Toss Salads and Scrambled Eggs

What is a butch to do?

So here’s the deal. I’ve been looking for the right type of masculine person to compare myself to, in order to describe my type of butch-ness and the best I can do is this…I am Frasier Crane.

Yep. I watch it in re-runs when I’m sick and realised some stuff, I like snobby/intellectual things and to be comfortable.

I don’t much enjoy beers and sports except for the occasional stella artois and rugby.

If I could buy cool art and eat at expensive restaurants all the time, I would.

And I’m training to work in the mental health field.



Frasier (in reference to his gay boss): …I can’t understand how he would think that. We only talked about the theatre and fashion…Oh Dear God!


So does this now make me a gay man in a female body who likes women?

I am now so much more confused than when I started this post.

Freud would have a field day!


Is It Hot In Here?….Or Is It Just Me?

So B. has decided, since she’s gone back to work, that apparently, she can now take over the world.

She has started working out and has decided her next goal in life aside from going back to school is to become a body builder.

B and I have kind of a butch (me) / femme (her) thing going on.

She’s a little shorter than me but definitely curvier and can put muscle on like no one I’ve ever seen.

When B was in cooking school, the chefs would make her whip things by hand…in our first year of dating, her hands were like steel and her arms were sinewy, veiny, tattooed hotness.

It’s weird how gender and sexuality move in such a weirdly fluid way sometimes.

Sometimes I can’t help but get creeped out at how I melt when she, being a diverse and multi-faceted person, makes jokes like a frat boy while wearing a dress and heels….

…Or how she can fix things around the house when really, I’m mostly good for brute strength and grunt work…ditch digging, lifting couches…that sorta thing.

Anyway, when B exhibits her female masculinity, I turn my head like a dog and perk my hears like I heard something only audible to canines…”huh? wow…your hot!”

I like that B can make me surprise myself by finding something sexy that normal doesn’t do anything….

Also neat is that she’s possessive without being creepy/abusive.

When someone ‘notices’ me, B. notices them back, with another dog like behaviour…MINE!!

While I don’t endorse jealous behaviour, sometimes it’s nice to know your partner gets their feathers ruffled when someone shows you flirty attention.

Here’s a sexy quote for your pleasure:

“ When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities. ” –Matt Groening

How’s Your Blackberry?

In the small east coast town where my father is from, we’re closer to our Irish heritage than perhaps alot of people.

For us, British comedies from across the pond were a Friday, Saturday and Sunday evening treat with my grandparents.

I don’t know what was funnier sometimes, laughing at my nanny and poppy crack up over what they were watching or the skits themselves.

Now that my grandfather has been dead and gone for 19 years, I look at this with tear and a smile.

Enjoy 🙂

Captivity…Week 9

For the record, this is not my actual foot, just the closest image I could find representative of it. This image is from,

(My right foot is a melodramatic lady named Ruby and since her injury, her postcards from the edge have been arriving for my left foot, Agnes, who is much more sedate and practical…Agnes is growing tired of Ruby’s whining so I posted her latest correspondence here….enjoy!)

Dear Monkiss’s Left Foot,

It has been weeks since I’ve seen the light of day and I’m beginning to wonder if it exists.

I have marked the days since we’ve last seen each other by resting and contemplating my predicament; my 5th metatarsal remains in pieces and the journey back to wellness seems painfully long, drawn out and filled with despair.

My skin is a dried husk and I feel like a shell of my former agile self, noticeably smaller and sometimes hopelessly malformed by edema.

The walking boot is well-worn and feeling less like a home and more like a run down prison.

I hope in my absence you have not grown tired of hearing about my travailles since my letters to you are my only connection to the outside world.

My tormentors come less regularly now; they have stopped their prodding and weekly harassments as to my true condition. They know it to be grave.

For brief moments when I feel the light on my skin and the warmth of a soothing bath, I know I’m alive and I have the strength to move forward, whatever the setbacks.

Yours in Solidarity, Monkiss’s Right Foot

Spiders in the Park – Jus’ Beat It

This is related to my previous post, 2 weirdos in the park.

(sorry folks for my technological ignorance, my efforts at linking have been for naught)

When I think of spiders or other creatures that elicit fear, creeping on you in the park or other nature-inclined spaces,

This what I imagine them to be saying to me:

“You have to show them that you’re really not scared
You’re playin’ with your life, this ain’t no truth or dare
They’ll kick you, then they beat you,
Then they’ll tell you it’s fair
So beat it, but you wanna be bad”…..