I go to a barbershop to get my haircut. I usually have the same woman who cuts my hair. I go to this barbershop because they are experts in short hair and they also put a warm towel on my face after my haircut. If I grew a beard, I would have them old school straight razor shave me. Even though I don't have a beard, they always give me the warm towel. It feels awesome. However, the last time I got my haircut, I don't know, if she was having a bad day or what. But, I came out of the barbershop looking like Kim Jong-un. I don't remember telling her to give me the Dictator Haircut #12 (North Korean Dictator).
It's already bad enough that most people still call me sir, even after they have been told I'm a she. I have started to be okay with the fluidity that is gender. That being gender non-conforming will continue to confuse people even after they have been given information opposite of what they thought. I just don't want people to mistake me for a North Korean Dictator. Cause that's kind of a bad thing. Being a dictator. It's a tough world out there for a butch.
Here's a great article from Autostraddle on "Being Dandy About Being Dapper" from the folks that brought us dapperQ. It explains what it means to be a dapper butch. Don't take my word for it.
More help on what dapper duds the butch-about-town should wear in 2016:
There are several things that can trigger a heavy case of nostalgia for me… one is this song. Another is the obscure 90s indie flick by the bearded ladies of San Francisco titled “By Hook or by Crook.” It takes me to the place and time in my life where I found my tribe, the others, the ones that had hearts broken wide open living in a world that held no fear that hadn’t already been faced. I loved, I lived and I did it all in the stitches of my threadbare sweaters and thrift shop finds. I was young, raw and beautiful and so were my lovers and friends.. I didn’t know anything about low volume living. It was before all this learning I have discovered. I had little worldly possessions and hadn’t yet dreamed of things purchased at Pottery Barn or Victoria Secrets. My wants were shiny objects, loving hands and enough money to buy drinks at the Cafe on the weekends. I wanted to dance until the floor levitated on its own. I wanted to kiss until my lips bled and I wanted my lover to love the pain inside me away… strangely I still want those things but have settled for a quiet night… and creature comforts of a clean house and good credit. I know this is all sooo fucking cliché.. and I think that is what makes me even more confused. How can we all have such disdain and yet become the things we never wanted.
Every single one of my relationships or lovers of any length have held jobs that are conventionally held by men.. a way to throw the middle finger up to society. I have loved the strength they possessed and the way it made me feel as a byproduct. It is a weird thing to admit, but it is the truth. I didn’t choose a conventional life..I chose a life that felt right for me. I doubt some would consider my life in that category now, but lately it has begun to feel a bit that way.
I really thought I would escape it all…the conventional life. I always fell for weirdos and borderline crazies. I married a rebel with a jaded perspective of the world… I thought my recycled possessions and insatiable desire for passion and existential angst would save me from the mediocrity. Yet, today I realized I am hiding out there… and I finally called “Olly Olly all come free.”
There's a lot to say about black and white pictures. They can really convey a certain message.
After careful review of myself I came to some undeniable truths. I just want to feel alive…. and I want to feel it with someone who I connect with on my crazy head spinning thoughts of life and why we are here and who we were always meant to become. I want to do it free of guilt or obligations. I am beginning to understand all the sayings and the mantras of my buddhist teachers and yogic inspirations. Marlo Thomas is even on replay in my head now… I really am free to be me. There is no one left… to impersonate. People think I have my shit together.. and I guess I do.. but I prefer it to be a bit less together. I like me when I have less and more hungry to connect with people…I care about feelings again.. I care about having them. I was numb for a good long time, the past 2 years I was holding my breath… I feel my exhale. I like it.
I crave the company of those of us who have been devastated by love and loss… to know, truly know, what it feels like to grow up missing the MOST important connection a child has… to their mother is a bond that is very special and very sad but still special. To know that the hole cannot be sewn shut. It can’t be filled but can be made to feel better by a special kind of love…
That special kind of love is the love of someone who knows loss.. really knows that it is not about the right words, but can be made worse by the wrong words. Who knows it is about the absolute presence and recognition of someone who has been there and can “see” you in your personal pain. I have loved many who do not have that shared experience. But- they did know loss… they did know the depths of profound pain that cannot be mended only loved harder on the days that when the pain is unbearable. That loss becomes part of you and must be embraced not shut out, politely ignored or fixed.. just loved.
The movie above reminded me what it was like to absolutely love someone who was broken. She was chemically imbalanced and beautiful… curating art and creating beauty out of language and all the while was technically mad. She made me weep with ecstasy and weep in pain. She scared me and she made me feel safe and to this day, I credit her for making me see myself for who I was.. really was. I felt beautiful and real when I was with her.. she was so raw and had already fallen over the edge when our hearts collided… I couldn’t save her and much too late realized she never asked me to….
I am ready to feel beautiful and real again… swimming in the ocean at night, dancing under the stars and staying up late sharing day dreams and nightmares, sleeping less and creating more… talking until the words need rest. kissing until lips bleed and weeping in ecstasy and sorrow, knowing I am beyond saving but not needing anyone to do so.. as it has already been done and done by me.
Dead Can Dance: The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove
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#livenow #nostalgiaisreal #rewindandpressplay #whynot #acarriedawaylife #deadcandance #angsty90s #realrawnow
It's primaries in CA, NJ, SD, ND, MT which will bring us closer to having a woman president. Looking forward to using the advantages my "woman card" will bring me. I'm with her.
I can't wait to use my "woman card." I hear that I get some kind of discount on my career and education, something like 87 cents value to every white man's dollar. That's fair - right!?
After the announcement of Barack Obama's endorsement of Hillary Clinton many of the #Berniacs who were vacillating on who to support the dumpster fire also known as #TrumpTruck or #ImWithHer making herstory Clinton, many of them decided to start a new hashtag #GirlIGuessImWithHer. I think that's a great compromise. Don't you?
You can find the full story here: Girl I Guess I'm With Her