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   All submissions must be first time unpublished works.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  Only unpublished, first-time submissions will be accepted.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.


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.

To write or not to write

I feel like I’ve hit a wall.

My flannel is wrinkled.

The spikes in my hair are flat.

I don’t want to write any more.  At least not right now.  Not today.  That’s for sure.

I am more content watching TV shows and movies or reading books.  Allowing words and images to wash over me instead of coaxing or forcing them out from that tricky place that’s part heart, part soul.


Movie poster of my life.

Part of me says it’s not ok.  Writers write.  If I’m not writing, I’m not a writer.

The other part says take a break.  Even if I’m not writing, I’m storing words and thoughts for future use.

Here’s some of what I’ve been watching and reading:

Sons of Anarchy — W started watching this biker drama.  I read somewhere that SOA is based on Hamlet and that got this English major’s juices flowing.  So, yeah, it’s well written and well acted, and I like trying to figure out the parallels to the Shakespearean tragedy.  There’s a couple of minor lesbian storylines, but this one is all about the boys and their bikes.  Look for cameos from Stephen King, 70s hottie Adrienne Barbeau and Jimmy Smits.  And appearances by Venus Van Dam, the show’s transgender character.

Women of Will — Speaking of Shakespeare, I saw this play at a local Shakespeare festival last weekend.  Really, it’s part play, part lecture.  Master Shakespearean actor Tina Packer deconstructs the Bard’s most famous female characters with the help of fellow actor Nigel Gore.  Is it wrong that I was hoping for a sexy scene between perchance Lady Macbeth and Queen Gertrude?  Here’s the question I asked myself right before the show began: How do I relate any of this to my writing?  Five minutes in, Packer was riffing on the role of gender in Shakespeare and how Will’s female characters changed as his perceptions about women evolved.  Gender.  Can we ever get a break?

The Guilt Trip — In this cheesy comedy, Seth Rogen takes a cross-country road trip with his over-involved Mom, played by Barbra Streisand.  There are some genuine laughs, but I especially enjoyed the running gag of this mother-son duo listening to the audio version of Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex throughout the trip.  Because gender.  There it is again.


She’s hot!

Lucy — Scarlett Johansson plays a young woman exposed to a synthetic drug that allows her to access 100 percent of her brain and develop cool superhero-like powers.  “She’s hot!” W blurted out at the beginning of the movie, allowing all of us to read her thought bubble.  It was some kind of auto-Johansson response.  No doubt ScarJo is a looker with those blue eyes and blonde locks.  But I was hoping for something a little campier.  In the end though, what’s not to like about a beautiful babe kicking ass.

Bad Words — Jason Bateman finds a loophole in a spelling bee competition and creates a scene as he takes out the school-age competitors one by one.  I like when Bateman plays assholes.  See Juno.  Oh, and words.  There were lots of big words.  And a scene with boobs.

A Most Wanted Man — Philip Seymour Hoffman plays a German spy in this John le Carre thriller.  It’s Seymour Hoffman’s last starring role.  As the credits rolled, W and I just looked at each other.  Sigh.  How sad.

The Best Nonrequired American Reading 2013 — Short stories, lists, poems, cartoons, all in one book.  An eclectic collection.  I read this every year.

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What about you?  What are you watching/reading this summer?

Showering with Robert Pattinson

I like my showers. I like them extra hot. I like shampoo infused with a bit of mint. It makes my scalp tingle. It makes me feel awake and alive. I like men’s shower gels. I’m not picky about brands although I usually buy some version of Irish Spring or Old Spice.

You can read about me and Axe shower gel here (in “The plumber’s message) and here (in Be careful what you Axe for).  Apparently, I have a whole shower gel thing going on.

Earlier this week, I placed a new bottle of body wash in the shower. I had to stifle a scream when I first used it.  Swear to god on all that is holy like beer and Melissa Etheridge and cleavage.

Dial Magnetic

Oddly, the bottle is shaped like a crooked penis.

The body wash is made by Dial for Men. It’s called “Magnetic: Clean-Rinsing,” and the name is superimposed over the image of an atom as if the gel is a building block of all other things.  Quite arrogant for a bottle of body wash, I think.  I read on and learn that Magnetic is an “Attraction Enhancing Body Wash” that’s “Pheromone Infused.”

Really, how could a butch go wrong?

So, there I was. In the shower. My hair is freshly shampooed and rinsed.

I reach for the body of Magnetic. I pour some of the body wash into my hand.

This is what Magnetic looks like.  Really, Dial?

The gel is bright red. Like blood. Red blood.

I try not to scream. I try not to gag.

After the shock wears off, I rub the viscous crimson gel on my skin.

I feel like Carrie at prom (Sissy Spacek Carrie and not Chloe Grace Moretz Carrie because you should never mess with a classic).

And then I sensed something, someone behind me.

It’s Robert Pattinson. I just know it.

Tall and pale like Ichabod Crane. I am in the shower with Edward from Twilight.

I am too afraid to turn around because I am showering with a known vampire.

Three people I’d rather shower with than Robert Pattinson:

1. Kristen Stewart

Oh. Hi. I’m still in the shower with Kristen Stewart and a bottle of Dial Magnetic. (Did you see her as Joan Jett in the movie The Runaways?)

Robert Pattinson

My shower buddy.

Anyway, there he is. Every morning. Robert Pattinson. In my shower. I can’t seem to get him out of my head.  Or my shower.

This might be a good thing if you are a young girl but not an old butch.

I pick up the bottle of Dial Magnetic and read the back label.

How to use:

1. Squeeze out.

2. Lather up.

3. Rinse off.

4. Watch the magic happen.

And then I get it. The magic. Dial Magnetic can make Robert Pattinson appear in your shower.

Like magic. Weird, creepy magic, but still.