Nola is Turning 10!

2018-06-07 17.33.58Tomorrow is Miss Nola’s birthday.  She was born on June 10, 2008, so she will turn 10 tomorrow.  The obligatory McDonald’s breakfast will be served to her, and she will be hyper-excited when I wake up and say “Happy Birthday Nola!”  She KNOWS what those words mean:  cheeseburger and fries….and a ride in the car!  And Lulu will be just as excited, they will both jump all around on me on the bed and bark for me to get up.

Nola has been with me since July 31, 2008…the day I found her inside of a cardboard box, with the words “Free Puppy” written on the outside.  I looked inside and saw 2 tiny eyes and a puppy about as big as a guinea pig.  She was tiny, adorable, shaking and scared.  I fell instantly in love, and scooped her up right there. She and I became partners.  The deal was sealed, I told the young woman with the box I would take her and she told me that Nola’s mother was a dashound and her father was a chihuahua…thus she’s a “Chiweenie”.  Funny name for a funny little tiny puppy.

First thing I did was go to the pet store and buy her all the necessary puppy equipment.  I was in New Orleans Lousianna…so I named her NOLA, after the city she was born in.  It fit.  It was appropriate.  I also call her “boo-boo” affectionately.  She likes it.  Nolie-boo-boo.  She traveled with me, loved the car, trucks, u-hauls – anything that moved.  I even took her for rides on my motorcycle when I had it.  The dog just loves to BE with me, wherever I am going, whatever I am doing.

For those of us who have chosen not to have human children, a pet can become the “child” that we need to nurture.  Nola has been my best friend.  My confidant, and my sole source of comfort in times of sadness or grieving.  She’s loved me unconditionally; no matter if I was a good person or a bad person on any particular day. She just loves me, period.  And I never take that love for granted.  I make damned sure that I love and pet her as much as possible.  I keep her near to me all the time.  If I must leave her home, like when I go to work, I tell her where I am going and when I will be back.  Perhaps, you think I am nuts.  It’s a dog.  Yes, it’s a dog, but she has feelings and instincts.  She knows when I am preparing to leave and she likes the reassurance that I will be back.  She’s smart.

I love my dogs.  Nola has given me a great 10 years of unconditional support.  Lulu joined our family unit 3 years ago, and she’s just as important!  She’ll be right next to Nola tomorrow morning, celebrating Nola’s AWESOME 10th Birthday!!!!

Peace!  ~MB

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Ice cream love.

Court Dates…Thoughts

2017-11-09 21.45.37I got home from an 8 hour shift at work this afternoon to be greeted by 3 – THREE ! – fat envelopes in my mail from my attorney.  Fuck.

One was the discovery from my last run in and lock up incident in Portland.  The second…was about a hearing on a motion to terminate deferral and impose sentence because of my being arrested was in violation of my bail conditions, or conditions of release (VCR).  Fuck.

I’m scared of course.  I don’t like the idea of going to jail.  I fully understand that I violated the conditions of my release from the charge from 2016, and by doing so I put myself in this position – where they can choose to impose my 1 year jail sentence and lock my ass up.  I am not sure if they will actually try to send me up for the full year, or if they will want me to do a 7 day “hold” – of which I have already done 3 days – or what will happen.  I have a terrific attorney, who is especially skilled in drug charge cases, and I am going to give her a call tomorrow and see what she thinks she can get them to agree to.

I’ve been going to Groups now – which qualifies as treatment as required by the conditions of release – since last March.  Prior to that I did individual therapy and got myself clean, kicking the habit back in October 2016.  I have been having regular urinalysis tests done every week, which prove that I am clean.  So, I have to gather documentation of those things, plus a letter from my employer, as well as from a couple of other people like my HIV case worker and probably someone else who knows me personally that will write me a letter of support.  I am hoping that by showing those things to the judge; showing him/her that I have been clean and sober and am doing what I am supposed to be doing that I can get a favorable decision to let me continue being out on bail conditions.

Then there’s the new charge.  Fuck.  I am so angry with myself for ever getting it; for ever even thinking that I could get high just once and it would be alright.  Those thoughts and my acting on them are what put me in this very dangerous position now.  I am really not sure what the punishment will be, seeing that this is a second offense 13 months after the 1st offense.  I can only show them what I am doing, and hope that they will give me probation for this charge.  Meaning that I will have to continue treatment (which I intend to do regardless of all of this) and that I will have to report to a probation officer on a regular basis.

None of this is fun.  I regret my mistake very much.  And I am aware of the “don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time” aspect of this.  Of course I do not want to go to jail, but I do know that there is a chance that that is what will happen.  I most likely wouldn’t do a whole year, but I could do 9 months with good behavior.  That would seriously suck.  It would literally ruin my life at this point.  I would lose everything I have worked so fucking hard to put into my life.  I would probably lose my home, my job, my vehicle, the trust of my family, friends, and more.  I would be separated from my dogs.  THAT would really, really get to me bad.

I’m not sure what else I can do to show the courts that I am seriously better off not being jailed.  That I am a productive and upstanding citizen who is contributing to my community.  Locking me up would only serve to punish me, cost the taxpayers, and cause losses to the local economy and community.  It would be senseless, but I KNOW it is the law and is a decided possibility.  No matter how good I am, I broke the law – twice.  And now I am in trouble and will have to pay for my fuck ups in some way that will satisfy the state.

I am currently free on $1000. bail.  That may work in my favor.  And I served 3 days; which also will work in my favor, so I can only hope the judge is in a mood to consider my position on the day of my court appearance.  If not, I will be spending Thanksgiving and most likely Christmas, my birthday and 8 months of 2018 in jail.  Fuck.

I feel a bit like a failure, but I am trying not to be overly hard on myself.  I know that recovery is a process, and that relapses do happen sometimes.  Nevertheless, I am very ashamed that I let myself get caught up in this again.  I have learned a pretty valuable lesson, and I won’t ever touch anything illegal again.  Nope, I’m too old for this bullshit and too old to be doing jail time with mostly kids half my age.  Those 3 days I was literally the oldest person in the group that was in there with me.  I don’t want my life to be like that; threatened by jail time and legal issues.  It’s not what I signed up for, and I will do everything in my power to repair this fuck up and move on with a good, clean living kind of life.

My bestie and I haven’t been hanging out much since the “incident”….I think she’s kind of fallen off her wagon and she’s staying away because of it.  That is really the only reason she wouldn’t come around more.  We have talked a bit on the phone, but not as much as usual and there have been days that have gone by with no word from her for a few in a row — very unlike her.  I can’t risk my own sobriety though.  So if she is using again I don’t want to be part of it; see it or be near it, so she’s best to stay away.

Drugs can really fuck up life.  I wish I had never started dabbling in them as a teenager.  My brain wasn’t fully formed and I developed an addictive disorder.  So for the rest of my life I’ll deal with it.  I’ve been dealing with it for what feels like eternity already.  At least I can recognize it and understand that I have a problem.  And I know all the “right” things to do, I just have to stay completely on the defensive and very focused on staying clean.  I can do it; it may not always be fun, but I can do it.

I’ve always been very honest in my blog.  That’s why I am even writing about this hear.  Plus, it’s what is going on in my life right now and since I’ve written a couple of blogs about it previously I felt I should let you, my readers, know how this situation is progressing.

Everything else has been going very good.  I’ve been spending time with my mother, trying to assure her that I am going in the right direction with things.  I’ve been working steadily, 5 days a week now, and going in at the crack ass of dawn every morning.  I still have my weekends to myself, and have been getting alot done around the homestead.  Things are ready for winter, now it’s just got to get cold here – it’s still unreasonably warm temperature wise.

I put 2 new tires on the truck, fixed the shot headlight and got it all ready for the annual state inspection due this month.  I also got the 4 wheel drive fixed (I may have mentioned that previously) and it’s running great.  So it should get me through the winter much better this year.  All I have left to do on it is an alignment, which I have an appointment to get done next Wednesday afternoon – if things go as planned.

I’ve been checking out the thrift shops and cruising around the back roads of Maine and New Hampshire checking out the fall colors and that’s been a lot of fun and very relaxing.  I’ve done it mostly by myself, with my dogs of course, and the solitude of driving around on a beautiful sunny fall day is so quieting to my soul.

So, that’s my life this week folks.  I’m just hanging in there and trying to keep it all together.  I hope you all are doing well.

Peace.  ~MB

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Some Photos to Share…

The last couple of weeks in pictures. From the top…a segment of the new Sarah Long drawbridge that is being built to replace the old one, on US Route 1 in Kittery going to Portsmouth.  These segments will help put the span in place, which is supposed to happen at high tide on Oct. 17th and I WILL be there – night or day – to see it happen!  I can’t wait to take photos of the event.  The tractors hauling the segments had to come through my weigh station this week on their way over to the bridge construction site, which is close to my work.

Other photos…me being silly with the crown..yeah, I am king Butch! Ha!

The foot shot is my visit to the dentist yesterday to get a broken tooth repaired.  The dentist had a helluva time numbing my mouth, the novocaine just wouldn’t take and he had to keep adding more…finally the whole left side of my face was numb and he got it done.  My teeth are almost all completely fixed now, which is just awesome!  Come a long way since April!

I bathed the dogs and took that pic of them scowling at me from the back of the couch…where they perched to dry off.  They cooperate quite well for their baths, but if they know it’s coming they do both try to run and hide.  Once they’re caught they give in and let me bathe them without much incident.  Now cutting their nails is a whole other animal!  They HATE it and fight like crazy!

I got the pic of the bee on the cone flower when I was over at Lowe’s looking at plants.  I thought it was a great shot to take!  The bees are so endangered right now, we need to keep a vigilant eye on what is happening to them because without bees we don’t get the pollination we need for growing food…think about that.

I got those snazzy new boxers recently, I usually wear boxer briefs, but these caught my eye.  They’re quite comfortable to run around the house in, but I can’t wear them under clothing as underwear.  I’m stuck on the boxer-briefs for that purpose.  I did get a new pair of the Ellen underwear…which I am not that happy with.  They are too thin, the waist band needs to be wider by about 3/4″ and they need to be about 2″ longer in the leg….she touts them as the greatest thing since sliced bread…but I beg to differ.  They could use much improvement.  I am still very happy with the Aeropostale brand, they’re the best I have found!

The sunflowers are from my mothers garden.  I can’t believe how tall they all got!  Those are at least 12′ tall!  I’ve got to try to put in a patch of sunflowers of my own next year.

And yes, I am still smoking my beloved cigars on occasion….I prefer the Black & Mild Cream ones the most!

Have a great weekend!!! More photos and some videos to come!

Peace!  ~MB

 

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

Saturday…More of DC…

It’s Saturday, a beautiful Spring like day too.  Unusual weather for the end of February. It’s been a mild winter this year, thank the powers that be. I opened the door in my office that goes outside/out back and let the fresh air pour in today.  It was glorious. Sunshine and sweet cool air.  It felt good in my lungs and on my skin.  The dogs were loving it too.  Lulu took to running giant circles in the yard and into and out of the house, over and over.  Nola basked in the warm sunshine on the porch, watching the world.  Yes, it’s a very nice day.

I’m going to jump ahead in the DC story to when I lived on 14th and T Street in DC itself.

I moved into a group house on the corner of 14th and T Street in NW DC.  It was an area heavy in prostitution and street crime, but the house was a gorgeous 4 story row house of brick and mortar. I loved the place. The owners had completely gutted the place and redone it, so it was very nice.  Five bedrooms, a bathroom on every floor and a great open space living room and kitchen with a bar that separated the two.  Sweet digs.

I moved in with my lover, Jaye.  She and I were on the top floor where there were two bedrooms and a shared bathroom.  We had a guy from Italy living there on the top floor, who was one who exuded hair in the shower, it was always a beef of mine that he didn’t clean out the shower drain when he was done.  Italian dudes are hairy.  And Matteo was no different.

I was the only one that worked in the house.  The rest of the residents, all of 5 others, were students at American.  Including my girl.  The house was full of very good, studious kids who were working hard to make it through school and into real life.  I was a blue collar worker who busted my ass to make enough money to live.  I should have stayed in the Army, I recall thinking that a million times over the years.  By the time I moved into this place I had gotten a job back in the pool and spa industry, a more up my alley line of work and something I had experience in and loved to do.  I was working in Gaithersburg for a regional supplier of hot tubs, spas, steam rooms and saunas.  It was hard work, but I loved it.

Living in the prostitution district gave me a lot of new things to learn.  Like lock the back of my truck up or they would use it to turn tricks.  Also, everytime I parked it on the street I would be approached by two or three girls before I got to my door step who wanted to know if I needed a “date”…this was always amusing to me.  I used to play it up with them and teasingly ask ” why?  you offering me something?”  or “no, I have plenty of girls in the house here….do YOU need a date?”  Over time I came to know some of the regulars and they recognized me and realized I lived on the street. It was a very African American neighborhood, so seeing a dumb white dyke from Maine wandering around was bound to get looks.

One time I had a friend of our living in our room for a short time, she’d been kicked out of her rich parents’ home in DC. She also attended American and was into theater quite heavily – she was also a stripper in a swanky Georgetown men’s club.  Grace was quite the character.  Loud in voice and appearance, her bleach blonde hair and very provocative manner of dress got her recognized as a handful.  She was funny, fun to hang out with and fun to party with, but she was trouble too.

Grace, when she’d been evicted from home, stole one of her parent’s Mercedes cars.  It was silver and a damned gorgeous automobile.  She let me drive it a few times, and it was awesome.  She was always hiding the car because she didn’t want them to find it and take it back.  They of course, never called the cops about it, so I never understood why she was worried.

She would come in at all hours of the morning loud and drunk or high.  She had a girlfriend who was sometimes with her.  Both were pretty much strung out most of the time.

One night around Christmas time when there was snow on the walkways and it was freezing cold Grace and I decided to play with the hookers for fun.  I was a wise ass, and pretty rough around the edges.  The hookers knew me, but their pimps didn’t as they weren’t usually around.  Grace and I got this idea, from her theater teachings, and so we staged a show for them.

Grace drove up to the house and parked out front in the Mercedes, I opened the door and yelled at her “GET YER HO ASS UP HERE!” from the front porch.  She made a big scene coming toward me and the working girls on the corner started to watch us.  As she got closer I was yelling at her about “Where you been?!” and “Where’s my money?!” kinds of stuff. When she reached the steps I hauled off and smacked her upside the face (not really, just a theatrical slap, we had planned this) and she stumbled backwards and fell in the snow.  The girls on the corner were getting visibly upset at my actions, I could see them talking and gesturing as I was continuing to put a theatrical beating on Grace.  Suddenly, unexpectedly, a black sedan pulled up next to the Mercedes.  Uh oh.  A guy in the sedan started trying to talk to Grace. He was obviously a pimp, and this was his street.  I thought I would now be killed.

“You don’t need her beating on you, come with me.” he said to Gracie.

We were in a heap of trouble I thought, but Gracie knew these guys and their kind better than me and my back-woods upbringing.  She’s grown up in DC and knew the street wise ways better than I did.  Somehow she got out of talking to him, he drove off and we retreated inside the row house to safety!  Jesus.  It was something I never tried again.

After that incident the street girls treated me a bit different. They were convinced that I was running girls for hire out of the row house, which I thought was very funny.  They gave me a wider berth when I drove up to park, they were nicer to me and even would try to engage me in conversation on occasion.

We had some good times in that row house.  Christmas came and all the kids in the house went home for the holidays, I had to stay and work.  No “school vacation” for this working stiff.

On Christmas Eve I was on the phone with my mom in Maine. I was lonely and alone for the holidays in DC.  It was a particularly ruckus night outside, I could hear the banter on the street and hear the cars squealing tires etc.  I had walked over to the corner store and gotten cigarrettes and called home when I returned. As I was on the phone with Mom I was sitting at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, sort of facing the stone wall in the corner.  Suddenly there was a crack and a bullet lodged itself in the stone work just past my head, little stone chips flew.  I immediately dropped the phone and dropped to the floor.  My Army training kicked in.  I picked up the phone, tried to sound like nothing happened as I sat on the floor, below window level and finished my call.  When I was done I went over and found the bullet hole in the window.  I was lucky.

It was soon after this that we moved over to 5th and H in NE DC….where the riots had devastated the city  years earlier after the MLK killing.

No where in DC is completely safe…and you would think that being the capital of our country it would be the safest place to be…not so, not so at all.

Vulnerability…and a story

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity. If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.”
Brené Brown, Daring Greatly

I feel often like I just don’t have the right words for various situations.  I can’t say anything right, as much as I put myself out there. I open myself up thus I am almost always in a vulnerable stance just trying to be brave and walk through.  In listening to Brene’s talks (various ones) on the subject of vulnerability and shame I realize that without vulnerability things just don’t happen; people lose their courage.  And being vulnerable is having that courage to keep going; to do what it is that we need to do or that we feel compelled to do.

There are times when I feel more vulnerable lately, that I can put my finger right on the feeling like:

  1. when I take medications to stay alive 3 times a day, the reminder that I am vulnerable to health related stuff is very prominent.
  2. I feel vulnerable when I am around my aging parents and I think that I may not have too much longer to enjoy them, then I question whether I am valuing them enough, even when I am damned sure trying my hardest to be the best I can be by them.
  3. When I am trying to talk to a woman I am interested in, my fear of rejection makes me very vulnerable, but I try to have the courage and just do it.

Story time….

I know I haven’t always been a walk in the park for them.  I gave them some serious trouble and a run for their money.  I was a tough kid, a confused kid and certainly caused my share of trouble.  I think the first time I got caught doing something wrong other than not putting my toys away right, was when I got caught with a porn magazine in my garage rafter fort.

This was probably the most memorable and earliest time I can think of that I felt shame and vulnerability in my young life.  I had built a platform high up in the rafters of the old tin garage we had.  The structure itself was pretty rickety from decades of being subjected to the harsh climate of southern coastal Maine.  It had been patched up, altered, added on to, subtracted from and abused in just about any way that was suitable for whatever it’s current use was supposed to be. At one time it served as a barn for a couple of old cows, I remember those being there, and a couple of pigs living in an adjacent shed that is now gone.  That was before we lived in the house, my cousins were renting it then and had farm animals.  When we bought the house the evidence of the farm animals residing there in the old tin shed was quite obvious.

We used the old shed for a bazillion things, everything from actually storing a car, which barely fit, and you couldn’t open the doors very far so ya had to be skinny as fuck to get in and drive it out of there.  It was my uncles’s old wood side panel station wagon, affectionately called the “Woodie”My Uncle, Dad’s half brother lived with us for a short time in the 70’s…it was short too, Dad booted his ass for continually coming home drunk.Dad was strict about that shit, he didn’t want any of his kids to be around alcohol in any way. I never saw the guy drink more than 2 beers on a Sunday while watching the ball game and I certainly never saw him drunk.

I think my Uncle was drunk most of the time, he was loads of fun!  I do remember that and he used to bring home some awesome things and once he brought home a used, beatu up but functional Honda 50 mini bike….for me!  And then he fixed it up and did a bunch of modifications to it and made it into a little mini-chopper! I had the only Honda 50 chopper tin town,  It was a bitch to drive in the woods and trails I do recall. I wish I could find a photo of that mini bike now.  I did love that thing, and it was my first introduction to feeling really masculine doing something. heres’ a picture of one, not mine but similar.Mini bikeSooo….where the fuck was I going with all of this?   Ah!  My rafter fort. And the porno book.  I only got caught with it because someone told on me!   She was a good girl and knew that I wasn’t supposed to have the explicitly detailed book that I had found on the side of the road up near the bar on the main road.  it must have fallen out of someone’s car or been thrown out.  Either way, it was just laying there saying “pick me up”  And I did.  She asked her mother if it was alright for me to have it, and of course her mother marched right up the road to see my mother immediately and the two of them confiscated the book.

I had a couple of old tires up in the rafter fort, I would hide things like cigarrettes and matches in an old snuff tin that I had gotten from my grandfather.  I would keep my pen and notbook up there so I could write when I wanted to, and I kept some of the books I was reading up there.  I would get out of school days and retreat to that little secluded fort and would be happy as hell reading, writing and trying to learn how to smoke cigarettes.

Now getting caught with it was very embarrassing.  Plus it resulted in foreclosure on my fort.  Down the fort came, and Dad wasted no time taking it down board by board.   I think the embarrassment was sufficient enough, I was pretty damned ashamed of myself for displeasing my father (who I have tried to please all of my life, but that’s another story).  The book was a novel type and didn’t have many pictures except in the middle of the book where they tipped in a set of erotic shots.  No big deal but not suitable reading for a 6th grader.

I then had to start at ground zero on the fort front and find a new location and set up.  The next fort would be further from the house…an ground level stone fort.  Yup, I was a fort builder from way back.  *smirk*

I felt vulnerable in the case with the book for several reasons.  First, I didn’t hide the book well enough, I wasn’t a good enough hider!  Secondly I trusted the wrong person to know that I had the book, I was a bad judge of character.  Third, shame, I shouldn’t have had the book to begin with and was ashamed of myself.  Forth I was vulnerable through embarrassment of everyone of my siblings knowing that I had been caught with a “grown up sex book” as it got called.  The word pornography was far too large for a kids vocabulary at that time.

Anyone curious of the name of the book?  Linda Lovelace- Deep Throat.  NOT 6th grade reading!  LMFSAO

Getting caught with the book was the very beginning of my teenage troubles….it all just kind of snowballed from there, and not in a very good kind of fluffy snowball way.  But every experience leads us to who we are today, so I suppose I had to go through stuff to get right where I am in life and through having each and every experience I have had I have grown and learned…never stop growing and learning, and never be afraid to be courageous!

“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”
Brené Brown,

 

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