Oh Father

•May 11, 2016 • Leave a Comment

You call me Nick and my heart skips a beat. I grieve the time lost I wonder if you would have called me Nick all of these years. I imagine you did and my heart hurts even more.

You’re sharing your life and your ideas with me.You’re making up for lost time. Your eyes look like mine and are wide with possibilities as you point to something. You look back to me to see if I’m right there with you – envisioning what you’re envisioning. For your future. For our future. I feel excited, yet tell myself that this can end just as it has before. My heart aches at the thought. You look at me expectantly. I give an acknowledging smile, stammer an enthusiastic yes and pretend that my heart didn’t break a million times over.

Country times.

•October 14, 2012 • 2 Comments

Oh, the country. The Canadian Thanksgiving has passed, but I came out to the country to visit family and have one last turkey feast. The leaves on the trees have passed their autumn prime, though the sun is setting lower these days, and the hay fields look mighty impressive at dusk. I have travelled by many of these fields since I was a kid. The route is a little longer now, as families have split, new ones formed, only to split again. There are ones that remain constant.

So here I am, newly sheared hair, smack dab in the middle of farming country. How do I feel? Pretty awesome I must say. There aren’t any awkward interactions with people who confuse my voice with my haircut and look to my chest for verification of my sex. Why? Because these people have seen it all before. Women in green hunter Kamiks. Women with cropped hair, dirty faces and dirty hands. Women who are simply people first.

Everyone knows the single, mid 40’s butch who goes to the city for dates in hope of bringing someone home to enjoy the loveliness of the country side. Yes, she plays on the local women’s hockey team and yes, I should meet her, because I’m one of her kind. One day a few years back, while loading four cords of wood into the basement, a family friend asked whether or not I had a pretty lady. I said “well kind of, but you know how these things go sometimes…” I forget the rest of the conversation, but it involved his ex-wife, mortgages, kids and looking for love. He told me that when I found a pretty lady to bring her and show her to him. I told him I would.

This weekend saw two tasks at hand. Cooking a turkey and loading wood. Much to my sisters questioning eyes, I was tasked with preparing the turkey meal. I quickly retorted that I have a great amount of experience cooking turkey dinners, and to have no fear. Much of the day was spent preparing food and picking up siblings from their part-time jobs.  conversations about alcohol, drugs, date rape, sexism, racism, dreams and hopes ensued, for which I was thankful to be a part of the conversation. We all avoided the task of loading the two cords of wood into the shed. Dinner was delicious and went by pretty fast. It doesn’t take long to finish a plate of turkey, gravy, potatoes, stuffing and roasted veggies. Yum. We all retired to the living room to a nice fire in the wood stove and talked about how I would be the one to take care of them should there come a time when they need a motherly figure. I guess my cooking skills proved worthy.

As mother nature would have it, much rain was in the forecast. It started raining as I went out to take my sheets off the line. I guess it was time to load that wood, or else it would take forever to dry on these cool, short days. It wasn’t difficult to get my brother to buy into the task as this is his job primarily. My sister on the other hand, well it took some, well let’s just say, encouragement. It was more like my brother and I harassing her, saying that just because she was a girl didn’t mean she could get away with a less physically demanding task of loading the dishwasher. She donned a pair of workgolves and soon, the three of us were out stacking wood in the rain and darkness. What sounded like freezing rain was simply rain falling upon the fallen leaves. Our food induced sleepiness quickly wore off. My brother was very thankful for the help.

Ties and handcuffs.

•September 20, 2012 • 1 Comment

I live and work in a somewhat boring government city. To brighten my days of Glibido* and Prairie Dogging* in the office, I head outside in hopes of catching a glimpse of a beautiful woman. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch the sight of a lovely looking lesbian/dyke/genderqueer. I’m also always on the look out for a nice tie. The fantasy that rolls through my mind while on the lookout is – how nice it would be if I was wearing a tie and catching a sexy looking femme oogling over me and my tie! Oh and about how ties can be a nice alternative to handcuffs. 😉

Those who are near and dear to me know that I love wearing ties. As I usually only wear them at formal/semi-formal events, this means that I don’t often get to wear them. But when I do, it’s ohhh so amazing! There’s this certain sort of comfort that wearing a tie brings. I can’t pin point it. I get a similar feeling when wearing my corduroy hat, except I feel more proud.

Thinking about ties usually brings about mixed emotions for me. I would love to wear ties every day. I recently told this to someone who replied, “I wear one to work everyday”. I felt sheepish afterwards for a few reasons. First because, I am not expressing myself in the way I want. Second: I know the reason I haven’t is due to fear of not being accepted in the workplace. (you see, I’ve grown my hair out a bit and have received nothing but positive compliments…and the only time I get compliments from my sort-of supervisor (aka Ignoranus* – well she’s really just an asshole) is when I’m sporting a more feminine shirt.) I have only recently begun to embrace (sort of) more feminine clothing. I could really do without the shirt sleeve only extending a 1/4″ from my armpit, but I’ve  You see the problem is, I can’t fit into mens clothing. I’m too curvy for that. I guess it’s time to bust out the sewing machine. Buy a big man shirt and refine. Then, buy a nice tie to suit! Or, I could SEW my own tie! How exciting would that be? In an ideal world, I’d make a tie box for my ties. Sigh. That requires space for the tools that I’d need to do so.

I’d wear my shirt and tie not only for me, but as a big fuck you to the Ignoranus making inappropriate comments to me about my dress. That’s right, I’ve deemed them inappropriate. Because as much as other people may think that I’d look better in feminine clothing, they wouldn’t say a word and they’d compliment me on my true style of dress. Winter is coming. I’ve heard there is to be a lot of snow. Could be the perfect time to get some sewing in.

When I wear a tie, I feel proud. I feel confident. It’s something like a badge to me, I suppose. Time to sign off. I hear the lovely sounds of a banjo starting up here in the cafe. About to enjoy the show.

*for a list of mostly bad terms, please visit Cubonics. If you’ve ever worked in a cubicle environment, you may find something of interest in here!

Ivan is my Hero.

•August 31, 2012 • 1 Comment

Welcome! I decided to start this blog to speak to my experience being a butch, and in the process, hopefully engage in some meaningful dialogue with my visitors.

I’d like to start off by giving props to Ivan Coyote. While I am now acquainted with her work, a big part of me longs for my 13-22ish year old self, insofar that I wish I had known Ivan then. I feel like I would have had so much more hope for myself. I would have had, at least on paper, a “brother” in arms.

If you don’t know who she is, then you best get to your local bookstore and purchase a copy of her works. You can find copies of her various column writings online as well as taped sessions on youtube. I would highly recommend starting with a transfiction works titled “Boys Like Her”. Ivan has co-written this beautiful read with the likes of Anna Camilleri, Zoe Eakle and Lyndell Montgomery. This book is truly a work of art. Gender flows across the pages and the stories will melt your heart. The stories will make you want to sing Broadway style, that yes, there are other people like you – people that have to navigate this world ever so carefully in order to be their authentic selves. (and that yes, still, you always have to be on the lookout for danger and be ready to adjust yourself for various situations.) Or do you? One sexy thing about this book is that it reminds me that you can find lovers who wouldn’t bat an eye at your ever  lesbian/queer/butchy self.

Sigh. It’s a rainy day. I think I’ll have to go and read a story or two. It’s been over a year now.

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