Archive for February, 2007
Thank you, everyone, for reading my writing, for commenting, for sharing your ideas, for interacting with my ideas. It’s really a lovely process. I highly encourage (semi-)anonymous blogging.
Favorite scenario from yesterday: I’m a security guard, and I catch her stealing lingerie.
I got my very own Fluffer Femme Spy this week, a good femme friend of mine in Seattle who has given me all sorts of useful tips & advice as we’ve been talking about my relationship. (I’d like to think my butch perspective is useful too, but who knows.)Really, I highly recommend every butch have one of these. She goes up there with my handkerchief and my boots as butch necessities. (And I mean that in the greatest way.)
As she put it:
Job duties include:
- Pumping up the egos of fragile, doubting butch friends
- Flirting, subtly, but just enough to get noticed and stroke said egos
- Giving helpful hints about where to get the good, cute, not too expensive, meaningful jewelry
- Providing advice about where/when/how to pop Important, Lifechanging Questions
- Offering Femme Insight during Relationship Crisis
- Giving guidance on effective apologies
- Reassurance before/after sending scary emails
- Other duties, as assigned
We were talking about Valentine’s Day when this all came up, well, among other things. And just for the record? There are some things I would really like to receive for Valentine’s Day (or any other holiday/present-receiving activity, really) – things that I wouldn’t really buy for myself, but that I would love to have. Such as:
- silver flask, very plain
- nice bottle of scotch that I’d bust out for (very) special occasions
- a men’s accessories case
- monogrammed handkerchiefs (yeah right, but hey, a butch can dream … )
Though some elaborate sex scene – a fantasy of mine brought to life? – would probably top everything. Although really, as long as I get laid I’m pretty satisfied. Wow, and now that I’m looking through Red Envelope online, there are a whole lot more of the men’s things that I’ve never seen. These hidden message collar stays are badass. And a monogrammed brander? That’s hardcore, and kind of makes me uncomfortably turned on.
When I asked Callie what it is she would want for Valentine’s Day, ideally (though I did mention that I’d already gotten her something and so it wouldn’t probably change what she was getting, I was just curious) she mentioned lingerie (“whatever would turn you on, ’cause that’s what it’s about, anyway”), and jewelry.
Speaking of lingerie … I gave Callie a copy of the story I wrote about our New Year’s Eve encounter. She … liked it, very much, to say the least. She said she’d forgotten about unbuttoning my shirt, and loved reading what the night was like for me. She’s never been with someone who was so into her femme role before, so that I am turned on by lingerie is kind of a novelty that she is really enjoying. So much, in fact, that she went out today and bought some new lingerie, that I am informed I will like, very much.
And, uh, hell, I’m enjoying it too.
Okay, one more thing, just in case I’m the butch spy for some of you femme readers: call me handsome, and I’ll seriously melt for you.
And speaking of you so-called femme readers: what would you just melt for, this Valentine’s Day? What do you always wish someone would’ve given you, but never have received?
One of the reasons I ended up on blogger here is because lots of the folks that I admire are hosted through blogger, and I was seeking to become part of their circle. And I have, somewhat (even if they didn’t invite me to Madame X’s on Monday night ;).
There’s really nothing exactly wrong with blogger, it’s just not as fancy as WordPress …
This all started with my upgrade to the new fancy blogger features, where I have categories and widgets and such over on the side, which made me want to start designing and playing with the layout. And while that’s great and fun and all, really it’s unnecessary – it’s the difference between treating the writing of the blog as the hobby, and the designing of the blog as the hobby. And both of those things are hobbies & interests of mine, but it does seem to be that I will get distracted by the latter at the expense of the former, at times.
So maybe that’s a reason to keep Sugarbutch simple, hosted on blogger: it’s not about the design, it’s about the content.
… And as long as I’m writing a post that isn’t about sex, gender, or relationships (which is STRICTLY what I’d like to keep this blog to, and not just personal musings about whatever), I want to mention that I picked up the new Patty Griffin CD yesterday and it’s fucken brilliant.
(So, did you subscribe to Sugarbutch Chronicles via Feedburner yet?)
Dear Sinclair,When winter finally sets into New York City, and it’s precisely eight degrees outside NOT INCLUDING THE WIND CHILL, and you finally decide to get the hat out of your bag that you’ve been carrying around for months and hate to wear, and you put it on, and wear it all the way to work, then when you get to work, you MUST CHECK YOUR HAIR IN THE MIRROR before eleven am, because you look like a doofus.
ps: at least the rest of you looks goooood today. ;)
This is how it went.
I wanted to say a red goodbye. A crystal goodbye. A goodbye hanging from the rafters of an old cabin in the woods, smelling of cedar and damn rainforest. A goodbye echoing off the silence of an underpass. Goodbyes the size of snowflakes, goodbyes the color of air on a hot day.
I wanted to say goodbye, and again, and again. You didn’t let me.
Instead, you fought. Brought me candles with flames, tall, and bright as the moon. Brought me mirrors in which to see myself. There are no goodbyes in moons and mirrors. Goodbyes in flames are flippant, final, but goodbyes in glass are generous. Giving.
This is how it went. But it didn’t have to go this way.
It could have been a brutal goodbye. The kind that tears up lungs and throats and insides and then wrecks your paper heart. The kind that tosses aside apologies like confetti. A party on your back. Chipping off bone from your spine like roots pushing up a sidewalk made of brick. From the inside.
That’s what you do. From the inside. A crystal goodbye echoing cedar smelling of rafters the color of someone leaving. Someone. Anyone. As if there is some definition of what that is: leaving. Left. Going. Gone. As if I can write these words and let you know what I mean when I say them. As if we have some sort of understood meaning between the times that my brain decides these words, my fingers tap these keys, your eyes scan these letters. There is no way to know what words are sparking what colors of goodbye inside of you. Only inside of me.
Only goodbyes are the color of goodbyes, and very few of us will ever know what it’s like to have the roots of a tree set us free.
Today is Imbolc, Christianized as Candlemas and Americanized as Groundhog’s Day. It marks one of the turning points of the wheel of the year, this point being when the seed begins to sprout and become visible. “Imbolc is considered a traditional time for rededication and pledges for the coming year,” according to some wiccan practices.Naturally speaking, it is the time of year when the light is beginning to win. To gain control and power. From Summer Solstice to Winter Solstice, daylight fades and darkness takes over. Winter solstice marks the darkest time of year, and the time when each day becomes longer, brighter. And Imbolc, the first turning point of the wheel after the Winter Solstice, is the crescent, the baby sprout, the crack of light, time when hope abounds.
We tend to forget we are animals on a fragile planet. These turnings of the year, these celebrations of nature remind me.
[Brigid's] association with fire also pertains to the creative life. Finding passion in our work is a major achievement. Handling our energies well requires maturity. It takes effort to find a balance where we have vitality without being consumed.
Brigid is said to have invented the fervent Irish mourning wail called keening. Part of her presence resides in the faerie spirit whose keening can be heard at night in times of grief. This link reminds us to respect our losses. Experiences of renewal often include bereavement. We continually suffer losses, especially in the moments of passage. Claiming our wholeness includes valuing the sorrow for that which is no more.
via Imbolc folk story… emphasis added.
This article also says Guidance through life’s difficulties could be drawn from [myths] symbolism. Yeah, no kidding.
I will be lighting an orange candle tonight, and thanking the sun for its return.