The butch and the bat

We had a lot of excitement here last night.

It was about 1:30 a.m. and W and I were sound asleep when one of the children yelled something about a bat in the house.

We both put on our glasses and got out of bed.

There were shouts of “bat!” and “where?”

And that’s when we saw it.  A bat in the second-floor hallway.

This next part is fuzzy.  There was screaming.  Mine.  And running.  Me.

After venturing into the hallway, I spotted the bat flying back and forth in the enclosed space.  I ran back into our bedroom with my hands covering my head.  Because what bat wouldn’t try to get all tangled up in this butch’s perfect hairdo?

W says my arms were flailing, but really it was a windmill move purposefully designed to ward off bats.  Get all up in this space motherfucker, and I will cut you, I communicated with my wildly swinging hands that were now weapons.  Bat cutting weapons.

xx

It’s wings were THIS big.

Seriously, this sucker was huge.  It had a Brittney Griner wingspan.  For realz.

When the bat appeared to disappear, we determined it had made its way to the third floor.

“Good luck!” we yelled to the kid who sleeps on the third floor.

At this point, it was every man for himself.

I secured the door at the bottom of the steps leading up to the third floor.  W went to the bathroom because of excitement! and bladder!  The child who had first spotted the bat was in his room with the door closed.

And then I heard it.  A skree skree.  Or I will kill you when I get the chance or at least get tangled up in that butch hair you love so much.

And then I saw it.  The bat squeezing out the bottom of the door that I was holding shut.  I swear that bat folded itself up like some kind of origami project gone horribly wrong and slid under the door as if it was passing itself as a note.  A terrible black furry note with pointy teeth and possibly rabies.

xx

Me.

I screamed.  Again.  That tiny girl part somewhere deep inside me screamed.  It was loud and shrill.  I couldn’t control it.  I was that kid in Home Alone.  If that kid was a little girl.

All the doors on the second floor were closed.  The bat was on the loose again in the hallway.

I ran downstairs.  To plot my next move.  Or sit on the couch.  I can’t be sure.  I was in an adrenaline-fueled fog.

xx

Stunned and captured.

I could hear W upstairs.  Apparently, the bat was now in our bedroom circling the room.  Our cat Magic was on our bed jumping at the circling bat.  W says Magic looked at her and nodded her feline head as if to say “I’ve got this.” Magic knocked the bat down and stunned the creature, and W was able to capture it by putting a waste can on top of it.

I could hear W getting all MacGyver.  Yelling out instructions for some makeshift bat catch-and-release kit.  Something thin, something sturdy.  Now!

In the end, she slid a piece of cardboard under the waste can, carried the can outside and released the bat into the night.

I tried to gather all of my butch dignity as I made my way upstairs and into bed.

 

Fire in the hole! We’re getting married!

Red buttonWe sent out electronic invites to our wedding this week.

Before hitting the send button, W asked if I was ready.

I yelled out something like “fire in the hole!” or “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

I can’t be sure.  It all happened so fast.

And they were gone.

We held our breath for a really long time.

The world didn’t explode.

We laid sideways on our bed on our stomachs, stared at W’s iPad and waited for the first response.  We had set the over-under line at 10 minutes.  W took the under.  I took the over.

W won.

We giggled like schoolgirls laying on our bed like that with our feet dangling off the edge, wondering what we just set in motion.

So, we are busy planning our wedding.  It’s going to be an informal picnic-style affair.  Pot luck, of course, because after all we are lesbians.  (See page 23 of Lesbian Handbook.)

PennsylvaniaWe had a formal commitment ceremony a few years ago with all the bells and whistles.  This is just a party with vows because now we can get legally hitched in Pennsylvania.  We get to celebrate that we are still in love and still choose each other.  We have another opportunity to get together with friends and family.  I have a close friend who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer, so right now I am acutely aware of how little time we spend with the people we love most.

Just this once I think we get the sweeter deal. We get two wedding celebrations because we’re gay.  Take that straight people!

Every once in a while, W asks me if I’m sure I want to marry her.  Like when she’s in wedding-planning mode.

Every once in a while, I ask W if she’s sure she wants to marry me.  Like when I’m setting over-under lines for everything and making her watch another “quirky” movie.

We pretend to call it off every couple of days.

I thought I would be more nervous than I am.  Because this time it’s for realz.

But I’m ok.  (And not just my normal butch I-told-you-I’m-ok-now-leave-me-the-hell-alone ok, but really ok.)

I think of me and W stretched out on our bed and laughing like kids.  I want to bottle that feeling of lightness and happiness and connection.

I guess I’ll just marry her instead.

 

I’m a sexy beast

It’s true.

I’m a sexy beast.

It says so right here.  On this purple velvety card that W gave me on Saturday.

Sexy beast

Do believe everything you read.

Especially if it makes you feel 10 feet tall and all tingly inside.

 

 

Taboo Tales: Looking for submissions

Here’s a project I’m working on.  Take a gander and feel free to submit if you are so moved or pass onto others in the writing community.

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MARGINS CALL is accepting submissions for its Anthology Volume:

Taboo Tales: Writing Off The Limits

We are seeking prose from writers in all communities and all walks of life.   All submissions must be first time unpublished works.

We also invite submissions of photography and artwork to be considered for the anthology’s front and back jacket covers.

Content of submissions should be for and about those identified with how Taboo created negative and/or positive experiences in their lives.

MARGINS CALL Volume Theme is Taboo.

“Stigma’s power lies in silence, the silence that persists when discussion and action should be taking place.  The silence one imposes on another for speaking up on a taboo subject, branding them with a label until they are rendered mute or preferably unheard.”

― M.B. Dallocchio

Fiction, non-fiction and creative non-fiction submissions should be a maximum of 5,000 words.  Only unpublished, first-time submissions will be accepted.  Paste your single-spaced submission into the body of your e-mail.  Attachments will only be accepted if you are submitting photography or artwork.  Only one submission per person permitted.  A photo or artwork is considered one submission.  Please include a 50-word bio.

Submissions for MARGINS CALL should be directed to 2tab00tales@gmail.com

All submissions will be acknowledged when received and everyone will be notified of the editor’s selections.

Contributors will receive a complimentary copy of the anthology upon publication.

Deadline for submissions is October 30, 2014.

Philosophizing about life, kittens and ice cream

I had been getting my writer’s mojo back.

And then my son broke his leg.

This is Bohdi and Sammy.

This is Bodhi and Sammy.

And we got a pair of kittens.

I learned a long time ago that things never go back to “normal.”  Normal is broken legs.  And kittens who are so gosh darn cute that you just want to stare at their tiny perfection and listen to their little furry motors all day long.  Deadlines be damned.

Normal is car accidents and insurance claims.  Jury duty.  Spilt milk.

I am 47 years old, and I’ve learned to roll with it as best I can.

We live in a tiny town that has an ice cream parlor.  The ice cream is handmade and is really, really good.

This year, they’ve started a new promotion.  They advertise a “flavor of the week” for $1 a scoop on a sandwich board in the parking lot.  A normal scoop costs about $3.50.  The “flavor of the week” lasts for as long as the ice cream does.  We have been stuck on S’mores for about two weeks now.  Which, surprisingly, is not that great.

Every day I go out, I drive by the ice cream shop to see if there is a new flavor listed on the sign.  This makes me happy.  I like small town life.  I like being in the know.  I like this tiny bit of excitement.

I like that the “flavor of the week” could last for a day or a week.

I text W the flavors while she is at work without any kind of explanation or background.

“Blueberry marshmallow.”

“Raspberry cheesecake.”

“Orange cream.”

She always texts the same thing back: “?”

Because she is in the middle of work, and I am randomly texting “Graham slam.”

I find her standard response comforting. Comfortable.

So, that’s me.  I like simple and same.  I like surprises, too.  But little ones.  Like a scoop of rainbow sherbet for a buck.

Not big ones like, hey, broken leg.

Although kittens are such a joy.

xx

How could you not stare at this tiny face forever?

But whatever life scoops out, even a giant bowl of S’mores, I can handle it.

Butch/lesbian stories in six words

SixGo ahead and try.  Tell a story a story in six words.

It’s hard.  Like eating only six potato chips hard.  Or having just one cat hard.

Anyway, Glitterwolf Magazine is having a six-word LGBT story contest.  Details from the sparkly wolf’s mouth:

The best will be published, and the top three will also receive a copy of the Collected Glitterwolf Issues 4-6.  More details at www.glitterwolf.com.  Submissions to glitterwolfmagazine@gmail.com.  Deadline October 31st.

Go ahead.  Give it a shot.

Here are a few of mine:

  • My life: girl, tomboy, lesbian, butch.  (My memoir in six words.)
  • She wore menswear to be herself.
  • “Dyke!”  That’s the best you’ve got?
  • Male?  Female?  Her lover didn’t care.
  • Menswear made her more a woman.
  • Tried men, women.  Like breasts best.
  • She lived where boy/girl intersect.
  • Unabashed love won her timid heart.  (W and me … our love story.)

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How about you?  Share one of yours.  It doesn’t have to be LGBT.  C’mon, you know you want to.

Share a Coke with this butch

Share a Coke

Cheers to all of my followers!

It’s a great day to be butch.

P.S. You can make your own virtual bottle at http://www.shareacoke.com/#bottle.