what do i love – day five

February 15, 2014
  • Two lane highways
  • That my birthday is in the summer
  • Making hand crank ice cream
  • My panniers
  • Thunderstorms
  • That I wore purple velvet knickers when I was 10
  • Female jocks
  • Lifting weights
  • Sweet tea
  • How a good drummer changes everything
  • Playing raquetball
  • The internet
  • My insulated Klean Kanteen
  • My loud ass 4 fingered whistle
  • Creative collaborations
  • Knowing friends for over 20 years
  • A pork tenderloin sandwich from the Monroe County fair
  • Passing as a dude sometimes
  • Sharing a meal with friends
  • A good hair cut
  • Cool sunglasses


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what do i love – day 4

February 14, 2014
  • The sound of crickets
  • MTB’s garden
  • Doodling
  • Learning something new
  • Blueberries
  • Prince
  • Building something
  • Falling in love with a new song and then evangalizing the crap out of it to other people
  • A good diner, like the Otis cafe or Dianes
  • Manhattan
  • The Painted Hills
  • The Song of Solomon
  • Listening to Kurt Vonnegut’s voice
  • A British accent
  • Playing my guitar
  • Every time Becky’s come to visit me in Portland
  • Campfire food

what do i love – day three

February 13, 2014
  • Sticking with itness
  • Fava beans
  • Pet Sounds
  • Building a camp fire
  • Playing Boggle
  • A tostada
  • Writing music
  • Splitting wood with an axe
  • Imperfect heroes
  • A close basketball game
  • My space pen
  • Being born in the 60s
  • The county fair
  • Lonesome Dove
  • Trading
  • Fireflies
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what do i love – day two

February 12, 2014
  1. Kindness
  2. Reading a book out loud together
  3. Night-time bike rides in the summer
  4. Cooking
  5. My cat
  6. Taking a walk
  7. Tomatoes from the garden
  8. Laughing
  9. Being a Hoosier
  10. My dad’s best friend
  11. That I moved across the country
  12. Pussy willows
  13. Hugs
  14. Cooking
  15. Macgyvering something
  16. The song, Under Pressure
  17. Watching dykes play softball
  18. My summer camp
  19. A good chef’s knife
  20. Taking photos



what do i love – day one

February 11, 2014

My friend, Bart, has inspired me to come up with my own list. As well as my own experiment of posting a new list each day for next five days. So here goes day one.

  • A hot shower
  • Fizzy water
  • Sun light
  • My girlfriend
  • The way I feel after a work out
  • Good wool socks
  • The Melissa Harris-Perry show
  • Getting things done
  • The idea of liminality
  • My family
  • Playing cards
  • Camping
  • My friends
  • Solving problems
  • Wood fired pizza
  • Looking at Jackson Pollack paintings
  • Making peach pie
  • Being a butch
  • Petting dogs
  • 70’s R & B, especially Al Green


May 20, 2013

Three nights ago, I had a dream about Val. In the dream there was a party being held for Val at somebody’s house. I want to say it was Deborah’s house, except it didn’t look anything like Deborah’s house does in real life. It was a big, old Portland style house, at least 2 stories high and people were everywhere inside. Standing on the stairs and in the halls and filling up the rooms. So many people, in fact that MTB and I got overwhelmed and went outside and sat together, in the city strip grass, between the sidewalk and the street. It was sunny out and it felt like it was the middle of the day, with the sun high in the sky, and MTB was sitting between my legs and leaning back against me, when Val pulled up to the curb in a convertible. Not a sports car, though. It was a convertible Volvo sedan that was two tone blue, which was funny to me in the dream. I kept thinking where the hell did Val get a convertible, two tone Volvo sedan. Val was smiling really big and she was wearing a bright, blue plaid shirt and it looked like she’d just gotten her hair cut. And she leaned over, with her arm resting on the driver’s door, and she asked MTB and me how the party was. I think we told Val that there were a lot of people inside the house, like it was crazy crowded, and everybody was asking about her, and she told us she was thinking about not going inside. We all sat there for a while and Val never did get got out of the car, either. She sat there grinning in the sunshine, working her charming thing, which seemed a little mischievous, in a super sweet way, and kept looking at MTB and me and then up at the house. MTB and I told her she looked really fucking cute and that if she wasn’t coming into the party, she should go drive downtown and flirt with the girls. (Because in the dream there was some magic downtown square and main drag where dykes drive up and down and flirt with each other.) And Val laughed, and said something like, you think so, like you think the girls will like me.

I’m not sure I believe in signs and I’m not sure it matters if I do or I don’t, but I’m glad to have had that dream of Val. To have woken up with image of her grinning and happy in the sunshine so firmly planted in my mind.

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thursday night in my backyard

April 19, 2013

Sometimes I sit on my back stoop. Except it’s not really a stoop. Its 3 steps that lead from the big glass sliding door off the kitchen and down to the gigantic deck that takes up almost half of the back yard. I like sitting out there at night and looking at the sky and the outlines of the plants and trees in the dim light. Its quiet and everything seems close in, kind of like a giant cocoon, and I’m not distracted by the weeds or how I didn’t move things around the yard the way I should have. I tried to sit out there tonight and write, because it was warm and because I needed to unwind, but it was raining on my computer screen. The front porch is not the same, with the street lights and the cars and the neighbors across the street sitting on their porch and talking and laughing and smoking. If my front porch was a proper covered porch it would be different, but it’s not, which is not the point. And by that I mean it’s not the point to dwell on all the things that not the way they should be or the way I want them to be. Although I can easily go down that path. The scarcity path. Which is a stupid heart suck. I was talking to my friend, VG, tonight about how you imagine the way you would be in certain instances or circumstances, and future you is like some other version of yourself, potentially better, more together, more Zen. But then when you are neck deep in the circumstance, you are so remarkably you. You are not the future you. You are the present you dealing the way you do with the stuff that’s happening in your life. You are doing the best fucking job you can do.

The thing is we’re all in it. Either we’re standing in the middle of something or were somewhere in the ripples. Millions of centers and millions of ripples.


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before I was my girlfriend’s girlfriend – part 1

March 2, 2013

I couldn’t come up with a term for myself in a relationship. Was I someone’s sweetie or boo or partner? Except for a casual thing, where the term “date” was totally apt, I was perplexed by figuring out how to be butch or how to represent that I am butch in relation to my romantic/dating/love relationships. And this was the case for the larger part of the last 10-14 years. (Also, let me quickly backtrack and say that the idea of “how to be butch in a relationship” is a totally different than the idea of the “representation of butch.” Not that there’s not overlap. But I am not going down that rabbit hole right now.) Like a number of things that have happened this fall, calling myself my girlfriend’s girlfriend was not a conscious decision. I mean, it was conscious in terms of our relationship, but not in terms of the linguistics. We just started using the term and it felt right, which kind of surprised me and also made me think about a couple things. Namely, what had been going on for me during that chunk of time when I couldn’t figure out what to call my “amour” self and when exactly did that chunk of time end, anyway?

There’s lots here to explore in future posts and I’m going to start the process by writing about that chunk of time when my romantic self went nameless. I think what was happening was I was exploring my manhood, in short, and that process was exclusive of identifying as a woman or soley/primarily as a woman. I mean, I acknowledged to myself that I had a female body, and did not argue that point with anyone, but I started started feeling kind of dissonant about it, my body I mean. Plus, for a number of years, I think I was really was trying to get my man on. For instance, for a a stretch of years, I had mostly straight cisgendered guy friends, which wasn’t a conscious choice; I really liked and/or loved these guys. Also, I loved duding up with them, which wasn’t something I did consciously, but something that just happened. And by dude up I mean we did things like check out women together, in ways that in retrospect, were probably kinda gross. Sometimes I wonder if there is any correlation between the body dissonance and getting my man on, which I hesitate to say out loud because I doubt there’s a direct line between them and I don’t want folks to draw easy and false conclusions, but this shit is complex, so it’s worth putting out there. The manhood thing was intoxicating. Not just because of how great getting having masculinity seen and validated by my male friends, but also because there had been so many times in my life, especially when I was young, that I was sure that God or biology or the stars had made a mistake by giving me the XX chromosome. And coming out in the 80’s had been so anti-butch and anti male

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the amazing thing that’s happening

February 23, 2013

Here’s the deal: I’m fucking in love. It’s amazing and insane and every day I could post something here about it. But I feel protective and maybe a tiny bit shy about it in terms of blogging and also self-conscious that maybe it’s obnoxious to go on and on about it here, even though I’m guessing its been obvious, anyway. But it’s also why, lately, I’ve not been posting very much. And then this morning, I thought fuck it, this amazing thing is happening in my life, I’m just going to be upfront and write about it more directly, and with that sentiment in mind I’m going to tell a story about a date that happened this past fall.

We were feeling high on each other that night and we’d gotten kind of dressed up to go out to dinner. Ties and nice belts and MTB had on this awesome leather vest. I’d gone to her house to pick her up and we’d bolted from there pretty quickly because the trick or treaters on the street we’re making her dogs a little nuts. In fact, we sort of ran out to my car and then turned the music up loud. Driving to the restaurant, we kept looking at each other and grinning almost every time we stopped at an intersection. We sat side by side at the Indian place and we laughed about how we couldn’t get our chairs closer together because how bulky the arms on the chairs were. We held hands, anyway, though, and we leaned over the chair arms and kissed each other’s cheeks as we talked about how our weeks were going. I remember looking at MTB at throughout dinner and thinking that I couldn’t quite believe this was happening; “this” being that I was going on dates with her and that dates with her could feel so amazing. I’d said as much to her at some point before this date and she’d said something similar back to me.

After dinner we headed out for a drink. Location was our main consideration in picking a place and because we were in southeast, on upper Division, I suggested the Sapphire Hotel, which I was thinking of as a queer friendly place, although I don’t know why I was thinking that. Maybe because I went there once with VR and the waitress had flirted with us. MTB and I were talking and laughing and leaning into one another as we walked into the Sapphire. Holding hands tight. Right away we both noticed that we were getting stared at, as if our walking in that door was like sliding a needle across the record. It was weird and we tried to laugh it off and find a place to sit, but the only two seats, side by side, were at the bar and one of the stools had some kind of schmutz on it. We stood at the bar and tried not to figure out if the bartender was purposefully ignoring. I might have even tried to clean up some of the junk with napkins before we finally got the  bartender to give us a rag. Even with a rag it was impossible to fully clean up the schmutz, which most likely was some kind of mustard. Little globules kept showing up everywhere — on the floor, on the stool rung, under the seat — and the bartender stayed too busy to pay any attention to our efforts. I started to feel like I was in a really bad TV show, which seemed so absurd because MTB and I were so impossibly high on each other. We finally got some water from the bartender and gave back the nasty rag. This is stupid, I was thinking, and I just looked at MTB and said “lets get the fuck out of here.” She smiled so big at me and squeezed my hand and told me good call.

We made a b line to Crush and fell into a small, early in the night, Halloween crowd — a couple of handfuls of people in costumes, the only one I remember being an insanely hot gay guy dressed up as sailor. It was such a fucking relief to be in a “gay” bar. We lamented the demise of the E Room. MTB and I sat close to each other on the couch in the back room and watched people dance and talked and laughed and drank our drinks and made out. Someone got up on the little stage and did some air guitar and we clapped when they were done. A guy who was dancing with a larger group of people came over and asked to take our picture. MTB was immediately suspicious. Why did he want a photo of us? What was he going do with the it? On our very first date at TBA, there were roaming photographers and MTB had purposefully scooted out of the way when this woman was tried to take a picture of us eating ice cream. This gay guy answered that we were hot and really cute together. We laughed. MTB blushed a little bit. I told her I didn’t think it was big deal and also that she is fucking hot and it’s not like he knew who we were, anyway. Not like he could post a photo and say this is MTB and LM at Crush. He took a couple snapshots and said thanks. It didn’t really make sense, but it made us laugh more and squeeze each other tighter and smile bigger. And normally I’m shy about saying things like this, but it was like something magical was happening.


what i’m really talking about when i talk about the sky

January 25, 2013

For months I’ve not been able to figure out how to talk about all the huge feelings I’ve been having for MTB, except to talk about the sky. And I’ve talked about the sky a lot since September. I still can’t quite figure out how to talk about all the huge feelings, even now. Which is something I told MTB this week. I said something along the same lines to her last week too, when I was trying to distill these massive feelings into a 5 line blog entry, which I kind of came up with but then never posted. Mostly because MTB came up with something better, without even trying. She wrote a spontaneous poem over chat that she didn’t even know she was writing. It was amazing. And perfect. And so much better said than anything I can say right now, even if I am tempted to go back and retag a bunch of my old posts with the “love” tag.  And I was feeling so high about about all of that that I was gonna post MTB’s poem here. We even talked about it. I had a draft ready and everything. But the truth is, it was a private thing. And part of what made it so perfect and amazing is how MTB wrote what she wrote from this tender and open place where she was just talking to me and my heart from her heart. And I find myself being so protective of her softness and tenderness and amazingness. Really, of her heart. And I am aware that I am not talking about the sky right now. And that I haven’t talked about it much lately, although I do like to send MTB photos of the sky from the tram and tram deck. I imagine that she knows that they are both photos of the sky and of the amazing thing happening between us.

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