Monthly Archives: August 2012

Just Another Lesbian

This morning I was dropping my kids off at school when I realized something. While walking back to my car, I saw myself through another mom’s eyes. I inhaled sharply as I realized that this morning, I look like just another lesbian. Meaning, stereotypically boyish/sloppy/casual.

I spend a fair amount of time talking about style and fashion, and challenging us butches to step it up a notch. Accordingly, I must turn myself in when I break all those rules, err, guidelines that I normally advocate.

Let me break it down, bottom to top:

1. Brown leather flip flops, by Reef. Bottle openers in the soles, natch.

2. Blue cotton cargo shorts, by Old Navy.

3. Grey t-shirt, slightly too big, untucked, by Life Is Good. Shudder. The cartoon on this gem is a tailgating Jake with a Jeep and a football. Add a rainbow flag to the Jeep and the football, and it’s a trifecta of the dyke stereotype.

4. Grey baseball cap covering up the morning flat mohawk, by Black Clover (albeit a strong hat worn stylishly askew).

5. No jewelry. No belt. No flair of any kind to tie it all together.

Yuck! Everything basically matches, of course, but the overall look? Not good. This is the lesbian equivalent of the straight mom dropping her kids off at school in her PJs. If you’ve ever dropped kids off, you have seen her. No makeup (or smeared eyeliner from the night before), hair in a scrunchy, PJ bottoms, tank top (probably pink), Uggs, and a Starbucks. Right?

For me, today’s outfit equals sweatpants, which I never leave the house in. Comfy, easy, practical, lazy. The furthest thing from stylish. Yes, sadly, today I contributed to the lesbian stereotype. I guess it happens sometimes.

But don’t worry – when I go out for drinks tonight, I will represent!

It’s butch to hold yourself accountable for how you look – even early in the morning. Be butch.

The Femme Faux Pas

Let’s talk about something light and fluffy on this Tuesday. The femme faux pas. What I am referring to here are things that our femmes do that are similar to our own butch fails (Butch Fails). But, since they are femmes, we would never call them that. They are femmes, after all, the kinder and gentler of our species. Dare I say that they never fail at anything? Femme faux pas seems better, though it’s hard to know what the plural is. So let’s just use “FFP.”

  1. Shy Cleavage: Not all femmes have cleavage in spades, but if you do and you don’t ever show it, that is a FFP. We need to see it sometimes. Actually, we probably want to see it all the time, but we don’t necessarily want you to show other people – so some discretion is required. It’s a tough balance. We get that.

    Wear this…

  2. Overlooking Quick Bow Tie Tying: Some of us butches take special pride in our bow ties, and for those of us who tie them ourselves (ahem), if we tie that perfect tie in a matter of seconds, you must notice. Not every time, of course, but often enough that we know you appreciate just how very butch we are.
  3. No Smokey Eye Makeup: We need you to wear that makeup proudly and generally try to keep up with the latest trends. The smokey eye is particularly sexy, I would go so far as to say, on every femme. Please learn how to do it, and please do it sometimes. It is super hot. No need to wear this or any make up every day, of course, but sometimes break out the special dark and stormy sexy look. But Butch, I don’t know how to do smokey eyes! You can find lots of instructional videos on YouTube; here’s one for beginners, for example: Or, go to Sephora. They will show you how. Butches, you are welcome.

    …Not this

  4. Granny Panties: Really? Nothing more needed here. FFP
  5. No Purse: We are happy to carry your stuff most of the time, in our ample pockets, but on special occasions, please carry a purse. Then, you can carry our stuff! There is a special exception here for Sporty Spice Femmes. We know that you will never or rarely carry a purse, and we will adjust. Can we at least borrow your chap stick sometimes?
  6. No Pre-Lipstick Kiss: Right, butches? She is getting ready in the morning, or before going out, and once the lipstick is applied, there is no chance in hell of getting a good kiss. “Butch, you’ll ruin my lipstick!”  So, the procedure should be, your femme gets ready, and then the last thing she does is apply that lovely lip lacquer. Just before doing so, she calls out to you (you are on the bed fully dressed, waiting for her, and killing time on Facebook or Twitter) to come and get a “pre-lipstick kiss.” You come bounding over like a giant Sheep Dog. If this does not happen and the lipstick is already on, it will be a while before you get a good kiss. Please don’t forget, femmes.

    No way you are getting anywhere near these lips until the end of the evening.

  7. Wrong Bra: This could really be anything related to the bra – ill fitting, old, sports bra, etc. We butches care a great deal about this particular part of your bodies, and so we also care a lot about the piece of magical clothing that protects this part of you. Please make sure that it fits you well, is flattering, is not old and gray, and is perhaps a sexy, lacy/satiny/cute cottony type number. You know, not something we would wear.
  8. Never Wearing Heels: Now, I am not a Neanderthal. No, I am an evolved butch, so I am not stupid, and I know that heels are torture devices. They hurt and are not easy to walk in. I get that heels are to be saved for special occasions for many femmes. No problem. But when those special occasions come around, will you please think about wearing them? If not, please wear them at home for us – even just for a short while…


    How about these?

  9. Too Many Pants: Pants are lovely. Pants are great for evolved women. Pants are practical. Pants can be flattering. Pants are perfect for every day wear. But, we butches would love to see you in a dress or skirt every now and then. Would that be alright?

So, even in pointing out – in a light and fluffy way – some of the shortcomings of a femme, I am left singing their praises. Ahh, the femme.  How about you, dear readers, can you think of any FFPs?

It is very butch to love your femme. Be butch.

Butchscaping among the Gorillas

Dian Fossey, courtesy of Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund International

I am Dian Fossey, sneaking up to a circle of gorillas. The gorillas are foreign to me, and I seem alien to them, not of their kind. These gorillas are straights, and I’m observing them in their natural habitat, in the midst of where they perform their beauty rituals. A nail salon. Will I be accepted as one of them? Will they share their customs and nail polish with me? Or will they hiss at me from their comfortable, reclined, vibrating chairs, sending me running for my life, without my much-needed pedicure?

Before you get all “But Butch, men and butches do get pedicures,” let me remind you that while of course it is allowed, we aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms. The gorillas were okay with Dian Fossey watching from a distance (i.e., us butches and men waiting by the door to pick up our girls after their nails are done), but they weren’t exactly waving her over to pick nits off of her – not at first anyway. It took them months to let her into their circle and share nail polish. I don’t have that kind of time. My feet and toenails look like crap and I need a pedicure stat.

When I walk in, odd silence. From the ladies who work there: Is he in the wrong place? Looking for his wife? Ohhh, he’s here for a pedicure. Hmmm. Wait, I think that’s a woman (all in Vietnamese, of course). The women in the chairs look up from their magazines and iPhones, the same thoughts going through their minds. But no hissing. No bearing of teeth. Maybe they won’t attack if I stand still by the door for a while and let them acclimate to my presence. Which is exactly what I do until the salon owner says, “What do you want, honey?” I answer boldly – trying not to show fear to the gorillas – “I want a mani/pedi.” I figure, why not? Might as well have my hands done, too. Buff, of course (meaning no polish, just shiny, clean nails). Sometimes, I get my finger nails painted black for a slightly edgy rock star butch look (albeit an older, more  has-been rock star). Not today, though, just buff for the fingers. “Sit down, honey. Tina will be right with you.”

I sit down, wait my turn, and avoid eye contact with the other women waiting. There’s the young hipster who is neither surprised nor interested in me. Excellent. There is the older grandmother who looks at me oddly, but not meanly. Then there is the woman with huge boobs and a Gerber baby. I dig babies and like to make faces at them and make them smile. Make friends with the baby gorilla, and the mom will accept you, right? Straight women don’t expect this from a dude, or from me, so they think I’m cute. Now the grandmother thinks I’m the cat’s pajamas because I’m a dude who likes babies. She has no idea I’m a butch. So far, so good.

After waiting for a few minutes, Tina takes me to my seat. The gorillas are calm and seem unphased, so I make it to my station unscathed, except for a few quick glances. I sit down and because I am so tall I have to move my seat all the way back. I look like a professional basketball player stuffed into a tiny Fiat; my feet are in the water and my knees almost hit me in the face. Very graceful. I’m not exactly blending in.

I spaced like a rookie and forgot to “pick a color” for my toes, so I jump up to grab one. I startle the gorillas with my jerky movement, but I’m still allowed to move freely. I feel confident, so decide to branch out from my comfort zone of butch colors (black and navy) and go all street-walker with “Romeo & Juliet,” a deep, and no doubt tragic, maroon polish. So young. So sad.

See the gross CVS carpet in the background? This is where we fled for new flip-flops.

Here is a picture of my Romeo & Juliet toes. I’m Romeo, of course.

Butches, if you think that manicures and pedicures are for girls, generally you’re right, but get over that. You can’t walk around with huge calluses on your feet and gnarly, long toenails. You can have clean, buffed fingernails and still have outrageously strong, (and in my case, big) hands. Nothing wrong with a pedicure, and a manicure doesn’t take away your butchness.  It makes you more appealing. Think about all the things you do that involve your hands… You don’t actually want to sand your femme’s face, do you?

Clean yourself up. Keep it together. Manscaping isn’t right for us, but how about Butchscaping?  Don’t you want to be the well-groomed butch?  Don’t you want your femme to stare at your hands and imagine you touching her? Femmes, which do you prefer, well-groomed or beastly?

As for my trip today among the gorillas and their beauty rituals, it turns out the gorillas are okay. They accept me into their circle, and my feet look tight. One note on pedicures. Don’t wear your tennis shoes into the salon. If you do, you will be forced to walk out with these stupid little throw away flip-flops that they have for you. This could be ok, or you could end up being given a pink pair, as happened to me today.  Ugh.

Beware the dreaded pink flip-flops & bring your own!

Because we were going out to lunch, we had to fix this. We went straight to CVS to buy a different pair of crappy flip-flops that were more to my butch liking. No self-respecting butch can walk into an establishment, let alone one in the Gayborhood, wearing the shoes in this picture. Plan ahead and this won’t be a problem.

It’s butch to get manicures and pedicures. Be butch.

Hit On Someone Your Own Size

Alright, so I gotta vent. WTF is wrong with straight men? Now, boys, before you get all puffy-chested and start grabbing yourselves, let me say that I know that I am generalizing. But some of you, WTF? Allow me to explain.

You all know about me – big butch lesbian, and you all know about the gorgeous fiancé – petite, pretty, curvy, abfab femme. Right? So we are a couple. And everybody knows it. And, if someone doesn’t know right away, I introduce her as “my partner.” So, then they know. Cool?

We recently went to an event that was mostly straight people, with lots of alcohol. I looked very butch – surprise! She looked very femme (sexy blouse and heels, etc.). I expected to have fun, and we did for the most part. I did not expect to have to cockblock some of the straight guys.

First, there was a guy we knew who says to her “You are really cute.” So far, ok. She says, “Thanks.” But then he continues, “If you were straight, I would not stop hitting on you. What the hell. I’m just going to hit on you anyway.” Umm, what? The GF replies (a bit uncomfortable now). “Have you met, Butch?” He says, “Oh, I can take Butch.” Really? Had I heard him, I would have been the one puffing up my chest, getting in his face, with a stern NO YOU CAN’T. But I didn’t hear any of this.

I was upset when she told me a little bit later. She didn’t want me to do anything, and so I didn’t. Now, for those of you who’ve read my blog, you know that the gorgeous fiancé can take care of herself. She is a badass. But still, she’s tiny and pretty. Isn’t it my job to protect her? Isn’t this what a butch does?

Later, another guy we knew took a Guinness bar swag button (think the Easy button) and stuck it to one of her breasts. Yes, really. She was so shocked, she didn’t know what to do. She walked away and again told me shortly after. I was not to do anything. She didn’t want to cause a scene during an important event for me, and anyway, was this simply normal behavior in the straight world and were we overreacting?

There was also a lot of general lascivious staring and ogling. That’s fairly normal, as she definitely gets checked out. I notice it. The normal check out is alright, of course. What am I, a Neanderthal? An ape? No, I’m an evolved Butch. I know that this stuff is flattering to me. Sometimes I make eye contact with the ogling male and give him a good, “Yes, all that loveliness that you are appreciating? That’s for me. Not you. So suck it.”  But there’s definitely a line, and I don’t think that either of us really knows where to draw it.

We talked about it later that night and she reiterated that she really didn’t want to cause a scene or ruin the fun. So I listened to her and respected her wishes. It’s about her, after all, not me. But still, I can’t help but think that these guys would not have treated her in the same way if I were a guy standing next to her, as big as I am. Would they have?

Even if she was able to be Zen with it all, it got me thinking. Straight girls, how do you do it? This must happen a lot, right? You go out, you look good, and you get hit on. Straight guys, how do you do it?  Your wives and girlfriends must get hit on. What do you do?

If I were a straight guy, I would know what to do, right? I would be able to do the chuck-on-the-shoulder, dude-knock-it-off-move and the guy would get it. Do they teach you guys this early on? “Ok, dude, here is the protocol when your friend hits on your girlfriend…” I certainly didn’t get that training. If my gorgeous fiancé were straight, this would happen to her all the time and she would have developed a flawless approach to smoothly handling advances, complete with varying responses dependent on the severity of the sitch and the douchiness of the guy.

Neither of us has been given the playbook.

So, now that I have vented, I have some questions for you:

1.         Guys, do you behave like this?

2.         Guys, how do you handle it when someone hits on your girl?

3.         Do you think these guys would have treated my gorgeous fiancé in the same way if I were a dude?

4.         Butches, what do you do when a dude hits on your femme? How does your femme want you to react?

5.         Femmes, what do you do when someone hits on you? Do you want your butch to step in?

I must add, almost as a footnote, that I did tell the “if you were straight” that he needed to stop hitting on my fiancé. I said it very matter-of-factly. He tried to tell me that it was all in good fun (yes, we had loads of fun), he didn’t mean anything by it (unless of course she had indicated any interest), and it isn’t like he’s going to take her from me (that is certainly true). But, I stood my ground.

But was that the right thing to do? Too much, not enough? This butch needs guidance. It’s butch to have a hot femme fiancé who others find attractive. It’s also butch to keep from punching those who cross the line, wherever that line may be. Be Butch.

Cabin in the Woods


My actual cabin by the peaceful light of day.

If a butch is butch in the woods and there is no one there to experience and witness her butchness, is she still butch?

I recently went away on a yoga retreat and spent the weekend alone. I am pretty sure it’s the first time in my life that I went anywhere like that alone – on purpose (not for work, or to see family, or something like that). My thoughts around that and how empowering it was are for another blog. For now, let’s focus on an isolated cabin in the Santa Barbara Mountains.

I’m alone. I’m a brisk 10-minute hike uphill away from the rest of the people here at the retreat. After I checked in at the lodge, I went to my cabin on a little John Deere cart – certainly a butch vehicle. Where can I get one of those? Anyway, I got into my cabin and immediately opened all of the windows to allow for maximum light and wind. The windows are those wind-out kind with a crank that are very popular in Florida. After unpacking, I take off for all points north (and by “north” I mean hiking way up the hill) and the retreat activities. On the trek to the lodge, I realize just how far away I am from the rest of the folks.

I returned to my cabin in near blackness (but for my giant, very butch, Mag light) and got an even better feel for how isolated I was, after 11 that evening – tired and quite ready for bed. First order of business: close the windows. Second: make my bed. Third: go to sleep because yoga starts all over again at 7:30 in the morning. Well, I got stuck on the first order of business. I was able to close the first two windows easily. Twist and done. Then, the third window. It turns… and then it turns and turns, but the window, she is not moving. Uh-oh. I turn the crank a little harder (because as all good butches know, force is the way to fix things) and the crank comes off in my hand. What the?

Ok, remember that it is after 11 at night. I’m tired. I did yoga, I meditated, I hiked down the hill in the near dark. I want to go to bed. And, it is cold. And, quite dark. And, I’m all by myself in a rickety little cabin in the woods. I think this is how slasher movies begin… Although I have never seen one; I hate scary movies.

Alright, Butch, butch up now and figure this out. I whip out my buck knife and use it to screw the crank back on to the window. Good. Now I try to turn the crank again, but this time… nothing. Double uh-oh. Shoes on, out the door, I trudge over to the window in the dark with my Mag light and Buck knife and see if I can figure out what is wrong. Something must be stuck, or jammed, or the flux capacitor must not be working right. Not seeing a clock tower nearby, I decide that I need to fiddle with some things. Not really knowing what I am doing, I fiddle and then try not to run back inside. After all, it’s not butch to run inside like a little girl, but it was very dark and creepy out there now. Shoes off, back inside, over to the window and the crank does turn, but only to open the window wider. Great. I am actually losing ground. After confirming that the crank is on properly (I think), I put my shoes back on, grab my Mag light and head back out into the dark over to the window.

I think I did this two or maybe three times. Each time getting a little more freaked out. It was cold, so I didn’t think I could handle sleeping with the window wide open. Plus, everyone knows that slashers can only come in through open windows. If I can get the window closed, the lights off, and all my body parts under the covers, I will be safe from all manner of evil.

On my final trip outside, I realize that there is a little wheel at the base of the window arm and it is off the track. I was able to coax the wheel back into the track. I cannot tell if it will work from outside, but I keep a good thought as I sprint inside (no one saw me sprint, so it’s ok). Shoes off, back over to the window and hallelujah! The crank turns the right way, doesn’t fall off in my hands, and the window swings slowly inward. I let out a sigh of relief and hurry about the rest of my business to get safely in bed.

So, this was very butch, no? In extreme conditions, under pressure (including a small amount of fear) and I was able to pull it together, to fix the mechanical thing standing between me and a peaceful night’s sleep – and the slashers. If my gorgeous fiancé had been there, I know she would have 1) expected me to be able to fix it, which I like, and 2) still been impressed that I had done so. But she wasn’t there. So, if a butch is very butch in the woods and there is no femme around to see her being butch, is she still butch? Hell, yes!

It’s butch to fix things, in the dark, in the middle of the woods, without the proper tools. Be butch.

Sweet Dreams in the Mediterranean

Butch Jaxon 2012

Anonymous gorgeous Sweeties carry the torch for Sweet Travel outside the Vatican.

So this is part review, part travel journal, and part introduction. I am Butch Jaxon, intrepid entertainment lawyer by day, by night, lesbian blogger, lover of bow ties, breasts, movies, music (all kinds), bookstores, dogs, geocaching, Polar Bears, the gym, travel, craft beer, and my gorgeous fiancé. I write a tiny little blog over at and I recently took a cruise to the Mediterranean with Sweet Travel. Never one to be at a loss for words, I am happy to share with all of you what I thought of the cruise and, more importantly to those of you reading this, what I thought of Sweet.

Note: You are most likely a sharp lesbian and hip to current news and whatnot. As such, you know that one of the Sweet co-founders, Shannon Wentworth is also one of the founders of … where you might be reading this – unless you are on my site, in which case ignore this first two paragraphs! I am sure it will be no surprise to you that I have very good things to say about Sweet. You know what they say. If you have nothing nice to say, whisper. But I digress. You don’t know me. Read my blog and then you can decide how biased I am or not (not). By the way, I paid all official-like for our cruise and met the Sweet staff for the first time on board.

1. Sweet & Sour: The Cruise

The cruise we chose sailed from Barcelona, Spain, spent a day at sea, and then docked a day in each of the following ports and returned to Barca (as the locals call it) seven days later: Naples (for Pompeii), Civitavecchia (for Rome), Florence, Cannes, and Marseilles. First, a note about “cruising.” No, not that kind, what are we gay? I am told, like opera, people either love it or hate it. I loved it (as I do opera), so I guess that makes me a cruiser (again, not that kind). You board, unpack, do fun stuff, eat, drink, dance, go to sleep, and wake up in a new city. Seriously, that’s cool. No driving, trains, or stress in transit. This is a great way to go. If you’ve never tried it, do it! If you love it, send me a thank you thought; if not, well never mind.

The Sweet cruise is a new thing – like a hot new sexy model, compared to the well-established, I’m sure cool in some similar and some different ways, older more mature Olivia cruise, or the also respectable R Family Vacations. Unlike its older competitors, Sweet does not book the whole boat (usually), but instead gathers a group of lesbians (a gaggle?) to travel together. This keeps the cost down. My research showed that Olivia costs quite a bit more than Sweet. So Sweet has its pluses and minuses. Plus: cheaper and you can do as little or as much with the group as you want. Minus: not surrounded by lesbians as far as the eye can see. This really is the crux of it. As one who gets stared at a lot (I’m a 5’10” butch lesbian with a Mohawk), I love the idea of being with all dykes, but not enough to pay a large premium for it. An interesting note from a “Sweetie” on the trip with us: she’d been on both Olivia and Sweet cruises and said that being surrounded by all the lesbians was freeing, but that she didn’t make the kind of connections with other women that she did on the Sweet cruise with us. There were 70 of us and I can tell you almost everyone’s name. I was already on Facebook with about 15 of the Sweeties before we had even gotten home. So, you decide.

Alright, so we picked our cruise and signed up with Sweet. Easy. I paid for one of us at sign up and spread the other fare out over eight months. There was no fee to do that so why not keep my money? As the cruise got closer, we got lots of emails from Sweet laying out our excursion options. There was plenty of communication, and we always got quick replies from the Sweet staff (Shannon, Babs, and Julie) each time we sent an email.

A note about Norwegian Cruise Lines: this is the partner that Sweet has chosen and for the most part, we were impressed. Their registration process was top-notch; they even mailed us luggage tags in advance. The embarkation and disembarkation (fancy ship words for getting on and off the boat, err, ship) process was very smooth and seamless. So, kudos. The ship is clean and huge with lots of floors, activities (a bowling alley, rock climbing wall, movies in one of the lounges, etc.), places to eat, a spa (which we didn’t use, so I can’t review), a well-appointed gym with a great view over the water, and an ice bar (mixed reviews). Top marks also to the NCL staff – 5 bow ties out of 5. Bottom marks, and not in a good way, to NCL for the food – only 1 bow tie out of 5. The only exception was the Teppanyaki place, outstanding, but we paid an upcharge. In fact, none of the good food was available without an up charge.  Cruising is supposed to be all-inclusive, except for drinks and shore excursions, not all-inclusive of crappy food. Fail to NCL on this point. Maybe Sweet can make some noise about this.

2. A Sweet Deal: Excursions

We made our selections through Sweet and registered for all three offered for Italy, and we were very glad we did. They booked up and not all who wanted to join could (boo). So, if you go, book these ASAP. Sweet set us up with fancy vans (comfy, A/C, one even had Wi-Fi) with great Italian drivers. There was chaos at each port while they tried to gather us all and horde us into vans, but I don’t think this can be helped.  Sweet’s Julie McCoy, Babs, took great care of us in the tours. She even called our cabin the night before to remind us of the details and meeting place. We were given a printed, updated itinerary on board of all the activities and it was very useful. Some were confused about the two dinner options nightly. One was standard and one was an upcharge. It was explained in earlier emails, but could be noted on the itinerary for ease.

Butch Jaxon 2012

Taken on a gorgeous day in Rome at the entrance to the Colosseum.

Back to the tours. Fantastic. We saw a ton, didn’t have to plan, and got some free time. On our tours we saw Pompeii (particularly awesome for the GF who studied Latin for many years and learned about Pompeii), the Amalfi coast, and the cliff village of Sorrento. In Rome, we saw Circus Maximus, the Emperor’s Palace, the Colosseum, the Pantheon, Trevi Fountain, the Vatican Museum, the Basilica (including Michelangelo’s Pieta), and the Sistine Chapel. Our day in Rome was like our own private “Amazing Race” of sightseeing because of all the sites.  In Florence, we saw the Campo di Fiori (market), Michelangelo’s David, Ponto Vecchio, il Duomo, and the Piazza della Signoria. The excursions were a bit pricey, and you might be able to do better if you did it all yourselves, but unless you lived in a city for several years and know the lay of the land, who has time to do that? The convenience is well worth the cost.

We did not do any organized excursions in France, correctly figuring that we would be too tired by then. Cannes is gorgeous, by the way, and we casually walked around. Marseilles was utterly unremarkable (whisper). The fact that we spent it with new, dear friends, however, made it a most memorable success for us. We laughed our asses off all day, but it would be a good day to stay on board and relax.

3. Sweet Child of Mine: Charity

It’s very cool that charity work and community service are important to Shannon. She tries to incorporate some of this in each trip. For example, on their inaugural cruise down the Mississippi to New Orleans, they planted 600 new grasses in the marsh after Hurricane Katrina. On this trip, we stopped and donated money, clothes, and toys to Italy’s oldest orphanage not run by the Vatican – a fact I appreciated – the Spedale degli Innocenti. It was really special to have a tour of the facility and to see how pleased the woman was who runs it. Side note, we thought it would be neat to get a book for my kids from their gift shop – donate to their cause and educate my kids about the efforts – so we grabbed one.  A few minutes later when we asked the driver to help us with the Italian because the GF was having some trouble translating, we learned that the book is literally gibberish, made up Italian words and sounds to allow creative play with Italian kids. It will not translate very well to mine. At least we supported the charity!

4. Sweet New Friends

We had so much fun doing the organized activities with the other Sweeties. The welcome mixer, dinner seatings, and happy hours were where we began to build friendships with other lesbians from around the world, including the US, Canada, England, Spain, and Turkey. After we made these connections, we were able to make non-Sweet plans to do things both on the ship and off with new friends. And, that we did.

In particular there are a couple of standouts for us.  Participating in a marriage proposal right outside the Sistine Chapel (she said yes!) with our new buddies from Atlanta; ordering pizza delivered to the nightclub on board at 3 AM with some amazing over-educated folks from Boston; searching for cheap beach towels in Sitges with our friends from Arkansas; and laughing our way through Europe with “Our Brits.”

Butch Jaxon, 2012

In Marseille, France, at a bakery named after its owner, Fanny.

We had so much fun comparing cultures and phrases. Did you know that “fanny” is a provocative and bad word in the UK? It’s the opposite of rear end here in the US, and every mention of the word by us brought peals of laughter and some blushing from Our Brits. Just for them, reading this – FANNY!

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

We became so close with Our Brits that there were quite a few tears shed when they headed to the airport and we headed back into Barca. Even without a formal plan, all of the Sweeties left in Barca found our way to dinner together the next two nights. Friendships were cemented, emails exchanged, and photos shared.

This trip was amazing for us, a really wonderful experience with a lifetime of memories. Sweet contributed a great deal to that with careful planning, knowledge of the area, good activities, and a committed staff. Thank you Sweet for a truly sweet vacation!

It’s butch to be Sweet. Be Butch.

ButchOnTap on MyLesbianRadio

Hi there, dear readers!

For those of you who did not have access to the listen to the program from the Lesbian Lounge on July 25, 2012 live, here is the link to their site where you can download the program.

The whole show is enjoyable and worth a listen.  The piece about ButchOnTap, however, is at about 1 hour and 36 minutes into the 2 hour program.  Check it out! If you do, let me know what you think.

Its butch to listen to Lesbian Lounge. Be Butch!


Be Butch.


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