proteanme

It’s interesting that I’m not getting much in the way of comments or feedback on my butch posts, especially after the lively discussions about the darker side of life.  But I’m not drawing any conclusions.

I’ve had a couple conversations with some women who say they date butches (one of whom identifies as femme), but then  refer to their dates as “girls”.  And man, for me that’s just not right.  I don’t think I ever wanna hear somebody I’m dating refer to me as a “girl”.  I’d just feel like she really didn’t “see” me or “know” me.  I had a brief encounter this year with a woman who wanted to call me, “Lizzie”, and I immediately told her, no, you can’t do that.

I don’t have lots of concrete non-negotiables for dates, but she’s gotta wanna date a butch.  And if she’s new to all that,  that’s cool, but she’s then gotta get that she’s attracted to this masculinity.  We can talk about the markers and all,  like how to refer to me,  but she can’t just disregard them.  Cause it’d be like she didn’t understand who she was dating.

In a funny coincidence with my last couple postings, I went to my food group last night and the dinner conversation turned to what it means to be butch.  Somebody asked me how to tell if someone is butch and when I said you’ll know a butch when you come across a butch, everyone laughed in response and teased me saying, only a butch would say that.  But maybe that was the case in point.

Actually, while I’d rather have someone ask or engage in conversation around the topic, I felt a little lonely last night.  The discussion quickly turned in to reciting a check off list of butch behaviors, like working on one’s car, fixing things around the house, and whether a butch could have long hair and wear make-up.  I’m not saying these things can’t signify something, but they alone are not markers. Plus, it’s not unusual for this kind of conversation to disintegrate into who gets to define butch or it becomes some pissing contest about manliness. So after a frustrating twenty minutes I finally said look being butch is ultimately about cultivating and protecting one’s masculinity.  It’s about expressing one’s masculinity as masculine.  Nobody said anything back to me and then everybody started talking about gardening.

But I was thinking about it more today because my dykes were talking about the masculine things they did, like installing a phone jack or pruning their trees and kinda laughing about how that made them butch.  And I wish I would have had more reflective time last night because today I could have articulated the whole butch/femme thing much better.  Approprating male behavior alone does not make one butch.  In fact, in femmes it’s often about expanding the confines of feminity.  So a femme with a chain saw is not butch;  maybe she’s just hot, depending on the femme. I tend to like femmes with the metaphorical chain saw – the opinionated, willfull and overachieving ones.  I like how they express certain traits associated with masculinity.  Growing up in the shadow of the women’s movement might have tweaked me for this desire.  But anyway, unfortunately, feminine women who engage in masculine behavior are so often called bitches and sluts and other denigrating terms. (How about the mom who doesn’t have a maternal extinct – unfathomable to most.)

But I’m getting away from talking about butchness and what I was initially trying to say about the expression of masculinity as masculine.  I know it sounds redundant and maybe it’s too nuanced for this blog. Maybe it would be easier if I said being butch is about expanding masculinity beyond one’s literal anatomy. But really, butches are not expressing their masculinity as part of their feminine selves. We are expressing it as a relfection of our masculine selves and for sure, it’s easier when it’s obvious, like working on your car, or building a deck, or playing football, or driving a big ass pick-up truck or wearing all black with a big chain wallet and a tatoo on your neck. But to limit it to that obvious stuff will fuck you up when the hot femme gets up to bat and hits one out of the park or the butch cooks you this incredible dinner.

I’m part of a dinner group that I hooked up with via craigslist. Organic foodie dykes is what the founder calls it. It’s a very dyke/lesbian group, most of the members identifying as such. Crunchy or androgynous is how I’ve heard them actually describe themselves, although there is one self-identified femme. I helped her move this winter and she sent me a thank you email in which she referred to me as a stud (a nice little butch/femme exchange). Anyway, the food’s been good and the monthly company is nice. But sometimes I swear it’s as though my foodie dykes have never been on friendly terms with a butch before, because on more than one occasion I get these funny kind of hesitant and shy questions about dating femmes.

I’d guess as a butch I get the same kind of signal guys get from women when they are interested. If we’re on a date she’ll give me the green light for making a move later by initiating some innocuous physical contact, most commonly she’ll touch my leg or hand or shoulder as she’s telling me something. Me, I leave that there until later.  Then if I’m interested when we are on our way out of where ever it is we met, maybe I’ll put my hand on her back .

What’s fun and possibly torturous, but in a good way, is all that stuff that happens before the first date. How she signals her interest to me. One girl asked me to build a table for her, bought me a saw and then watched me build it. That was a good one. Another came back from her holiday break to work some extra shifts that happened to be at the same time I was working. Better yet she brought me a gift . Oh, just something she bought off a street vendor in the city. Nothing really. That was a good one too. Then there’s just the all the laughing at my jokes and sure I’m funny but not that funny. I especially love it when she bends her head down a little and then kinda looks up at me while I’m telling some story. Or there’s how she makes sure she always gets a ride with me when everyone’s making a plan to go the big game or the big party. And one of my all time favorites is her sitting by me at the bar and when it gets loud she leans in real close and whispers in my ear.   But maybe what I like best is how she’ll walk across a room, knowing that I’m watching her but acting like she’s not paying attention until I catch her eye and she’ll look away.

Ahh, being butch needs to get added to the list of things that make my life meaningful.

So my girl who lives across the country, who I’ve mentioned here every now and then, told me she read some of my blog the other day. And at first I was like shit what have I been blogging about and then I thought was it boring and then I thought was it manly enough. Nothing like a little neurosis. But all that passed and mostly I’ve thought about how after reading this blog she said something like it’d be fun to read a blog about your butchness. I once told her I was considering keeping a blog about being butch, which I think I also mentioned here a while back. And I realized that in many ways segmenting that conversation off from the larger conversation I try to have with myself here is just perpetuating this fragmentation. I’m tired of living my life in pieces. So heads up, I’m gonna talk about my butchness and guyness from time to time and if I say something and you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, just ask me.

One of my ideas for my butch blog was to post something everyday that validated my butchness, like admiring on the sly the idea of cleavage or the hint of a thigh while a feminine woman is talking about something smart or serious. It feels like all the lobes in my brain get engaged at once and sometimes that’s all I need to make my day better.  I can be standing in line at the grocery and I’ll notice painted toe nails pushed through the strap of a sandal and I’ll think man it’s my lucky day.

Taking a break from writing about darkness and neurosis cause this weekend I got my freak on. It was first weekend for Pedapalooza and it was also Pride here. The two events crossed paths on Saturday when I packed (translation for folks who don’t know what packing means, it means I harnessed up my nice big bendable cock under my pants) and rode my bike down to the Dyke march and then pedaled over to participate in my first Naked Ride. I heard that Portland had about 2600 riders, which means we might have topped out with the biggest ride. Topless dykes in the sunset and bare asses in the moonlight. If Portland’s got one thing going for it, it’s that it’s not uptight about nudity. And while I’m not a naked enthusiast, I think it’s nice to lighten up a bit on our bare bodies. Anyway, a little freedom and a little freakiness – I’m gonna call it a good day.

A song will come on in my headphones sometimes and I can barely hold it together. Cause it tugs so hard at this longing I have for all the nuances of love that make the acreage I need to be close to someone so much more manageable. Oh to see my shoes with hers, to leave behind some shirt of mine in her closet, to hear her say, “hey baby”, to know she keeps my key in her pocket. I swear that would be enough.

I’ve been thinking of starting another blog to talk about all things butch, especially the everydayness of being butch, and I still might, but for now I’ll post some butch thoughts here. It’s kinda funny that I’d even want to start a butch blog, because in lots of ways I relate so much more to just being a nice midwestern guy than I do to being butch, although I’m not interested in making any transitions, in case anyone out there is wondering. I’ve just never been very good at performing butch, which for all you straight folks may be hard to explain. But basically it means I’m not showing up to queer events with my chain wallet and big black boots on the back of my Harley. I spent my time at the softball fields playing chess on the tailgate of a friend’s truck. I’m not a deft pool or dart player. Yes, I’ve kicked many of your asses in racquetball and yes I can get out the rock, but believe me when I show up at queer event, I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb, with my cords and Munsingwear sweater and clipless bike shoes. This is not at all thought through commentary. Maybe I should have said that first.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if I can be a nice guy and butch at the same time. For those of you who’s identities are not so narrowly defined this may not be very interesting, but it seems like I can either get my guyness affirmed as I have been for the last 15 or so years, mostly through the company of straight guys and gals, or I can get my butchness affirmed through the queer community. But the two don’t have lots of overlap. Again, not well thought through and I may pick up this thread later.