The Girl with the Feminist Tattoo

I watched the American version of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo today.  I had previously seen and been a big fan of the Swedish version, although I have not read the book.

I fell in love with the Swedish version because of the character of Lisbeth, a sort of feminist superhero in my eyes.  Lisbeth is a character who has been victimized by those who are supposed to be responsible for her care (her father, her state-appointed guardian) but refuses to be a victim.  She’s smart and cunning; a survivor.   In the American version, though, Lisbeth loses this appeal for me because of differences in just a few key scenes.  Let me explain the differences in Swedish Lisbeth and American Lisbeth in some of these scenes.

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The revenge scene

In the American version, Lisbeth places a pillow on her naked state-appointed guardian’s crotch, then straddles him to tattoo “I’m a rapist pig” on his chest.  This felt overly sexual to me, and she seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in this revenge.  We watch her plan for it by acquiring supplies, and we even see her getting a tattoo over the fresh bruises on her ankle after he has restrained and raped her (leading to the revenge scene).

In the Swedish version, the revenge scene seems more matter-of-fact.  It feels more like what Lisbeth must do in order to be free of this tyrant.  She does not seem to take any particular pleasure in the act.  When she tattoos his chest, she does so from the side, and only after he struggles and squirms does she pin down his pelvis with her knee (not her vagina).

When Lisbeth and Mikael meet for the first time

In the American version, Mikael gets permission from his employer’s attorney to hire an assistant.  His employer recommends Lisbeth, who had performed Mikael’s background check before being hired by Henrik Vanger.  Mikael shows up at Lisbeth’s apartment with the report she compiled on him.  Lisbeth seems frightened, but agrees to let him in.  Mikael had brought breakfast, and tells Lisbeth to send the woman in her bed on her way, which she proceeds to do.  The woman in her bed, seemingly sensing Lisbeth’s fear, asks Lisbeth if she needs her to say, but Lisbeth dismisses her.  Lisbeth them places the taser she had used on her state-appointed guardian in her back pocket before timidly approached Mikael in her own kitchen.  She trembles while he explains why he is there.  He then threatens to turn her into the police if she doesn’t cooperate with helping him solve his 40 year old murder mystery.  And that’s how their relationship begins.

In the Swedish version, Lisbeth continues to hack into Mikael’s computer even after completing the background check on him.  As such, she is aware that he is investigating a 40 year old murder.  She sees his files, which include a list of women’s names with numbers next to them.  She recognizes that the numbers corresponds with Biblical passages, and she chooses to send Mikael an email with this clue.  Mikael later shows up at her apartment with the background file she had created on him.  She tells him to back away from the door so she can unchain it, then she invites him in.  She then asks the woman in her bed to leave (with no prompting from Mikael).  She stands as if slightly irritated (not afraid) while Mikael explains to her that her message is the first new clue in the case.  He asks for her help with the case, and reminds her that as a professional computer hacker, he was only able to find her because she wanted to be found.  This Lisbeth sought out a case where she could help track down a murderer of women; she was not blackmailed into it.

When Lisbeth and Mikael have sex for the first time (and a couple of times thereafter)

In the American version, Lisbeth goes to Mikael’s bed after he has been shot and undresses before mounting him.  Shortly after mounting him, they flip positions and the scene ends with him on top.   Later in the film, they are in bed together, and Mikael places his hand under her shirt on her back then removes it; she then tells him to put his hand back under her shirt, seeking out his touch.

In the Swedish version, Lisbeth enters Mikael’s bedroom and mounts him.  She continues to ride him until she achieves orgasm.  She then dismounts and declares that she’s going back to her room.  Later, in a post-coital moment in her bed, she turns off the light and turns away from him, expecting him to get out of bed.  When he doesn’t leave, she turns the light back on to ask what he’s doing.  I want to be close to you, he says.  After a brief pause, she says, “Fine, but I want to sleep” then turns away from him again.

Martin’s death

In the American version, Lisbeth rescues Mikael from Martin just in the nick of time, smashing Martin’s face with a golf club before cutting Mikael down from his noose.  Martin flees, and before Lisbeth gives chase, she asks Mikael for permission to kill Martin.  That’s right, she asks for a man’s fucking permission to kill a man who has raped and murdered countless women since the 1960s.  She gives chase, and Martin skids off the highway, flipping his automobile.  As she approaches the wreckage, the automobile (and Martin) burst into flame.

In the Swedish version, Lisbeth arrives just in time to whack Martin in the face with a golf club and cut Martin down from his noose.  She then chases Martin until he crashes his automobile.  When she approaches the wreckage with fuel ominously dripping from the chassis, Martin is still alive inside, calling out to her that he is unable to move.  She stands by, listening to him, until the automobile explodes with Martin screaming inside.  Later, Mikael asks if she could have saved him, and she admits that she could have.  Mikael tells her he could not have done that, but he understands why she did.  He also tells her that she does not have to tell him all that she has been through, but he is glad she is there.  She only says “thanks” and places her hand on his.

The end of the movie

In the American version, the movie ends with Lisbeth purchasing and expensive leather jacket and attempting to surprise Mikael with it.  Instead, she sees him arm in arm with his long-time sexual partner, so she throws the present in the dumpsters and speeds off on her motorbike. 

In the Swedish version, Lisbeth takes money from bank accounts of the corrupt Wennerstrom and disappears.  No school girl crushes or pouting from this Lisbeth.

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Since I have not read the book, I cannot say which characterization of Lisbeth is more in keeping with the author’s original vision.  Regardless, I prefer Swedish Lisbeth.  She’s the sort of feminist avenger I can get behind.  Not so much with American Lisbeth. 

It’s also possible that David Fincher can’t direct a film with an unadulterated, strong female lead.  After all, this is the guy that ruined the Alien franchise for me.  In the first two Alien movies, Ripley is, in my view, a great feminist character.  She is a survivor.  She is a female lead who remains rational and focused on survival.  She does not make stupid decisions that create situations in which she must be saved or that unnecessarily put other characters at risk.  Also, in the first two movies, Ripley is too busy surviving to be engaged in romantic or sexual entanglements.    In Alien 3 (directed by Fincher), we see Ripley at her butchest, shaved head and all.  Oddly, this is also the film in which Ripley fucks another character for the first time in the franchise.  I suppose the audience had to be reminded that despite her strength, penchant for survival, and shaved head, Ripley still had a hole that needed to be filled.  Maybe that’s Fincher’s message is The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo, too – that no woman can be complete until her heart and vagina are aflutter for a good man.

What Kind of Sex Do YOU Have?

“So….. What kind of sex do you have?”

I get this question on a fairly regular basis.  I’m not sure if other lesbians get this question a lot, but I think the universal curiosity is there.  Maybe I get it more than most because I am so unashamed when it comes to discussing sexual matters.  Or maybe I get it a lot because people want to know how a fat lesbian has sex.  Either way, let’s talk about lesbian sex.

The sex question typically comes from two types of people:  the obnoxious straight guy, or the drunken straight girl.  For both, the question they really want to ask (and sometimes do) is this:  “So, which one of you wears the strap-on dick?” 

When I get the “What kind of sex do you have?” questions, I have two answers.  The first is the answer I say out loud, and the second is my real answer.  Let’s explore my spoken response first.

So, what kind of sex do you have?

Well, really, we lesbians have the same kinds of sex everyone else has, both penetrative and non-penetrative.  There’s manual stimulation (rubbing, with hands or other body parts), oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex.

Here’s the problem.  Culturally, when someone says sex, we think penis-in-vagina (or, in the case of two men, penis-in-anus).  Although straight couples engage in penetrative vaginal (and anal) sex, this type of penetrative sex isn’t the only kind of sex they have.  Gay men, too, engage in penetrative anal sex, but not exclusively or even primarily.  Despite this reality, penis-in-something is considered the gold standard of sex, or real sex. 

Despite the fact that lesbians don’t have penises, we still manage to have sex.  Sometimes that involves inserting something into the vagina (or anus), but not exclusively or primarily.  The kind of sex lesbians have hinges largely on the likes and dislikes of the two unique lesbians engaging in coitus together, just as is the case with straight folks and gay men. 

I once had a straight guy concede that lesbians could have sex despite our lack of penis, but he was adamant that lesbians cannot fuck.  Fucking, in his mind, requires a dick and is something only a man can do.  This, of course, is utter bullshit.

Which brings me to my real response to the question….

So, what kind of sex do you have?

Better sex than you, most likely. 

Despite all of the myths and misconceptions about lesbian bed death, research has long supported that lesbians have better sex than straight women, though some studies suggest that sex happens less often among lesbians.  Research has shown that lesbians:

·         Are more likely to kiss during sex

·         Report greater satisfaction with sex

·         Engage in longer sexual encounters

·         Are more aroused during sex (measuring lubrication as a sign of arousal)

·         Report fewer sexual problems (related to orgasm, lubrication, and guilt)

·         Are 25-50% more likely to achieve orgasm during sex than heterosexual women

See, lesbians just do it better.

And this may explain why it’s obnoxious straight men and drunken straight women who always ask me details about lesbian sex.  It may just be that obnoxious straight men secretly fear that they can’t really please a woman, and drunken straight women secretly long for better sex.

So, here’s my advice.  Rather than focusing on what my people do sexually, focus on your own sex, and the pleasure of your own partner.  Then you won’t have to worry about what I’m doing (perhaps with your unsatisfied partner).

Personal Space & Spooning

I don't like people in my personal space.  I often remind people:  If I can extend my arm and touch you, you're too close.

As one might deduce, I'm not much of a hugger, either.  I try to be ever-vigilant with my anti-hugging body language, but it doesn't always work. 

I seem to be surrounded by huggers, both at home and work.  I have a co-worker who even likes to lurk outside my office door to ambush hug me when I least expect it.  No matter how bad-ass and unapproachable I try to be, I think I'm just too cute and cuddly for my own good.

Despite all of these issues I have with being stood near, touched, or hugged, there's nothing I love more than spooning.  I honestly don't understand how people sleep in the same bed without spooning.  I've spooned every partner I've had.  I'm always the big spoon (or, as I prefer to call it, the alpha spoon). 

Here's what some expert says about spooning:

Traditional spooning is the most common position adopted by couples during the first few years of their relationship or marriage. If the spooning is comfortable, is received with no tension in the limbs and seems balanced, it shows both a strong sexuality and feeling of security in the relationship. One partner is saying with their body, “I can turn my back on you and know I am safe—you have my back.” The other is saying, “I want to surround you and take you in.” This Spoon position has been shown to increase intimacy in couples and reduce the stress of both partners.

Kate and I have been sleeping together for over 6 years now, and we still spoon every night.  I think spooning helps keep us both feeling sane and connected in this cold, distant world.  We'll be that old couple in Titanic, spooning right til the end.  

Spooning is just good for the soul.  So spoon someone tonight (preferably with their consent). 



Sodomites Need Not Apply

As a social work professional, I’m on an array of mailing lists, and, as such, I frequently get job announcements in my email inbox.  Today, I received a posting for a part-time job with the school system; basically, a teacher’s aide position.

Under the “special requirements” section of the posting, I happened to read the following (emphasis mine):

“In addition, the person should be of sobriety and integrity, and orderly and law abiding citizen and inasmuch as they will be working with minors, individuals who have offenses of sodomy or other similar or related offenses or incidents with minors will not be considered for employment.”

Offenses of sodomy?  Really? 

I assume the intent of this “special requirement” is to make it clear that sexual predators and registered sex offenders will not be hired for the position.  But that’s not exactly how it reads, now is it? 

Under Chapter 510 of the Kentucky Revised Statutes, there are five categories of sexual offenses:  rape, sodomy, sexual abuse, sexual misconduct, and indecent exposure.  If the intent of the job posting is simply to deter sex offenders, why highlight sodomy as the offense? 

Remember, sodomy refers to anal and oral sex (and in some cases bestiality), not just gay sex.  Historically, though, sodomy laws have primarily been used to punish those of us who engage in same-sex sexual activity, not to punish all of the ass-fucking and dick-sucking that you straight folks engage in.  And that’s why the word “sodomy” always rubs me the wrong way; it’s this lingering cultural artifact that tells me who I am is unnatural, deviant, and immoral. 

I’m going to have to go home and sodomize the-woman-the-state-won’t-let-me-marry just to take my mind off of this.

Holiday Cheer

I'm not a fan of people. Less so of gatherings of people. And even less still of gatherings of people in my home.

Why, then, am I having a Christmas party in my home this year?

I, of course, host parties because I'm filled with holiday cheer.

For me holiday cheer means three things:

1). Holiday cheer = Chef Butchy.

I like to cook. I especially like to prepare themed-foods, whether it's a crucified Jesus carved out of Hebrew National hot dogs, anatomically correct foods for a coming out party, a skull meatloaf for Halloween, or wreath-shaped appetizers for Christmas. Folks call me Butchy Crocker for a reason.

2). Holiday cheer = not greeting folks with a sawed-off shotgun.

Kate seems to think it's healthy for me to interact with people. As much as I'd rather not interact with people in in my free time, I concede that she's probably right. I don't want to end up like my great aunt Alta, who didn't leave her house for at least a decade and always kept a sawed-off shotgun by her side.

3). Holiday cheer = clean floors.

Having folks in my home gives me the motivation to mop my hardwood floors. I keep a pretty clean and tidy house, but I loathe mopping. Kate's not a mopper either, so we have to invite folks over a few times a year, or this chore would never get done.

Protecting the Pre-dead

I attended a continuing education course on ethics this afternoon.  Per usual, we gathered in small groups to discuss case studies and ethical dilemmas.  And, per usual, all of our ethical dilemmas involved cases with children.  Everyone knows that nothing gets folks more impassioned than cute little innocent adorable children.  Ninety percent of all social workers became social workers for the sole purpose of saving children.

The last case scenario of the day involved an ethical dilemma related to respecting a drug-abusing pregnant woman’s right to self-determination versus a social worker’s obligation to protect vulnerable populations.  In this case, the vulnerable population would be the unborn child.  There are lots of arguments on both sides of this dilemma, but that’s not what I’m here to discuss. 

I want to talk about language and words that annoys me.

Today’s annoying word?  Pre-born.

While we were discussing the above case, another attendee used the term pre-born to describe the fetus in the scenario. 

First, I hate the superfluous use of pre.  I hate diagnoses like pre-diabetic, pre-hypertensive, or pre-obese.  For the most part, you either have a condition or you don’t.  Rather than telling a guy he’s pre-diabetic, the doctor should really be saying, “Look.  Your blood sugar is on the high end of normal.  So, if you don’t stop drinking  3 quarts of gravy through a straw every day, you’re going to become diabetic and have to shoot insulin into your gut twice a day, ok?”

Second, when did unborn fall out favor amongst the baby-loving pro-life folks?  I actually liked the term unborn.  Unborn makes me think of undead, which allows me to visual zombie fetuses.  And, really, what’s more awesome and terrifying than a fetal zombie?

Pre-born, though, just irks me. 

Pre-born isn’t particularly descriptive of fetal development.  I prefer terms like zygote, blastocyst, embryo, and fetus to let me know where things are along the production line.  Pre-born could fall anywhere along that spectrum.    

Pre-born is also overly presumptive.  The term presumes that a zygote, blastocyst, embryo or fetus will one day be birthed into non-parasitic, fully animated human form.  Stillbirth occurs in 1 in every 200 pregnancies in the U.S.  The miscarriage rate for women who know they are pregnant is 15-20%.  It’s estimated that 50% of all fertilized eggs are spontaneously aborted before the woman even knows she’s pregnant.  If life begins at conception, then the pre-born only have 50% chance of making it out of the womb alive. 

With odds like that, you might as well refer to the unborn/pre-born as the pre-dead. 

Is this fetus unborn, pre-born, pre-dead, or undead?

Butchy's Beauty Tips: Make-up

I have such a complicated relationship with make-up.

Growing up, women in my family weren’t allowed to wear make-up, because women who wore make-up were considered whores and Jezebels.  Since I was busy doing boy things as a kid anyway, I really didn’t give make-up a second thought.

I had never worn any kind of make-up until I left home at 17.  By that age, I still wasn’t interested in make-up, but I let my sister-in-law paint me up just for the fun of it.  It seemed excessive, impractical, and I felt like a drag queen.   

This is not butch make-up, and, since I was under 18, may be considered child abuse.

 Make-up did not become a normal part of my routine back then.

In the past few years, though, as I’ve grown more comfortable with my own gender ambiguity, I’ve come to embrace the whole wearing make-up that doesn’t necessarily look like you’re wearing make-up philosophy. 

The simple fact is that a good foundation and powder evens out skin tones and imperfections, and can help a simple butch look a little more handsome.  I encourage all masculine women to consider the benefits of a good facial skin care routine.

If you can’t bring yourself to put on make-up because it’s just too girly, try to change the way you think about make-up and face care and reconsider the tools you use. 

Here are a few tips to help masculinize your beauty regimen:  

1)       Think of your face as a cabinet that needs to be refinished. 

2)      Begin by cleaning and sanding your cabinet. 

a.       Wash and exfoliate your face.  To butch it up, buy facial products that are gender-neutral or designed for men.

b.      For an added touch of masculinity, slap on some aftershave after you’ve exfoliated.  It will give you that just-shaved burning sensation that we women miss out on.

3)      Find a nice, quality stain that compliments the room.

a.        Find a good foundation that matches your natural skin tone.  The key to butch make-up is making sure that others don’t automatically notice that you’re wearing make-up.

4)      Select a durable varnish.

a.       Use a light coat of powder on top of your foundation.  It further evens out your skin tone, and helps your make-up last throughout the day.

b.      You can use an all-in-one foundation/powder product, but I find that application is not as even and smooth.

5)      Choose the right brush for application of your varnish.

a.       For the longest time, what I hated most about powder was the dainty little circular applicator pad.  Lately, though, I’ve been using a mineral powder that has a brush applicator that looks just like a men’s shaving brush.  It makes me feel so manly when I’m putting on my make-up in the mornings.

6)      Finally, feel free to embellish/decorate your cabinets on holidays or special occasions.

a.       For my day-to-day routine, I believe in foundation and powder only.  Once or twice a year, though, I’ll spice it up for a special occasion by adding mascara, eyeliner, and maybe a little lip gloss/shimmer.  When I add extra make-up, though, I always balance it out by wearing an overtly masculine item, such as a tie or fedora.

Vaginas are Worth Less

1 vagina + 1 graduate or professional degree < 1 penis + 1 bachelor's degree

Apparently, women in Kentucky are worth less than men.  A lot less.  Almost a third less, in fact.

In 2010, median earnings for Kentucky men with bachelor’s degrees were 1.4 times higher than median earnings for Kentucky women with bachelor’s degrees.  Even worse, median earnings for Kentucky men with bachelor's degrees are $5,000 higher than median earnings for Kentucky women with graduate or professional degrees!

I don’t know about you, but this kind of data gets my labia all in a bunch.  If, ultimately, my college degree(s) are worth less than a man’s, why on earth did I have to pay the same price to get them?

We all know tuition rates are out of control.  Undergraduate tuition at Morehead State University has increased 329% since 2000.  Graduate tuition rates at the same institution have increased by 262% since 2002.  Hourly graduate tuition rates at the University of Kentucky have increased by over 180% since 2004. 

So why should we women keep paying more and more for less?

Here’s my solution to this problem.  Until pay equity is achieved between men and women, women get to pay less for college tuition.  Kentucky women with bachelor’s degrees earn 69% of what men earn, and Kentucky women with graduate or professional degrees earn 76% of what men earn.  So, undergraduate tuition for women at Kentucky colleges and universities should be reduced by 31%, and graduate tuition should be reduced by 24%.  Additionally, women who have incurred student loans should see a corresponding reduction in their original principal balances.

Who’s with me on this one?

Coming Out - A Very Butchy Timeline

Today is National Coming Out Day.  Having a national coming out “day” is a little misleading.  Coming out is a process, and never occurs in a single day.  If you’re gay, you have to make decisions about whether you should “come out” every time you meet a new person, start working at a new job, or drive through Tennessee.

Being that I’m butch, I usually don’t have to tell people that I’m gay.  People take one look at my comfortable shoes and sensible men’s haircut, and they just sort of know.  But, I haven’t always been the masculine woman everyone knows and loves today.  So, in honor of coming out day, I’m sharing some of the highlights of my personal coming out timeline.

1978 – 1987:  The Why Do I Have To Wear Dresses Years

Me, first grade

 I can’t say that I knew was gay this early in the game, but I definitely knew that I wasn’t a typical little girl.  I liked playing with the boys and fighting with the boys.  I wanted Legos and toy cars, and had no interest playing dolls with other little girls. 

I remember pretending to shave my face as a kid.  And I remember crying myself to sleep in my sister’s lap when my dad shaved off his beard. 

It’s pretty safe to say that I wanted to be a boy during this time frame.  Since I grew up in a snake-handling Pentecostal home, I wasn’t allowed to cut my hair, and I had to wear disgusting froufrou dresses to church and on picture day at school.  My mother would curl my 4 feet of hair in giant pink foam rollers the night before church.  I remember Sunday services lasting for hours, and eventually getting restless enough that my mother would let me go outside with my dad and all the other sinner-men.  I’d hop on the tailgate of a truck with my dad, and he’d give me a little pocket knife and a cedar stick for whittling.  Sometimes, he’d even give me a little jaw-full of Levi Garrett.  So, there I’d sit:  curled hair, froufrou dress, bobby socks, and maryjanes, with a lap full of cedar shavings, spitting tobacco juice in the gravel.  Those were probably the moments I felt most like myself as a child – surrounded by men doing men things.

1987 – 1990:  My Born Again Years

Me, circa 1989, saved and unhappy

Like I said, I grew up with very religious snake-handling Pentecostals.  There were lots of traumatic things happening, and I felt like I was a little sinner bound for Hell.  Out of that fear, I “repented” and was “saved” and baptized in a creek when I was in 3^rd grade.  I remember my sister pinning my skirt together between my legs so it didn’t end up over my head when the preacher dunked me in the creek.

Despite my age, these were some of the darkest years of my life.

 

1990 – 1996:  My Coming Out Years

Me, 1995, before I cut my hair

By this point, I definitely knew I liked girls.  I started having lots of crushes on female teachers by the time I was in 6^th grade.  During my freshmen year in high school, I had serious crushes on female friends, and ended up telling my older brother I thought I was a lesbian.  By the end of my junior year in high school, I had come out to a few friends and a teacher or two.

By my senior year, I was about as out as a gay girl in eastern KY can be.  I was living with my older brother and his wife, who didn’t care if I was gay.  I started absorbing all the gay information my little sheltered brain could hold.  I subscribed to The Advocate and Deneuve (which then became Curve).  I watched my first lesbian movie (Go Fish).   I remember giving a presentation on gay/lesbian issues in my high school sociology class in front of my high school principal.  This was also the year when I finally said good-bye to my oppressive 4 feet of hair.

1996 – 2002:  The Heterosexual/Becoming Butch Years

At exactly the same time I was coming out hard and fast to the world, I met Jason.  It was our senior year of high school.  We were both smart, had lots of classes together, and were both a little socially awkward with dark senses of humor.  We hit it off pretty quickly.  Jason was one of the many people I came out to that year.

Then something weird happened just before graduation.  Jason and I were chatting, and he asked me what my “type” was.  I thought for a second, and said, “You know.  Somebody like you.  But without a penis.”  As a result, we gave the whole sex thing a try, and because it worked out well, we started dating.  He followed me to college, and we continued dating.  We ended up getting married during the summer between freshmen and sophomore year at college.

This, by far, was the most bizarre coming out phase of my life.  It was sort of a weird “going in”.  I had to try to explain my relationship with Jason to all the friends and folks I had previously come out to.  They’d invariably say, “But I thought you were gay?”  And the truth is, I still felt gay.  Despite being married to a man and having never had sex with a woman, I still felt like a lesbian.  Jason was just sort of a beautiful little anomaly in my life.    

During our relationship, Jason really helped me embrace my masculinity.  Since I was young, I never felt like a girl.  Jason allowed me to express my inner boy.  He didn’t mind that I wore men’s clothes and baseball caps.  He helped talk me through the anxiety of buying my first men’s wristwatch and first men’s wallet. 

Me, 2002, butch and married

Beginning to express outward masculinity had interesting consequences.  I started getting called “sir” frequently in public.  Kind strangers would tell me I was going into the wrong restroom when entering women’s bathrooms in public.  Jason and I would walk through campus holding hands, and rednecks would yell “faggots!” at us, thinking we were two guys.  We once had two girls hit on us, until they eventually asked our names, and then backed away in silent shock after I said my name was Tami.  I also had to deal with all the folks who would ask if Jason and I were married just for the financial aid.  

Everyone just assumed I was gay, which put me in a position of having to “come out” about my marriage and about actually being in love with the guy to whom I was wed.

 

2002 – present:  The Not Worrying About What Other People Think Years

After a few years of marriage, I realized I needed to test the lesbian waters.  I dabbled in polyamory and semi-open relationships, always talking about things and being honest in my relationships.  Eventually, Jason and I realized we’d always be family, but we couldn’t stay married. 

After a couple of lesbian relationships that didn’t pan out, I met Kate (who has a pretty interesting coming out story herself).  We’ve been together for 6 years now.  And I’ve never been happier.

Through all of this coming out in different ways about different things at different times, I’ve come to accept that life, love, sex, sexuality, gender, and relationships are fluid and complicated for me.  I’ve come to learn that I’m a lesbian who can have sex with a man and enjoy it.  I’ve learned that I can be a masculine woman who can love both power tools and Tupperware.  

Ultimately, though, as clichéd as it might sound, I’ve learned that accepting and appreciating myself makes it a whole lot easier for other folks to accept me too. 

Me, 2011, full blown gay

 

A Divorcee's Guide to Becoming a Lesbian

Are you a recent divorcee?  Are you stuck with a couple of kids?  Are you tired of men?

Then lesbianism may be right for you!

If you’re considering a major change in lifestyle, you may have a few questions and concerns.  If so, please read the FAQ below.

It’s been so long since I’ve dated.  How should I dress to attract a quality lesbian mate?

Dress just like you do now.  No need for make-up or uncomfortable shoes.  Any old pair of ill-fitting mom jeans and a puffy down vest will do the trick.  If you’re still at a loss, just wear whatever your husband used to wear while changing the oil in your minivan. 

I’ve heard lesbians have a tendency to rush into serious relationships.  What if my children get attached to a lesbian and then I decide to be straight again?

Yes, lesbians love serious relationships.  Any lesbian worthy of the label keeps U-Haul on speed-dial.  But you have to remember, lesbians do not behave like other sexualities.  Lesbians never really break up.  Sure, lesbians break up, move out, and start new relationships.  But once you’ve slept with a lesbian, you’re bonded to her for life.  Even if you’re a horrible ass-hat of a human being, the lesbian who breaks up with you will continue to hold on to you like a piece of trash in a hoarder’s house.  Her brain may tell her you’re useless and she should throw you away, but her damn irrational woman-heart just won’t let her.   Even if you go back to your ex-husband, she’ll always be there to teach your kids to play sports, help you re-roof your house, or give you a kidney. 

I’m tired of men and want a change.  But I’m just not sure I can touch another lady’s “parts”?

This is definitely the ickiest hurdle on your straight-to-gay path.  But remember, it’s temporary.  As a heretofore straight person, you may not be familiar with lesbian bed death.  You see, every lesbian relationship eventually devolves into communal sisterhood.  If you can live through six months of lesbian sex, you’ll never have to do it again.  For lesbians, sex is like a fever at the beginning of an illness:  it runs high and fast but breaks quickly.  You’ll be back to your old sex-free routine in no time. 

In the off chance you end up paired with a high-testosterone butch, it may take longer for bed death to set in.  But never fear.  With a high-testosterone butch, all you really have to do is lay back and enjoy your role as “pillow princess”.   And you can always tape a poster of your favorite male celebrity to the ceiling to get you through those hard times.

If you have additional questions about becoming a lesbian, please submit them to:  butchycrocker@gmail.com

Death, in perspective

I've spent my weekend reading novels with themes of death, dying, immortality, and coming back from the dead.  The backdrop of my reading has been countless decennial specials on 9/11 and endless facebook comments commemorating the date.  With that in mind, here are some assorted thoughts on death.

1)  The simple fact is that thousands of people die every day.  In the U.S. alone, 6,675 die every day.  An average of 37 people are murdered every day in the U.S.  Twenty percent of homicides are committed by a first degree relative, a significant other, a friend, or a neighbor.  Nearly 95 people die by suicide every day in this country.

2)  Most of the time, we don't pay a lot of attention to death, unless it directly affects us or our sense of well-being.  We see news reports of genocide and terror across the globe.  But, as a country, we do not become collectively outraged until nearly 3,000 of "us" are killed.  Then we care.  And that's not a moral judgment, really.  It's how humans operate; we are typically narcissistic in our outlook on survival.  An issue, no matter how grand, only has significance when we feel that it is about us.

3)  One of the things I remember most about 10 years ago is getting a call from my mother in the days following the 9/11 attacks.  She called to remind me to get right with God because the rising gas prices were a sign of the end times.  Keep in mind, she did not reference the deaths of nearly 3,000 people as a sign of the end times, just the rise in gas prices.

4)  One theme that often seems overlooked in remembrances of 9/11 is how relatively peaceful and secure our daily lives are as Americans.  The primary reason 9/11 was so shocking to us is that stuff like that doesn't happen here.  Sometimes, I watch global news, and I am overcome with such a heavy mixture of guilt and good fortune.  Despite neurotic anxiety, I get to live every day with few real fears.  I have a roof over my head, reliable access to food, and do not have to worry about any real likelihood of violence as I go about my day.  All because I had the good fortune to be born in America.  I didn't have to do anything to earn those privileges; my parents just had sex and birthed me here.  That's it.  No matter what the color-alert system tells us, we're all pretty damn safe.


5)  Death is a good thing.  One, it's necessary for population control.  If no one died, this place would fill up even quicker than it is.  Two, I think death reminds us that life is important.  I'm an atheist; I have no reason to believe we go anywhere after we die.  I believe my unique personality and consciousness is inextricably linked to my physical body; when my physical body ceases to exist, so do I.  But, even if you are religious and believe in an afterlife, death still serves as a reminder of life.  Death is the ultimate deadline; it reminds us that we have things to get done, and a limited amount of time in which to get them done.  As appealing as immortality is on the surface, I think I would languish in the indefinite.  And something tells me we all would.

So, here's to life, death, and not taking our privileges for granted.

Butchy's Libation Lessons: Patron Storage and Transport

My pseudo-mother recently moved to rural eastern Kentucky to a quaint little place with no cell phone signal.  Earlier in the week, while in an area with cell signal, she sent a text asking me if I'd drive over to her Lexington house to put her garbage on the curb in time for trash collection today.  I did as I was asked, and while I was there this evening to put her trash receptacle back into her garage, I decided to see what, if anything, she had left in her refrigerator.

I discovered that she had left behind half a bottle of Patron, which she always stores in the freezer.  I made the executive decision to commandeer her Patron, as I could not text her to get permission.  I sat the bottle of Patron in the floor of the front passengers seat of my car and started driving home.

As I began looking over my left shoulder to merge onto New Circle Road, I heard a faint gunshot-esque sound to my right.  I quickly looked over to see the cork in the top of the bottle of Patron flying into the air.  I drove the rest of the way home, slightly shaken, with an open bottle of tequila in the floor.

So, here's today's libation lesson:

Patron stored in freezer + automobile with an internal temperature of 99 degrees = cork explosion

Remember to drive responsibly.

Contents under pressure

ChildSuites: Quality Child Boarding

On my drive home from work today, I was pondering the convenience of animal boarding.  Kate and I are house/dog sitting for our best friends this week.  They always take care of our dog when we're out of town, and we always reciprocate the favor.  Of course, if Kate and I didn't have friends with whom we could share pet parenting responsibilities, we could always board our dog with our vet, or we could get all fancy and send her to a pet "resort" such as PetSuites.

The thought of boarding our dog got me to thinking:  Why can't you board your children?

Let's face it.  Children are an inconvenience.  They're not like cats:  you can't just sit out a couple of extra litter boxes and food and water dispensers to leave them unattended while you take a long weekend at the gambling boat.  Sometimes, you just need to get away without the kids for a while, maybe for a night out drinking to forget that you no longer live your own live because of that pseudo-parasite of yours.

Sure, there are daycare facilities.  But how much fun can an adult actually have sans kids while the sun is still out.  No, you need around the clock care for real fun and to give you adequate time to recover from your hangover or to swing by your local Rite-Aid to pick up the morning after pill to keep your problems from multiplying after a night out.  Lots of folks with kids have friends that they can count on to babysit in such circumstances.  But what if you're one of those parents who are entirely on you own because your bad-ass delinquent child has alienated you from every rational, responsible, sane adult in your life?  There should be a reliable option for you, too!

That's why the folks who run PetSuites need to start a new venture:  ChildSuites.  You just make a reservation, then drop your kid off.  They'll make sure your kid is fed, watered, and walked, then you just go retrieve your kid days later, after that binge is out of your system or after you're overcome with the guilt of having boarded your child (whichever comes first).

Hey, it's a better alternative that crating your baby while you're away.

You're only as fancy as your toilet paper

I don't see the point in overly elaborate public restrooms.  I think public restrooms should be clean and committed to their primary purpose.  I don't need a sofa on which to recline in the event that I'm stricken with the vapors or some other similarly antiquated ailment.  I don't need an open floor plan or an atrium. 

However, if you cater to the type of pretentious clientele that prefers to take a dump in a lavish women's "lounge", you might want to consider investing in some high-end toilet paper as well.  I mean, seriously.  If I have to navigate through a serious of halls and seating areas while trying to discern if I'm in a bathroom or dressing room, I should at least be greeted with some ultra-plush toilet paper.  Heck, I'd settle for some Charmin Basic.  But what do you offer visitors of your women's lounge, Macy's?  The thinnest single-ply toilet paper I have seen in my 33 years on this planet.

For shame, Macy's.  For shame. 

6% gay tax

I know it’s only my second post, but I’m going to rant about the fact that I can’t get married again.  I promise that this will not be the only topic I address on here (but I have a feeling it may feature prominently).

Here’s the thing.  I believe that people who have religious objections to marriage between two people of the same sex have every right to hold that belief and to teach their progeny that such relationships are an abomination.  My mother, for instance, held all sorts of religious beliefs with which I now disagree.  She believed that the following things were sinful:  women cutting their hair, women wearing pants, women shaving their legs, women thinking, etc.  Although she had every right to try to pass those beliefs on to me, I guarantee that every person reading this, including the religious, would think it absurd if she had tried to convince her elected officials to legislate these strongly held personal beliefs.  (Fortunately, my mother also believed that engaging in the political process was sinful, else she may have tried to so influence her local and state officials.)

There seems to be this misconception that religious beliefs and ideals are at the foundation of our laws.  This may be because at least 3 of the 10 commandments feature heavily in our legal system, particularly prohibitions against murder, theft, and perjury.  As we should all know by now, correlation does not beget causation.  These types of prohibitions appear in our legal system, not because they were commanded by God, but because they are all behaviors that directly impact other people.  If I kill, steal, or lie, I directly harm someone else.

And this brings me to my point.

If Kate and I were allowed to legally married, our union would not have any discernable, direct impact on any other marriage.  But the prohibition against same sex marriage directly impacts and disadvantages us on a regular basis.

Let me give you an example of today’s disadvantage.

Kate and I make every attempt to legally intertwine our lives in every way we can imagine.  As good, practical lesbians, we also try to anticipate every possible scenario and to have back-up plans for our contingency plans.  Our bank and savings account are held jointly.  When we bought a home, we made sure the deed indicated joint ownership with rights of survivorship, so if one of us meets an untimely demise, the home will belong to the other clear and outright.  We met with an attorney yesterday to discuss our end of life paperwork and having a will drafted to ensure everything passes from one to the other with as little hassle as possible.  When I bought a new car a couple of months ago, we put it in both of our names.  If we could get married, most of these types of things would be automatically conveyed benefits that most heterosexual couples take for granted. 

This morning, we went downtown for Kate to renew the registration on her car and to have the lien removed from the title, since we paid her car off when we bought mine.  Since we were already in the building, Kate wanted to inquire about having me added to the title.  Her reasoning is this:  Since we do not yet have wills in place, she didn’t want me to lose the car I had already helped pay for if she were to die in the next couple of weeks.  (Like I said earlier, we like to be prepared for anything and everything.)

When we went to the title office, we were told that I would have to pay a 6% sales tax on the current value of the car in order to be added to the title.  We were then told that only first degree relatives (parent-child) and spouses are exempt from this tax.  So, in order for me to have a legal right to a car I helped pay for, I would have to pay about $700 in taxes – all because I’m not allowed to get a marriage license for $35.50 in the office across the hall from the title office.  Additionally, we’re having to fork over $500 to have our end of life paperwork drafted by an attorney, all in an attempt to approximate the benefits conveyed by a marriage license that costs $35.50.

Let’s review the numbers:

·         Costs associated with being a gay couple in the Osman-Damron household this week:  $1,200

·         Cost of a marriage license that would forego the above costs:  $35.50

·         Potential savings for the Osman-Damron household this week if they could get a marriage license:   $1,164.50

In other words, Kate and I are being ‘fined’ $1,164.50 just because some folks don’t approve of our relationship, when that relationship in no way directly affects anyone but us. 

So, here’s a deal I’m willing to make with the religious right who prevents marriage from being an option for me and Kate:  If you let us get married, I promise to never ever perform acts of lesbian sex in your churches.  If you don’t, you better get some Gallagher-tarps for parishioners in the front pews, ‘cause it’s about to get real wet and messy all up in your altar.