Author: info@esthergodoy.com

My name is Jo Cosme and I’m from Río Piedras, Puerto Rico. I’ve lived all my life in Puerto Rico, but currently I am living in Seattle. After Hurricane María, I lost my job and was displaced. I moved to the Northwest to start over and find a more economically stable circumstance so I could also help my mom back home .

I am a visual artist. Whenever I’m not at my day job, I’m usually working on an art project or launching new stuff for my shop: Tienda Bandida.

1. Tell me your favorite or funniest memory from your dating life.

I think one of the funniest things about my dating life is that I perpetually never know if it’s a date or not.

2. How does being butch positively impact your life? And what’s been / what is the hardest thing about being butch for you?

In Puerto Rico, being gay still hasn’t been socially accepted. So, to no surprise, if you’re a butch – you will be subject to all forms of violence, ongoing ridicule and unemployment. Growing up Catholic and in Puerto Rico, I internalized all the misogyny, butchphobia and lesbophobia that surrounded me for many years. I was so ashamed of myself because I was unable to act or look like a “normal” woman. I hated myself for not being born a man. For years I tried to destroy these parts of me, which led to a lot of self-destructive actions and identity issues. Later, when I began to make peace with my butchness, many women I dated or went out with would expect me to act like a man or treated me like one – which wasn’t healthy either. I found myself projecting many toxic masculine traits and I hated my body.

Fast forward, after a lot of growth and work – I’ve begun to heal my butchness. In time, I learned how to be soft, how to practice healthy masculinity, and build relationships with women who could love me for who I was and what I had to offer (not their projections of me). My butchness doesn’t make me any less of a woman nor does it make me any less feminine. Masculinity and femininity co-exist beautifully within me. Only through accepting my butch self could I find this sense of balance. It’s a work in process, but I’m learning to love the many, many grey areas inside butchness and what it means to be a Puerto Rican butch lesbian woman.

3. What is the most important thing about your butch identity you wish people knew?

I can’t limit it to just one, but here are a few important things for people to know about MY butchness: One, as this page states – Butch is NOT a dirty word and it is NOT a bad identity. Don’t come at me with that “You can be a lesbian, but just don’t be butch” narrative. Hard pass. Two, there isn’t a correct way to be butch. There’s no such thing for me as, “too butch” or “too soft to be butch”. And because I’m butch it doesn’t inherently mean I’m gonna be in command at all times – I also wanna be asked out, cuddled and cared for. Three, butches have always existed and we have always been disrupting the gender binary and the heteropatriarchy. And lastly, because I’m a butch it doesn’t fundamentally mean I want to be anything other than a masculine woman. I wish people would stop misgendering or questioning me when I have already stated who I identify as and what pronouns I use.

4. What is something on your bucket list that makes you blush?

Something that makes me blush? All I know is, that Hard Femmes make me blush point-blank.

5. Who or what have you learned the most from in life?

In high school, I had a very influential teacher who later became the big sister I’d always dreamed of as an only child. She not only provided me with a safe place from the bullies in the classroom, but she also helped me develop my critical thinking skills. She exposed how being LGBTQ was perfectly normal and helped me navigate depression and my neuro-divergent brain. Her guidance could not have come at a more crucial time. This experience taught me how undervalued educators are in our society. Some teachers out there really do save lives.

6. What’s something in your life that’s gone unfulfilled that you’re still searching for?

A lezbro that lives close to me. My current ones live far away and I miss having that everyday closeness of picking each other up randomly at our houses, going to play pool together, watching movies, keeping each other updated on the current chisme, etc.

7. What has been the best thing that you’ve been wrong about in your life?

That I’m not strictly a top. Aaaaand with that I learned I don’t have to be one just because I’m butch.

@jo.cosme

I’m a third generation Mexican-American Butch Lesbian, eldest daughter confronting all the machismo that permeates mi cultura and living proof that healthy masculinity exists. I’m originally from Whittier (where the girls are prettier) currently living in Palmdale, CA. When I was in middle school lack of rent control and budding gentrification pushed my family out of our Chicanx Barrio and into the high desert of LA County where rent was cheaper and the streets were supposed to be quieter. As much as the clear blue skies and peaceful hiking trails of Palmdale have a place in my heart, I plan on moving back to my hometown eventually to rejoin all the beautiful gente still there holding it down for the Brown.

I work as a political/community organizer, it’s something I came into by necessity. I was working as a forklift driver in a warehouse (a right of passage for many a butch) and began attending my Union meetings in the hopes of securing a living wage and safer working conditions. Nearly seven years later I’ve staffed campaigns on the state and national level, lobbied on Capitol Hill and worked to defund the LA County Sheriff’s Department, all while still showing up as a rank and file member for various anti-capitalist organizations that prize direct action over the indirect actions of voting and lobbying. It can be tough to balance electoral organizing in my professional life while being so critical of it in my private life, especially when my “comrades” are critical of the way I sell my labor. I strongly believe in utilizing a diversity of tactics and find it’s easier to show up as a Brown Butch Dyke in a workspace with a bunch of bleeding heart liberals, no matter how flawed they can be, compared to the toxic masculine environment of the warehouse.

1. Tell me your funniest memory from your dating life.

During the primary season of the last presidential election I was working the debate in Atlanta and my partner at the time came out to join me. Halfway through our stay we realized Bernie Sanders was staying in the same hotel, on the floor directly above us. So yeah, I had gay sex a few feet away from Senator Sanders. You’re welcome, America.

2. What’s something you know now that you wish you’d known when you were 12?

I think of this often, if 12 year old me saw present day me in the grocery store or something she would be in awe. I would be her hero. I was Butch since birth and every adult told me it was a phase that I would have to leave behind when I grew up. When I started high school I tried to do just that, I was a poor excuse for a femme and for the first time felt uncomfortable in my own skin. I spent many years disconnected from myself and my passions. When I embraced my butch identity everything in my life begin to fall into place. I also wish I knew that my friends were going to be more supportive than I could’ve imagined and that I was gonna have some smokin’ hot girlfriends. Like seriously, if I would’ve known that one day I’d be in a Venice beach house with my partner the hot stripper I would’ve came out as soon as I knew. We are, after all, an army of lovers.

3. How does being butch positively impact your life?

Being a woman who identifies as masculine of center has given me such a comprehensive perspective when it comes to what this society asks of people based on how they show up. Butch is often overlooked when the gender spectrum is discussed. When I encounter people who have genuine questions on what it means to be Butch the conversation always goes to a place where it becomes difficult to pin point where femininity begins and masculinity ends. It’s all the human condition, it’s all natural. Every time I set foot in public or post a picture of myself I know my gender bending appearance and personality is not only challenging people’s perception of masculinity and femininity but their entire perception of reality. I’m blessed to have this experience in this life. Wouldn’t have it any other way.

4. What is the hardest thing about being butch for you?

It’s still troublesome to have to engage with folks who think that they can strip me of my womanhood just because, in their eyes, I’m not feminine enough to call myself a woman or use she/her pronouns. Unfortunately I’ve dealt with this kind of mentality a lot from so-called progressives, leftists, family and even exes. From the time I was a child I was always asked “are you a girl or a boy?” “No you’re not, prove it!” and still at the age of 31 I deal with this.

It isn’t easy to heal from a wound that is constantly being picked at and being someone who doesn’t mind having deep discussions on gender and identity it’s easy for me to fall into the trap and not realize until it’s too late. I’m learning how to identify the people who want to break me down and that I don’t have to prove anything to anyone but it’s a process.

5. What is the most important thing about your butch identity you wish people knew?

My Butch identity is also a celebration of my heritage. I know it can even seem contradictory at times since the Mexican/Chicanx cultura is dominated by flippant misogynists. It’s important for us to have a space in the conversation and be visible. Queer and gender nonconforming Mexicans have always existed and we contribute to the community as well. I remember being young and seeing my dad and tíos in their Ben Davis shirts and creased down Dickies and wanting so bad to dress like them. It just seemed like the epitome of masculinity to me. Tough but elegant, edgy but disciplined. I think about all the queers of generations passed who couldn’t come out because Mexicans aren’t allowed to be gay, because being a Marimacha meant bringing shame upon your family. I see a huge shift in the Chicanx’s of today, conscientiously moving away from that conquistador mentality of classism, anti-black, anti-woman, anti-indigenous and embracing our roots. I know we’re making this shift because we want our cultura to survive and if we don’t heal ourselves and our families this machismo death cult is going nowhere.

6. What is one thing that you’re really proud of?

I didn’t realize this was something to be proud of until a few years back when I was talking to a group of queer 18-20 year olds and they asked me, “how did you do it?” the question caught me off guard because to me there was no option, you have to live and try to live your best possible life but I see what they were getting at. How did I get to where I am with no Butch mentor or community? It brought me back to when I read Stone Butch Blues for the first time and being fixated on Butch Al. For weeks I found myself asking where was my Butch Al? Why didn’t I have one? Well I know why, AIDS epidemic and all the anti-gay laws that essentially were attempts at genocide of queers if you ask me. At this age it’s too late for me to have a Butch Al, I’m all grown up now and have figured out the Butch ways, from navigating the barbershop to romance and heartbreak. Until they asked that question I didn’t realize I was relatively safe now and that I had lived so much of my life in survival mode. I’m proud to be a Butch in the workplace, in the political space and in the hetero world taking up space.

@thenotoriousb.r.e

My name is Lil and I currently live in East Los Angeles. I grew up in Santa Monica on the Westside but in my adult life, I’ve moved all around the county and the world. When the pandemic hit, I was in London studying for a master’s degree and decided to come back to live with my folks in Los Angeles for the foreseeable future. Now I live in lovely a queer POC house in Lincoln Heights with two small dog friends.

I work full-time as a journalist covering a variety of things, ranging from surveillance tech and politics to queer and trans health and reproductive justice. In my work, I like to investigate and uncover corruption by powerful companies and individuals while bringing to light movements and people who are erased in mainstream media.

In my free time, you can most likely find me in the kitchen with a hefty haul of fresh fruits, vegetables, and hard-to-find spices. Or going on long walks in Mount Washington or at the Silverlake Reservoir with my binoculars in tow in search of birds. Pre-pandemic, I was a bit of a party animal and loved the thrill of dancing while sandwiched between sweaty strangers. I’ve recently found a dance studio near me that focuses on movement and improv work which I find super nourishing and a chance to be present with my body and others.

1. What does the butch identity mean to you? And how did you come to align with it?

I never thought I would align myself with the word “butch” but over the last few years I’ve leaned into it more and more into. I often call myself a “boy dyke” – I see that phrase as encompassing my relationship with boyishness and transmasculinity as well as my life as a dyke. I never felt butch enough. As a kid, I knew I wasn’t the kind of butch white woman I’d see scantly depicted in media. Over time though, I learned about the history of the phrase butch which has its roots in Black lesbian and working-class history. I found it to be more radical of a term than I had first thought. Although butch is sometimes seen as a hardness, a masculine toughness, for me, butch identity has been an exercise in being soft not only with myself but the world around me and of being of service to others. I love being able to hold and evoke any of the markers of my identity at once, being a boy dyke in one moment to a butch bottom or a fag in the next.

2. What is one thing that you’re really proud of?

Honestly, I’m really proud of myself at the moment for taking the steps to feel at home in my body. I started a low dose of testosterone about seven months ago after obsessively reading transmasc literature for about a year and wondering if I could live with myself without trying hormones. I’m so glad I did. These past few months have taught me a lot about embodiment, about breath, and patience. I’ve never been so in tune with what my body is doing; I’ve never had to let go more than now. Beyond the physical and emotional changes, this experience has really pushed me to listen to my wants in a way that I couldn’t have imagined doing just 5 years ago.

 

3. What’s the queer / dyke scene like where you live and what’s one thing you’d change about it if you could?

The queer scene in Los Angeles is pretty small for such a giant and sprawling city. Before the pandemic there were numerous queer dance parties and a handful that were run by and for people of color. The city also has a long history of radical queer organizing and nightlife. But since the pandemic hit, it seems to me there’s been a bit of a slow rebuild though new things are popping up every day, from queer sports meet-ups to café hangs and more. The best dyke scene I’ve witnessed so far was in London where there were truly a myriad of different community spaces, for Black dykes, South and East Asian queers and sober folks to name a few. Los Angeles definitely has the resources and the space – so I’d love to see more non-white queer and trans spaces, not only for dancing and performance but for community and movement building.

4. Where do you hope to be ten years from now?

In ten years’ time, I hope to be living outside of the US, with a community of queer and trans artists and writers of color. I hope to continue learning about gardening and woodworking. I’d like to have a slow-paced life, one that allows me to take hours-long walks if I so please. I hope to have a large kitchen for myself with a long dining room table so I can feed my friends. I hope to be writing and have a writing practice that includes friends and co-conspirators so I’m not working solo. I also hope to be in community with friends and lovers and family. I imagine there may be children to raise collectively, mouths to feed, gardens to tend to, histories to write, record, and archive with care.

@almost_sparrow

My name is Salvador de la Torre, it is the name I gave myself because of my deep connection to my grandparents and ancestors. Salvador was my maternal grandfather’s name and he was the most loving and tender soul of a man I’ve ever known. I didn’t come to this name overnight tho, I meditated and prayed about it asking for guidance from my ancestors and trans friends. A snake’s head appeared to me in a meditation, slitering sounds that became clearer and clearer to me “sssssssssaaallllllllvvvvvaaaaaa” the next day I knew Salvador was my name because I remembered I already had it tattooed on my chest years prior in honor of my grandfather whom I loved, and I realized that I have the answers within me already.

I currently live in Los Angeles, because it was a dream of mine as a kid. I grew up in Laredo, Texas, but spent my summers in southern California visiting my older siblings for I am one of 7 kids and the second to the youngest. My other sisters married when I was a kid and made a life in this area. Some of the best memories of my childhood are spending time with my siblings here, so I came here as soon as I was able to support myself and leave Laredo which was about 8 years ago in 2013. I arrived as a straight heterosexual woman because I never felt safe enough to come out while living in Texas, and for that I am grateful to this land for it brought me closer to myself. I’m a high school art teacher, where I am openly out a trans faculty because my school is pretty liberal and I want to been seen by my trans students and others around me that are potentially still closeted. For fun I like to tattoo my friends and other trans and queer community, and I fucking love to dance Cumbia with queers and my dog Vida.

1. What’s something you know now that you wish you’d known when you were 12?

I would want to tell them so much and protect them from so much harm from others and myself, but mostly I would want to hold them, soothe them, tell them how loved they are, and how eventually they would grow up and learn to love themselves.

I wish they knew what trans was and that being gay is not bad or sinful. My 12 year old self was living in Laredo, Texas, would go to every church, confession, and pray every time we went in the car with my family. My parents are from a small town in Jalisco Mexico there families are extremely traditional and even more catholic.I only had heard of 2 intanses of queer folks in my childhood. One story was of these 2 señoras that lived together for a lifetime. Everyone in the town knew they were marimachas even though those women never told anyone that they lived where each other’s partner. The other story hit closer to home, this one was from my uncle that died when I was 5 from HIV Aids because he was a gay man. Thus, basically I learned it was not socially accepted to be gay, and if you were gay you had to live a secret life and die from it. I was petrifed of my queer thoughts as a kid and would deflect them with all my might and energy. Eventually I would slip and allow myself to fantasize about women, only to later tourture myself and punish myself with my negative thoughts that would manifest themselves as panic attacks, vomit, and diarrhea.

2. What’s the queer / dyke scene like where you live and what’s one thing you’d change about it if you could?

There are all types of dyke/ and queer scenes in LA, and I honestly try to avoid them all. I don’t like popular kids or popular queers in la and don’t want to belong to cool queer spaces.  My community of queers and trans friends are honestly pretty spread out and its really hard to make plans to hangout with people in this area because of how exhausted people are from work, traffic, parking, and how spread out folks can be. When I do have the time and energy to have intentional time with friends it is usually in small groups or just one on one with a friend.  I do however really love pop up events and dance parties that are facilitated by bipoc folks like Cumbiaton and Van Dyke pop ups. I also love to throwing myself birthday parties to dance Cumbias and Reggeton with my gay ass friends.

3. What does the butch identity mean to you? And how did you come to align with it?

As a kid butch was the coolest thing ever. I really loved watching my dad dress up for church or for a party. He would wear cowboy boots and fancy belts with big buckles I even loved his work uniforms when he was a bus driver and a custodian, and as I young kid I was allowed to dress butch or like a tom boy. I would always love to wear sneakers with s

Heyo! My name is Caley Murray and I live in Portland, OR. I’m the program director at Rock ‘n Roll Camp For Girls and I’m a big ol’ butch dyke 🙂

1. You’re given $20,000, how would you spend it?

If I was given $20,000, I would put up a privacy fence around my yard and buy a jacuzzi.

2. What’s something you know now that you wish you’d known when you were 12?

I wish when I was twelve that I knew that I was gay and that I didn’t have to fit into the mold of womanhood presented to me by society and my family.  I remember sitting at the kitchen table with my mom and our neighbor while they did their nails together. They would try to get me to let them do my nails and I always refused. Except for one time, they convinced me to let them put clear polish on me. I regretted it immediately. I hated the chemical smell it gave off and the way its shine distracted me when I was doing something with my hands. I rubbed my fingers in the mud until the shine was gone. They would tell me.  “It’s a shame because you have such nice nails. One day, you are going to love doing your nails, and you’ll be begging us to do them!” I believed them. But that day never came. I never woke up one day and suddenly decided it was time to shed my tomboy skin and femme it up for the boys. It makes me laugh just thinking about the fact that I ever believed that would be my fate. But when you are young and don’t know who you are yet, it’s easy to believe the people around you who seem so sure of how everything is supposed to be. I wish I had known how to listen to myself and trust my own desires and preferences despite the opinions of others.

3. Scroll back through your phone and describe the 5th last image to us.

It is a picture of my pet rats, Tuna and Rosie, snuggling with their noses together in their cardboard box sky condo.

4. Where do you hope to be ten years from now?

Ten years from now I hope to be still madly in love with my wife, living on the Oregon Coast, self-employed as a sound engineer specializing in live sound, and producing my own music as well.

5. What is one thing that you’re really proud of?

I am really proud of the life my wife and I have built together. Things were not easy for my family during my childhood. I was raised by a single mother of three. My mom made eleven dollars an hour and my absent father didn’t pay child support. I was a parentified child who took on the role of father to my little brother. I started working at a fast food place when I was fourteen years old. I remember being stressed out about money and whether or not we were going to lose our house all the time. It was exhausting. I decided that my goal when I grew up was to have a simple, childless life with the security of a peaceful home, and an equal partnership with someone I could trust completely. Having come from a family of divorce, I was skeptical about whether or not this possibility even existed. I would picture myself in my future relationships being an all-sacrificing, super solid butch who took care of her partner’s every desire and never needed anything in return. But over the years, I discovered that my idea of my role in a relationship wasn’t sustainable. The hardest thing I had to learn to do was let my partner take care of me in return. It’s hard to let your guard down and be vulnerable in that way, but I don’t think that you can have a true partnership without being able to lean on each other. I am proud of the ways I have grown and evolved as a person and a partner over the last eleven years with my wife.

6. What’s the queer / dyke scene like where you live and what’s one thing you’d change about it if you could?

I feel like I have been pretty detached from the dyke scene for the last couple of years because of Covid. I do miss the days when we used to have our own dyke bar. As I get older, I find myself wanting more opportunities to interact with dykes outside of the partying and dancing scene. I find it easier to meet new people when there is an activity involved and you can actually talk and get to know people and flirt. Like, instead of just dancing in bars all the time, let’s watch each other throw knives and then sit around a campfire. And I have always been envious of the gay cruising scene and wish that there was more of a slutty butch for butch cruising culture in our area.

7. How does being butch positively impact your life?

Being butch positively impacts my life by allowing me to easily be seen by my fellow dykes and queer community. If you’re as butch as I am, you are very rarely mistaken as straight. I am grateful that I don’t have to endure the burden of coming out to the majority of the people I meet.  Also, being butch and a top, I have never had a problem finding a date. :Insert top shortage joke here: There is a lot of desire out there for butches, which I really appreciate.

8. How does being butch negatively impact your life?

Being easily clocked as a butch dyke is a double-edged sword. I receive a lot of hostility out in the world, especially from men. It usually comes in the form of disapproving sneers and looks of disgust. Every now and then they will do something bolder, like yell a slur or shoulder check me as they walk by. Old people glare at me a lot. I get told that I am in the wrong bathroom. I cannot hide what I am. I have gotten really good over the years at returning the disapproving looks or sometimes even asking gawkers if I can help them with something, which usually freaks them out. Sometimes I wish I could just blend in and go about my day in the world and not have to deal with normies who don’t know what to think of me.

@your_butch_dad

Heyo I’m Mara!  Aliases include Buck, Colton Buck, and Lou. I was raised in Newberg, Oregon.  I’ve spent most of my adult years in Portland, this city has always felt like the best place for me as a queer person.  I’ve built long lasting friendships and community here.  I’ll never acclimate fully to the persistent rain and gray skies, but it’s home. Spring is a different story, once spring comes, my camping gear is at the ready, and I’m checking road conditions at my secret spots. I love to hike, backpack, shoot guns, forage, stare into the campfire, swim in alpine lakes….always dreaming about the woods. Traveling and experiencing new places keeps me hopeful and engaged. Writing keeps me grounded.  Spending time with loved ones gives me a sense of harmony.  And then there’s dancing with the queer crew, for bliss.

1. What’s something you know now that you wish you’d known when you were 12?

Small town life in the 90s awarded me the liberty to be adventurous, unsupervised, ceaselessly outside playing and/or getting into mischief.  Everything felt so familiar and simple.  By age 12 though, my boyish, rowdy, wide-eyed disposition was being chipped away at by a withdrawn and excruciatingly self conscious pre-pubescent girl.  Quickly learning the bleak realities of being a tween tomboy, I became broody.

It started with my friends, who were boys, swapping inside jokes about me.  The rules seemed to change overnight. I was no longer one of them.  A lot happened in the subsequent years that I don’t like to think about, or even discuss with my therapist.  What sticks with me about that time is that I believed there were only two paths to take: one for boys and one for girls.  Neither path felt authentic for me. I became the disinterested friend in the group who would sneak away from slumber parties to go hang out with the brother or parents or sit alone.

I wish that I had known then that I didn’t need to camouflage myself to gain the validation of my peers, my family, the community.  I wish I had known that engaging more with the idea of who I was, and what kind of person I wanted to be, would benefit me more than theorizing/worrying about future heteronormative milestones.  Mostly I wish I’d known that the future me, in my thirties, was extremely proud of how I held on to my curiosity, and how downright scrappy and defiant I was throughout some awkward and formative years.

2. Where do you hope to be ten years from now?

I hope to be living on a bit of land in the country, with dogs, chickens, a sweetheart.  Space for projects.  A nice garden.  I’m open to many possible futures, but I might as well go with the romantic prospect.  It’s difficult to have a specific vision for the future when the last two years have shown me how fragile and unpredictable our lives are. I believe it’s more important than ever to be flexible and adaptive, which are qualities that I’m being forced to learn now.  I hope that in ten years, I’m still working on loving myself and seeing the beauty and joy in the simple things.

3. Who are the two people most important to you?
I’m not one to pick favorites in any category, but a couple of important people in my life are my mom, and my sister Tatia.

Despite some traumas in her life before I was born, my mom put herself through grad school in her early 40s, while I was a toddler.  She raised me on her own until I was six.  Growing up, we had trouble connecting emotionally, and she was not initially supportive when I came out. Ultimately though, that challenging period of our relationship brought us closer.  I see her strength in new ways as I get older.  She’s tough, silly, inquisitive, sensitive.  Well into her 70s now, she’s become more focused on how she responds during difficult/emotional conversations.  She loves talking with me about politics and culture.  She seeks knowledge of all kinds.  Not a conventional woman of her generation, and I love her for that.

My sister, Tatia is 17 years older than me.  Our relationship stretches beyond siblings; when I was young she was more like a..sister-mom-teacher-best friend.  She offered me unbounded joy and love from the start.  Living a few hours away, our time together was limited.  So when we were together I was basically a puppy, obsessing over her.  We’d drive through the Columbia gorge to her house in her little Nissan Pulsar without A/C, talking about all the fun activities we’d get into.  They were summers full of belly laughs.  There were consistent heart to heart conversations that I wouldn’t have had otherwise, with anyone else.  She treated me like her pride and joy.  When I started going through puberty, I suddenly became quiet and melancholy and irritable.  I’ll never forget her telling me that I seemed different and not the same goofy kid I was the last time she saw me.  I’ve spent a couple decades reflecting on that single comment.  I clearly recall seeing how saddened she was that I seemed to have lost my spark.  I didn’t even take it personally at the time, as pubescent kids often can’t be bothered with such vulnerability.  Our lives became more complicated when she had kids, and I was playing sports year round, but we always maintained our powerful connection. And I finally managed to find my inner trickster again.  I owe so much of who I am to her.

4. What’s the queer / dyke scene like where you live and what’s one thing you’d change about it if you could?

Portland’s queer scene is pretty robust.  Officially on the big gay map.  I’d love to see more, well any, spaces that are run by and support specifically butch, femme and gender non-conforming queers.  Permanent spaces.  No need for exclusivity, just a space that is foundationally ours.

5. What are your 2 favorite and 2 least favorite memories from childhood?

Favorite memories of childhood….

I was around 10 years old, spending the summer with my big sister Tatia in the Tri Cities, Washington.  We jumped in the back of a pickup at dusk with her boyfriend and their friends who were all in their twenties.  Obviously, they were the coolest people I’d ever met.  Friends in Low Places was blasting on the radio and we were going fishing in the dark on the Yakima. They were drinking beers, and singing along to all of the hot 90s pop country bangers. We skipped rocks and my sister stayed near me, like she always did to make sure I felt included. The moon was bright and flickered over the surface of the river.  Nobody cared about the fishing; we surely got skunked given the rocks, loud music, and hollering.  It was one of those simple moments that imprints onto your memory.  I felt a little older, and a little wild.

Broadly, most of the fond memories from my childhood were made with my brother, Brandt.  We were step siblings from age 6, we were the same age, looked like twins, and we were inseparable.  We loved to dress up in costumes and perform ninja tricks in the house.  In summer we’d bomb down the double length slip n slide wearing trash bags.  We “ran away” to California to live with Wayne Gretskey, outfitted with only a bag full of toys and some tea cups.  We crushed on the same girl, at least once.  Ate entire rolls of pillsbury cookie dough without getting sick.  Shot pop cans with the bb gun.  Played hockey, baseball, built ramps, rollerbladed, skated, and bmx’d, shot hoops in the driveway, played Nintendo until our hands cramped up, wrote songs about candy and bullies.  It was the life.

Least favorite memories from childhood:

Losing one of my friends in a car accident. My favorite cat died when my sister’s house burned down (my sister was able to escape).   Middle school peer pressure and cruelty.  A couple other incidents too vulnerable to share.  I have found it interesting that in responding to these questions for BINADW, it’s highlighted for me how difficult it was leaving adolescence.  I think that’s true for most of us; puberty is hard.  During that period I unknowingly forfeited my youth and uncontrived nature, only to be expected to assimilate into some form of femininity that I didn’t relate with, and which was consequently the basis for many of my least favorite memories well into my twenties.

@n3onv3inz

Hello, my name is Rose Blakelock I was born and raised in South West Ohio, and spent 12 years in New York City. Over the pandemic living in New York became pretty unsustainable, it really laid bare the wealth gap and sort of stripped away all the sheen. I was out of work and collecting unemployment and realized this might be my only shot. So I moved to Northern New Mexico with my girlfriend. Living in the Southwest was always in the long term plan but the pandemic definitely accelerated it. Basically, we just weren’t rich enough to be comfortable, and our nervous systems were trashed.

For work I’m a consulting astrologer, audio editor, musician, and carpenter. I’m also the co-host of a podcast called Big Dyke Energy, along with my friend Gala Mukomolova, an astrologer and poet based in New York City. We hang out and talk shit about the stars and gay celebrities & pop culture.

1. You’re given $20,000, how would you spend it? 

It’s probably douchey to say I would invest in cryptocurrency, right? For really real, though, I would probably buy some books, buy some gifts, donate a chunk, and then fix up my truck and buy some new tools and guitar amps? Oh and fancy vintage synthesizers. Can’t forget about those.

2. Where do you hope to be ten years from now?

I would like to be more confident that there will be clean water to drink and air to breathe for the rest of my life. I know, big ask there. But beyond hoping to see some big shifts on the large scale, in my own life I would like to live in a sweet house, with a recording studio (maybe an underground lair?) and preferably at the end of a long dirt road butted up to a stream and some woods (not unlike the house my partner and I are renting currently).

3. What is one thing that you’re really proud of?

I’m proud of betting on myself these last couple years, and stepping up to the challenge. My friend group suffered some pretty heavy losses from 2018 to the beginning of the pandemic. 2 divorces, a death, the breakup of a music project I had been a part of for 12 years. I had to overhaul nearly every aspect of my life; I started my own business, began writing a solo album and recruited a new band, got into therapy and started doing yoga regularly. Things were building and I was starting to feel so much more centered and comfortable with myself. I was playing shows, doing readings, and built a beautiful new kitchen as part of a rent trade.

And then, of course, the pandemic hit. It shook me loose, but also I was so grateful to realize that I could take nearly everything I rebuilt with me, because it wasn’t centered outside of myself. I’m so grateful and proud that my partner and I took the leap and moved to this beautiful, tiny town and are connecting to a community that feels so steady and nourishing. I’m finally starting to feel at home in the world.

4. What’s the queer / dyke scene like where you live and what’s one thing you’d change about it if you could?

Oh man I’d get rid of COVID. It’s a small but really sweet scene. Most of our friends have families, and everyone’s got a fair amount of space to host. To be honest, I was so tired of bathroom lines and too loud bad music. I feel like I sound like the grandpa from the Simpsons or something. But really it’s the revival of the house party, which is my preferred method of hanging out. I do miss karaoke, though I’ve been told I can start a party at the theatre up the road once the virus calms down…

5. What are your 2 favorite and 2 least favorite memories from childhood?

My first favorite memory is of a make believe musical festival my sister and I would produce. I think it was right after Woodstock ‘94 and we were OBSESSED. We called it “Pootstock” and would go through all the Columbia Records CD catalogues and highlight every band we hated. Then we would announce the line up and proceed to go through the acts, doing very terrible and pretty rude impressions of them, one by one. I remember I had this little electric guitar with, like, a plastic Madonna mic/headphone and a little speaker that you could clip onto your waistband and play out of, but this was before I actually knew any chords so it was really just sheer chaos.

My second favorite memory is from the fourth grade. My sister and I were in class together, and the main receptionist from the office came to the door and said, “Uh, Daisy and Rose? Your dad just called and said he’s picking you up to go see something called ‘Poe’.”

Apparently she had had to cancel a tour date in a neighboring town because she was sick, and decided to do a tiny daytime show on her way back through. We got to see her in a coffee shop in a crowd of about 30 people, and afterwards we even got to go up and meet her. I never really was an autograph person but I do still have that one.

My least favorite memories…Eesh. One is definitely from when I was about 8 years old. My neighbor and I had been super close. We love to play war games, and video games, and strap bottle rockets onto hot wheels cars and watch them go. Sometimes we’d sit on skateboards and let his big golden retriever, Henry,  pull us down the street. I don’t really remember much about this day except that it was summer and it was hot so I wasn’t wearing a shirt, which was not that wild, particularly at 8 years old. Then this little jerk told me that I wasn’t allowed to do that any more because I was a girl. He was my first friend! I think he got over it eventually, but that was one of the first times I was confronted with the idea that my options would somehow be limited because of my perceived gender. I was sooo so mad at him. I think I maybe tried to punch him, even?

Another pretty embarrassing one–I was in 5th grade, maybe? Our school would do a musical every year, which we would collectively adapt and direct. This year we chose Mary Poppins. I was dead set on playing Burt the Chimney Sweep, for some reason. We had our audition or whatever it was, and another classmate got the role instead. I was beside myself, crying in my little cubby/cubicle, and being overall a pretty sore loser/drama queen. I guess the girl who got the part felt so bad about it/for me that she talked to our teacher and convinced them to give it to me, after all. I took it, and still feel pretty guilty about it.

6. What does the butch identity mean to you? And how did you come to align with it?

I think any gender identity is about living authentically, without affectation. To be butch is not inherently to reject softness or femininity, but to resist the pressure to conform to a prescribed role. To wear your hair how you like it, to prioritize utility, perhaps. To be more interested in what you can do in your clothes than what they communicate.

I remember when I was in my late teens, I was having a conversation with my late Grandmother (we were very close), and she told me;

“I never thought of you as a little boy or a little girl or anything. I thought of you as a person who needed and should have practical skills.”

I think about that, and her, a lot. In some ways, my gender identity has less to do with me naming or aligning myself as “butch” (though I do so proudly and with great reverence), and more to do with me doing what feels comfortable and practical and true to myself. The title came after the fact, and largely from elder queers, mentors, and dates. I was just being myself, and honestly, my style hasn’t changed much since I was 8 years old. I don’t like fuss, I need pockets, I like a crisp shirt and cufflinks. No one ever taught me how to do makeup and that is fine with me–the quicker I could get outside, the better. You ever try to climb a tree in a skirt? It’s annoying!

I realize that my answers may seem like I’m disparaging a more feminine style, or see it as impractical, and I want to be clear that I do not feel that way! I just know what works for me, and believe that everyone should have the space to figure that out for themselves, too.

My name is Aneesah Rasheed and while I’m originally from San Diego (619 baby!), I’ve been reppin’ the city of Roses (Portland, OR) for a good decade or so. When I’m not working in Tech and Diversity, Equity & Inclusion, I’m generally trying to make the world a better, more equitable place. I will do just about anything for the love of my life, Megan, and our rescue pups, Wulstan and Delilah. On any given day, I can be found catchin’ em all, playing Legends of Zelda, organizing my Rubik’s cube collection, and sending my partner adoption bio’s of dogs she says we can’t get (You’ve twisted my arm, I can solve a Rubik’s cube in 40 seconds!).

1. You’re given $20,000, how would you spend it?

This is going to be boring, but I would pay down my debt with most of it and maybe spend a bit on a van that I could eventually travel the US in. It would have to be big enough for me, bae, pup 1 and pup 2.

2. What’s something you know now that you wish you’d known when you were 12?

I wanna say I’d tell myself to learn how to save and invest because 36-year-old me would find that convenient but 12-year-old me wouldn’t listen to anything so…..maybe that boobs aren’t too scary; That I’d squeeze a bunch and eventually not have to have my own anymore?

3. Where do you hope to be ten years from now?

Picture this: My hot girlfriend is wife’d up (to me of course duh). We have two to three mini-us’s running around a big ranch-style house with good light, not-shitty neighbors, and 13 more dogs. My consulting firm is making big changes for the communities served in tech and healthcare, I’ve figured out real estate investment, and I’m generating wealth so I can spoil the heck out of everyone I love. (dogs)

4. Who are the two people most important to you?

My partner is my rock. She pushes me, encourages me and doesn’t let me settle. They’re not people but I have to give a shout out to the best sentient beings I know, my pups. Everyday they teach me what unconditional love is and without them, I’m not sure I would ever have experienced that. Sappy af, I know.

5. What is one thing that you’re really proud of?
I used to manage an apprenticeship program that helped jump-start people’s careers as junior software developers. I made it a point to reach out to communities of color and was told many times that, “those women,” or folks I’d selected weren’t, “right,” for the program; that they wouldn’t understand the culture. Before leaving, I helped multiple folks of color get internships as junior software developers and saw many of them offered jobs as well. They hustled harder than anyone else in the program and a lot of them still reach out to me about their wins and successes.

6. What’s the queer / dyke scene like where you live and what’s one thing you’d change about it if you could?

I’m really lucky- the queer scene is dope in PDX! I think more often than not, people are able to be authentically themselves and find community across many spectrums. Something I think we could all do better is not make such quick assumptions about one another. To keep it light, let’s talk (and hopefully not offend) Portland queers… I find the Portland dyke mullet to be wildly offensive. I don’t get it. But you know what, 67% of my queer fam has the dyke mullet so I can’t assume any one thing or the other about it (much love to my mullet babes!)

7. What are your 2 favorite and 2 least favorite memories from childhood?

I’m half black and half Mexican and we have big families, so; I don’t have one solid favorite memory but the general chaos of a small stuffy house filled with music, dogs, thousands of cousins, the smell of carne asada and my Abuela making more rice… it was a good time.

Least favorite childhood memories? Well, I was really hoping God was gonna turn me into a boy so there was some disappointment on several fronts there BUT Pharrell and swaggy masc folks of Pinterest turned me into the butch daddy dyke I am today so… It worked out.

8. What does the butch identity mean to you? And how did you come to align with it?

There’s a privilege that comes with my butch identity, and to some extent it’s at odds with my earlier thought that queers in pdx need to stop making quick assumptions about one another. There is inherently a quick assumption made by most people who see me, a butch person. I’m queer, mass-presenting, and there’s little questioning that. In other spaces, other cities, other times, my butch identity (a very visible, space-taking identity) is a huge burden. Here and now, butch identity is visibility and pride.