My Husband: Writer, Artist, Kilt Wearer

My husband is an artist. He's working a job to pay bills and support his family now, but he's an artist. If you need further proof, check out this fantastic piece of writing (his!) at the Utilikilts website.

Oh, and he shaved his head the other day, and has taken over badass Vic Mackey in the sexy bald men category.

The Kilt

My husband wears a kilt. Almost every day. It started when Joe-Henry was just three. Here's a picture of him in his first kilt.... Awwwwwww, doesn't he look so proud!



His ancestry is Scottish and Greek, and he'd been reading a lot about the Scots. He'd started working a full time job the year before, and had become a father two years before that, so I think he was carving out some creative space for himself in the world. I won't lie and say it didn't take some getting used to on my part. As you know, I'm a wallflower, so I don't like to call attention to myself (she said with a straight face), and hanging out with a handsome fella in a kilt is going to turn some heads. But I've more than gotten used to it, it kind of freaks me out now when he wears pants. He just looks like he was made to wear them - he has great gams and it can be a real conversation starter. He set the Paris fashion world on fire when we went back in 2005 - those normally subtle Parisiennes would give themselves whiplash watching him pass.

It's been interesting living here in a small-ish town in the Northwest, too. I think our neighbors might have been a little, um, nervous? when they first saw us, but they got over it. And it always cracks me up when he gets stares from twenty-somethings with their piercings and tattoos and blue hair. Where's that rebel solidarity, kids? But mostly, the reaction is great. Today, we were at a huge carnival in Portland, and Joe-Henry was bonking his dad on the head with a balloon hammer, when a man said "be careful! we need all the geniuses we can get!" We exchanged pleasantries, and after he walked away, Charley said "he'd never have remembered me if it weren't for the kilt." There is a lot of curiosity - from both men and women. At my nieces' wedding, a family friend, with enough alcohol in her to ask the question came over to me on the dance floor and asked "So...does he wear that thing like he should?" To which I replied "there's nothing under there but the cool breeze and my good graces!" The men who are bold enough to ask (when I'm around) are usually wanting to know if it feels as good as it should, and I think I can say honestly if it didn't feel amazing, he wouldn't wear one every day. He's a guy who likes comfort, and I don't think that there is anything more comfortable for men, with all their equipment. Honestly, the person who came up with the idea of pants for men is probably the same sadist who came up with high heels and thongs for women.

The reason I started this post though, is because last week he got a huge package in the mail. It was from Utilikilts. Utilikilts is an American kilt company that makes these amazing utilitarian kilts. He has kilts from other companies, and even a dress kilt in the family tartan.



But Utilikilts are the best. They're sturdy, and they have great pockets, they wear forever, and look very manly. I mean, look at that freedom of movement!


And they're great for dad's, too - with all those pockets to carry the flashlight and first aid kit and money and it's easy to smuggle a little Halloween candy in there for yourself, too!


When we were in Paris, I took this shot of him beneath the Eiffel Tower in his kilt and he submitted it for their monthly contest and won.

They have a very loyal following, and a trip to their website will give you a wide sample of the kind of men who wear kilts. Of course there are those you'd expect, but there are also a lot of regular Joe's, or regular Joe's with the confidence to wear a kilt. A while back he entered a contest to make a mockumercial for them, and all the contestants got these crazy-ass kilts and sweatshirts. Seriously, this kilt was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. It had " 2008 Mockumercial Winner" screen printed on the front panel in black and white. So somehow, he managed to scrape that off, and he's been doing this Jackson Pollack thing to it with fabric paint. Whether he'll ever wear it, I don't know. If not we can frame it and hang it in his office. But the best part, was that when he took the tag off, the tag that is attached to every utilikilt sold, there was this picture of him, walking with Joe-Henry and his mom.



It's one of my favorite pictures. So if you ever make it into the Utilikilts Flagship store in Seattle, one of their many authorized retailers or happen to see them at your local Highland Games/Gay Pride/Comic Con, check out the tag on one of those kilts. That's my guy! He wears a kilt!

Dangerous Music

When I met my husband, well, when we first spoke, it was doing a job together. We were both actors and were hired to do an industrial for the Pacific Science Center. We'd met before, backstage at a play he had done. I'd gone with my bad boyfriend of the moment, I'd said "hello, good show", and he walked right by me as though he didn't hear me. Turns out, he didn't hear me. So I don't wake him up in the middle of the night to argue about it all these years later. Well, hardly ever.

But on this particular occasion, he was cast as world-weary private dick (insert inevitable joke here), and I was cast as a sexy come-hither scientist (insert blatant disbelief here). I was skinny and had short hair, and had the market cornered on playing spunky orphans (Anne of Green Gables, Plum in Nancy & Plum, and Kit in The Witch of Blackbird Pond), or daffy comic relief maids in British comedies. But sexy? I never got hired for sexy.

We had a blast that day, I recall. My boyfriend had dumped me the day before via telephone from some regional theater job where he had fallen in love with some sexy young actress, and my ego was bruised, but I had mailed off a letter filled with vitriol on my way to this job. Then I walked in the door to see Charley, in a white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his beautiful forearms, and a fedora perched on his head, and I was instantly smitten. But it wasn't until later in the afternoon, after we'd gone a few rounds and done a few takes that I realized we were in a room full of people and we were the only people in on our jokes. His humor went right to my core, and it wasn't until then that I realized what I had been sadly lacking in all of my romantic forays: someone who could dish it, and take it, who had a true sense of humor, and someone who was as smart as he was sexy. I seem to recall a producer from the shoot who took me to coffee later, but I couldn't be bothered. He wore pastel argyle socks and tried too hard.

After we wrapped that first evening (that's biz talk for finishing the job), we went down the street to a happening mexican restaurant and got drunk on margaritas. The innuendo was flying, but so was the conversation. I learned that he had just broken up with someone recently too (although I won the prize for, um, recent-ness), and as the evening wore on, I could only think of one thing: I seriously, seriously wanted to kiss him. We finished our drinks, and he walked me to my gigantic old car, and he kissed me long and slow until I was up on the hood. To this day it's an argument about who kissed who first, an argument, I might add, that I always win, because I know (after years of practice) just how to shut him up. Anyway, he followed me home on his motorcycle, and we spent the rest of the night, and pretty much the rest of the spring and summer, finding new ways to annoy my neighbors.

When I think of that time, I think of us on a motorcycle, fresh oysters, cold beer, baseball & concerts on the pier. We saw
Lyle Lovett and his Large Band, and Shawn Colvin with Richard Thompson. And like all lovers, we had a song. It spoke of who we were then, or at least who we thought we were, who we thought we wanted to be. Mysterious, dark, somewhat dangerous. I can't hear this song without feeling the breeze off Puget Sound ruffling my faded cotton blouse, his leg pressed next to mine, the anticipation of his kisses. He swept me off my feet, and my life has never been the same. Now we're almost twenty years older, we're heavier, grayer and more responsible, but when I hear this song, I am 29 again, Red Molly on the back of his Vincent '52.

If October 4th Is Your Birthday

You survived the wretched normality of a suburban childhood, and it gave you a penchant for creativity. You spend your early adult years unaware of your own hotness, and while you think you are only the "friend", it is really your own cluelessness that saves you from the clutches of many ill-fitting matches. You spend your early thirties running away from a tenacious redhead, but this just makes you more attractive, and you will wind up married.

You find balance later in life, but not on a bicycle.

Your forties finds you struggling with the satisfaction of domesticity and the pull to create, but it is in your role as a parent that you shine. Your shimmering mind and loving heart are just two of the tools in your parenting tool kit that make this job so perfect for you. You are admired and adored by your family, and your perserverence and attention to the needs of others are an inspiration to the people in your life.

You are adept with words, and your talent in this area needs to be given more attention as you move into mid-life. Your family is supportive of this endeavor, and will do what is necessary to help you achieve your goals.

You are incredibly sensual and sexual and there is little (if anything) that turns you off. You attract others like moth to a flame with your wit and self-deprecating sense of humor, and your sexy, sexy legs which you choose to show off in middle years by wearing a kilt. This is a very good choice for you - few people can pull it off like you can.

In fact, your "animal magnetism" is so strong that you do share an unspoken love with another species - mornings are especially important, and you must do your best not to let this "love" know of your commitment to your family, as he is jealous, and furry, and will hiss when unhappy.

Oh, and if October 4th is your birthday, you might just be my husband. And that would make me the luckiest woman alive.

Happy Birthday, my sweet love. You are the light of my life.

With apologies to Ellin Dodge.

The Definition of Sexy

Joe-Henry has been allowed to watch a few shows on commercial television, which is like Pandora's Box to him. If Pandora were a slutty Victoria's Secret Model selling everything from shrimp to mattresses to tires. Honestly, we let him watch "Jeopardy" & Nick. Jr., which has the same programming as Noggin, but because Noggin is advertised, thusly, "It's like Preschool on tv", he suddenly won't watch it because he's NOT in preschool anymore dammit, he's in FIRST GRADE, and he's not going to get caught watching a channel for babies, even if it does have EXACTLY THE SAME SHOWS, but with a bazillion commercials.

Somewhere in all this madness, he's learned the word "sexy", and like it's predecessors FUCK and CRAP, it's just tooo tempting a word, and he knows it's not a good word for him, even though I've never said anything about it. It's like he heard it associated with some image, and knows instinctively that he shouldn't say it. Anyway, tonight we were getting ready for bed and he asked if he could say it. "We're in my room mom - I won't say it anywhere else!". I give him the go ahead, and he lets loose with "Oh, I'm so seeexxxxy, I have a seeeexxxxyyy face!" and bursts into a fit of giggles. "Only in your room, Bud. It's not an appropriate thing for a six year old to say to other kids or grownups". Then I say to myself, "I'm so glad you don't really know what it means yet."

"But I think I do, Mom."

I bite. "Okay, what does it mean?"

"It means beautiful, but in a way that isn't appropriate for six year olds."

After I related this story to my husband, and said "Hell yes, I'm going to blog about it", he said this:

"Tell them I think you're beautiful, but in a way that isn't appropriate for six year olds".

He's a kissass, but in a good way. I'm such a lucky girl.