Tag Archives: Christmas

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

imagesCheck 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.

downloadIf 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.

download-1Buy 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.

download-2Socks. 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?

 

Middle-age butch’s all-time best Christmas gift

Christmas is only a few days away, and I’ve been a busy flannel-clad elf buying presents for the kids.

Which got me thinking about my best Christmas gift ever.

GiftWhen my brother and I got older, like in our 20s, my dad developed a holiday tradition of going out shopping solo on Christmas Eve to buy us each a bonus gift or two.  The gifts had a definite masculine feel to them.  I can remember getting a pair of jumper cables one year and a portable CD player another.  My brother ended up with a variety of tools and a giant Mag Lite one time.

I always looked forward to these Dad gifts as they were a stark contrast to the carefully selected presents that had been purchased weeks and even months before by my mother.

I liked the fact that my dad spontaneously ran out hours before Christmas officially began and picked up random gifts.  Whatever was left or on final clearance.  Items that he thought we needed or would like.  “I thought you could use this,” he would say.

One year, Dad handed me a large square box.  It was really heavy.  He couldn’t wait for me to open it up.

Bowling BallInside was a black handled bag with blue, white and purple stripes.  And inside that bag was a 14-pound shiny blue undrilled bowling ball.

I squealed with delight.

Now, if you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, that last line might have given you pause.

Really?  Middle-age butch squealed?  With delight?

Yes, the bowling ball broke this baby butch’s trademark stoic demeanor.  Even on Christmas morning amidst the frenzied gifting and unwrapping and a sugar- and alcohol-laden breakfast consisting mostly of Toll House cookies, rum balls and mimosas, I typically remained calm, cool and reserved.

But a freakin’ bowling ball?  That was cause for some uncharacteristic whoops and fist pumps.

Dad explained that he had gotten me a 14-pound ball because that’s what professional lady bowlers use.   (It sounds like a term Tina Fey or Amy Poehler would use.  “Lady bowlers.”)

imagesCADKXJGDNow, Middle-age butch is no bowling pro, that’s for sure.  But being a butch lesbian, I know my way around a bowling alley.

The bowling ball wasn’t my ticket to a career as a professional bowler.  I didn’t up and quit my job and sign on with the Professional Bowlers Association.  There was no pro bowling tour in my future.  (Although I once bowled a 256 game in college.)

It wasn’t even that the gift was extravagant.  The ball is a basic Brunswick that probably cost about $40 tops, bag included, back in the day.

I loved the gift because it represented my dad recognizing a part of me that I had taken to hiding in those days.  The tomboy.  The jock.  The bruiser.  The woman who preferred bowling balls and flannel shirts and power tools to candles and cookware and cashmere sweaters.

It was the butch in me that was being acknowledged, even though that part of me had yet to be named or defined or fleshed out.  That wouldn’t happen for a decade or so.

Funny thing is I never did get the bowling ball drilled.  I never got around to it.  Besides, a 14-pound ball is a tad too heavy, even for this strapping butch.  I usually bowl with a 12-pound ball.

Sometimes I think that I never got the ball drilled because I didn’t want to change or alter my dad’s gift in any way.  It was perfect just the way that it was.

Flip forward 20 years, and the bowling ball now sits in its bag in our third-floor storage room.  I move it around from house to house.  A heavy sphere that has no practical purpose.

But profound meaning that exceeds its 14 pounds of perfect roundness.

How about you?  What’s the best gift — Christmas or otherwise — that you ever got?

Christmas gifts and poems by cats

W and I received a Christmas gift in the mail yesterday.

I Could Pee on ThisThe small box was filled with a few hand-crafted soaps, which  are one of W’s most favorite things in the whole world, and a small book entitled “I Could Pee on This and Other Poems by Cats.”

I was tickled by the gift.  It was nice to know that someone had gone out of their way to send us a Christmas care package.

The gifts weren’t extravagant, but I could tell that they were selected with care, and that’s what made them so special.  That, and they were totally unexpected.

The book is hilarious.  It would make a great gift for the cat lover in your family or the crazy cat lady down the street.  On second thought, she might not get the humor.

Here are two poems that struck my funny bone:

Who Is That on Your Lap?

There’s another cat in the house

A cat I’ve never seen

A much younger cat

You seem to know her name

You accidentally called me by her name

Right in front of the lamp

And my friend the throw pillow

I’ve never been so humiliated

I may never love again

* * *

Sushi

Did you really think

That you could hide fish in rice?

Oh, the green paste burns!

Murray Christmas!

I have decided to fill all of my emptiness and holes with cats.

At first, I thought about bringing home a brand new kitten on Christmas Eve.  I figured that I would scour all of the local adoption places and pick out the perfect kitty.  I would make plans to pick up the kitten the day before Christmas and then surprise the whole family with a kitten in a box.

Surprise!

A box of kitten.  A box of wine.

It just goes to show that boxes of stuff make awesome gifts.

Christmas kitten in hatMaybe I’d dress her up in a little Santa hat or place her in a fur-trimmed stocking.

I can hear the “awwws” as I type.

A few nights ago, I told W that I wanted a new cat and wanted to name her Merry.

“Why would you want to name a cat Mary?” she asked.

“Not, Mary,” I said.  “Merry.”

“Murray?!”

“No, not Murray.  Merry, as in Merry Christmas.  M-e-r-r-y.  But, now that you mention it, Murray Christmas would be an awesome name.”

W thinks that I pronounce certain words like banana and ruin and now, obviously, merry incorrectly.

Anyway, I’m quite smitten with the idea of a female cat or kitten named Murray Christmas, or just Murray for short.

But then I had an even better idea that would ensure a constant, never-ending stream of furry, adorable felines.

“We should foster kittens,” I casually informed W last night.

No!” she replied immediately without even giving the idea any thought.  “I would get too attached, and they would make a giant mess in the house.”

I told her that I was just researching the subject and assured her that I hadn’t signed us up for anything.  Yet.

Then I mentioned that if she wasn’t into fostering cuddly kittens that need to be bottle fed and socialized we could always volunteer to trap feral cats or feed feral cat colonies.

“I’m not sure what those jobs entail, but they were listed on the website,” I said.

Now, fostering a few sweet, soft kittens is looking pretty good to her.

So is Murray Christmas, for that matter.