Colonel Mustard, in the library, with a candlestick.

And he said, “She’s like a dream” to which
I replied knowingly, “Yes, like a knife down the throat.”

This weekend I was reminded of a young man who I worked with many years ago. Nick was sweet, cherubic, and kind, but he annoyed me beyond measure. I worked with him closely, and was often times put off by his buoyant optimism. Never did I question the sincerity of his angelic temperament, as I saw him interact with others constantly under pressure while still maintaining a bright smile. Much to his peers’ dismay, his unfailing optimism grew stronger each day, but so did their harshness. Nick was often the butt of their long-standing jokes, as rumors about his sexuality or lack of “maleness” permeated though out the school. Nick was rather slow to hit puberty and his high-pitched voiced along with his feminine stride was enough to raise an eyebrow or two in small town South Dakota. Although I felt sorry for Nick because of the apparent disrespect of his classmates, the dude was actually very irritating. However, I didn’t have to dig too deep to find some compassion for poor Nick because his peers were so horribly cruel.

When I saw an older Nick-look-a-like on Saturday night, I was reminded of how my radar picks up femininity in men fairly easily. Now unlike Nick, this guy was a tall, much taller than anyone else in crowd, but there was a certain femininity in his movements. When I first spotted him, I thought I had stumbled upon what could’ve been thee hottest tall athletic butch lesbian I’d ever seen. I noted his/her presence, and then went back to my table. Later in the evening, as I was leaving the bathrooms, I saw him/her, and it became apparent that he/she was actually a he. At that point, all my fantasies of a late-night tryst with a butchy ball-player were destroyed, but I was still curious. Turns out, HE lives with two lesbians, and had spent the evening entertaining a crowd of em’. To which I responded with “Ah, ha! I knew I smelled lesbian all over you.” He laughed, and readers, that was it, androgyny coupled with a sense of humor is a lethal combination, true to form, I was smitten.

So, imagine my surprise when I woke Sunday morning dreaming of my old friend Nick. In my dream Nick was standing in front of me, speaking in his nasal high-pitched voice. Although I was in front of him, he seemed to be ignoring me while starring off into space speaking to God knows who or what. At the end of his speech, I drove the sharp knife I was holding down the back of his throat. Nick hung limply from my knife as I plunged it down even further, twisting the blade as hit back of his throat. When I pulled the knife free a blue liquid pooled around his feet. The liquid reminded me of blue kool-laid, and when I saw it, I was relieved. I was so damn thirsty. I got up from my bed, drank the rest of my water, and sank back into the sheets.


Boys Don’t Cry- The Cure

I would say I'm sorry
If I thought that it would change your mind
But I know that this time
I've said too much
Been too unkind
I try to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I try and
Laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
'cause boys don't cry
Boys don't cry
I would break down at your feet
And beg forgiveness
Plead with you
But I know that
It's too late
And now there's nothing I can do
So I try to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I try to
laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
'cause boys don't cry
I would tell you
That I loved you
If I thought that you would stay
But I know that it's no use
That you've already
Gone away
Misjudged your limits
Pushed you too far
Took you for granted
I thought that you needed me more
Now I would do most anything
To get you back by my side
But I just
Keep on laughing
Hiding the tears in my eyes