Lottery

This blog post is less coherent than a lot of others. My mind has been a jumble of thoughts this week, and I guess this is just reflective of that. Sorry?

13 years ago Sunday, at 2:00am, my phone rang. A lifetime ago. 

My mom, telling me my dad was gone. 

It was yesterday, and it is a thousand years ago, all at the same time. 


My dad used to play the lottery every week, something that always surprised me about my no-shenanigans father. “It takes you from no chance of winning to a one-in-[however many, and he probably knew the exact number] chance of winning.” Kind of, “Why not try?”

The facts and figures and odds were probably something that appealed to his logical, research-chemist brain. You can’t win unless you play. You won’t have a chance unless you take one. The man was at one job for almost 30 years, though. You pick and choose what’s worth gambling on, I guess. 

I often think how lucky I am to have hit that magic lottery with those parents and brother of mine. Super supportive. Super understanding. Super progressive in small-town West Virginia. Being gay could have gone a lot worse.

They instilled the confidence in me to take a chance every once in a while. College in a big city away from home. Leaving an awful job. Moving in with someone. Accepting that sometimes, things are over and that’s okay because you can’t reason with crazy. Asking your work crush out after 10 years. 

Some hits, some misses. Acceptance of both, difficult things in their own ways. 


Sometimes you take a chance, and you lose. 

Sometimes, you don’t even have the opportunity to take that chance. 

He’s forever frozen at 59 in my head. Still healthy and active, ridiculously smart and dryly funny on occasion. Quiet and patient, able to do anything. At least in my mind. 

I am the loud, obnoxious, opinionated, independent woman my parents raised me to be. And one of the few things that makes me sad about my wedding day is that my dad couldn’t walk me down the aisle. 

He would have hated it. All that attention.

He never got to meet this most important woman in my life and be amused by her like the rest of us are. 

I see him in my brother sometimes. In myself sometimes. It’s a nice feeling. Makes him seem less…gone. Less abstract. More real. More solid. 

I saw a psychic once about a year after he died. The thought of him communicating with me was laughable, really. He hardly ever talked when he was alive. But the guy told me enough familiar things — specific things — that I thought it could be him. Some crazy shit, too, though — like about my romantic future being in California. 

Our second date a year and change later. At Disneyland. Yep. 

Always take that chance, because the odds can never be in your favor if you don’t even try, right?

I’ll be busy all weekend, which is probably good. Weddings and Kennywood and all sorts of other random shenanigans with friends and Chris’ family — both at the same time, in some cases. 

It’s not as difficult as it used to be. It does get better. But it never goes away. I don’t want it to, really. Because it’s a part of me. He’s a part of me. 

I wonder if he would be proud of me. Or disappointed. Or both. 

I know he’d love Chris. 

I wish they could have met each other. 

I wish he were still here. That part never changes. 

Happy weekend, friends. Hug your whoever extra tight and be happy they’re there. And always give yourself a chance, because you never know what could happen. 

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WayHaught Wednesday

It’s been a long day, and yet here I am, sitting on the couch with Graham as company while Chris is asleep. The disadvantages of being on opposite shifts.


Thank God he is pretty stinking cute. 

My lunch break today consisted of taking part in a “power hour” where the Wynonna Earp fandom tried to get a hashtag to trend. The overall theme of today was WayHaught Wednesday, and I took part in that throughout the day. Towards the end of “pahr hahr” (yinz know ‘at’s hah we say shit n’at), I started tweeting gifts of characters who were victims of the Bury Your Gays trope, saying the show would never let that happen to our precious WayHaught. Simple. Easy. Difficult to choose. 

The first, my beloved Tara, the character death that made me nervous about getting invested in a gay character again. Tara, you got so much more interesting after you broke up with Willow, and then after you were both finally happy, they took it all away. Charlie from Supernatural, because Felicia Day is so amazing and so was that character. I chose Clexa from The 100, because even though I didn’t watch it, a good friend did, and she was traumatized by her death. Dana from The L Word. I quickly skimmed through a list of over 160 lesbian characters who met their untimely death and made my picks. 

My time was running short, so I switched to “we know you’ll let WayHaught end up like these couples” mode. Easy. Bo and Lauren from Lost Girl, obviously. Lesbian OTP of the century. And…um…oh, yeah. Graham and Megan from But I’m a Cheerleader. They rode off together in the back of a pickup truck, and so what it wasn’t TV? Next! 

Sigh. Damn it. So I tweeted a gif of Ellen and Portia. I realized things were desperate, so I googled. I quickly dismissed most of the ones I found. Bette and Tina? Ugh. I wouldn’t wish their relationship on my ex. Willow and Kennedy? Fuck you, list of 16. No way. Brittany and Santana? Oh, that’s a good one. Let’s quit while we are ahead, shall we?

WayHaught is so important because I had an easier time finding examples of dead lesbian characters than happy ones. 

WayHaught is so important because one — ONE — long-term lesbian pairing in recent history got their happy ending. (And I say “long-term” because I feel like I’m in the minority that really liked Callie and Penny together. Sorry, Calzona people. Please don’t wage war on me. Plus, I’m sure we haven’t seen the last of Callie at Seattle Grace, and we all know that her happiness is often temporary.)

The world is a confusing place for a young gay lady. I speak from experience. For every positive (legal marriage!), there’s a negative (senseless shooting in Orlando). For every build-up (I think I like a girl! I’m so happy!), there’s a tear-down (my “friends” started a rumor that I’m gay and my life is basically over). The value of a positive depiction of a queer couple (one confident, one figuring things out) can’t be overstated. 

WayHaught is important. WayHaught can make people realize they aren’t alone. WayHaught can save lives. 

We need a season 2 because we need more WayHaught in our world, for these important reasons and also because DID NICOLE HEAR WAVERLY SAY SHE LOVES HER?!

Also, WayHaught can make 39-year-old women turn into fangirls and enjoy every minute of it. 

Tropes Tuesday

I took a little break from blogging about my new favorite, Wynonna Earp. So yesterday, I only emailed SyFy and tweeted a handful of times. 

I’m such a slacker. 

I’m back at it today, but I’m at work, so I’ll be more concise than usual. 

Please try to hold back the tears. 

Here is a list of tropes that Wynonna Earp happily stomps into pieces. Some mean more to me — as a person, as a woman, as a…gay — but all are important. 

  • Butch/femme — badass ginger butch cop? Done. Same badass ginger butch cop in a gorgeous purple dress with soft flowing hair, a matching clutch, jewelry, and a dazzling smile? No problem. Handcuffs in the clutch? Check. This one is big for me because it’s so true to life. I am not in flannel and fixing shit every day, you know. Sometimes there’s makeup and baking. Complex people, lesbians. Nice to see it reflected. 
  • Strong female — I’m going to only concentrate on the Earp sisters here, but I could go through literally all of the female characters (even Chrissy!). All of the Earp sisters are ridiculously strong, and all are ridiculously flawed. All kick major ass and can handle anything, and all have questionable taste in men. (Maybe not so much Wynonna, but I’ll stand by the statement that sleeping with your great-grandfather’s best friend who is magically immortal is, at best, questionable.) They make good decisions and bad decisions; have heroic and (literally) evil moments. You know, like real people. They don’t need saving, but they’ll take it if it’s available, realizing taking help is a strength in its own.
  • Gender roles — sometimes the men do the saving, but often it’s the women. Both sexes make bad and good decisions. You go into the finale thinking that Bobo is evil and manipulated Willa, and you end it thinking maybe it was the other way around. Doc thinks pink is manly and can shoot a gun faster than anyone. Wynonna would look pretty in blue (and everything else) and loves doughnuts. Waverly is the brains and Dolls is the firepower, except when Dolls figures everything out and Waves busts out the sawed-off shotgun.
  • Sexuality — where to start? There’s Waverly being happy, not disgusted, that Champ sent her a pic of Little Champ. I was disgusted and felt bad for the other diner patrons, but that’s fine. There’s Nicole hitting  on the prettiest girl in town, confident enough to be patient and wait for what she wants. There’s Waverly realizing her Kinsey scale isn’t as much to one end as she thought. And there’s Wynonna having a one-night stand — well, two — with Doc and admitting it’s just sex (is that true? Who knows?). And that’s okay. It’s good. Sometimes, it’s just sex. And then there’s Wynonna talking about how she doesn’t always need a man to get her where she need to go, both to Waverly and to Dolls. 
  • Bury your gays — Wynonna Earp shot both of the main LGBTQ characters. Both of them. Neither died. In most shows, a lesbian will die from a bullet meant for someone else, despite the fact that science and physics dictate the fact that there’s no way the bullet could have killed Tara from that angle, damn it. Ahem. Sorry. Anyway, shot both of them. Neither died. Literally had a bullet-proof vest on one of them. This show doesn’t bury its gays. It protects them. It cherishes them. It loves them. Because they are adorable. 

Like, none of this happens on TV, and all of it happens in real life. 

Thank you once again, Wynonna Earp, for making it so the most realistic show on TV is about a crazy chick with a gun that sends demons back to hell. 

Thank you for your badass women who are also kind of a mess. 

Thank you for killing the tropes, not the gays. 

Anthrocon

No, blog. I did not mean “anthrax on.”

Last Saturday, our friend Erin invited us to the parade at Anthrocon, AKA the furry parade. And by “invited us,” I mean that Erin said they were going and I maybe invited ourselves along. 


Thanks for getting that no left-hand turn sign in, Henry. 

It was such a great day. We had fun with Erin and family, even though her son was being an asshole (more about that here), and I’m super happy we went, even though it was a rough start. Unfortunately, we had to drive through Kenny Chesney concert traffic to get there. American flag shirts/hats/shorts, Bud Light, and day drinking led to a vague sense of discomfort as we drove through the usually somewhat progressive North Side. 

We finally got through that, though, and made it downtown to what I affectionately refer to as the Pegasus garage because it’s next to what used to be a gay bar (named Pegasus) I went to in my youth. 

As we parked and walked towards the convention center, my sense of doom started to leave. I don’t know what kind of crowd I expected, but it was so…familiar. I told Erin it felt like Pride. I saw other gays, mostly younger soft butches in fun t-shirts. 


Maybe something like this?

It was a good feeling to be in a crowd that was there to support people being themselves. Like, I may not feel a compulsion to go full Anthrocon myself, but I fully support anyone who needs to be a little “different” to be their true selves. 

It was a great, welcoming, wonderful experience. Thanks for sort of inviting us, Erin, and sorry I called your kid an asshole?





It was a great day. 

Inspire SyFy

So, today the prompt is to share fan art, fanfic, etc., in order to inspire SyFy to renew Wynonna Earp. 

Well, I can’t draw for shit, I’m not talented in terms of editing photos online, and I haven’t written fiction since high school. 

My creative outlet? You’re reading it. 

I’ve posted for several days now about what Wynonna Earp has meant to me, in terms of as a woman, a lesbian, a human, a fan, and all of the other things. You’ve read them, or maybe you haven’t. Maybe you’re busy. I don’t know your life. 

I have been in a creative rut for a while. I started this blog a while ago and did okay updating it sometimes, but despite amazing things happening in my life, I didn’t feel inspired to write. 





Photographic evidence. 

And then this mighty little show came along, prompting me to write about it. About myself. About my life. All from this  (amazeballs) show. I’ve been so inspired, and I’m so grateful. 

And when other fans read my words, it’s exciting. I’m a little part in this bigger picture, with 20 people (and one day there were 200!) being affected by my words. Sure, compared to the thousands and thousands being affected by Emily and the show, it’s not a lot, but it’s a lot to me. And the interactions online with the cast/crew and the other fans is like no other experince I’ve had. 

So I’m a tiny piece in this bigger puzzle, and it feels pretty great. It’s inspiring. 


Plus, it means I get to buy cool Fangirl Shirts. 

So, SyFy, let this (and all of the contact you get today, because this fandom has no chill) inspire you to renew for a season two. And three while you’re at it. 

Six seasons and a movie, maybe?

Too Female

Today in the fandom of Wynonna Earp, Too Female Day. 

Something I have never been accused of being. 


Nope. 

If anything, I’ve always felt some pressure — internalized or not — of being not enough female. Hair is too short. Sometimes wear guys’ clothes, especially t-shirts. Consciously wear my purse in public just in case I have to use the bathroom. I’ve been “sirred” too many times not to be aware of it. And I prefer to have my awkward interactions not in the bathroom. 

Women — myself included — are used to hearing they’re too (or not enough) whatever — too bossy, too mouthy, sarcastic, slutty. Or not feminine or ladylike enough, not nurturing enough, not pretty or thin enough. 

Despite my lack of femininity — or maybe because of it — I’ve always been drawn to female-centric shows. Laverne & Shirley. Mary Tyler Moore (though my mom tells me I mostly liked the cat at the end). Wonder Woman. Heck, even Days of our Lives, because that show would be nothing without Hope, Jennifer, and Carly.

Wynonna Earp outshines all of these, my friends. 

It’s women being women — all kinds of women, from Waves to Wynonna to Gus to Nicole to Chrissy (you go with your chloroform, sister!) supporting each other to be the best version of themselves. That’s just not something you see very often. You know, like a unicorn. 

In scenes with only women! Talking about things! Other than men! It’s 44 minutes of the Bechdel Test in 13-episode form. 

The men are important in this show — and fabulous and perfectly cast and OMG that mustache — but they aren’t always the focus of the storyline and sometimes aren’t even necessary. You know, just like real life. 

Women are used to hearing they need a man to get by. I heard some version of that quite a bit growing up, from my grandmother screeching, “Ain’t you trying to get yourself a man?!” when I told her I wore flannel to class (no — no, I wasn’t) to even my dad being concerned about who would take care of me after I nervously came out to him at 23. 


It’s okay, Dad. We take care of each other.

This show isn’t too female, or even not enough female. It’s just the right amount. 

Just like all of its characters. Different levels of female, all of them. Sometimes different levels in the same character. 

You know, just like real life. 


Photographic proof of the last time I wore a dress in public. 

Wynonna Earp is not too female. It’s just the right amount. Same with Wynonna herself — perfectly female, perfectly flawed. You know, just like in real life. 

Just like me and just like all of us. 

And if it is too female, well, it’s the ass-kicking, trash-talking, one-liner spewing, gun-wielding female I want to be. 


Life goals. (Copyright SyFy)

If you’re here because you’re a fan of this show, check out my last several posts. You’ll sense a theme. 

Fandom Day

Day two of No Chill Week. — Fandom Day. 

I have been a fan of many things but never part of a fandom. 

Until now. 

I don’t know how it started. Probably because of that crazy-special podcast where they said some stuff was happening on Twitter. I had an account but seldom used it. I think I got it originally because the wife suggested it…which is how I entered almost all social media — Facebook (that one was pre-marriage and dating), Instagram, and probably some others I don’t remember. 

I stand by this statement. 

I got quite a bit of interaction on that first tweet, and I was hooked. I had this instant community with which to talk about this show that suddenly meant so much. 

I often tend towards the lurker type — online and in regular interactions, especially if I don’t know anyone or just know them casually. I’m content to sit back with my beer, listen, smile occasionally, and watch the conversations unfold, happy to be an outsider. 

Well, not this time. 

This fandom is amazing. I have probably used Twitter over a dozen times more in the past two months than I have in the two years I’ve had the account. 


Science fact. 

I have always enjoyed writing and started this blog a couple of years ago to try to force myself to keep at it. The busier I am, the grumpier I am, and the less I write. When I don’t write, it makes me even grumpier. It’s a vicious cycle. 

This fandom has inspired me to pick up my keyboard and put words to the screen more than I have in ages. I’ll be forever grateful for that. And it’s put me in such a better mood all around since I have this creative outlet — something my wife is forever grateful for. 


“Thanks, Wynonna Earp.”

I am grateful to this fandom and am excited about what’s to come. Six seasons and a movie! We can do it!