A Fuckboi Is A Fuckboi Is A Fuckboi Is A Fuckboi

A harmless fuckboi is someone that somewhat IDs as a butch/stone butch/stud or within the queer masculine spectrum (whatever that means) who you call for good butch cock knowing that’s all you want.

The fuckboi one needs to stay away from is that who:

– prides themselves on not being a fuckboi but behaves like one.
– lies and does whatever needs to be done to get in your pants.
– is totally self-absorbed. 90% of their social media pics (if not all) are selfies where they pout or touch their lips a la martini guy (fast forward to 0:22) and/or dramatically squints their eyes to appear mysteriously sexy.
– is easy to spot at a party checking themselves in the mirror or making sure everyone is looking at them while they dance with you.
– gets your number from facebook or through a friend. Asking you directly is too much effort.
– never calls. They will contact you via Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat and what not and/or text you. Actually calling is too 1999.
– has little interest in you as a person. Rarely asks you who you are, what you like/don’t like, or how your day was because she doesn’t care about you.
– has short attention span. You can explain something to them four times and they still have no idea of what’s going on. However, you are expected to remember and celebrate their likes/dislikes down to the t. They have so many groupies and you are oh so lucky they have chosen to spend time with you! Barf.
– displays a limited command of the English language with texts like “hi,” “hey there,” “what’s good?” or “hey, hey, hey!” (are you a butch or fat Albert?).
– responds vaguely if you ask any personal questions.
– only texts you when they are horny or bored.
– writes “not here for a hookup” on their tinder profile.
– demands a lot of your time and energy. They can disappear for days but how dare you not spend every single second thinking about them, sexting them, texting them, liking their photos online, writing about them or cooking for them? Are you ok, do you need to go to a hospital? Because they are the best thing that has ever happened to you and you sure aren’t showing enough appreciation! Barf.
– spends most of their time on their phone. I’m not even going to mention a museum or a Broadway show because fuckbois seem to be allergic. If you are at a bar, you can spot them by the amount of time they spend on their phones or by their staring at you over their date’s shoulder.
– asks for head to toes pictures or nudes almost immediately. Doesn’t send any in return.
– can’t believe you don’t trust them and won’t send them nudes.
– expects you do to wife stuff for them like cooking, cleaning, and their laundry.
– is an expert on tinder and other dating applications, but needs help with their resume on Word format or a fan-page/webpage for their side business.
– is chronically unemployed, has the best ideas (personal chef or trainer, real estate agent, dog walker) but no real ambition. Again, needs fully employed while also going to school full time you to waste time and energy doing their website.
– texts you with “let’s chill”, “let’s hang” but rarely follows through because staying home sexting other femmes consumes all their time.
– only wants to see you at their place. It’s all “netflix and chill” without the netflix part.
– doesn’t put any effort or thought on what you do if you hang out outdoors.
– is cheap. Technically you two are not dating so why buying you a drink or paying for dinner?
– (on the opposite side of the spectrum, someone who) is on top of you from dawn till dusk, showers you with just because flowers and cards, plans picnics in Central Park, day trips out East, museum outings… but introduces you to their friends as just a friend and screams you are nuts if you think things are getting serious after six months of “hanging out.”
– keeps the number of femmes in their life a mystery. You can’t tell who is their friend, their fling or an ex because everyone is liking each other pics and calling themselves “bae,” “boo,” or “precious” online.
– struggles with competition and talks shit about other butches. Everyone is a fuckboi (except them!) and no other butch is as funny, charming, sharp, dandy… as they are.
– calls themselves Daddy and encourages you to call them Daddy two texts/messages in. Barf.
– calls you “babe,” “boo,” “cupcake,” “princess,” “baby girl,” “angel,” “baby boo”… (probably because they can’t keep the names of all the femmes they sext straight) yet lectures you if you catch feelings.
– is a hot and cold butch who keeps giving you mixed signals. They say they are not ready for a relationship, but they would like to know you more. You spend seven hours together one day, then they disappear for three. They need you to be loyal and don’t get mad if they start fucking or spending time with someone else because you are not together. If you catch feelings, it’s your fault. You knew what this was. They told you they are not ready for a relationship.
– pretends not to know what the butch honor code is or acts as if it doesn’t apply to them. Will sleep with femmes who are dating other butches, engaged or even married just to get a notch on the belt.
– has a thing for married femmes and straight women.
– preys on unattainable femmes. The more damage they can cause by adding a femme to their list of conquests, the bigger the thrill. They go after femmes who just lost a child, had a mastectomy, were diagnosed with something major, have kids with special needs… they tell them what they want to hear, wine and dine them, and after sex, when things get serious, they gradually disappear.
– keeps hitting on you after you reject them. You stopped responding to their texts/messages/emails long ago, but from time to time you’ll get a text or email trying to get a reaction out of you – especially if they are bored or in between not-girlfriends.
– flips things around when you catch them playing.
– is too much of a dick to admit they’ve been playing you, knew from the beginning you were looking for something serious, and they lead you on while talking to seven other femmes.
– thinks femmes are stupid. It’s 2016. Polyamory and open relationships are now mainstream. There is literally no reason to lie to a femme. Yet two-timing fuckbois keep saying shit like “you’re the one I’m talking to” thinking we can’t put two and two together.

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International Butch Appreciation Day

Today is International Butch Appreciation Day and the first thing that comes to mind is how grateful I am for the butches in my life. It sounds clichéd but I am truly blessed with butches who help me move apartments, make me feel like a princess by being chivalrous whether or not we are dating, take my calls at 3:00 am when I’m heartbroken (wait a minute, I have a heart?!) or dying of Ebola (drama queen much?), hide my Disney plush toys if we are in a hotel and another butch unexpectedly shows up and I’m still in the bathroom (wait! What? Oh yes I do!), encourage my Hello Kitty addiction, come to the Disney Store with me and don’t pretend they don’t know me, send me never-opened loads of fancy lube they need to get rid of before they move, let me play with their dogs, get dressed and come over with chilled prosecco at 4:00 am for a booty call, change their plans last minute to join me on crazy adventures around the city, organize weekend road trips, call me on my shit, understand last minute plan cancellations because I work crazy hours, and leave me speechless with their amazing grace (how sweet the sound) when they show compassion and take the high road despite going through the craziest things a butch could go through.

Showing your appreciation for the butches in your life doesn’t have to take a lot of time or money. Something as simple as a text (“Happy International Butch Appreciation Day! Thank you for not being a fuckboi”) will do.

More small little things that could go a long way year-round:

– Tell them you love them (and mean it!) daily. Maybe you tell her you love her before you go to work, when you are about to hang up the phone, or before you go to sleep. Try to be spontaneous. Don’t let routine kill the meaning of your I love yous.
– Don’t take them for granted. Let them know how lucky you feel and how much you appreciate every little thing they do for you from doing the dishes to paying half the rent/mortgage, co-parenting, doing the laundry or making breakfast while you sleep in…
– Love yourself and take care of yourself so they can love you because they want to and not out of some sense of responsibility. No one wants to be their girlfriend’s doctor/therapist/personal trainer 24/7.
– Ignore your phone when you are together. Live your relationship for you and not for people you don’t even know who (you think) follow your every move on Facebook, Instagram, or Snapchat.
– Give them space when they need space. Sometimes, when work or other relationships (friends, family) get too heavy, butches tend to withdraw and go into a quiet mood. Let them be.
– You don’t need to be together 24/7. Give her some room to breathe, do her own thing, and have her own interests. If they ask you to join them, good. If they don’t? It’s not the end of the world.
– Hold them close when they need to be held. Nothing wrong (no brownie points lost) with a butch having a bad day.
– Tell them they are beautiful/handsome and not only because of their looks but inside out. Yes, butches need to hear this too!
– Let them chill with their friends. Whether you are just friends or in a relationship, you don’t need to be present every single time she goes out with her friends.
– Don’t let them be the ones who always have to plan things and surprise you. Get tickets to their favorite game/movie, plan exciting nights out, book tickets to a winery tour with chauffer included so you both can drink…
– Pamper them. Maybe they are not into spa days, why not dropping them off at their favorite golf course instead?
– If you’re watching TV or doing something stupid or whatever, stop, look into their eyes and tell them you love them.
– Surprise her with nights in. Spice it up. I can believe it’s 2016 and I still have to write this: take the initiative. There’s nothing wrong with a femme making the first move.
– Wake them up at 4:00 am to tell them you love them. Just kidding. Wake them up at 4:00 am to have hot steamy sex, and let them roll over and go back to sleep.
– Cook their favorite meal. Not on top of my list/a top priority for domestically challenged me. I can’t remember the last time I cooked for a butch but I do pay attention, know their favorite restaurant and have something delivered if we are celebrating something.
– Hug them out of the blue, look at them in the eyes, and tell them: “I’m so happy you are not a fuckboi!”
– Don’t cheat. If you are not happy, end the relationship. Yes, it is that plain and simple.

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the 28 stages of seeing kd lang live

Stage 1 get tickets months in advance.
Stage 2: choose what to wear months in advance.
Stage 3: rethink what you are wearing.
Stage 4: get a manicure and pedicure, and waxed the day before of the concert. Rethink your outfit a few more times.
Stage 5 (day of the concert): charge your camera and iPhone, check your purse 7,000 times to make sure you have your tickets, make sure you have cash for merchandise, and change your outfit last minute. Do your makeup (if you are into that) and get going.
Stage 6: get to the venue, locate your seat, go to the bathroom, get something to drink/eat depending on the venue. Scan the audience for butches if you’re going with friends. Scan the audience for friends/acquaintances if you are going with your butch/fotw.
Stage 7: listen to the opening act and mentally threaten to get onstage to kick them out after two songs. No offense anyone – love your music, but I’m not going to a kd lang concert for the opening act.
Stage 8: smile like an idiot, hit your butch/friend, and OMG a few times as you see kd lang finally taking the stage.
Stage 9: hyperventilate, I mean, breathe deeply a few times as you take in all the visual and auditory stimulation.
Stage 10: count your blessings. You are healthy, you have a job, and you are at your fourth of fifth kd lang’s concert, beatch!
Stage 11: close your eyes and let her voice/music transport you to your happy place.
Stage 12 (a): shamelessly get up, get close to the stage and take pics. Go back to your seat smiling like an idiot and hit your butch/friend in the arm and say stupid shit like: “oh. My. God. Like. I can’t believe we are here. Seriously. Thank you for taking me/coming with me. I’m SO excited! And I’m so wet. Look at that ass!!! And her neck! And her feet! Oh. My. God”.
Stage 12 (b): send your butch/friend closer to the stage to take pics for you. Promise a bj or to name your first child after them. Hit them and say stupid shit (see above) when they come back with the camera.
Stage 13: hit your butch/friend a few more times. Freak out because kd lang and you are breathing the same air.
Stage 14: finally calm down and enjoy the fucking concert like a normal person.
Stage 15: spend two nanoseconds thinking about that ex who bought you Invincible Summer and gave you the best sex of your life with Consequences of falling in the background. Ask your butch/friend if s/he is bored. Squeeze her knee or slap her arm a few more times to wake them up. YAS! You are so excited and you can’t hide it!
Stage 16: when kd lang takes out her banjo, you know what’s coming… run back to the front to sing and dance.
Stage 17: while dancing, control the urge to jump onstage to lick her mmmm mmm mmmm sweaty neck!
Stage 18: go back to your seat walking on sunshine.
Stage 19: run back to the front of stage when she comes out for the encores.
Stage 20 (optional): stop by the merchandise booth.
Stage 21: leave the venue butchering Sorrow nevermore or some other song, floating on a cloud of unicorns and happiness, thinking you’ve got your kd fix and are all good till next year.

If you go to the concert with your butch or fotw

Stage 22: skip dinner. Go straight home, take a quick shower, get into a little something something while your butch/fotw mixes some drinks. Play kd’s last CD. Have tipsy sex.
Stage 23: order food in. Have more tipsy sex. Eat. Drink some more. Have more sex.
Stage 24: (morning after) ignore your neighbors’ dirty looks as you leave the building to go to work or the gym.

If you go to the concert with a friend

Stage 22: find a place to eat. Talk about the concert ad nauseam during dinner.
Stage 23: play kd’s last CD, shower, and post pics online.
Stage 24: magic wand time!

Stage 25: (day after) keep playing her CD ad nauseam. Look at your pics. Look at the pics your butch/fotw or friend took. Look for/read online reviews.
Stage 26: write a long assed email to friends describing every second of the concert. Laugh with their “I’m glad we didn’t have to bail you out” texts. Remember what you’ve done during/after past concerts, talk about the token six degrees of separation, and laugh with your friends because you are indeed a crazy beatch.
Stage 27: more kd lang induced sex (with or without others)
Stage 28: post concert depression sets in. You now must wait 6-12 months till she comes back to the Tri-State area.

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Following My Own Advice

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m on the fast track to becoming a single crazy old cat lady. Around this time every year the token butch acquaintance proposes doing things together. Brunches, fundraising walks in Central Park or Chelsea Piers, free Pride events, Pride weekend parties and after parties, fireworks on the 4th of July, a museum or two in August… all innocent, all leading to or helping build a new friendship in my 2×4 femme book. Come September, with their blue balls about to blow up, s/he will tell me I’m a slut who is debasing herself for dating/sleeping with other butches throughout the summer. Doesn’t matter if it was five butches, 50 or just one. My mortal sin is not sleeping with said butch even though I made it perfectly clear that we were never dating and I wasn’t into them.

Butches who use self-deprecation to try to get in my pants make me sick. I have zero patience for women who repeat ad nauseam they think they are too tall, too short, too fat, too skinny, too light, too dark, too loose, too uptight, too mono, too poly…. for me to date them. In the past I have made the mistake of playing therapist/cheerleader partly because I was hosting the now-defunct NYC Butch Femme Socials and Outings and I believed making everyone feel welcome and appreciated came with the territory, partly because sometimes I’m too nice for my own good. Hard to believe, I know. So the token butch would hear from Yours Truly’s lips there was nothing wrong with them and I simply wasn’t into them; again, me trying to be nice thinking we could be friends, obviously delusional and living in La la land.

Last year I met this deliciously mature butch who turned out to have a girlfriend. I don’t roll like that (*) so I told her I was keeping my distance. That turned into her thinking she wasn’t “butch enough” for me (fine, whatever) and compulsively dropping that in casual conversations to let everyone know I wasn’t into her. I’m pretty sure none of my friends has ever heard me say I’m not sleeping with/dating a butch because s/he is not “butch enough” for me, but whatever.

There was also the clueless recent divorcee who asked me out “as friends” in front of other people (**) and asked mutual friends why I had blocked them on Facebook. I get not getting the message and I acknowledge my part in the problem because when s/he asked me if we were friends and we were going to do things together not once but twice in front of some femme acquaintances I went along with it. I blame it on: (a) the way I was raised/socialized: can’t give a butch a piece of my mind in front of strangers because that’s not ladylike and it would humiliate her, (b) the two mojitos I had that day, and (c) momentary “deer in headlights syndrome”. But, couldn’t s/he fucking read? I mean, I’m probably the only femme who comes with a manual. I have blogged about how I don’t want to be asked out in front of other people and how I go no contact. Claiming to be a huge fan of this blog, s/he still didn’t get it.

Another butch kept pestering me to read and review her short stories. Poor little thing, she kept sending material to magazines and being rejected, femmes were also ignoring her… and I was there to listen to her and cheer her up while we walked the High Line.

Then came the larger than life butch who made sure I knew how lucky I was to spend the day at Folsom Street East with someone of their stature (barf) {which a friend later discredited by the way (double barf)}. She picked me up almost an hour late, was an asshole at Folsom Street, and finished digging her own grave during dinner when she made me feel like I was at an American Idol audition. She kept PMing me on fetlife, telling me about her submissive’ s abandoning her, and personal stuff in real life. And she’s still at it even though I haven’t responded to any of her PMs since October 2015.

The draw of the above characters is that NYC can be a very lonely place. Sure I have my share of dates and/or flavors of the week, but if I want to go to a museum or the movies things get complicated. When your closest friends live in Brooklyn, out East or upstate going to the movies or out to brunch on a Sunday becomes a fucking project. Not to mention that I don’t know many butch/femmers who are into museums, Broadway/off-Broadway if they have to pay for their own ticket (don’t we all love a freebie?!), walking around the city without a clear destination or exercising (not that I need a gym partner, but it would be fun to do a mud run this Summer {writes the femme who uses hand sanitizer after washing her hands just in case regular soap doesn’t get rid of all bathroom cooties}).

This year I’m doing myself a favor and staying away from all butch acquaintances that will only add stress and aggravation to my life. I don’t care if you just lost your cat, your ex kicked you out of the house or left you, you relapsed after three years of sobriety, you are recovering from surgery and need someone to bring you soup (I ain’t cooking for anyone anyways)… If you are not my friend already, I’m not uplifting and elevating you. I don’t have the time and energy to play an insecure butch’s cheerleader or a larger than life butch’s groupie.

(*) never chase, never compete. Plenty of fish in NYC, baby!
(**) what’s a butch who wants to date me to do? Ask me for my number, call me, and ask me out using the word “date” like it’s fucking 1955!

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Memo To The Clueless Butch 4

More unsolicited two cents from Yours Truly and my femme friends:

– good manners open more legs than the best pick-up lines you can come up with.
– words without action don’t mean shit.
– “so, do you cook?” is not a pick up line.
– “I am a Capricorn and you are a Taurus. Well, we are supposed to be compatible” is not a reason to date you.
– handle your own shit, don’t expect femmes to clean your strap-ons after sex.
– please have condoms in your house. Plural. Throw out the pack you bought in 1978. Most LGBT centers hand them out for free. And get some dental dams while you are at it.
– stop changing your mind about what you want in a femme every other day.
– stop flip-flopping or rephrasing yourself to adjust your likes to the femme you are courting. It’s ok to not agree on everything.
– before pulling a Shallow Hal, look yourself in the mirror and make sure you don’t look like Jack Black.
– during a fight, don’t bring up the fucked up shit that your ex or your parents did a lifetime ago. Let’s discuss what you need to do to work on YOUR relationship.
– femmes can’t fix the void inside you. The only thing that fixes that is self-love, self-discovery and awareness. Find your own happiness before dating/making someone else miserable.
– buying us flowers, paying for dinner, getting Broadway tickets and all the money in the world you put into wooing us don’t guarantee that you will get laid.
– if after the above you don’t get in a femme’s bed, that doesn’t automatically make her an user or a bitch. Sometimes the chemistry is simply not there. If you wouldn’t sleep with someone you don’t find attractive, don’t expect us to sleep with you just because you paid for dinner.
– femmes are capable of making good dating decisions. No still means no even if you think you are the best thing that’s walked on Earth since Elvis.
– find your own voice, form your own opinions, and grow a pair.
– Speak up! Please open your mouth when something is really important to you and/or you need to be heard. We are not mind readers!
– don’t chase a femme asking for pity sex or a date leading to pity sex even if it’s the middle of winter and you haven’t gotten any since last summer.
– whether single or in a relationship, your mental and physical health comes first. You can’t court/keep a femme if you are not taking care of yourself.
– cut the shit with the mixed signals. If you only want to get in a femme’s pants (not date her), don’t send her flowers for her birthday.
– if after three dates a femme hasn’t kissed you, she’s either there for the (free) food or has friendzoned you.
– your soul mate is not some other butch’s wife #sorrynotsorry
– your “annoying femme” is some other butch’s “damn baby where have you been all my life?!”
– “I’ve had no luck dating other people, you’ve had no luck dating other people, maybe we should go out on a date” only works when you’ve been friends for ten years and are making a “if we are single when we are 45…” pact. Giving any random femme that line will only get you a “I’m not that desperate” look and silence or a polite refusal.
– asking a femme out when you are drunk and chasing her to the bathroom to try to convince her that you are a great catch because you remember a conversation she and your ex had about sex a lifetime ago is not going to work well for you.
– you are born a top, you can’t make yourself be a top because you think that will get you in a femme’s bed.
– you don’t want to put your life on hold just because you are a raging alcoholic, drug addict or gambler who can’t make rent after spending all her money on her addictions? More power to you. Respect femmes who won’t date you because they don’t want to be your personal ATM, though.
– if you like a femme, grow some balls and ask her for her number. Call her, talk to her, ask her out on a date using the word “date” like it’s fucking 1955.
– (something I read somewhere) when going on a date go to a horror movie. Elevated heart rate and adrenaline is strongly tied to sexual attraction. I’m not naming any names, but there’s a femme who gets super horny with the Saw movies. Allegedly.
– when a femme tells you last night she rode some other butch’s cock into the sunset that means she has friendzoned you or she is sick and tired of you asking her out and hopes brutal honesty will open your eyes.
– when you get a phone number where a four could also be a nine, you send a text to both numbers and don’t get a response: she is not into you.
– if you are a stone butch, say so from the get go. Waiting two years to let your partner know, not really talking about it, just not letting her touch you all of a sudden fucks with a femme’s head. It’s not fair. I’m a stone butch enthusiast, and I hate when they pull that shit on my friends. After two years of touching someone, the last thing in your mind is that they are stone; you immediately think there’s someone else or there’s something wrong with you.
– nothing you read or hear about a femme can prepare you for a real interaction so stop saying: “I’ve read your book and I think I’m ready for you” because it makes you sound like a moron.
– if you are crushing on a femme, ask her out. Don’t waste time/energy telling other people about your crush or seeking advice from folks who might not know the femme/what she is into/how she likes to be wooed and/or who might have ulterior motives. I have seen it again and again: femmes who trash other femmes to butches they both like, femmes who trash butches they want to keep for themselves, butches who throw other butches under the bus thinking that will increase their chances with a femme acquaintance, someone who plays both parties just for fun… the list goes on and on and it’s sickening.

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Worst Dates Ever – Butch Edition

aka Maria please make this anonymous. (All you all are so cute!)

One of my friends met a cute femme on match.com. They talked for about two weeks when they decided to go out. She liked the femme so she stopped at the florist to buy her a beautiful bouquet of flowers and took the train into the city even though she hates public transportation. The femme was as beautiful as in her profile, but weird. The whole time she talked about depression, death, her ex, and spent about 30 mins in the bathroom while my friend ate alone. When she came back from the bathroom she said she had a great time, asked for her food to go, and rushed my friend out. My friend still asked if she could kiss her. The femme agreed. Before kissing, she removed her invisalign and handed it to my friend to hold it for her while they kissed.

One femme spent all night talking about her ex: how she dressed, what she did for a living, how much she made a year, the restaurants and places they went together… she then proceeded to take out her phone and show my friend pics of her and her ex’s last trip to Cabo. At that point my friend told her she didn’t fucking care and left.

One other femme spent all night twitching and tweaking like a crack addict. My friend didn’t know if she had allergies or she was high on something. Turned out the femme was on painkillers and on disability. My friend never found out why because there wasn’t a second date.

Another femme looked great on her matchmaker pics, said all the right things over the phone, presented herself as a sweet wall flower… but when my friend showed up to pick her up she was more aggressive/butch than my friend. She tried to brush it off telling my friend that she didn’t believe in labels and was going through a butchier phase, and asked her if they could still grab a beer together. My friend declined and drove away without looking back.

One other butch went out with a soon to be divorced femme wannabe who spent the date trashing the father of her two boys and flirting with the waiter: touching is arm, laughing as his comments, giving him puppy eyes… while reassuring my friend she was done with men for good.

Another of my friends went out on a date with a femme who didn’t want to know her age, in case my friend was older than her mother. When they got to a fabulous little bar the femme had been telling my friend was the only place to go, it had closed down. They made it into another bar and the femme got a photographer to take pics of them for the next issue of the local LGBT newspaper without asking my friend first. The femme ordered really expensive drinks, complained about her feet hurting all night because she had had to walk from the original bar to the second bar two blocks away, and her conversation was inane. She then decided she didn’t want dinner (my friend was ravenous). My friend drove her home, but then the femme was hungry and everything was closed. They ended up at a Starbucks and my friend spent another tortuous hour listening to stories about the femme and her friends, her amazing talents and academic achievements, how original and cutting edge and hip she was… so she made all these smart remarks about old butches not having the energy or stamina to keep up with her, walked her home, and never called her.

A friend recently went on a date with someone who started talking (unprompted) about her experiences at kink conventions and practicing BDSM with her friends. My friend is by no means a prude, but she felt the femme was hypersexual and maniac.

Another friend went on a date that didn’t end well for the femme and boy was she pissed. They went to a concert, grabbed a bite, and went back to the femme’s place where my friend fucked her for about three hours before leaving. My friend never invited the femme on a second date because she got her milk and didn’t need to buy the entire cow. When the femme realized what was going on, she stalked my friend and some of her friends’ for about two months on Facebook, texted and left increasingly crazy and threatening voice messages.

Another friend asked out a femme for drinks at Cubby. The femme showed up super sweaty and told my friend she was going to go home and shower after biking from Brooklyn to her yoga class, but then changed her mind. She wanted my friend to see her in the raw. My friend says she was gorgeous but bad hygiene is a turn off. She didn’t even wash the grime from her bike wheels off of her hands and smelled like a sweaty unwashed yoga mat. My friend didn’t want to kiss her, but the femme grabbed her and showed her tongue down her throat. First and last date!

One other friend had been seeing this femme for about a month before they decided to have sex. That night they had gone out drinking and dancing before going back to my friend’s place. When she went down on the femme kissing and undressing her, and took off her jeans, the stench was unbelievable. My friend used walking the dog as an excuse to get fresh air and told her date to get comfortable and take a shower if she wanted while she waited for them to come back. She gave her 20 mins to shower. When my friend got back her date was naked but hadn’t showered and the smell in the bedroom was too much. She still wanted to have sex so she undressed and playfully tried to get the femme to shower with her, but she just didn’t want to shower. They ended up having sex without cunnilingus and my friend never called her again.

And the award for worst date ever goes to… another friend who shall remain nameless who met a femme online not long after joining a butch femme forum that shall also remain nameless. The femme described herself as a high femme who loved to wear nice clothes, go out for fine dining, Broadway shows, museums, classic music, and more. They flirted for a few weeks and agreed to go to a lesbian party happening a month later out East in Long Island, NY. As time got closer, they continued to flirt and my friend asked her if she could take her out to dinner the night of the party. The femme said yes and they spent time deciding what type of restaurant to meet at. This was before Yelp and google maps so my friend put a lot of time into finding the perfect restaurant based on what the femme had told her about her dining preferences.

When they met outside of the restaurant the first surprise was that the femme looked nothing like her profile photo. My friend should have run for the hills right there, but she really liked the femme and enjoyed their banter so she didn’t leave. As they walked into the restaurant and she could see her more clearly, she saw that the femme was wearing dirty white jeans and sneakers. My friend is a gentleman so she didn’t mention anything about her outfit. She thought perhaps the femme planned to change before the party, but she had known that the restaurant was upscale so my friend was surprised and confused. The waitress brought their menus and this femme who described herself as a “foodie” said there was nothing on the menu she could eat and asked if they could just make her a burger. The menu had options that were simpler fare– steak, chicken breast, etc. so there were plenty of options. At the table she flirted with my friend and she said a few nice things to her. My friend noticed her fingernails were broken and had dirt crusted under them. She was still very polite and tried to make her feel comfortable because that’s what butches do. The waitress was friendly to my friend and her date became angry and said she was flirting with her. It just went downhill from there.

At the party the femme got drunk and danced with some other drunk person. By the end of the night my friend was talking to other people and the femme was literally falling down drunk. My friend was afraid to leave her in a strange place in a town at least an hour from her home. So she sat at the bar and tried to get her to drink some water in hopes she would sober up. The femme then accused my friend of trying to control her and went dancing off with another butch. Of course that butch didn’t stick around because who wants to be with the drunkest person at the party and watch them fall down? It was last call, the femme went up to the bar and got another drink and fell down on her way to a table. Someone helped her up and my friend sat there wondering what to do. She knew the femme had her car outside and was afraid she would try to drive. She wouldn’t talk to my friend other than to accuse her of liking the waitress at the restaurant. The bar closed, the event was over, and there they were. All of the femme’s new friends at the party had left. She was vomiting in the parking lot and my friend just wanted to go home and forget that night ever happened. There was a small but clean motel a few doors down from the bar so my friend asked her date if she could get her a room. The femme started bawling and asked my friend to stay. My friend politely declined, got her settled, paid for the room and left. They never talked again.

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Worst Dates Ever

Blessed with a psycho gene, I don’t think bad dates are a total waste because I can always write about them. I haven’t really been in that many bad dates – the worst I can think of are two first dates with two butches who each showed up with their ex sitting in the back seat of their car (I’m still trying to wrap my head around it!). I know a lot of hot mess butches (like the sloppy drunk who asked me out on a date and followed me to the bathroom to find out why I had rejected her and left her talking to herself at the bar recently), but I normally see the trainwreck coming so I don’t date them.

Some of the not so smooth operators my friends have encountered through the years:

A butch looked normal on her online profile, my friend and her exchanged a few messages before she asked my friend for her number. They hit it off over the phone, talked for four hours, and decided to go out for drinks. When the butch showed up she looked nothing like her profile pic (which must have been taken 20 years prior), and her hair was greasy and reptilian – as if a cow had licked her head right before their date. To make things even worse she had “left” her wallet in her car so my friend had to pay for drinks. The butch wanted to go out for dinner, but my friend came up with an excuse and left.

Another friend went on a date to the American Museum of Natural History with a hipster butch. Her date thought they could get in for free with her student ID, but didn’t bring it. She made my friend pay for tickets for special exhibits and 3D movies for both of them, and disappeared right after they entered the Ocean Life hall. Two hours later my friend got a text from the butch saying she wasn’t feeling ok and had gone home.

A butch spent all night looking at another one of my friends with “crazy X files liver eating monster,” intense eyes and talking about getting married and having kids with her. It was their first and only date.

One butch asked my friend out and took her to her favorite restaurant after asking her where she wanted to go. They kept talking and talking and talking. The check came and never once did this butch pick it up. Twenty minutes went by and my friend picked up the check to see if the butch would offer to pay, but that woman had no intentions of paying. When my friend told her there wouldn’t be a second date because she hadn’t picked up the check, offered to go dutch or at least left the tip, the butch told her she had picked the restaurant so she had to pay. Hmmm. We are pretty sure that’s not how it works. Next!

Another butch wanted to see my friend really bad and chased her for months before they went out on a date. When my friend got there, the butch smelled like weed. She said she did it to calm her nerves down and she doesn’t do it often, but she felt my friend was so out of her league she had to calm her nerves smoking one right before dinner. My friend walked out of the restaurant without even ordering a drink.

A friend went on a date with a butch who looked great on paper. In person, she matched her online profile to a T, looked even better than on her photos, was funny and charming… but she got drunk and fell asleep at the bar. My friend wouldn’t let her drive and she didn’t drive herself so she ended up spending $100+ on a cab to the butch’s place in Brooklyn and a cab back to her place in Manhattan. The butch’s roommate thanked my friend from saving her the trip, said it happened all the time, and that normally she would get a call from whatever bar and she had to go pick up the butch herself or find someone else to do it. Best part is the butch texted my friend ad nauseam asking her why she had stood her up that night.

One other butch was so handsome, gentleman by opening the door and really, really nice. She is a correction officer in Long Island and just kept coming unexpectedly to my friend’s house and/or asking where she was. One time she waited outside of my friend’s house for three hours until my friend left a birthday party and got home. Another time she kept calling my friend at work asking her when she would be back. When my friend said she didn’t want to see her again, the butch kept showing up at her place unannounced and uninvited. That’s how my friend the “don’t let her pick you up/drop you off” on the first dates rule.

There is this another butch my friend met at a park. She was friendly, gorgeous, and asked my friend for her number on the spot – which was a great plus since nowadays no one has the balls to ask a femme for their number anymore. They talked a little here and there and decided to go out to eat. At the restaurant the butch kept saying inappropriate things to my friend (like she had found her on fetlife and was up all night masturbating thinking about her in her bikini pic from two summers ago) and going into details about what she thought my friend would like in bed and what she would do to her. Then she proceed to read my friend the prices of everything on the menu and tell her what she could order/calculate how much the date would cost her mixing it with, again, all the things she was gonna do to my friend in the bedroom later that night. I think my friend finished her glass of water, excused herself to go to the bathroom, and left the butch talking to herself.

Another femme met a butch online. While getting to know each other the butch told her she had a buddy to call her to check up on her and determine whether the date was going well. If the date was no good, then the butch would say she had to go with a stupid excuse like a friend got locked out of the apartment or her cat got sick or some other crazy excuse. So they met at a restaurant, my friend saw she wasn’t really her type, nothing like her profile pic but she wanted to be polite so she decided to order just coffee and told her she just ate. Five minutes later a call came, the butch told my friend that her friend had locked herself out of her apartment and left. My friend was relieved to say the least since the feeling was mutual, but it’s funny the butch forgot she had shared her MO with my friend.

Another of my friends met this wonderful butch in a meeting at the LGBT Center. They went for a quick bite to a dinner around the corner and ended up talking for hours. Everything was going great, they exchanged numbers and planned on going on a “real” date. The butch asked my friend if she could do her a favor and write something in a piece of paper. My friend thought it was the weirdest thing ever, but did it. Then the butch asked my friend if she knew that lots of employers use a person’s handwriting to determine a potential employee’s personality. After that, the date went south since my friend felt she was in an interview and being analyzed by some butch she didn’t even know. The butch kept calling for that “real” date but my friend had lost all interest.

Last but not least, chinchilla butch! (*) This was years ago and the woman wasn’t really a butch. My friend lived in a rural area where finding butch women was hard so she lowered her standards. She saw what she thought was a butch’s profile online. This masculine presenting woman wrote in grammatically correct complete sentences as she aspired to be a writer, she was good looking enough, she was in school, and wrote about how much she loved her pets. On paper she looked great and somewhat “normal,” so my friend messaged her. They went back and forth for a few weeks and decided to meet at a local cafe for the first time.

Her date was about twenty mins late (red flag for me but not a big deal for my friend and other femmes who aren’t as uptight as Yours Truly. When she finally got there, she awkwardly approached my friend and made some small talk. Her outfit was all over the place, including jeans under a dress (a dress! barf) and some doily type disaster on her head completed with a cheetah print purse. Not the butch my friend was expecting to see. Her date put her stuff down, got something to drink, and told my friend she looked “super pretty,” she thought she was “super smart,” and she liked her calmed disposition. She asked my friend if she wanted to see something pulling a dirty sock out of her bag and slamming it on the table. It was a dirty mens sock. Within inches of their beverages. The nausea and fear kicked in. What the fuck was in that thing? Dildo? Dead fish? Dear God, a human foot?

She pulled out her phone, started flipping through all the photos and told my friend to take a look. They shuffled through a handful of pictures of her chinchillas doing chinchilla things. One of them was taking a dust bath, another sleeping, both of them cuddling, and other various cute things. My friend told her they were cute and handed the phone back, and her date told her she had to see ALL of them. My friend politely said she had seen enough and her date told her she MUST see ALL photos and videos. My friend obeyed her since, you know, crazy always wins. Near the end there was this video of one of the chinchillas peeing over her date’s hand. My friend passed her the phone back and told her, again, she had seen enough. Her date said: “Oh, you saw [chinchilla’s name] pee on me. Yes, what a naughty, naughty girl. Bad, bad girl.” She started talking to the chinchilla on her phone as if it was in front of her.

She continued yelling to the phone as the other patrons and wait staff started staring at my friend and her. My friend tried to change the subject. Her date kept talking to the phone. Then the transformation began. My friend says it was like watching one of those Sailor Moon transformations except instead of transforming into a kick ass girl in a school girl uniform it’s…a fucking chinchilla. Her date started making squeaking and “yipping” noises. “Yip! Yip! Yip!” She not only had embraced the chinchilla, she had become the chinchilla. She was…chinchilla girl! She kept yelling what my friend and I assume were chinchilla curse words to no one while my friend sat there in shock for what felt like a lifetime. Then she started holding her hands in a pawing motion as if she had paws. She “burred” and made purring noises and nuzzled her nose into her hands. Folks were staring at my friend and the barista gave her the “please leave” look.

My friend tried to get out of there with some excuse and her date immediately snapped out of chinchilla mode and looked at her directly in the eye. “You, you, you don’t like me do you? Oh God. You hate me!” This rant was followed by tears and loud sobbing without any additional words on my friend’s part. She spent the next 10 minutes or so trying to tell this woman that she was a nice girl, but she just had to go. The girl was smart and wasn’t buying it. My friend was stuck between a rock and a chinchilla soft place.

(*) I thought about changing the animal to protect my friend identity but then I said fuck it! I’m sure chinchilla girl has done the same thing to other femmes. Plus, my friend and I are strong, independent femmes who listen to Beyoncé and fear no chinchilla freaks!

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Sunday Brunch Shenanigans With My Butch Friend

My friend: still seeing that stone butch?
Me: she sent me flowers and that was the kiss of death.
Both: (laughs)
Me: I was going to prolong it so I could watch The X Files at her place, but a friend hooked me up with her cable’s online access so I’ve been ignoring the stone butch and eventually she’ll get the hint
My friend: you’re silly. Saying the L word usually makes me run, but flowers are ok. You need to chillax and let those butches spoil you!
Me: these are the flowers (show her pics).
My friend: awww they are pretty. Mmmm sounds like a blog post. Just what qualities make the perfect butch? I personally think I am.
Me: yes, but you are taken so you don’t count (Badum-ching!).

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It’s My Party. Stop Crying

I recently received the weirdest request from a writer I enjoyed reading until I read that email:

“Please do not mention me in your tweets anymore. I am very uncomfortable being mentioned in your tweets, especially since you linked to Mr. X, a person whom I find to be hateful to the point of causing hurt and damage to people in my community.”

Even though I rarely tweet anymore, I removed them from my Follow Friday list (God forbid I ever do a FF and I mention them by mistake). My FF Friday list is not a twitter list but a Word document I keep because I’m old school like that. This person blocked me on twitter so I couldn’t remove them from my twitter butch/femme list and I don’t know if The Daily Butch Femmer will keep automatically pulling and publishing their posts. How many books of that person did I have? Five or six. How many books had I bought as gifts? I would say between 10 and 15, but that might be an exaggeration. How many books will I buy from now on? Zero. Am I going to go out of my way to go their next book reading? Hell no!

They wrote “my community.” I have never cross-posted/donated to any GoFundMe campaigns from the person who emailed me, but does this “my community” mean I’m not part of the LGBT community and now have an official pass to stop giving a fuck about desperate calls to fund someone’s gender reassigning surgeries, miscellaneous therapies, emergency dental expenses, overdue rent and bills, moving-to-a-new-state-to-find-myself-as-an-artist, side projects, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera? Since I’m not part of the community and very obtuse, I guess now I can stop donating/cross-posting and feeling guilty when I can’t give enough money. (Insert Hallelujah/Praise the Lord emoji hands here). I should frame their email and have it ready in a PDF to send it out the next time someone asks me for money, along with a blurb explaining a well known person in the LGBT community has said I’m not part of it so I’m going to keep my femme lesbian dollars for other femme lesbian TERFS which is basically what I believe I am now being called since I didn’t remove Mr. X from the butch/femme twitter list I have for The Daily Butchfemmer purposes nor the Follow Friday Word document.

The whole thing to me sounds as ridiculous as if I asked my friends to unfriend me on Facebook because their twice removed cousin from Florida keeps tagging them on Trump posts, or if I asked friends and acquaintances to stop inviting X person to group brunches because they went out of their way to leave me a bad review on Amazon, started rumors about me or simply are slobs and I can’t enjoy my meal if they spit into my plate from across the table (some of us get too excited when we talk, what can I say? shit happens).

The amount of babysitting in this person’s community is exhausting. I stopped hosting butch/femme outings because I can’t deal with the “if so and so is there I’m not going,” “well you told me to stay home instead of asking them not to go so that must mean you are taking sides and I’m not talking to you anymore,” etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I thought canceling all together was the only way to stop playing the rescuer/remove me from the proverbial drama triangle. Now I’m getting the same thing via email.

When does it end?!!!!!

Why can’t people keep their big girl/big boy undies up?

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The Best Valentine’s Day Gift

Some of my friends are in a Valentine’s Day gift buying frenzy – sparing no expense to get anything from flowers to Beyoncé tickets at $1,300 a piece to weekends in Atlantic City or new boobs… while thinking about leaving their significant others (Excuse me? And you have the balls to tell me I’m the one who has a problem because I’ve been single forever?). It’s easy for me to say it because I’m single and I already got the Best Valentine’s Day Gift Ever (not telling), but, in my humble opinion, if I were in a relationship and Valentine’s Day gifts were exchanged, the only thing I would ask for is self-care.

“Self-care” as in “a butch taking care of her shit mentally, physically, and spiritually so I don’t need to be her doctor, mother, and therapist.”

I like to think that if I’m in a relationship and my butch gets diagnosed with cancer I won’t run for the hills. Life throws you curveballs, but – in my modest, single femme opinion – you are much better equipped to handle them when you have a partner who uplifts you instead of dragging you down. It breaks my heart to look around and see gorgeous femmes (both inside and out) stuck in bad relationships with butches with X number of preventable diseases and mental problems that could be fixed if they went to therapy and followed their doctors’ directions. Femmes who can’t give themselves a break to be sick or leave the house to get a many or pedi because their partners depend on them to bring the bacon home, clean, cook for them, prepare their pills, move and play mother/doctor.

Relationships are a two way street. To me, “self-care” also means “me taking care of my shit mentally, physically, and spiritually so no one needs to be my doctor, mother and therapist.” “Self-care” as in “me being financially independent so I don’t need a butch to be my bank.” “Self-care” as in “me being happy with myself so that I don’t settle for the first asshole who tells me s/he loves my bedroom eyes.” Bottom line, “self-care” as in “me being well enough on my own that I can choose to be with a butch because I love her and not love a butch because I need her.” Makes sense?

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