Tag Archives: Freshly Pressed

The year of the butch

Subtitle: Obligatory post after getting Freshly Pressed (Seriously, it’s in the WordPress rulebook.)

Wow, it’s only January and so much has happened in my busy butch life.

Curse you, evil fortune cookie lady!

Curse you, evil fortune cookie lady!

Before 2014 even started, there was an omen that things were going to be different. A fortune cookie that I innocently selected after a takeout meal of shrimp in lobster sauce instructed me to “welcome change.”  It was an evil fortune cookie, apparently baked and stuffed by evil people in an evil fortune cookie factory. Anyone who knows me knows I despise change. I am more rigid than a brand new pair of Dr. Marten’s eight-eyelet lace-up boots.

Things I like more than change:
— Paper cuts
— Use of the “word” womyn
— Calculus
— That Nationwide commercial with the giant baby

This never happened.

This never happened.

And then the new year came, and the world didn’t explode.

I started writing again after hibernating like a big ol’ bear (or furry lesbian who hasn’t shaved her legs all winter).

I’ve since finished another memoir chapter.

I wrote a blog post about a message from the universe that was delivered by a mystic plumber and got Freshly Pressed. Like three minutes after I posted it.

That’s when I declared 2014 “the year of the butch.”

It’s a new year, and I’m trying to welcome change. Like I would my least favorite aunt or perhaps 35 inches of snow. So, maybe not with open arms but with a curt, businesslike handshake.

I have a whole bunch of new followers thanks to getting FP’d. Is it just me or does that sound weird and wrong?

So, welcome new followers.

A few things you should know about me:

  • Pet peeves — Use of the “word” womyn. (You can’t just make up words, people. Old crunchy lesbian, I’m talking to you.)
  • Confession — Sometimes I blog about my cats. (You can read my all-time favorite cat story here in a post deftly titled “Of mice and lesbians.”)  I have no clue why this has not been optioned for a TV mini-series or children’s book.
  • Other things to know about me — I blog a lot about gender, the butch-femme spectrum and what it’s like to be called “sir” when I’m shopping at the grocery store. People tend to like these posts a lot. My work in progress — a memoir that I hope to sell for millions of dollars to a mainstream publishing giant — is about that kind of stuff, too. (Note: I will not sell the book if the publisher insists on calling it One Womyn’s Struggle or Some People Think This Womyn Is a Myn. Okay, maybe for a million bucks. The thought of a brand new Subaru Outback and a shopping spree in the young men’s department of our local department store is too tempting.  I am, after all, a butch and not a rock.)
  • My partner — I call her “W.” She is my muse. Not that I sketch her naked — that’s some other blog, sicko — but because she inspires me to be my best butch. She always laughs out loud at my blog posts (when appropriate, of course) and pretty much thinks I’m a super-talented writer. What’s not to love?
  • Sometimes I — Post gratuitous pictures of sexy women. Because I can.  Sorry, Heidi Klum.
  • Frozen pipe update — Pipes froze again. I thawed them out with a hairdryer. Which is weird because me butch. You hairdryer. Have you any idea how short my hair is? But thawing frozen pipes, even  with a hair styling accessory, is how you keep your lesbian card current.
  • Goals for 2014 — 1,000 blog followers, finish memoir manuscript, try to sell memoir manuscript. Other things, too, like self-improvement, blah, blah, blah, give to poor, blah, blah, blah, add more T-shirts to embarrassingly large collection.

In 2013 The Flannel Files was viewed 15,000 times. That’s about how many lesbians attend an average Melissa Etheridge concert. Which kinda makes me Melissa Etheridge. Well, not really. But I love me some Melissa. You should know that about me, too.

So, thanks for joining with millions of other Flannel Files followers. Ok, so, like, 600 hundred and some.  And enjoy the ride and the soft but rugged power of flannel.

* * *

Enough about me.  What about you?  Tell me something, anything about yourself.  Surprise me.

Mandatory post after getting Freshly Pressed

In reality, we are lesbians and not suitcase-toting bears.

W and I have returned from our weekend without kids and cats and chores and the computer.

We had an awesome time.  So awesome, in fact, that I can’t post any of the super-sexy details.

Well, I could.

But I’d have to kill you.  Or, blush a whole lot.

I can reveal that the weekend included good food and good company, a really nice bottle of Chianti and several rounds of shots.  Oh, and our room had a sleep number bed.  We were all Beverly Hillbillies over that marvel of modern technology.  Firm, soft, firm, soft, firm, soft.  You try it, Ellie Mae.

No, but it’s close.

Before we left for the weekend, I got an e-mail from WordPress informing me that I was going to be Freshly Pressed.

I knew from that moment that it was going to be an exciting weekend.

My words on the WordPress homepage for all the world to see.

I’ve only been blogging for a short amount of time, but I’ve written some poignant and heart-felt posts about such tough topics as coming out, depression and being butch.  Really.

And, I get Freshly Pressed writing about fish sandwich-induced trauma.

My friend told me that I should focus on the Fish-a-majig fiasco in therapy instead of my mother.

Could have been me if it wasn’t for my rigid-on-gender-roles mother.

For those of you who are new here, my mother never let me take drum lessons when I was a kid because, apparently, drums are for boys.  This is why I never fronted for a kick-ass all-girls band like The Runaways and grew up to become a lesbian.

That is my story in a nutshell.

Which has now culminated in WordPress fame and glory.

So, newcomers, welcome to The Flannel Files, where I hope to amaze and entertain you with more true tales about my many unique neuroses, unfounded anxieties and cats.

If you’ve been here all along, thanks for your support and for letting me know that it’s not weird to be creeped out by Mrs. Butterworth, the talking maple syrup bottle.  You are good people.