a Butch Rant

butch-1

Without too much fanfare, a lesbian rant with be performed.  I will generalize, sound sexist, political incorrect and much more.  Which after 50 years on the earth; I honestly do not give a shit, if I offend anyone!

As a gay woman, I have enjoyed loving woman for obvious reasons!  Woman are more nurturing, understanding, better fighters and, for better or worse, brutally honest.

That being said,butch-4

In most relationships, there is a more, manly lesbian.  And, a more feminine lesbian.  Words such as; Femme and Butch, Top and Bottom are used to describe  these  persons.

Of note, these ‘butch’ types of women do not always look like men!  Often they are very frilly.  It is a misnomer to believe we are wear flannel and work-boots.

I do wear flannel and work-boots.  But that by no means says, I want a crew-cut and chains on my wallet.

Chores when you merge with another woman often are divided up without words or written lists.

My rant is very simple.  I love my wife.  I appreciate the pink.  The CK1 perfume.  And, the fact that her underwear matches her bra and her socks.

That said!butch-2

I really do not appreciate having to clean the bathroom drain out when it is clogged!  Somehow over fifteen years of being together; I have been allotted that duty as well as, burying dead birds in the yard!

While she does the laundry and (as I believe she does on purpose) dyes my wife beater’s pink!

Another Freaky Roadside Attraction

 

Another Freaky Roadside Attraction:

I had been born in the winter of No Love…1967! So, in true pre or post Wanna Be Hippie fashion…the year of my birth became the sign of the Freak.

There are souls like stars, that dwell apart
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart

There had been no other freak like me. No other words to describe ME. No slang, no slogan, no Beatnik generational dangling of truth about ME!

Alas, my narcissism had the better of me for several decades.  With binding blinders off…and chips of shoulder discarded; I found I was a part of a bigger society.  The Freaks!

A true freak. As with a recovering addict, is a freak, the moment they declare themselves so.

Little known tidbits about the Freaks and Fashionable mislead:

Freaks like lyrics that are not akin to their dress! For example, I am considered the Butch of my marriage and therefore, by ‘look’ alone…one would think I love angry lesbian music.

Not so. As a matter of truth, my favorite song to sing in the shower is Roger Miller’s God Doesn’t Make Little Green Apples. I bang out a chorus or two whilst applying my Suave low-budget Green Apple Shampoo.

Freaks occasionally adorn articles of body Art. Tattoos, piercings of unknown origin and hairstyles of the not so rich and not so famous. What is particularly odd about the tattoo of the freak? Many by standers and passersby, believe these persons of Oddity have a lived a down trodden and difficult life.

Again, not true. A freak’s inked body art is not a sign of a hard life but a life well mapped and lived!

Freaks come and all shapes and sizes and we arrive always in an unusual manner. Sometimes by foot with a pair of Converse sneakers circa 1950’s style. Sometimes by virtue of a squad car. And, sometimes, by two-wheeled motored percussion.

My two-wheeled instrument of travel Black Betty, is a moped. This freak and her bike, like many others, choose moped-ing not because I had a wish to be different but because I adore the feeling of free-falling.

My family of Freaks is given to me due to loyal misfit findings not particularly by blood. Freaks always know the value of the following statement:

‘Those who betray us are often persons of ‘relative’ importance!’

In the mid 80’s with a great deal of difficulty my path of seeking Freaks and their Roadside Attractions, took a detour to normalacy…as we understand it to be.

I became bored, listless and lacking in color. In short, I became a part of the problem not the piece of the solution.

Like a dirty dog out of pond scum water…I quickly shook free of the changes of conformity. It was not much later that I found myself another off the beaten path Roadside Attraction…teaching myself to write left handed…just because I could!

 

House by the Side of the Road

 

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat
Nor hurl the cynic’s ban-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish – so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

 

Fecal Matters and Shit Happens!

“Honey, did you just get done in the bathroom?”
Half ass response:
No, why?  Is there something wrong?
“Oh, no, just smells like the bottom of my dead grandfather’s foot in there.  Maybe one of the cats are sick?”
What did I get out of that exchange?
My previous partner did not shit!  Not once in our 6 years of warranted marital miscue.
“Honey, have you been to the bathroom this morning?  Or, anytime within the last 24 hours?”
Full tilt asshole response:
No, why?  Are you saying, my shit stinks?  I shit roses compared to the shit you’ve put me through!
Thoughts on exchange number two?
After almost 12 years of living on a carnival ride of misfit union; my soon to be ex did indeed shit…she just shit roses and butterflies and rainbows!
Laid up for approximately, 13 days, 5 hours, 23 minutes and 2 seconds, I’ve had nothing but full metal constipation on my hands.
What happens when you mix the stomach flu with prescribed pain relievers?  Not a whole hell of a lot.
Fecal matters and shit happens.  Let’s face it.  The subject carries more of an X rating then Rosanne Barr in a thong.
Like most I enjoy immensely…a good healthy bowel movement.  Yet, it is don’t ask, don’t tell territory.
“What’s wrong with Ruth?”
Oh, nothing that a an enema, a lobotomy and a healthy kick in the ass wouldn’t fix..my now loving and honest shitter partner would say.
Therefore, a list must surface from the last honest pleasure seeker in pooping, namely myself!
What is truly gross about ourselves?
No Shit!
No Shit!
1. Much as a bowel movement moves us spiritually, physically and financially.  We despise the fact we have to shit.  As a nation, we must come out of the shithouse doorway with smiles and accolades for ourselves.
Little side note:
Much as we are closeted about our toileting habits.  We love to turn around and look down.  We take pleasure in viewing just how much we have accomplished after one giant cup of coffee, a morning read and a cigarette.
2. Hair!  Here, there, everywhere a hair.  While posing for the new life like image of the famous ‘Thinker’ I had nothing but swirls of free spirited strange obsessive ideas in my cozy made for one bathroom.
My hair freaks me out.  It’s sticks to the walls by one lone strand, it adheres to the drain in the shower with the strength of ten butch women holding on to a feminine lesbian in work boots.
3. Spit!  Spit on the sink walls.  Behind the toilet seat.  On the prescription bottle of Ativan taken for O.C.D.  Spit in an array of colors.  Red from the disgusting XX Cinnamon flavored Close Up the spouse likes to buy and I choose to not argue about.  Blue from the dislodged Tylenol PM pill that landed in the water dish left out for the cats.  Yellow?  Where the fuck did the yellow come from?
4. Dust spiders and sock lint on the towels and ceiling.  A human being produces approximately enough lint and dust to fill Fenway Park over the course of their lifetime.
5. Toenail clippings not removed from the toe nail removal device.  Better yet, toe nail clippings that have fallen from said device and now lay in the confines of the vanity.  Mating and producing more clippings.
We are a disgusting lot.  I get it.  Why talk about it?
My grandmother Ruth once told me a very good piece of advice:
Eat an apple sometime while you’re having sex.  You’ll enjoy the experience much more than usually and than you can count on a good shit in the morning.  And, a good morning shit leads to a happy and healthy life!
Been hit with the F.I.S.H. stick?
Been hit with the F.I.S.H. stick?
Until next time, have a happy and productive visit to the most important room in the house!