A Christmas miracle flannel style

‘Twas perhaps the merriest Christmas of all for Flannel Santa had run out on Christmas Eve to buy a few extra gifts for the kiddos.

You see, Flannel Santa had been struck by the Christmas Spirit and had extra cash to burn.

Of course, Flannel Santa bought new flannel shirts for the lads.

A belt and hat for one, a leather wallet for another.

And 12 packs of Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew for all.

On Christmas Day, the youth wore their shiny new flannel shirts.

So, soft and warm! they exclaimed.

And Flannel Santa beamed with pride.

The day couldn’t get any better.

I’ve got one hand in my pocket … because my flannel shirt has pockets!!

But then Flannel Santa reached into the sack-o-Santa stuff and pulled out one last gift. One last flannel shirt.

The shirt was red and black checked. Perfect for Christmas Day.

Thick and warm and as soft as Sofia Vergara’s hair.

The shirt fit Flannel Santa like a glove (except it was a shirt).

And Flannel Santa smiled.

But ho, ho, ho, what was this?

Pockets? In a flannel shirt?

Pockets!

Pockets!

Pockets!

It was a Christmas miracle—a flannel shirt with pockets. Which made this the merriest Christmas of all!

* * *

Here’s hoping your Christmas was filled with surprises. And perhaps a new flannel shirt with or without pockets, if that’s your jam.

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?

 

Happy Valentine’s Day!

When it comes to Valentine’s Day, you either love it or you’re a hater.

Me? I’m all about romance. I’m a flannel-covered marshmallow. It’s true.

I figure if there’s a day on the calendar earmarked for love, why not take advantage of it?

Sometimes W gets annoyed. “I thought we weren’t going to exchange this year,” she says.

I can’t help myself.

All my life as a person obsessed with romance, I thought I wanted to be swept off my feet with long-stem red roses, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, surprise picnics in the park, poems written just for me.

As it turns out, I like being the one that does the sweeping. Who knew.

“She should let you be the man,” a friend of ours said.

I know what you’re thinking. We’re lesbians. We’re both women.

But I enjoy acting like an old-timey gentleman, holding open doors, carrying the heavy packages, sending the flowers and buying the chocolate.

Like the bumper sticker says: Chivalry isn’t dead. She’s a butch.

I sent W Valentine’s Day flowers last week. I’m all about Bouqs these days. If you buy flowers for your girl, do yourself a favor and check them out.

Her favorite color is purple.

Today, she got breakfast in bed. And a little basket I made for her with candy, lottery tickets and bottles of cherry soda called Cheer Wine. Cheers!

Check out these cute pillowcases I found on Etsy.

We’ll have to trade our pillows back and forth. Even a butch can be a little spoon sometimes.

At the end of the day, maybe I’ll score a few extra kisses.

It’s good to be butch.

Happy Valentine’s Day to everyone!

* * *

What are your Valentine’s Day traditions?

 

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.

When 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.

Inside 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.”)

Now, 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.

The 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!

Why I wish I could write poems and tie a bow tie

W and I celebrate our anniversary on Monday.  Last year on October 1, we had a commitment ceremony in which we exchanged vows in front of friends and family.  We had all the bells and whistles of a real, honest-to-goodness wedding.  Unfortunately, same-sex marriage isn’t legal where we live.

Anyway, I need an anniversary gift for Monday.  I usually have something tucked away for special occasions.  A bracelet that W tried on in some artsy store, a book that she casually mentioned or some knick-knack that she pointed out in a catalog.

I’m sneaky like that.  Be careful of the consumer goods that you name drop in front of me.  They just might show up under the Christmas tree or in your Easter basket.  Ped Eggs, Kinoki foot pads or one of those brownie pans that make every brownie an edge piece.  I’m all over it.

For this occasion, I’ve got nothing.  I remembered that anniversary number one is paper, so I thought I’d go with that.  Being a writer and all.

Maybe a coupon book.  To go with the other coupon books that I’ve given W through the years.  Why that woman has not redeemed all of her certificates for FREE SEX and MAKE OUT SESSION is beyond me.  A virtual fortune in tacky sex-related coupons pissed away.

Or, personalized stationery.  To go with the Jenga-like pile of note cards stacked on the bookshelf by my desk.

Dental dams?  Is that considered paper?

I laser in on a poem.  Nothing says “love” like a really great poem.  Right?

The only problem is that this wordsmith totally sucks at writing poems.

I’ve penned about five or six poems for W during the course of our relationship.  A couple of them are pretty good, but most of them are pedestrian.

I go online and find a love poem generator.  This is what it spits out:

“Your skin glows like the peach, blossoms moist as the rose in the purest hope of spring.

My heart follows your flute voice and leaps like a monkey at the whisper of your name.”

Not that bad, actually.  But weird and sort of plagiaristic.  And wouldn’t a “flute voice” be shrill and annoying?  Who says “flute voice” anyway?  Ooh, I love it when you talk to me in that flute voice.

W will read this post and say, “Baby, you don’t need to get me anything.  I just want you.”

This butch would look ridiculous in a red satin bow, so there goes that idea.

Maybe me naked wearing a bow tie, but I don’t know how to tie one.  I have to learn how to do that someday.

Of course, a gift isn’t essential.  But what kind of butch shows up empty handed on an anniversary?  Especially anniversary #1?  A thoughtless one, if you ask me.  I pride myself on spoiling W when I can.

Maybe coupons aren’t such a bad idea after all.

Be my PILLOW QUEEN FOR ONE NIGHT.

LET ME TALK DIRTY TO YOU.  In my flute voice.