Tag Archives: romance

Happy #butchappreciationday

images (1)I hope you have someone in your life who:

Likes to run her hands over your slick-as-velvet head after you get your hair cut real short.

Calls you “baby.”

Tells you she gets turned on when you wear that ball cap backward. You know the one.

Likes when your necktie matches her dress.

Rubs your back when you’ve pulled a muscle.

Thinks every flannel shirt you own makes your eyes shine.

Is okay with you wearing your “dressy” T-shirt to that event you’re going to.

Tells you you’re cute and you believe it, even though you’ve never felt cute a day in your life.

Is the yin to your yang.

Asks you what you’d like her to wear when you’re going out on a date.

Still flirts with you regardless of the fact that you’ve been together for more than a decade.

Traces your scars (the ones you can see and the ones you can’t) with her fingertips when you’re lying in bed at night.

Makes you feel like a rockstar, even though you don’t play any instruments.

Tells you your tattoos are sexy.

Appreciates the hell out of you. Not despite those things that make you you but because of them.

 

Mullets, lesbian bars, forbidden love, oh my

imageshl3fdmtxI’m participating in National Novel Writing Month this year. The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days and have a first draft for a novel. Kick-off is today.

“What’s your book about?” my editor asked.

“Lesbian romance set in the 80s. Big hair, big love, something like that,” I wrote back.

“I’m feeling nostalgic,” she wrote. “But mullets.”

So, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. If you don’t hear from me in November, I’m busy writing about the 80s and lesbians and quoting lyrics from songs sung by the big hair bands. “And, baby, talk dirty to me.” Like that.

Because lesbians rule and the 80s were the best and if you’ve never rocked a mullet you’ve never really lived.

If you want to help a writer out, I still need a name for a really great, fictional lesbian bar. Best answer will find its way into my novel.

Anything else that needs to be in there? Trivial Pursuit, Pac-Man, a Rubik’s Cube …

Oh, and if you’re doing NaNoWriMo, e-mail me and we can be NaNo buddies.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

images[6]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.

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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!

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Check out these cute pillowcases I found on Etsy.

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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?

 

Tying the knot

Keep CalmW and I are counting down the days. We are getting married one month from today.

We got our marriage license last week. Yay, P-A!

There’s a lot more to do. W has taken the lead on most of the preparation because it is a wedding and she is a girl.  Besides, she is the one with the vision.  Not some creepy-scary vision of werewolves or bloody fingerprints but a vision of vintage tablecloths and fresh-cut flowers in antique mason jars.

As for attire, she has to worry about a dress and undergarments, jewelry, nail polish, a shawl or around-the-shoulder wrap of some kind.

I am in charge of a few things. Purchasing a Polaroid camera and film for a mock photo booth.  Outfitting myself.

We are keeping it casual. I am planning on wearing a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

I am usually a necktie guy. I love ties.

I am thinking about changing things up and wearing a bowtie for the wedding. See, I can be crazy and spontaneous (as long as the spontaneity is planned).

Jesse Tyler Ferguson has his “Tie the Knot” collection that he sells through the tie bar.  Each bowtie costs $25, and $20 from each purchase goes to organizations fighting for marriage equality.  Count me in.

Which bowtie should I buy?

My favorite color is red, so that’s my go-to color for accent pieces.

I’m thinking about going in a whole new direction.

Navy blue.

Crazy, I know.

The Delacorte caught my eye first. It’s a navy blue bowtie with floral accents in emerald green.

The Delacorte

The Delacorte

Or, I could go all Brokeback with the Jack & Ennis, a classic bandana pattern in navy.  I can yell out during the vows: I can’t quit you, W!  It would be real romantic and all.

The Jack & Ennis

The Jack & Ennis

I’m definitely thinking navy.  But, I also like this light blue one.

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The Kushner

Take the poll, below, and tell me what you think.

That only leaves a few details.

1. Learning to tie a bowtie.

2. Buying a new pair of matching kicks.

Right now, I’m thinking:

Nike Blazer low

Nike Blazer low

Or,

Classic Checkered Vans

Classic Checkered Vans

Ah, butch fashion dilemmas.

Help me out!  Calling all butches and anyone else with an opinion.

 

I’m a sexy beast

It’s true.

I’m a sexy beast.

It says so right here.  On this purple velvety card that W gave me on Saturday.

Sexy beast

Do believe everything you read.

Especially if it makes you feel 10 feet tall and all tingly inside.

 

 

A love letter

“Do you know your blog is a love letter to me?” W asked me one day.

I had never really thought about it like that.

And then people started commenting about how hopelessly romantic my blog is. Amid swoons and sighs, they responded with awwws and how sweets.

xx

Really?  The Flannel Files?  An Internet hub for love and other mushy stuff?

To borrow a line from Amy Poehler, really?  The ultra-tough, uber-studly Flannel Files?  That place where it’s cool for girls to talk about neckties and motorcycle boots, cleavage and butchdar?

It seems to hit a nerve every time.  People are either searching for true love or in the middle of a love-filled relationship and realize how very lucky they are.  At the end of the day when the sun is going down like a big red rubber dodgeball in the sky, we all want to be watching hand-in-hand with someone who makes our hearts beat like a bongo drum.  Bong bong.

So, why all the talk about love, Middle-age Butch?  What about baseball and beer?  Tattoos?  Mila Kunis?  The upcoming Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition?

W and I seem to have located the sweet spot of love.

Sometimes I wonder when it will all end.  When we’ll have hit our limit, used up our magic.

We are soft and pink like this.

We are soft and pink like this.

But we continue to grow together, and I think that’s the key.  We are constantly growing, learning, stretching ourselves.  Sometimes we are reaching for the same thing and sometimes not.  Right now, we are pliable like fresh eggs of silly putty.

We seem new again.

I tell her in the morning that she has sexy morning hair.

She crinkles her nose.

I tell her in the evening that she has sexy night hair.

“No, I don’t,” she says.  She bites her lip to keep from smiling.

She looks sexy in her new gray nightgown.  And the pale blue one.  And the black one.

I love you this much.

I love you this much.

This is when I know I am in love.

Not again because I was in love last month and the month before that.

I start to wonder if this love is stronger or deeper or truer than the love I had for W in April or January or 2011 or 2009.  Or has it been there all along — this deep, rich love that is new and old at the same time?

I’m not sure that it matters.  Just that I feel it.  And acknowledge it.  And tell W that I love her.  That I always have and always will.

I am reminded of this quote by Alice Walker from The Temple of My Familiar:

“Some people don’t understand that it is the nature of the eye to have seen forever, and the nature of the mind to recall anything that was ever known.”

What about the heart?

xx

Open to love.

I imagine my heart an advent calendar covered in cardboard doors.  They’ve been there forever.  They were just waiting for the right person to come along and open them up.

Maybe W was right.  This is a love letter to her.

It has been the whole time.

Falling in love over and over again

Last weekend, I whisked W away to the city for two days of fun and romance. Or maybe she whisked me away. I can’t be sure.

xx

You and me in our Italian restaurant.  Yes, it’s as darling as it looks.

Anyway, we saw the musical Mama Mia, dined at a cute little Italian restaurant, browsed the shelves of a gay bookstore, caught a movie, did some shopping. It was restful, rejuvenating and romantic.

Plus, it was my birthday, which made it super sweet like the tiramisu in a little teacup that we shared for dessert.

The weekend got me thinking about this quote:

“A successful marriage requires falling in love over and over again, always with the same person.”

— Mignon McLaughlin

Sunday morning, W and I were lying around in our king-size hotel bed all wrapped up in each other, and I could feel them: the butterflies in my stomach, the tingles in my toes. We could see the sparks in the air like we were huddled under the covers and we both had a major case of static electricity.

That’s when it hit me.  I’m still in love with W.

It’s not that I had doubts or had forgotten. Sometimes there’s no time for being in love in the rush of our ordinary, everyday lives.

Sometimes you have to slow down and take the time to see what’s been right there in front of your eyes the whole time.

xx

The weekend ended with this monstrosity — a skillet breakfast called “The Bacon Sink.”  Yes, that is bacon gravy that you see.

Love conquers all, even evil cats

xx

You had me at popcorn.  And girl.

When W and I were first dating, she invited me over to watch the movie Rent. She’d put the kids to bed early and make buttered popcorn. Would I like to come over.

Sure. This red-blooded lesbian had Melissa Etheridge’s “I Want Come Over” playing over and over and over in her head.

Here’s the catch. There’s always a catch. W had cats. Two of them.

And in direct conflict with the laws of nature and lesbianism, this lesbian was allergic to cats.

They only look innocent.

They only look innocent.

For as long as I can remember, cats have made me itchy and scratchy and caused my eyes to seal shut.  The last time that I had played with a cat — a cute little kitten at a college kegger — my eyes got all red and itchy and eventually swelled shut. Two of my friends had to guide me back to my college apartment as if I were Helen Keller. Miracle workers, both of them.

So, yeah, I was nervous about spending time at W’s place. What if my eyes swelled shut and I couldn’t drive home? It was a 45-minute drive, depending on traffic. How embarrassing what that be for this big, bad, I-can-take-care-of-myself butch?

But there was to be hot buttered popcorn. And a movie. Oh, heck, there was a hot girl in the picture. Who am I kidding? She could have been covered in cat hair or wearing a cat-hair sweater and I would have been there with bells on. Maybe not bells, because they are kind of girly.

The big date night arrived, and I found myself sitting in W’s apartment on W’s couch with W.  And her two cats. I was petrified. I tried to ignore the cats but they were curious. You know how cats are. One kept brushing up against me. I was careful not to touch my face or rub my eyes.

The movie started and with one slick move I slid my arm behind W.
Every so often, I took a bodily inventory. No sneezing. No itchy eyes. No scratchy skin. Just a little bit of heavy breathing, but that was to be expected.

Turns out that I didn’t have an allergic reaction that day and haven’t any day since. W and I now live together along with three cats and other assorted random creatures.

Not to throw W under the bus (here’s me throwing W under the bus), but she had mentioned to a friend about me and my cat allergy and basically said that it was a deal breaker. So sad, the friend remarked. She seemed so nice.  She was so ready to dump me for the cats.

Is there a moral to this love story?

It just goes to show you that love conquers all, even deadly allergies.

Cats are diabolical creatures and have broken up many a pair of lovers. They are narcissistic and evil like that.

Take your pick.

* * *

What about you? Any pet-related dating stories to share?

Be careful what you Axe for

Last week, I decided to try an experiment.  So, there I was on a Monday afternoon in my local CVS looking at the men’s body wash products.  Axe, to be specific.

Hail to you, Axe Twist.

The tall black bottles were intimidating.  And phallic.

I read the backs of the bottles carefully.  All guaranteed “UNLIMITED FEMALE ATTENTION.” And promised, “THE CLEANER YOU ARE, THE DIRTIER YOU GET.”

How could a gal like me resist?

I popped open the lids and smelled the contents of each fragrant flavor.

I decided on Axe Twist, with the backward “s.”  Apparently, teenage boys aren’t sticklers for proper use of the alphabet.

“Ultra lather and addictive fragrances to give you a super-charged clean,” the bottle read.

It smelled something like lime Jell-O and motor oil.  W does love lime, I thought to myself.

But here’s what made Axe Twist stand out from Axe Excite and Axe Anarchy and Axe Dark Temptation.

It’s marketed as: “The scent which starts with exciting freshness which then lasts to keep her tantalized and intrigued by you.”

I figured that this was perfect because I wasn’t looking to attract a new woman — or perhaps a flock of new women, depending on the power of Axe Twist — but to keep the one I have tantalized and intrigued.

Axe Twist also said I should use it “because a good first impression isn’t enough, you need to keep her intrigued …”

My first impression was over six years ago, so I thought it was worth the $5.99 to keep W swooning and wanting more of yours truly.  Besides, she really loves lime.  It was a foolproof plan.

When I got home, I hid the big black bottle of Axe like it was a porno magazine.

Everyone surrenders to Axe Twist.

On Tuesday morning, I grabbed my Axe Twist from its secret hiding spot and brought it into the shower with me.  The goo was a neon lime green.  It reminded me of things from the ’80s like ectoplasm from the movie Ghostbusters and a tank top that I used to wear with my acid-washed jean shorts.

I followed the instructions: Squeeze out gel.  Lather on body.  Rinse off.  Be clean.  Unilever made being a chick magnet sound so easy.

I started getting a little lightheaded in the shower.  I wasn’t sure if it was the Blue 1 or Yellow 5.  Or possibly the “super-charged clean” or “the exciting freshness.”  It was all so new and heady.

I went to my writer’s group that morning and no one said that I looked “clean but oh so dirty” or seemed “tantalized” or “intrigued.”  I did notice that I had a rash breaking out on my chin and spent most of the two hours trying not to scratch my face.

But because this was all for W, I wasn’t too discouraged by the morning’s events, or lack thereof.

W came home from work that evening and gave me a standard peck on the lips.  And that was it.  This was not the “unlimited female attention” I had been promised.  I tried brushing up against her and allowing the fragrance from my skin to waft in her general direction but still no luck.

In a last ditch effort to maximize the power of Axe, I decided to up the ante and shower with my Axe Twist right before bedtime.

“Mmmm, you smell good,” W said when I walked into the bedroom and put my arms around her.

It was working!  The Axe Twist was actually working!  I felt clean and dirty.  It was exhilarating!

But it was a Tuesday night, and we have three cats and three kids, and W was tired.

xx

Thank you, Axe Twist.

When Wednesday night arrived, I once again showered right before bed with my Axe Twist.  After the shower, there was excitement and intrigue and tantalization.  Lots of it.  On a Wednesday night, no less.

I bow my fresh-scented body to you, Axe Twist.

On Thursday, I confessed to W.  It felt wrong to not tell her about my secret lime-scented weapon.

She laughed.

I asked her if my use of a revitalizing shower gel made for teenage boys made her feel like a cougar.  She said it did.  That’s when she grabbed me and pulled me close and gave me a big ol’ kiss.

Damn Axe Twist.  This stuff just keeps on working.

(Note: The idea for this Axe experiment wasn’t original.  I had read somewhere on the Internet about a mom wearing Axe for a week.  I do believe that this is the first documented account of a lesbian using an Axe product for an extended period of time.)

* * *

What’s your favorite scent to wear?  What do you like your partner to wear?

 

Date night

W and I had a date night on Saturday.  If you’ve been reading this blog, you know that we don’t have a lot of those.

W asked me out, which is always nice.  I might be a butch, but I’m certainly not adverse to being asked out.

We went to see the movie Bad Teacher just because Ms. Diaz was in it.

We went to see the movie Bad Teacher just because Ms. Diaz was in it.  Does this make us bad people?

We went and saw this cute movie called “In a World …,” which is a small rom-com about the voice-over industry.  It’s a smart, funny film.  Lesbian comedienne Tig Notaro was in it.  As was Cameron Diaz, who played the leader of a group of Amazon women who battle a tribe of angry cavemen in the film within the film.  That’s the movie that I’d like to see next, ’cause Cameron Diaz and Amazons.

The movie was showing at our local art house theater and it was the first movie to be shown there in digital format.  So, that was exciting.

After the movie, the theater was presenting a special showing of Rocky Horror, and we got to see everyone dressed up for that.

We ordered dinner from an Italian restaurant across the street and went to a bar and watched the end of the Penn State/Michigan game while we waited for our food.  Penn State won in fourth overtime, which was exciting, especially because I’m a PSU alum.

xx

I’m sensing a theme here.  Are we that predictable?

We headed home with our dinner and ate Italian food in bed and watched a few episodes of season four of Modern Family.

There were some adult activities after that, but this is not that kind of lesbian blog.

Anyway, it was a pretty sedate evening, but it was really nice to have that alone time with W.  One thing about having kids, it makes you appreciate when they’re not around, at least for an evening or so.

Here’s the thing: I like that after all of these years, we still enjoy each other’s company.  We don’t need fancy or exciting or expensive.  Just being together is enough — sharing popcorn and a movie, Cameron Diaz, a football game and decadent desserts in a take-out containers.