A birthday, bread pudding and Sheila E.

Your favorite butch had a birthday on Monday. I know what you’re thinking. Didn’t you have one of those last year? And why is this blog always about you?

Anyway, I’m getting over a cold, so it was a quiet celebration. W took me out to dinner at a local pub, and we brought home a chocolate bread pudding that we shared in bed while watching The Office. I highly recommend this activity.

Shelia E. is in the house.

The day before my birthday, I had purchased tickets to see Sheila E. at City Winery in Philadelphia and then tweeted about it. On my birthday, Sheila E. responded with an enthusiastic “See you there!” followed by the prayer hands emoji and a dancing woman emoji. Which pretty much means that Sheila E. is my new girlfriend. I feel like this is a butch-femme coupling that people can really get behind. Also, this is me living the glamorous life in 2020 y’all.

But really, the best part of my birthday was being around W and other people who love me. One of the kids took me out to my favorite diner for breakfast and another gave me a Wonder Woman journal. And my family and friends called or texted to say Happy Birthday. I’d say that’s a birthday celebration fit for any butch lesbian king/queen. Like Sheila E says, “without love, it ain’t much, it ain’t much.”

* * *

W turns the big 5-0 this year, and we’re planning a vacation in the Caribbean. Looking for recommendations for an LGBTQ friendly resort.   

 

 

The butch had a birthday

I’m another year older and another year wiser.

I enjoyed a low-key birthday celebration with my beautiful wife, who agreed to see a movie about the world of professional wrestling with me. Now that’s what I call true love.

We capped our night out with dinner at a Mexican restaurant.

W was up last night with heartburn, and I suffered the consequences of eating leftover Mexican food for breakfast. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I’m questioning whether I really am any wiser than I was last year.

W got me some thoughtful gifts:

A little red flask.

An RBG jersey:

Plus, tickets for a concert featuring rock goddess Joan Jett.

Looks like this butch made out like a bandit because all I really wanted was to spend the day with my wife.

Mood: content.

 

 

 

 

Thanks

Your favorite butch blogger is thankful for many things.

Xena, Melissa, sneakers …

You know the list.

Heat, however, is not one of those things.

At the end of October, we discovered that our oil furnace was broken. We got a new furnace installed the day before Thanksgiving but are still waiting for the utility company to run a gas line to our house.

Our cats lined up for precious heat.

So, we’re living on space heaters. And flannel. I have never been more grateful for flannel.

We still had Thanksgiving at our house and hosted a party of 16. On that day, we were thankful for many things, including all of that body heat.

W’s birthday was on Saturday and we celebrated in true W fashion, wringing every possible ounce of joy out of the day. We started with an early breakfast and then walked around the Philadelphia zoo. We did a bit of shopping before catching Bohemian Rhapsody, which was better than I had anticipated. We capped off the day with dinner at an Italian restaurant, cake and presents.

I got W a bunch of things, including this sign that I had made.

W always thanks me for finding her. We met through Match.com, and I was the one who first reached out.

“I found you,” I always say. “I was driving along and there you were on the side of the road.” Or something silly like that.

What I never tell her is thank you for waiting for me.

* * *

Hope you all had a very Happy Thanksgiving! What are you feeling thankful for these days?

 

March madness

March was a crazy month.

I turned 50. Which means I’m vintage.

I got my AARP card, which I thought would make me super-sexy in W’s eyes. “She’ll have the Grand Slam,” I imagined me ordering for her at Denny’s and scoring points, as well as a sweet 15 percent discount. She just looked at me weird when I flashed the shiny red card at her.

I had a fun party that W put together with all of my friends and a top-of-the-line party bus that only played 80s music (including that Georgia Satellites song I love) and made stops at a local concert AND Victory Brewing.

No real flannel shirts were harmed in the making of this cake.

W had a custom cake made for me in the shape of a flannel shirt.

I got tons of loot. Notebooks and pens and wine and beer and gift cards for books. All of my favorite things.

I wore my new sneakers. Puma classics, black suede. So sweeeeet.

There’s more. On the night of my birthday, W gave me a bunch of little presents. We aren’t big gift givers, and I knew she was throwing me a birthday bash, so I wasn’t expecting much. Maybe a new necktie, a book, something emblazoned with the Wonder Woman logo.

I misspelled Seattle during the recreation.

She had created a handmade Scrabble board. Each box contained a set of Scrabble tiles. The tiles spelled out: TICKETS, SEATTLE, ALASKA, OLIVIA.

I don’t have a big bucket list. Just a few things I want to do, a few places I want to see. I’ve always wanted to spend a few days in Seattle. Take a cruise to Alaska. And go on an Olivia Cruise.

W had started planning all of this last summer without me suspecting a thing.

At the end of June, we are flying to Seattle for a few days. We’ll be there for Seattle Pride, and we already have reservations for brunch in the Space Needle. In Seattle, we’ll be boarding an Olivia cruise ship and setting sail for Alaska.

“It’s too much,” I said for much of March with a giant grin on my face.

There’s a part of me that still thinks it’s too much. Too expensive. Too extravagant. And that I’m not worthy.

I’ve been trying to silence those voices and be grateful. Grateful for being able to cross things off my bucket list. Grateful for an adventure, something to look forward to. Grateful for a cruise on a luxury liner filled with lesbians.

But mostly grateful for a wife who so carefully planned a special birthday and a trip of a lifetime for me.

It’s hard to be on this side of love. The receiving side.

But I’m trying.

So far, 50 is like a new pair of sneakers. Pretty sweet.

Today I’m a 50-year-old boy

I turn 50 today.

It’s weird because most days I feel like a kid. A young boy somewhere in the age range of 12 to 17.

Sir, I’ve been reading this great blog called The Flannel Files.

Most people I know say they don’t feel like adults either. Which means we’re all living in a giant Peanuts cartoon. No adults for miles–just an occasional wah wa-wah in the distance. You can call me Peppermint Patty. Or sir. Take your pick. Even though this lesbian doesn’t rock sandals.

 

W is throwing me a big party on Saturday complete with a party bus. I don’t know the details, so the rest is a surprise.

But today we’ll spend a quiet evening at home with the kids.

We’ll get pizza or some other takeout. I’ll open presents.

Super sweet.

I already bought myself these cool black Puma throwbacks as a happy-birthday-to-me gift.

I’m thinking of treating myself to another pair in baby blue.

“Like my eyes,” I told W.

“Yes,” she said.

“My eyes are green,” I said.

“I meant they would compliment your eyes,” she said.

Super sweet, too.

She doesn’t understand how sneakers work.

I’ll wait for next weekend to see The Lego Batman Movie. Maybe as a reward for getting our taxes ready.

“No thank you,” W said when I first asked her if she wanted to see the movie. She has since agreed to see it with me. Because pity, I guess. But whatever. It’s The Lego fucking Batman Movie.

And I’ll save some birthday money for comic books. To spend at that new store in Philly W said we could visit the weekend we see Cabaret.

I suppose 50 means I’m wise. At least wiser than I was at 49. If I’ve learned anything these past five decades, it’s be true to yourself. Live your authentic life.

Even if you’re a 50-year-old boy/woman and that means sneakers and comic books and The Lego fucking Batman Movie.

Life is too short, folks.

* * *

What Peanuts character are you? What’s your favorite type of sneaker? Put them together and make some kind of drag king/queen name. You know you want to. C’mon, it’s my birthday. Humor me.

Love,

Pat Puma

 

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?

Belated gifts

Don’t you just love packages?

I got a belated birthday gift in the mail today from a college friend.

If you are the type of person who routinely sends cards and presents a few days or even a few weeks late and often feels guilty about your tardiness, Middle-age butch is here to tell you to stop right now.

This gift recipient loves an after-the-fact gift.  It merely stretches out the holiday and gives you something to look forward to long after your special day has passed.  And just when you think that your magical celebration has come to pass much like 30 Rock, floppy discs and answering machines, there’s one more gift to remind you that you are special and loved.

Your favorite butch blogger received such a gift today.

A few weeks ago, my friend e-mailed and asked for the file that contains the flannel graphic for my blog banner.  She mentioned that it had something to do with my birthday gift, but was all hush hush on the specifics.

I must admit that my mind has been wandering.  I was thinking that maybe she used the flannel design to create an official Flannel Files T-shirt.  Or had an actual flannel shirt crafted from the banner image.  Hey, they can do that on Project Runway.  Or maybe she had a Middle-age butch bobblehead made in my image depicting me clad in a Flannel Files style flannel shirt.  Seems that I’ve been dreaming of flannel more than usual these past few weeks.

My flannel-fixated anticipation ended this afternoon.  My gift arrived today — 20 days after my official birthday — but who’s counting.

When I opened the box, I must admit to getting a bit teary no matter how hard I tried to use my butch super powers to resist.

This photo does not do the cup justice.

Upon opening the box, I spied a Flannel Files cup.

It’s a Tervis travel cup that proudly bears my flannel blog banner and these Flannel Files quotes:

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step of your Dr. Martens.

Be your best butch.

My friends will never know what it means to me to have them not only accept and support me but embrace me.  To embrace this big goofy butch who is still on a journey of self-discovery.

I’ve been doing some memoir writing lately and have been digging deep and remembering what it was like to carry a secret so deep inside that even I didn’t know the truth that I was hiding.  One of my worst fears was that my friends would discover what it was that made me different from them and never want to have anything to do with me.

*Sigh of relief.*  That has not been the case.

I still worry, though, as I continue to transform and change, leaning more into the masculine side of myself.  I suppose that I will always worry.  Maybe that is the cost of being different.  A restlessness that never ends.

But I focus on all the times that they told me that they are proud of me.  The time that they drove long distances to come to my 40th birthday party at a lesbian bar no less.  And when they came out in full force for our commitment ceremony.

And I’ll always remember when one of them sent me a drinking glass that let me know that it’s perfectly ok for me to revel in my butchness.

Cheers.  I’ll drink to that any day of the week.

Middle-age butch has a birthday

Everyone’s favorite butch blogger turned 46 this past weekend.

I happen to be a fan of birthdays.  The kids are usually somewhat nice to me.  And I get free stuff, or birthday swag, as I like to call it.

Redbox e-mailed me a code for a free movie rental.  The Movie Tavern sent a coupon for a free movie ticket.

Both JCPenney and Kohl’s sent $10 gift cards.  (Yes, people, I am thinking about buying more flannel, or maybe some new PJ pants.)

Oh, and CVS e-mailed me a coupon for $3 to spend in store.  That’s a free jar of hair gel or a pack of Irish Spring soap.

If you can’t tell, I like free things.

Plus, there are the real gifts.  W got me a really cool retro style radio.  Sweet.  I’m going to put it in the kitchen so that I can listen to the Phillies games while I cook and do the dishes.  She also got me a Phillies sign.  This baseball junkie is ready for spring and the boys in the red pinstripes.

My parents got me an iPad, which is the total opposite of vintage anything.  (Although it is an older model, so maybe that counts.)  I think the “i” stands for intimidating.  Or, “i” don’t know how to use this thing.

Oh, and cake.  Birthdays always mean cake.  Which is as good a reason as any to be happy about celebrating the day of one’s birth.  Plus, as the birthday girl, you get the biggest icing rose because it’s your damn day.  Icing is delicious.

I had been thinking all weekend about what kind of birthday post I wanted to write.  There’s the story about my worst birthday gift ever (you can read about my macrame purse here).

Or, I thought, maybe I should list 46 reasons why 46 is really old.

#24 — You’re really only about nine years removed from officially becoming “a crazy old cat lady.”

#37 — It’s creepy and perverted when you crush on young celebrity hotties like Jennifer Lawrence (age 22) and Rooney Mara (age 25).

But I wasn’t feeling particularly funny or sarcastic.  Weird.

I was actually feeling kind of peaceful and zen.  Like the space that I was occupying was alright.  Like I was alright.

Not that I don’t want to make some improvements, like lose some weight and get in shape and write that novel.  And get my hair cut shorter and learn how to tie a bow tie.

But who I am and where I am right now is pretty ok.  Forty-six isn’t so bad.

I have a partner who loves me for me.  Even though we’ve been together for awhile, she can still make my toes curl and my heart skip a beat.

Our three kids try our patience.  But on the best of days, they are smart and funny and lovable, and we can actually see them transforming into likable adults right before our very eyes.

Not to be upstaged by the kids are the cats, who give me a sense of purpose and provide endless hours of entertainment.

So, 46, bring it on.  I’m another year older and wiser.

Besides, I’ve got momentum and spring is coming, after all.  And, baseball.