When life gets to be a drag

W called me a few weeks ago from work.

“Martha just announced that she’s doing an afternoon show on Saturday. Can we go?”

Martha, also known as Martha Graham Cracker, is W’s favorite drag queen. I had already agreed to go to an evening show.

“Yes, if it will make you happy,” I said. “And if I can drink beer.”

So, last weekend, we took off for Philly for back to back drag shows at a dive bar called Bob & Barbara’s.

The timing could not have been worse. I have a big writers’ event this weekend. We’re having 16 people over for Thanksgiving. And we’re in the middle of a whole bunch of home repairs, including having a new heating system installed.

But it was good to get away. Once we were in the city, there was nothing for me to do but relax.

We watched Martha’s first show.

And Martha’s second show.

We drank what is know as a “city wide.” That’s a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a shot of Jim Beam for $4 ($3 during happy hour). We drank many city wides. The city wide is, without a doubt, the best bargain in all of Philadelphia.

We got a deal on a fancy hotel room through Priceline Express.

And just when we didn’t think the weekend could get any better, we found a great little diner for breakfast the next day.

I don’t think we wanted the weekend to end, because we stopped on our way home to see A Star is Born.

So, here’s some advice from your favorite butch blogger: When life gets to be too crazy, take a timeout, toss back some cheap booze and find thee a drag queen.

* * *

What’s your go to when you need to blow off some steam?

 

 

 

 

What to buy a butch

W is easy peasy to buy for. She likes things that sparkle (silver jewelry), things that smell good (handmade soaps) and things that taste good (salted caramel chocolates and Cheerwine cherry soda). Plus, purple things and pretty things and spiritual things and soft things. Also, scarves and bags and really good socks. See what I mean?

She thinks I’m hard to buy for. I tell her that I’m not. Butches are easy. Hey, not like that. But you know what I mean. If you’re struggling to find something to buy your masculine-of-center girl for the holidays, read this handy-dandy list:

Handy-dandy list

Check out the wristbands and cuffs at Lucky Dog Leather. W bought me wide black and brown leather cuffs on one of our first Christmases together. I loved them. I still do. They are cool and stylish and need I say very, very butch.

Is your girl a sporty butch? Get her tickets to a game. Or a jersey or other team gear. We can never have too much. I tend to like the old-timey vintage stuff. Make sure you know her favorite teams and players.

If she’s a reader, get her a copy of Ivan Coyote’s Tomboy Survival Guide. If you want to see a butch cry, watch her read this book. Really, any of Coyote’s books are great, but this is their latest. And do I dare say best?

I have to give a shout out to My Booket List, which was created by a friend of mine. Your book loving butch can record all of those books she wants to read in this cool little journal.

If she’s a writer, try a Moleskine notebook and a silver astronaut pen (you can pick up both at Staples). I’ve always got these hiding out in my pockets. Just in case.

If she’s into comics, there’s tons of cool Wonder Woman stuff out this year. Pick her up a copy of Jill Lepore’s Wonder Woman, which details the history of the Amazonian Princess. Wonder Woman’s story follows the rise of feminism in this country. It’s a fascinating read.

Beer her. If she’s a beer fan or fanatic, pick out some new craft brews for her to try. The staff at most beer shops are knowledgeable and can steer you in the right direction. Create a custom six-pack just for her. Nothing says I love you like beer.

Buy her a new necktie or bowtie. One that matches her eyes or your new dress. One in her favorite color. One that you think she’d look particularly handsome in. We love it when our ladies buy us ties. It makes us feel special and sexy.

Make it personal. There are tons of sites that let you create personal merchandise. Think mugs and tees and hats. How about a T-shirt that says “World’s Best Butch” or a mug that just says HANDSOME? I’ve had good luck with Zazzle and Shutterfly.

Make her something. We like it when you use your hands. Get crafty and make her a Sharpie mug (look for instructions on the Internet) or knit her a scarf. Bake her favorite cake or pie or whip up a batch of your famous tomato sauce.

Socks. A good pair makes us feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, too. You can buy those butch socks here.

How about a fun pair of fleece PJ pants? Find a design that matches her passion. Star Wars, Harry Potter, beer, football … You name it, they make it. Or a fleece blanket.

Flannel. Need I say more?

Oh, and you. You know that’s all she really wants, right?

* * *

What do you like to gift your butch? If you’re a butch, what do you like to get?

 

Good things come in twos

It was good to be this butch today.

First, I got a belated birthday gift.  When I wasn’t even expecting one.  And it is awesome.

Shows my love for baseball and beer.

It’s called the Clink-n-Drink.  It’s a bottle opener with a bunch of high powered magnets on the back.  So, you can stick it on any magnetic surface like a refrigerator or even a car for tailgating.  I told you it was awesome.  Butchtastic.

We also went out for burgers tonight for an event we dubbed “Celeburgerbration.”  Lots to celebrate, including my book deal and birthday.  Oh, and we have a local restaurant — a fancy Creole place — that has $6 burgers and fries on Thursday night.  I went for the Breakfast Burger, which is topped with a fried egg, bacon, Velveeta and onion straws.

Breakfast? Lunch? Who cares. Dig in!

They also have a donut burger (with bacon, of course) if you really like to get crazy with your sweet and savory.  You can check out the menu here if you’re into that sort of thing.

Mmmmm.  Donuts.

I tried a Starr Hill Pale Ale on draft, which was a winner.

Lots of great pairings tonight.  Burgers and beer.  Birthdays and beer.  Burgers and bacon.  Bacon and eggs.  Beer with everything!  I’ll have another BEER.

Here are a few more of my all-time favorite “couples”:

• Xena and Gabrielle.
• Birthday cake and ice cream.
• Butches and femmes.
• Dress shirt and tie.
• A good book and a cup of tea (Earl Gray).
• Liver and onions.

* * *

How about you?  What “twosomes” turn you on?

Snow day

It’s been snowing here all day.

I finished up my work for the week yesterday.  I don’t have anywhere I need to be.  I don’t have anything I need to do.

We have a stocked fridge and full cupboards.  We have beer.

My birthday was on Monday.

I made breakfast this morning.  Eggs, toast, bacon and cinnamon rolls with strawberries, OJ and coffee on the side.  I am planning a spaghetti dinner for tonight.

I am still in my pajamas.  W and I are watching season four of The Walking Dead.

The cats are taking their afternoon naps along side us.

This is Bodhi.

Later on, I hope to read the Joan Didion book I’m working on.  I hope to write.

Every once in awhile, I look out our bedroom window and watch the snow.  Each time, I am amazed by the beauty.  The white blanket has created a stillness and quietness that is so rare these days.

This is the view from our bedroom.

I am thankful for this pause in my hectic life.

I will worry about digging out tomorrow.

But today I’m taking a snow day.

* * *

Is it snowing where you are?  If so, how are you spending your snow day?

Don’t try this at home or how I fell down a mountain and lost a shoe

“Tell us about something you’ve done that you would advise a friend never to do,” today’s Daily Post commands.

This thought came to me immediately: Never attend a keg party held on the top of a mountain.

Sure, the bus ride to the foot of the mountain is a lot of fun.  Everyone is in a good mood, chatting busily about the excitement and good time that is certain to follow.

Did you know that you get drunk quicker at a higher elevation?  Those on the bus are discussing the finer points of alcohol consumption and altitude.  Because we are college students, and this is science, people.

Regardless, everyone will get crazy drunk tonight because the idea already has been planted in their brains.

You begin the trek up the mountain with great gusto and enthusiasm.  Now this is what college is all about, you tell yourself.  School spirit, camaraderie and beer.

About half way up, you wonder why you chose to subject yourself to such torture.  It’s a fucking mountain, for crying out loud.  When you fall behind the guys carrying the kegs, you know that you are in trouble.

This is the actual mountain that we hiked up.

Initially, they shout words of encouragement in a show of collegiate brotherhood.  Then they consider carrying you and your friend up the mountain.

“I should stop smoking,” you say out loud so that they think  your lungs are working at 30 percent capacity and not that you are woefully out of shape.

Then they start sizing you up.  It’s college, so I’m about a buck 25 or 30.  Ok, a buck 45 when you add the freshman 15.

Somehow, you make it up the mountain.  Taking many, many breaks and cursing yourself for signing up for this stupidity and torture.

Beer.

At the top of the mountain, you are rewarded with beer.  And hot dogs roasted over an open fire.  You are happy.  There is beer.  And food.

You party on into the night.  Songs are sung.  Kegs are kicked.  You venture into the woods to relieve your screaming bladder.  It’s rustic fun.

People dance precariously close to the fire pit.  Just like a participant at a Tony Robbins seminar, they don’t seem to mind the hot coals.  You take a time out to put out your friend.  You remember “stop” and “drop” but what was that last part?  You end up just beating her legs with your fists.

At some point, it’s time to head back down.

You learn a very important life lesson: It is difficult and dangerous to walk down a mountain in the middle of the night when you are drunk and don’t have a flashlight.

You wonder why you never thought to bring a flashlight for the trip down.

You are not walking but stumbling.  And falling.  Down a mountain.  In the pitch dark of the night.

The shoe looked like this.

You lose your left shoe and it falls down the mountain.  A brand new Nike low-top tennis shoe with a baby blue swoosh.

“I’ve lost my shoe!” you yell out to your friends.  “I’ve lost my shoe!”

One of them tells you that she has it.

You continue falling down the mountain, now on one foot.

Somehow you arrive at the bottom and climb aboard the waiting bus.

You find your friend, and she tells you that she was just kidding.  She doesn’t have your missing shoe.

When you and your friends get together, you still tell the story about the mountaintop keg party, especially the part about the missing shoe.

When you ask your friends if they brought you anything like, say, a cup of coffee or a newspaper, they tell you no, it must be on the mountain.

It’s a running joke with no end in sight.

It’s been nearly three decades, and you still haven’t gotten over that lost Nike.  You probably never will.