missed them.  They always said they would “go together” and by golly they did.  Bless them.

To the left side of the property, as standing in the road looking at the house head-on, we would play baseball, kickball and football in the field there.  Gramps usually kept it mowed, as his property bordered it along that side.  He loved to see us set up our baseball diamond, even though we did break his garage window once with a baseball hit foul.  I think it may still be broken today even.  It’s a downhill slope on that side and we would roll down the hill, wrestle and play for hours there.  A few years Mom and Dad tried growing vegetable gardens on that side. The deer and bunnies would come and mow down the rows nightly.  But we did succeed with some stuff once Gramps showed us how to put down dried blood around the garden to keep out the critters.  Evidently they think of death and dying when they smell dried blood and avoid the area.  It worked and we did have a nice crop of corn one year.

So, when I was 12 living there at the homestead I was just coming into my more rebellious years.  But I was generally a good kid.  I loved to read.  I would find hiding places on the property, a flat stone at the far corner along the stonewall where I would lay and read.  The lilac bush out front would get so huge that you had paths and tunnels through the center.  It was near to the road along the front left corner, and there was a rock cliff that fell off to the road below; the lilac grew right on that cliff.  I spent hours laying at the top of that cliff reading Nancy Drew mysteries, Harriet the Spy, and anything else that I could relate to.

Around this time I found a book on the roadside one day, a porn book…which piqued my interest but had to be hidden like crazy!  I had a place in the old tin garage where I hid it, a platform up in the rafters where I could climb up and be out of sight to read the really nasty stuff.  Until someone told on me and I got caught…that ended my porn reading career until I was 18 and could get it myself! 🙂  Ah, what a memory!

At 12 I had a 2 year old brother who I just adored.  I would spend a lot of time watching him for my hard working mother.  She worked right up at the end of the road at a small motel where she started as a chambermaid and wound up as the general manager.  We could ride our bikes the half a mile to Route 1 and be at her place of work should we need her for anything in an emergency.  The summer of my 12th year we had chickens, as I recall.  Mom has always loved her chickens and fresh eggs.  We would sell the eggs to locals who would drive into our broken pavement driveway looking for them. Our coops were clean and the chickens happy.  We had one that would always get beat up in the pen, so she ran loose on the property and we named her Henny Penny.  (The sky is falling….)  She was friendly.  And in the fall when the chickens all became chicken dinners (and I cried on the cliff with my cat squeezed tight in my arms) somehow Henny Penny was no where to be found on that day.  She reappeared the next morning as if nothing had changed.  Eventually Henny went to a retirement farm to live out her days.  Dad just could not do the beheading of such a sneaky chicken – after all she had survived the carnage, she must have been a blessed chicken.

Back then, 1974, you could leave your 12 year olds in charge of your other kids and they would all survive.  Sure, bloody noses and cuts from fights happened and you held the victim down until they agreed not to tell Mom and Dad that you caused the injury!  Kids fell out of tree forts, crashed their bikes without helmets, and stayed out til dark, but it was a much safer time and we didn’t have video games, colored TV or social media to occupy our brains.  We had the outdoors and our imaginations.  We had tree forts that we built with our young hands and Dad’s leftover wood and good nails.  We held each other down and made each other drink lemon juice or hot sauce, just for fun.  We had rope swings that we almost killed ourselves on at times. There were neighborhood BB gun wars, single pump only!  And the occasional lawn dart in the head did happen, but you survived. You learned to swim whether you liked it or not, Mom’s rule.  You took a bath on Sunday night, whether you needed one or not.  And Walt Disney never dreamed of showing you Myley Cyrus!  Yes, it was a different time, and much more fun in my opinion, I would not trade then for now ever!

At 12 I was also discovering who I was as a person, and knew I had secrets that I could never talk about with anybody.  I was about to go into 7th grade.  Kids were starting to have little boyfriends and girlfriends.  I was mortified by the mere thought that I would have to be some boy’s girlfriend at some point.  I never knew at that time that there was an alternative for me.  That would come years later, long after a fun childhood of skipping rocks on the local beaches, and building sandcastles with my baby brother. And that would come just a short year after I would take him to the races in my 1973 Dodge Dart, and teach him to jungle pee because I didn’t want him in the porta-potties at the race track.   I had plenty of time for my future self, I was too busy being a fun, countrified kid from Maine who loved lobsters, clams, sunrises over the Atlantic, Seapoint Beach and my awesome family.

Think About It Thursday

“This week for Think About it Thursday, I ask you to tell us what you thought you wanted to be when you grew up. Did you become what you dreamed of?”

This is a tricky question for me.  There are things you, as a child, would say you wanted to “be” when you grew up…like I wanted to be an archaeologist focusing on anthropology.  Yes, I was a brainy kid that way.  I loved to discover things about history, anything old fascinated my young brain.  Arrow heads were totems from the Gods to me!  I still have my first arrow head, found over on Manson Road in Kittery at my Aunt’s house when they were putting in a baseball diamond on her property.  It’s pretty cool and it’s still a treasure to me.  

I still love that stuff today.  I will read National Geographic magazines cover to cover.  I am deeply interested in Anthropology, or the study of human beings.  Archaeology is more the digging for the relics of old, and that is still something I love to stay up to date on as well. I never did go to college, so obviously I never became a college educated archaeologist or anthropologist.  But I think I am an amatuer at both, and I still love both fields and am interested in anything to do with them.  

The second part of that question “Did you become what you dreamed of?”  Now there is the rub in this TBT theme for me.  Yes, I became the person that I had dreamed of as a kid.  See, when I was small, and growing up, I always dreamed of loving a good woman and having a life with women romantically instead of boys or men.  I kept this a secret until I was an of-age adult to the best of my ability.  Maybe there were a few I didn’t fool, but I damned sure tried.  My self-imposed closet where I kept my secret sexuality was a place of safety, because I knew those I was growing up with would never accept or understand this part of me at that time.  It was too early in the 60’s/70’s for that kind of awareness, tolerance, and acceptance to be available to me – or really anyone!  Thus, I just had my dreams of a very different – yet kind of the same – kind of life for myself. I wanted to be in love like those straight friends and relatives of mine that I grew up around, just that I wanted it to be with someone who was female like me.  

I didn’t fully understand my sexuality as a child.  But I knew that it was definitely different, and different could not be good.  Funny how a child can comprehend when something should not be told or talked about.  Personally I kept my own secret locked away deep inside of me until I was 19 years old.  By that time I had left home, left those I knew all my life and who knew me, and was far away in the military, serving my country.  

That’s when I discovered that I was not the only “freak” who thought this way!  I met other women who desired the company and love of other women.  At first I had some serious homophobia about it.  They talked about it, they acted on it and they seemed to enjoy it, which in my well trained brain was wrong.  Like most in my era we had been brought up straight and to believe that homosexuality was wrong.  I personally never heard the “God wrong” scenario back then, but perhaps that’s because we were not overly religious in my household.  Church was something we did on holidays or when Dad got into it for a few Sundays.  I could only dream of a life of living as an out-lesbian – a word I never knew until I was about 14 years old and heard it from other kids, then looked it up in my dictionary.  I dreamed of it being normal that I would have a wife and we would live together in a little house with a picket fence and a dog. 

Today is a different era.  Today I do live as an out lesbian and without much fear.  Sure, there’s always some fear, fear that you will run into someone who hates you for just being you, because they for some reason hate LGBT people.  I think it’s more that they do not understand that LGBT people are just people with different sexual desires and practices than our straight counterparts.  Although I think most of us are doing the same basic things in the sack, just in slightly different ways! *smirk*  

I usually try to be considerate of other peoples beliefs.  I know my lifestyle doesn’t always agree with their ideals or their religious convictions.  I try to steer clear of those people and just live my life.  And I have a damned good life.  I have a loving family that accepts and supports me; that loves me as I am.  I have friends who do the same.  I keep a nice home and have a dog and I date women exclusively.  So my life IS as I dreamed it would be for the most part.  I also dreamed I would be a writer and one day write books…well, I write, but I have yet to put that book together.  One day I do hope that that part of my dream will also be a reality.  

So while I never became an archaeologist or anthropologist, I did grow up and find the dream of being true to who I am in this world.   I was lucky to learn many trades, most having to do with construction of one sort or another, thus I have a knack for building and fixing things that I am always honing.  I had military training that taught me focus, determination, and how to be a dependable, respectful person in this world.  I have a Masters Degree in street education, learning the seedier side of life during my 20’s…learning about homelessness, addiction and the challenges that people face daily in life.  I have learned about inequality in this world, seen it first hand, and have stood up to fight for equality for all people.  I’v stared death in the face and chose life.  I’ve buried friends and their dreams all because of a fierce virus that took us all by surprise in the 80’s.  By 1999 I had lost 14 friends to AIDS and was living with HIV myself.  But I chose life, I chose to live my dreams and to fight like a wildcat.  Modern medications have been my friend and have kept me alive and healthy for many years now.  I only wish they had been available earlier for my lost friends.  

So my answers to the questions of today’s Think about it Thrusday, is yes, I am living life as I dreamed it could be for the largest part.  I’m not rich or famous or some highly recognized anthropologist, but I am a good, honest, loving person who lives life every day, in the present, to it’s fullest as much as I can.  I wake up happy and warm.  I take care of business as it needs, and I tend to my relationships with other people with care and consideration.  I hope I can continue to spread the love and continue to make changes in my life and the world that are good for both!  Rock on.  

Haunted Still by Her

Ahhh, today was a very good day! I was up at the crack of dawn, the birds just starting to stir and chirp, and the sky just beginning to become light, sun not yet above the ocean to my east.  Yes, it was 4:20 am and I was up and at it for the day.  I had fallen asleep at 10pm last night after a full day of working on the house.  I’ve been alone all week and damn it feels freaking great.  I’ve been working on reclaiming my Butch Bachelor Cave here in Maine.  Not that I didn’t care for it before, I just needed to change everything I touched to make it mine again.  Some weird Butch thing I suppose.  

I’ve been thinking a lot about the last several years…the wild times, the good times, and the bad times, and the changes in the world and the changes in ME.  There are several prominent moments that stick hard in my head and make me still ask myself WHY I did those certain things – or why I didn’t do specific other things.  I shake my head, and just admit I made mistakes, big and small, but I’m still kickin and smiling once again.  

I keep some things very very private.  I do it so as not to hurt someone any further than I already did.  But my brain works that situation over almost daily and it aggravates the crap out of me that I cannot reach out; reach back and do something differently.  They say no failure is fatal, that you admit them and correct them….I just wish I knew how to do that.  There is just this one single relationship failure that I caused a few years ago that I wish I could have the chance now to at least apologize for, for behavior that was NOT really me, and not what I wanted to really happen. Perhaps one day I will have that chance, just an exchange; a short conversation to ease my heart; to know that she doesn’t feel as I still do today.

I’m very grateful for the life i have today, and I’m relatively happy.  I enjoy my own home and my freedom to be myself tremendously.  I am thankful for the progression of the country towards more equality and justice.  I am hopeful for a bright and loving future for the world and for me as an individual.  I will continue to strive forward to make my world, the world, a better place for myself and everyone else in any way that I am able to do so.

I’m seriously enjoying the renewed bachelorhood that I have once again found.  (Much to some people’s dismay I am sure.) but being single once again is the best thing for me right now.  I need to really clear some things out of my past that keep me from giving of myself to anyone else – except one.  She knows who she is and she knows how to reach me I am sure.  And all she has to do is want to reach and I will most certainly leap at her outstretched hand in return.  Until I can either die – or in some miraculous way get over my desire for her – then I will continue to fly solo and reach for the stars in Azure skies.

Hell, in the last 6 years I have tried on three relationships for short periods of time.  I could not find a way to truly give myself over to any one of them, and they all deserved a love that I just could not give.  I tried, I did, but when the heart is truly elsewhere; is taken already, then you can’t be true in the moment to someone else.  It’s a total mental mind fuck

Those of you who read my blogs and have known me for a while may know my history and tell me to go after what it is that I am waiting for, but realize that that is not my choice; I cannot do that.  It’s been made clear to me that despite promises of never losing touch no matter what, it’s in her court to lob a ball at me if she ever wants to talk to me or contact me.  I’m not hard to find, hell my profile on Facebook is public, friend me and you get my phone number.  Plus, she knows how to find me I am positive of that.  Does she want to?  I don’t know her current situation.  Perhaps she’s found security and comfort in someone else; those are hard things to give up for love sometimes.  Especially when someone screws up the way I did, saying the wrong things at the wrong time for the wrong reasons  I just know that it holds me back from moving past her and on to another fulfilling relationship, perhaps it always will.  

Bachelorhood isn’t so bad!  And if I can’t have that real love again, then I would rather remain single anyways.  At least that way I will not be lying to anyone else.  My heart knows where it belongs.  And I can wait an eternity, even into the next life if necessary, for the return of the heart that belongs close to my own.     ~MainelyButch