I’m a very lucky girl… the kind you don’t take home to mother… other than She Who Shall Remain Nameless, I either get the butch that I want (watch out kd lang!) or end up realizing that we weren’t meant to be together. When the latter happens, I’m happy being just friends or not having that butch around.
Although (real or perceived) rejection can and does hurt, I consider myself lucky because, instead of being stuck in a place of what ifs, I’m able to move on rather quickly once I start seeing traits or red flags that let me know a certain butch and I wouldn’t have worked in the bedroom and/or as a couple.
A few examples of what being lucky means to me…
1. I like this butch, don’t say anything because we are either classmates or work together and I don’t want to complicate things, and I slowly discover she’s a pig. Literally, a pig. She spits, she stretches at the table, she doesn’t do her laundry, she doesn’t bother to brush her hair because she’s wearing a fedora… Why would I want to be around a butch like that as friends? Well, I give my friends a lot of latitude because I don’t see them every day and I don’t have to be with them 24/7. Imagine living with THAT 24/7. No, thanks.
2. I like a stone butch acquaintance and I don’t say anything because I don’t want things to get awkward between us. As our friendship develops I see how s/he treats her femmes (badmouths them, doesn’t call them when s/he’s running late, openly checks other femmes out in front of them, cheats on them..) or behaviors that, again, are okay in a friend but I wouldn’t accept in a partner (smoking, playing with the Wii for 6 hours straight, spending all weekend watching football…).
3. A couple of times I lusted after a butch and before I could say “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” she was with someone else. As time went by I saw things that peeved me like her smoking like a chimney, drinking more than a fish, wearing makeup, being a pothead, being more of a granola lesbian than a butch, not being serious about her treatment for whatever illness/disorder (depression, diabetes, ADHD… you name it. I don’t discriminate against butches who have any of the things I just mentioned but I won’t waste time with those who have a problem and don’t take their meds) or being full of shit.
4. For the longest time I’ve had a crush on a stone butch friend of mine and I would have sworn she said it was mutual at some point. When she was single, I was seeing somebody else – it wasn’t serious, she didn’t have the balls to ask me out on a date. When I was single, she was happily partnered – my evil twin didn’t win that one and I decided not to say anything. Fast forward to a few years later, we are finally both single, and she tells me she won’t ask me out on a date because I’m going to cheat on her because I like sex. What the hell is that? Can we be friends now? I’m not sure I want to be friends with someone who is basically telling me she thinks I’m an out of control whore (I’m obviously still working on the moving on part on this one but I’m getting there).
5. Some butch caught my eye in the spring/summer of 2005. That was my coming out year and I didn’t miss a lesbian party, after party, and after after party. Said butch and I kept running into each other and (I thought) making eye contact at different venues. She never came across the room to introduce herself and buy me a drink; of course, I wasn’t going to introduce myself since even back then I was on my high horse. I remember holding her gaze, mentally telling her: “stop staring at me and buy me a drink already, goddamnit!” She is now one of my twitter followers who responded to my question: “how do you let a femme know you’re into her?” and that’s how I found out that she’s the type of butch that lets the femme take the lead – which, for me, is ok for a one night thing but doesn’t work so well if I want a date. Did I want a date with her? I’m not sure. I just think it’s funny that the universe provides answers when I’m not even looking for them.