I will hold you to that Banana Split,
and when we share it I will savour each and every moment.
Until then ...
Friday, May 29, 2009
Monday, May 25, 2009
Every morning I like to take time to reflect on life and to ready myself for what needs to be done during the day ahead. I also like to go out very early for breakfast, and afterwards sit and sip on my cup of lemon and ginger tea and take time to read the morning paper. Not only am I interested in what goes on locally, but also in what goes on globally.
In this mornings edition of the paper I came across a rather curious article that had me scratching my head, which eventually led me to remember some of the stories my Nan used to proudly go on about her Homeland. That is, sadly, the stories she used to spin before her dementia set in. Afterwards, I chuckled and thought to myself, gee, if only she could see this one ... because I reckon it would give her a bit of a chuckle too.
High-Heel Sprint in Budapest:
May 23rd, some 100 women took part in the race wearing high- heeled shoes with a required minimum height of 8cm for a $6200 prize.
Please correct me if I am wrong, but I am not too sure if this is something the Hungarians actually whipped up all on their own - even though Nan sure would like to think that the Hungarians were responsible for everything great that happened in the World - or, come to think of it, why some women would subject themselves to something which looks rather dangerous to me, just for the chance of a $6,200 prize.
Okay, sure, $6,200 could be considered a substantial amount of money to some, while for others, a race of this sort might be considered fun to run in a pair of killer heels - although, from a distance, it's hard to tell based purely by the look on their faces, but under close observation (runner #80) it actually suggests to me otherwise - but Hell, I wouldn't last 5 damn steps in a pair of heels, not that you'd ever catch me in a pair of heels, that is *wink* but you know, I'm, well, I'm just saying. If truth be told, I am more of an admirer of women who wear heels, especially when worn with a lovely pair of seamed stockings, but hey, let's not get me started on that one ...
It did get me thinking, however, that perhaps this type of event is something we could stage over here for drag queens at the next Mardi Gras Fair Day. Who knows? We could hold a National competition for all the drag queens from all around the land to come and take part in, at the same time, using it as an opportunity to help raise money for charity, or to raise money to help educate and campaign for issues such as homophobia and violence against members of our community.
Yep, anyway, I certainly can visualise a bunch of screaming queens tearing down Broadway in all of their finest. After all, it's not exactly the first time I would be a witness to such things *wink*. I certainly know of a couple that I have worked with over the years as a club DJ who would just love to enter ...
Miu Miu patent leather pumps anyone?
Friday, May 08, 2009
Clearly, this self-identified Stone Butch top has way too much time on my hands, and in terms of my droll sense of humour, it certainly doesn't take all that much to get a rise out of me ...
The other night whilst watching Ladette to Lady I had a bit of a chuckle at the thought of the creators of this latest reality TV series making an episode of "Butch-ette to Lady". Now, let me be really honest here (all chuckles aside), the mere thought of an episode such as this even seeing the light of day was enough to send my head into a spin. Oh my, can you even imagine it? I can just see it now; waking up early one morning at Eggleston Hall and heading down stairs to discover the latest challenge, which is to hear that Mrs Harbord announces a zero tolerance policy on Butch cock. Or for something even more dizzying; being told that I must now put in my hair curlers, slip into my pantyhose and don a frock!
I don't know about the rest of you Butches, but I still suffer from P.T.D.S (post traumatic dress syndrome) from the class of 1987 (which was the last time I was
forced to wear caught in a dress).
And, even though I don't really consider myself as someone who is overly masculine, let alone as someone who acts as these 'ladettes' do, (i.e. are loud, foul-mouthed, uncultured and unpleasant young women, who like to drink and smoke and who are often sexually promiscuous - according to Wikepedia), I'm sorry to inform the ill-informed: there ain't no lady, or inner-Princess, for that matter, lurking behind this here Butch Daddy. And no matter how hard you'd try, you would never, ever be able to feminise me or get me to change my naughty Butch ways, thus making me into what is described as ... a real lady.
Hmm, perhaps I should rephrase that one. So, let's try again, shall we ...
You could never turn me into something that is seen as less threatening or challenging in relation to my masculinity, or into something that fits snugly and neatly into what is expected of someone as a woman, especially regarding some of the notions on how someone should present themselves as a woman (commonly known as "societal standards", which, in my mind, can also be interpreted as that good old: "a woman who acts like or who looks like a woman" sort of thing. You know? - we'll have none of that male lesbian sort of thing. Not that I am actually trying to be or wanting to be a man ... but I am quite sure that by now you get the gist *wink*).
Yep, think I'll just stick to my men's shoes, suits, ties, cuff links, collar stays and french cuffs, thank you very much ...
[insert (non-girly) Butch giggle here] *grins*