Monthly Archives: November 2012

Bucket List

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Hello friends. My adventure last week has gotten me thinking. I will share a bit about the adventure as soon as I make the time to write it. In the meantime, I have started a bucket list. I know it’s trite, but hear me out.

I had so much fun in Cabo and did so many amazing things, that I cannot wait to get back out there and discover some more. While I was scratching my head and trying to decide where to go (it’s a touch overwhelming when you have so many options), I realized that it would be really useful to have a short list of places to see, things to do, and the like.

On my previous shortlist, I had only three trips – Brussels (beer cap of the world, natch), Ireland (my heritage) and Australia (so I can yell like Oprah – “YOU ARE GOING TO AUSTRALIA,” plus other reasons). Well, none of those trips is in the cards for the near future. So, I decided that I need a bigger list. More options. Everyone likes options, right?

The other cool thing about doing the official bucket list – and I do mean official, I might have mine laminated once completed – is that you can think about all of the things you have already done. Then, you can either pat yourself on the back because you are living life, or you can give yourself a swift kick in the arse and get to it.

I am working on mine, trite or not. First on the list, find a mermaid. Heh.

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Thanks to wallpaperstock.net for the image.

Can you all share one thing that is or would be on yours?

 


Just Me

My gorgeous fiancée is no longer my fiancée. We decided to split up about 3 months ago. Now, I am just me (and my kids, and my family, and my friends, but you get what I mean).

I am trying to take a light (but broken) hearted approach to sharing this with you. After all, I write a blog that is usually funny and light. Sometimes sarcastic, but not gut-wrenching. Y’all don’t come see me to read about how miserable I am and how hard life is, right? I get it and I like that. It’s hard to be light and funny though, when your heart is healing. Hence the long delay in sharing this with you, and honestly, fewer posts. I try to be honest in what I write about and I didn’t want to share this, so I just shared less. I am in a much better place now, so it’s a bit easier to disclose. Still, I’m afraid that I don’t have much funny to say on the topic of my healing heart.

I won’t share any of the details – except to say that we love each other a lot and are committed to being friends. So far, so good. For my tips on how to handle a yourself in times like these, see A Butch’s Guide to Remaining Sane During a Break Up. I wrote that smack in the middle of it all. Some of you may have guessed, but were too kind to ask…

So, now it’s just me. I am “single.” My goodness that word entails a lot, doesn’t it? It’s even a little scary. Will I be an outcast from my coupled-friends? Does it make me pathetic and sad? Will I have to carry around a little sign that says “Please be nice to me, I am single?” I certainly hope not. And, it has been a very long time since I was single – 22 years. Wow, that makes me feel old.

The bottom line is that my gorgeous fiancée is still gorgeous, but she is no longer my fiancée.  Indeed, she is no longer “mine” – as much as anyone can ever be someone else’s. I’m still here, though. Sifting through the feelings that I have. Being reminded that life includes sadness and hurt, and that one should embrace these parts of life, learn from them, and then move through them in time.

You won’t hear any macho rhetoric from me about how tough I am, how it didn’t (and doesn’t still) hurt, how I am better off without her, or any of those feeling-denying statements. My heart and I are healing. Time being required – and whatever other slogan you can think of that is supposed to make one feel better. I felt that you needed to know because she has all but disappeared from my posts and sooner or later someone would notice and ask me.

I am a butch without a femme. Superman without Lois Lane. Batman without Robin. James Bond without whichever hot actress stars in each movie. Wow, I must think a lot of myself to compare myself to superheroes and Bond. I wish! How about, peanut butter without the jelly? Chips without the salsa? Salt without the Peppa? (What a loss that was to music.) As many of you know, she inspired many a post. I hope I can still think of funny things to write about now that it is just me…

It’s butch to be single. Right? Be butch.


4 More Years

I am delighted to go to sleep tonight knowing that my President, your President, was re-elected. I am relieved to know that the majority of my country values equality, civil rights, and concern for those with less and those who can’t, over government dictated religious/moral beliefs, unfairness, and conserving wealth and privilege for those who can. Thank you, America.

That said, I am not a sore winner.

I respect and value my Republican and other conservative friends and family who are as devastated as I am happy. I am not happy at your expense. I wish it were not so. There is so much more that unites us than divides us. It’s time for the President to get through the gridlock. It’s time for him to make sure the whole county feels represented and valued.

But at my core, I know I will sleep well knowing that my rights will march ever-closer to equal. That truly should not take anything away from my beloved friends and family who, for other reasons, are frustrated, tonight. So please know, that is why I celebrate tonight.

It’s butch to support your country, and, yet to always honor those that don’t agree with you. Be butch.


Location x 3

Let me set the scene for you. I’m out with some friends of mine at a hipster new place in the gayborhood. [For you locals: I happen to like this place a lot. It’s called 100 Wines and I have been there a couple of times.] There’s a 45 minute wait. It’s got low lighting, craft beers, lots of wines, small plates, cool French modern looking decor. You got it?

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At some point in the meal, I excuse myself to go to the restroom. No worries. First, it’s a single ladies room – so there’s no stress of being inside the restroom and someone freaking out as I come in. Second, I’m in the gayborhood. There are lots of gays here. Tons. Safe. Right? Wrong.

Coming out of the restroom, relaxed and refreshed, I was not on the defensive. Not prepared, as it were, which I normally would be. I open the door and exit the restroom. There’s two women waiting outside. I hear one say as I round the door to walk away, “That’s a man obviously, right?” Stop. Whirl on my heel, I walk back to her very quickly, place my hand on her upper arm for her attention and reply staring her in the eyes, “No, and I can hear you.”

Without waiting for any reply, I whirl around again and stride off standing as tall as I possibly can. I was shocked. Who the hell does she think she is? Where the hell does she think she is? I mean literally, most of the patrons here are gay. It’s not like I was the only butch in there. WTF?!?

I slip back into my seat and spill the story to my boys immediately. It comes out in one gush. They listen supportively, appropriately shocked and indignant along with me. Bless their hearts, they share similar embarrassing stories. You have to love good friends.

During this, and quickly after my return, the manager who had been near the two women, comes up beside me. She is mortified and apologetic. “We try so hard to make sure all are welcome here,” she says. “I’m so sorry that woman treated you that way.” I explain that I hardly ever say anything when it happens and that I thought I might’ve been a little rough. No, no! She assures me that I handled it gracefully and with class. More apologies and well-wishes and she leaves us to what’s left of our trendy, hip dinner in the gayborhood.

Getting confused or sir’d happens to me almost daily. I am used to it. I just returned from an attempted trip back east (I say “attempted” because Hurricane Sandy had other plans) where I had stops in Charlotte and Dallas. I expect to be sir’d in these places. In fact, I basically passed as a dude during the entire trip. No problem. And, no offense taken when I did get sir’d.

But put me in my own office, or my gayborhood and you better watch-the-fuck-out if you accuse me loudly of using the wrong bathroom, and think I can’t hear you when you practically scream it.  I guess it really is all about location.

It’s butch to not punch an insensitive (and rude) straight woman in the face in the gayborhood. Be butch.


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