What to watch?

We have nothing to watch. Nothing, I tell you, nothing, even though we have cable television with a bunch of premium channels, Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime and three Redboxes located less than two miles from our house.

There haven’t been any new episodes of Modern Family. We’re all caught up with Orange Is the New Black, Girls, Transparent, Jessica Jones, Master of None, Unbreakable Kimmie Schmidt, Broad City, The Walking Dead. I think there’s a new season of Orphan Black out, but last I checked it wasn’t available for streaming through Amazon.

Washed up celebrity horse with depression and addiction issues. What’s not to love?

I binged watched three seasons of Bojack Horseman one weekend without W because I thought she detested shows with talking animals. That’s what she had said, anyway. Turns out she meant live action shows and not cartoons.

“Like Look Who’s Talking,” she tried to explain.

“That had a talking baby in it,” I said. “And it was hilarious.”

She made her angry face.

“You mean like Babe,” I said, trying to help. “Our mother called us all the same,” I said in my best pig voice. “How could you not like Babe?”

More angry face.

We have been trying to pick a new show.

“What about The Sopranos,” W asks.

“That seems so old. I don’t know that I can get into it.”

She forces a stream of hot air through her mouth like a tea kettle. This is the sound of exasperation.

She’s already named a bunch of shows: House of Cards, Homeland, Breaking Bad, Dexter. She ends up watching them herself because they don’t interest me. I am difficult. Impossible. I am glad I’m not married to myself.

See, everyone loves a skinny tie.

I suggest Mad Men because, well, skinny ties.

“You don’t want to watch The Sopranos because it’s too old, but you want to watch Mad Men?”

So. Much. Angry. Face.

Our youngest suggests Haven.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“It’s based on the Stephen King book The Colorado Kid,” he says.

“I liked that book.”

“Yeah, the people in the town have supernatural powers,” he says.

“Um. No. I don’t like that supernatural stuff.”

“You liked Stranger Things!” W says way too loud.

“Yeah, but that had Winona Ryder and Eggo waffles.”

* * *

What did you watch this summer?

Not butch enough for haunted things

My W is here.

“My hersband is too afraid to go,” W texted her friends from work.

They are going to Terror Behind the Walls at Eastern State Penitentiary tonight. The website bills it as “A Massive Haunted House in a REAL PRISON.”

No thanks. Count me out.  I will stay home and watch reruns of Orange Is the New Black, which is a comedy set in a FAKE PRISON.

I know what you’re thinking, faithful followers.  Middle-age Butch, you are the butchest person I know.  Aren’t you butch enough for a little old haunted house?

Um, no.

I am butch enough to wear flannel everyday of the week.  I am butch enough to arm wrestle k.d. lang.  I am butch enough to wear a necktie when every other woman in the room is wearing a dress.

But this butch doesn’t do haunted houses or haunted hayrides or anything else that involves paying a fee to be scared.

That is not butch. That is stupid.

W is paying $20 to be scared by chainsaw-wielding strangers wearing face paint and fake blood.

If anyone out there wants a really good fright, mail me $20.  Tell me your worst fear, or I can make one up for you.

• Dear Netflix Subscriber, We regret to inform you that there will not be a Season 3 of Orange Is the New Black.
• Good news!  I’ve cleared my calendar and will be able to stay with you through the holidays!  All of them!!  Love, Mom
• Dear Former Student, It wasn’t just a recurring bad dream.  You really are three credits short.  We will be revoking your diploma.

When I was a teenager, my father took me to a haunted house at the New Jersey shore.  I remember crowding into a room that was supposed to be an elevator with a bunch or other people and being scared to death.  I thought I was going to die.  It was the last time I held my dad’s hand.

Too much blood for this butch.

I am not a fan of horror movies either. I can count the scary movies that I’ve seen on two hands (hands missing several digits due to an accident involving farm equipment) — Poltergeist, Children of the Corn, Silence of the Lambs, The Blair Witch Project.  I started watching The Shining when I was in college, but my friends had to remove me from the theater because I was turning green and about to pass out from all the blood.

Alas, I am a delicate butch.

I did tell W that if she doesn’t come home tonight I will look for her.

In the morning.

When the sun comes up.

It’s what any butch would do.

* * *

Do you like haunted houses and scary movies?

Are you an introverted butch? Take this test and find out

I just finished the New York Times bestseller Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking by Susan Cain.

It’s a terrific book.

W asked if it was all about how great introverts are being that yours truly is the poster child for introverts everywhere.

Not quite.  Even though introverts are awesome.  I said that very, very quietly.  Almost in a whisper.

The book is about how the world needs introverts and extroverts. I also learned that people are like rubber bands. We can stretch to a degree, which means, for example, that an introvert can overcome a fear of public speaking and, in fact, become quite adept at giving speeches in public.

King of the butches.

Cain’s book got me thinking about whether most butches are introverts. Lea Delaria, probably not an introvert, but aren’t most of us big bad butches quiet and brooding?  Do you tend to just want to stay at home organizing your flannel shirt collection?  Do you feel more comfortable talking to your cats than people?

Cain included an introvert-extrovert quiz in her book. I’ve included it here with a few minor additions.

Answer each question true or false. The more “trues,” the more introverted you probably are.

Introvert-Extrovert Quiz — The Butch Version

1. I prefer one-one conversations to group activities. Group activities butches really don’t like: quilting bees, Mary Kay parties, jazzercise class.

2. I often prefer to express myself in writing.  Actually, I prefer not to express myself at all.  I am made of stone.  I will not show emotion.

3. I enjoy solitude. Just me and a Melissa Etheridge greatest hits CD.

4. I seem to care less than my peers about wealth, fame and status. Because when you’re a butch, who needs all that other stuff?

Tell me more about your breasts.

5. I dislike small talk, but I enjoy talking in depth about topics that matter to me. Like baseball, beer, the Indigo Girls and really great cleavage.

6. People tell me that I’m a really great listener. Especially your wife.

7. I’m not a big risk-taker. Except for that whole looking-like-this-and-using-a-women’s-restroom thing.

8. I enjoy work that allows me to “dive-in” with few interruptions. I also enjoy recreational activities that allow me to “dive-in” with few interruptions.

9. I like to celebrate birthdays on a small scale, with only one or two close friends or family members. Like the twins over at Hooters.

10. People describe me as “soft-spoken” or “mellow.” Especially after hanging out with Miley Cyrus or Willie Nelson.

11. I prefer not to show or discuss my work with others until it’s finished. Or else I’d have to kill you.

12. I dislike conflict. Dyke drama is for other dykes.

13. I do my best work on my own. Because everyone knows butches do it better.

14. I tend to think before I speak. Don’t hear anything? I’m still thinking.

15. I feel drained after being out and about, even if I’ve enjoyed myself. Yes, this is my I’ve-enjoyed-myself face.

16. I often let calls go through to voicemail. Exceptions: Heidi Klum, Sofia Vergara (see no. 5).

17. If I had to choose, I’d prefer a weekend with absolutely nothing to do to one with too many things scheduled. That’s why I turned down invitations to the potluck, the Hilary Rodham-Clinton book signing and the midnight showing of the Piper Perabo movie retrospective.

18. I don’t enjoy multitasking. Unless one of the tasks is drinking a beer. Watch me catch a football and drink a beer. Cook and drink a beer. Use power tools and drink a beer. Drink a beer while drinking another beer.

What’s this L Word you speak of?

20. In classroom situations, I prefer lectures to seminars. When taught by the hot new English professor with the big black glasses.

What about you? Are you an introvert, an extrovert or a middle-ground ambivert?

Orange Is the New Black: Savor or devour?

Today is the day.  June 6.  Season 2 of Netflix’s Orange Is the New Black is available.  All 13 episodes.

“How many episodes are we going to watch tonight?” W asked this morning.

“One.  Maybe,” I replied.

Of course, I’m itching to find out what’s happened to Piper and crew.

But I already don’t want it to be over.

You know she wants me.

That’s how much I love Orange Is the New Black.  It’s funny, it’s poignant, it’s got lesbians and Laura Prepon in those black glasses.  Damn.

Besides, it’s the only show out there that can reference Pablo Neruda and female ejaculation in the same episode.  That Jenji Kohan is a genius.

The world may never know.  Wink.

So, binge or save?  It reminds me of a cherry Tootsie Pop and the eternal question of “How many licks?”  (Of course it does, Middle-age Butch.  You know you wanted to say that.)

We’ll start with episode one tonight.  It’s called “Thirsty Bird.”  I’ll make cheese steaks and tater tots for dinner, because it’s Friday night.  It’ll be an event.

Maybe we’ll watch an episode Saturday night and one on Sunday night.

All bets are off after that.

Because it’s a show that revolves around lesbians.  Butch lesbians and crazy lesbians.  College graduate lesbians and sexy lesbians.  Bad lesbians and bad-ass lesbians.

You know you can’t stop at just one.

* * *

Are you watching OITNB tonight?  Will you binge watch or spread ’em out?

When you meet a butch lesbian

You’ve probably seen this document floating around the Internet.  It comes from writer Jody Rosen, who tweeted a picture of a cheat sheet created in 1988 for a Women’s Studies class.  The document gives some helpful hints on how a heterosexual woman should act when she encounters, gasp, a lesbian.

See for yourself:

Now, I’m not the only blogger who has decided to have a little fun with this.  But, truth be told, I couldn’t resist.

Without further ado, here’s Middle-age Butch’s own list:

When You Meet a Butch Lesbian: Tips for the Heterosexual Woman

1. Do not assume she is attracted to you, unless you look like Sofia Vergara or Laura Prepon.

Yes, I am attracted to you.

2. Do not tell her she looks just like Justin Bieber.

3. If she is attired in flannel, do not assume she is wearing pajamas.

4. Do not ask her if she is a fan of Xena: Warrior Princess.  This is insulting.  All butch lesbians love Xena.

Xena, we love you.

5. Do not offer her a fruity drink like a Malibu Bay Breeze or a Sex on the Beach.  Butch lesbians only drink beer.  Out of the bottle.  And Jagermeister.  Out of the bottle.

6. Do not tell her that your husband does it better.  He doesn’t.

7. Butches appreciate compliments.  Tell her you like her wallet chain or crew cut.

8. Do not refer to the female cast of Orange Is the New Black as her “people.”  She will cut you.  With a screwdriver.

Not my peeps.

9. It is ok to talk about your dog and other house pets.  Do not talk about your pussy, as this could be misconstrued.

10. As a sign of peace and goodwill, present her with a covered pot luck dish, preferably something vegan and organic with quinoa or hemp seeds.

11. Do not tell her that you understand what it’s like to be a lesbian because you watch Ellen almost every day.

This does not make you a lesbian.

12. Do not ask her to hold your purse while you use the restroom.

13. Do not stare at her tattoos.  This is rude.

14. Do not tell her she looks pretty in that shirt.

15. If she tells you her name is Sam or Max, do not ask if that is short for Samantha or Maxine or Peaches.

16. Do not not ask her if you can paint her toenails.

17. Do not ask her if she knows k.d. lang.  All butches don’t know each other.

* * *

Ok, your turn.  Give your best tip.

I have seen the light, and it is orange

Four lesbian characters in a row.

As in Orange Is the New Black.

About five minutes into the first episode, I raised my arms in triumph and exclaimed that “the lesbians have their TV back.”

The L Word premiered in 2004 — 10 years ago. Ah, Shane, how I miss you. Since then, there has been a spike in the number of lesbian characters on TV. But there hasn’t been anything to rival the dyke drama that was The L Word.

If you haven’t seen it, OITNB is smart and funny and tender and touches on such hot-button topics as racism, religion, morality, sexuality and gender.

You want me, Alex?

Plus, Laura Prepon is totally hot with those glasses and that dark hair.

And, hey, isn’t that Natasha Lyonne from But I’m a Cheerleader?

In the spirit of the show, W and I have taken to calling each other by our last names. And when I’m feeling particularly amorous, I call her “Dandelion.”

I’m sure there are those out there displeased that the only show with a major lesbian presence takes place in a federal prison.

“Lesbians are very dangerous,” as Counselor Healy says.

But this lesbian is just happy to have lesbian characters back on the small screen.

Have you seen OITNB? What are you watching these days?