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Angry Lesbian

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I am angry. I seem to be that way a lot lately, for varying reasons. Yesterday (and this morning), it was because of TV.

You’re shocked. I know. I hope you are sitting down.

Specifically, it was because of Supergirl. No, not because they killed another queer lady (they didn’t). No, not because of my distaste for Kara’s storyline this season (I do have that, but that wasn’t the case). No, not because of the lack of Cat Grant on my TV (next week!).

It was because of a response to an article that the always-insightful Bridget Liszewski wrote over at The TV Junkies. The article was about queerbaiting and the relationship between Kara and Lena. Just go read the damn thing. It also has a definition of queerbaiting, should you be finding this article because I posted it on Facebook (family/hometown friends) and not on Twitter (my people) and not know what that is.

Someone tweeted a response to her that said a Kara/Lena relationship would “take away” from the already-established, canon queer relationship of Alex and Maggie. This is not the first time I’ve heard a version of that argument, and to say it makes no sense to me is like me saying I’m not a big fan of the current administration. Minor understatement. 

Anyway, when I read this (in the parking lot of a Dunkin’ Donuts, because it was doughnut day and I only bring the very best to my coworkers), I immediately saw red and almost rage-licked the frosting off of a metric shit-ton of doughnuts.

This is a watered-down, fandom version of the argument that gay marriage will take away from “traditional” marriage. (News flash — it hasn’t, it didn’t, and it won’t.) Also, anyone who attended my wedding would agree that it was pretty fucking traditional, except for the fact that no one signed the marriage license with their penis. Or whatever it is men do. I don’t know.

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It really doesn’t get more basic than this.

So, I apologize if this is new information, but in real life, there can be more than one queer couple in any group, and more than one queer person in any friend group. Or at a party. Or at a restaurant. Or basically anywhere except maybe the RNC. But probably even there.

I’m just going to wait to let that sink in.

Next, if there are more than one of us, it doesn’t take anything away from anyone else’s existence, no matter their sexuality.

Okay, now that I’ve dropped those shocking facts, I’m going to move on.

I have written a lot about representation and the value of seeing people like myself on TV, and it’s great. We have come such a long way even if there seems to be an unspoken, unwritten rule about not making a show “too gay.” And then comments like this come along, and I’m reminded of how far we have to go.

When several thoughtful, articulate responses were given to the original dissenter, they eventually (metaphorically) threw up their hands and said, “Whatever. I guess my opinion isn’t valid” or something like that, mentioning that they “had rights, too.”

EQUALITY AND REPRESENTATION AREN’T ABOUT TAKING SOMEONE ELSE’S RIGHTS AWAY.

EQUALITY AND REPRESENTATION ARE ABOUT EQUALITY AND REPRESENTATION.

IF EQUALITY AND REPRESENTATION FEEL LIKE OPPRESSION, LOOK IN A FUCKING MIRROR, BECAUSE THE PROBLEM IS YOU.

So LGBTQ+ representation is okay if it’s just a little bit, huh? It’s okay if there’s just one person/couple? Is that how it works? Do you only have one gay person/couple in your life? If you meet a new one, does the old one have to leave? If this applies to you, I’d love to know because I think it’s time for me to leave your life and make room for the next one. 

Do you have any idea what it’s like to walk into a room and immediately feel out of place because you stick out like a sore thumb? If not, might I recommend being gay, nerdy, and fat in a small Catholic high school in West Virginia? Just kidding, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. And then you think, “Oh, it will get better,” because high school is the Hellmouth and it gets better, right? And then you go to a fall festival with your wife in Ohio in 2016 and everyone fucking stares at you and you think, “Better not hold her hand, because I don’t want to get beaten up.”

Do you know what it’s like to hear, “Oh, my kid remembers your wedding because of the doughnuts and the centerpieces. And not because it was…different”? It hurts. A lot. Because in my mind, the doughnuts and the centerpieces were the things that stuck out, because the two people getting married were just two people in love and who cares about our gender (because gender is a social construct anyway).

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Way more memorable than lesbians.

There is a constant undercurrent of low-key, casual homophobia that queer people encounter in their everyday lives. A handful of examples:

  • people wondering “who the guy is” in a queer-lady relationship (neither of us is the guy)
  • assuming that I would like an episode of something just because it features a same-sex couple, especially reality TV (FALSE)
  • assuming I would like someone just because they’re gay (just because you’re queer doesn’t mean you’re not an asshole)
  • a man making a casual comment about my appearance and how it’s…causing an excited reaction (uncomfortable on so many levels and has happened more times than I can count)
  • Chris and I being treated like we are literally just “gal pals” and not a regular married couple who are more than just friends (this manifests itself in A LOT OF WAYS)
  • having to explain why going to a country with anti-gay laws doesn’t really work for us, vacation-wise
  • explaining why saying something is “gay” in a negative way is bad, and then having to defend yourself when you do 

So, another same-sex relationship on a show wouldn’t take away from the one that’s already there. If anything, it gives it even more validity, because it’s approaching the normalcy of the everyday life we lead. We are still fighting homophobia every single day. It’s just more subtle than it used to be. 

In conclusion, don’t be a dick, people. Think before you speak.

And watch Supergirl. Sanvers is magical, but if I looked at my “friends” the way Lena and Kara look at each other, Chris would immediately drag me to couples’ therapy to repair our marriage, and rightfully so. SuperCorp is real, and the writers have a responsibility to its gay following not to jerk us around. 

Lettuce

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This weekend, we facetimed with  my sister-in-law, Amy, about a thousand times. It was pretty entertaining, even if it’s just to see her reaction to stuff. 


That’sy wife and my sister-in-law Amy (AKA Lettuce). 

She has my favorite dog. 


We are birthday twins and like a lot of the same things. 


I have never had a sister, but I have to say she was worth the wait. 


Also, I may have seen Scary Lettuce for the first time today, so I’m just trying to keep on her good side. 

Old Man Graham 

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If you don’t know, we have a cat. His name is Graham. 


Graham is pretty old — 11 or 12 years. I don’t actually know for sure how old he is, because I am old and my memory isn’t great. My ex and I adopted him when he was about 6 months old. I named him that because he was the color of a graham cracker and definitely not after a queer lady movie character. We brought him into a house with two cats who had been together for 9 years. They got along okay, but he was always kind of a loner. 


Then the other cats packed up their U-hauls and moved out, along with my ex, and suddenly Graham went from two mothers and two brothers to just me. 


He was pretty confused for a while, and I still say he has abandonment issues because of it. He followed me around after my breakup, constantly yelling at me (he’s very loud) and snuggling with me on the couch and in bed. He used to wait until I turned over on my left side and then stretch himself along my back, falling asleep. That doesn’t happen anymore because there’s a strict “no cats in the actual bed” rule, so he often curls up at my feet, stretching himself along my legs. 

He receives two pills a day now, the result of a few vet visits and some uneven thyroid levels. Chris and I have noticed that he still seems to be losing weight. He’s not as puffy and chubby as he used to be, and I can feel his bones now through his skin when I pet him. 


I look at him now, curled up on his Poang IKEA chair, sleeping away, oblivious to the TV and his worried mother. 

I’ve never lost a pet — he’s the first one I ever really had that was my own — and I’m not looking forward to it. Chris and I think that time might be sooner rather than later, but maybe we are just paranoid. 

But he’s happy and not in pain and still playful as a kitten when we bust out the Star Wars laser pointer. And he certainly hasn’t lost his appetite. 

Hug your cats extra hard today, friends. And I’ll do the same. 

Wynonna Earp on Netflix

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So, I’m sitting on my couch, trying to write about ClexaCon, and part of the problem is that I watched S1E1 of Wynonna Earp on Netflix this morning, and I’m pretty jazzed.

Yes, that’s right. The show I’ve been screaming about for months is on Netflix.

If you haven’t watched it, go do it. Now. Go watch it. It’s amazing and awesome.

Now, I realize not everyone will get the same feelings I did after watching. Maybe you can turn on the TV and see yourself represented no matter what show you choose. Maybe you don’t care about great writing, strong female characters, and queer representation. Maybe you think Val Kilmer is the best Doc Holliday and won’t allow your mind to be changed. Maybe you hate happiness. I don’t know your life!

But if none of those things apply, check it out. I allowed myself to watch the pilot this morning (I have stuff to do so I couldn’t sit down and watch the entire series EVEN THOUGH I WANTED TO), and here are some reasons you should watch, based solely on the pilot.

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Buffy Turns 20

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So, I was at ClexaCon over the weekend and got back late Tuesday night. That meant that I went from working a 3-11pm ET shift to partying until 2am PT to waking up at 5:30am ET on Wednesday. I was basically a zombie and have been chasing sleep the entire week. I was too drained to write anything on the actual 20th anniversary — yesterday — but I figured, hey, I’m only a day late, right?

Sadly, my journey with Buffy did not begin 20 years ago yesterday. I was a latecomer to this show despite my brother’s attempts to get me to watch it. One night in my old apartment — which was either super cold or super hot, depending on the season — I was flipping through the channels and stumbled upon a rerun — Out of Mind, Out of Sight. Coincidentally, this was the only episode I had any interest in watching, as it starred my number-one celebrity crush at the time (and now, really), Clea Duvall. I watched it, probably huddled under a blanket 0r wearing a bikini, and thought, “Okay, that’ll do it.”

Fast-forward five years or so, and my friend M was going through a really bad breakup. Her longtime girlfriend had cheated on her with someone she met on the internet, and M had picked up and moved from their life together in less than two days. A mutual guy friend, D, suggested that we start watching Buffy together as a thing to do after work. They were both single, and I was in a long-distance relationship, so it worked for us. In the beginning, he dictated which episodes we watched and didn’t, as he was the expert and could tell us which ones to skip.

Let’s pause a moment to eye roll at the patriarchy. Fuck you, The Patriarchy!

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Hymns 

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It’s interesting what sticks with you over the years. 

I was raised Roman Catholic. I had two Catholic parents and a Catholic brother. Dave and I attended the same Catholic grade and high schools that my mother graduated from. I attended a Catholic university and received a degree in Theology. So I feel confident in saying that I have, at minimum, a basic understanding of Christianity. 

Up until last year, I hadn’t attended mass in quite a few years — At least three. I hadn’t attended regularly since my first year of college (sorry, Mom!), and I hadn’t been back to any other mass since a priest had a bit of gay-bashing in his sermon. 

One of my close friends — a devout Catholic– died last year, and I attended her funeral mass. The one thing that stuck with me (other than the fact that the priest refused to shake my right hand, opting for left, despite shaking everyone else’s right) was how many of the hymns I remembered. I guess when you sing them at least twice a week for nine years (Sunday mass plus Wednesday children’s mass during grade school), they stick with you. 

As the country is descending into what feels like the darkest place it has in a long time, I see a lot of self-proclaimed Christians speaking out in favor of our president and some of his executive orders, either rumored or fact. “Close the borders!” “Make our country safe from the immigrants!” “Bomb them all and let God figure jt out!” “Don’t make me bake a cake for a gay!” “Jesus says it’s wrong!”

Sigh. 

I’m reminded of the Prayer of St. Francis. 

Make me a channel of your peace 

Where there’s despair in life let me bring hope

Where there is darkness, only light

And where there’s sadness ever joy…

And also “Whatsoever You Do.”

Whatsoever you do to the least of my people

That you do unto me

Also “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” a personal favorite of a longtime priest at my home parish. 

Let peace begin with me

Let this be the moment now.

With every step I take

Let this be my solemn vow.

To take each moment

And live each moment

With peace eternally.

Let there be peace on earth,

And let it begin with me

And just a good, old-fashioned bible quote. 

“A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another.” John 13:34

Jesus would not have turned away immigrants, nor would he have supported a thinly veiled law for “religious freedom” that seeks to deny the rights of LGBTQIA folks (or, as one of these Christians said to me, “LGBTXYZ or whatever”). He wouldn’t have approved of violence against Muslims, Christians, atheists, gays, or, you know, anyone.

When you want to “make America great again,” remember that you, too, are most likely descended from immigrants and that this “great” country was built on the backs of slavery and genocide, two things Jesus most certainly did not condone or support. Please be mindful of the “greatness” you are claiming you want to go back to. 

Whether you believe in them or not, I would hope you could agree that the stories of Jesus paint a picture of a man who put love above all else. 

If you consider yourself a Christian, I would just ask that you examine your life and do the same.

Paper

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Monday, Chris and I celebrate one year of marriage. The optimist in me wants to say “one year of wedded bliss,” but anyone who’s a regular human knows that that’s…a bit of a stretch. Honestly, going into this, I thought, “I’ve got this marriage thing in the bag. No problem.” We had been together for four years when we got married (and had lived together for three of those years), and I assumed that we would just continue on, business as usual.

I was wrong. Marriage is wonderful and amazing and glorious. It’s also hard, frustrating, and aggravating. I cannot imagine being married to anyone else, nor do I want to be. I have never loved anyone like I do my wife, but on the flip side of that coin, no one frustrates me anywhere near as much. (I just read her this, by the way, and she laughed — because she agrees with me, I assume.)

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Queer Fangirl AF

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Today is National Coming Out Day. I officially came out years ago, and (let’s be honest) unofficially way before that with all of that flannel I wore. Anyone who has ever read this blog knows that it was a rough process for me. Growing up, I felt alone. I thought that no one could possibly feel the way I felt, and I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. It led to some dark times for me, but I eventually accepted and embraced who I am. I wish I could go back in time and tell this girl that it does, in fact, get better.

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One of the roughest things was that I felt like I had no one to talk to about it. I almost kind of did once, that time my “friends” started a rumor about me that I was gay. I introduced myself to a friend of a friend with “I’m Monica, and my friends think I’m gay.” Her response? “I’m Beth, and I don’t care.” (Still friends, by the way.) But after that rumor was shut down, I shut down about it. No sense drawing attention to the thing that almost ruined (and ended) my life.

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One of the great things about the internet — and, yes, there are many awful things, but so, so many great ones — is that, no matter what community you want to be a part of, you’ll find it. And with lesbian spaces disappearing, that’s more important than ever.

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The Big Day, part 2

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All pictures below are courtesy of the amazing Laura Kathleen Photography. If you need a photographer, look her up. She was part of what made our day so amazing. Laura, if you’re reading this, I’m still sorry you didn’t have time to eat dinner and you had to take it to go. I blame the hotel.

Guys. Remember how I got married last year? I’m biased, but I definitely think our wedding and reception is probably the best wedding I’ll ever attend in my entire life, or that anyone will attend in any lifetime. But maybe I’m biased.

I woke up early that day and couldn’t sleep because of excitement. I walked down to a coffee shop — our event coordinator’s suggestion and one of the few positives about her — and got us breakfast. The rest of the morning is a blur, quite honestly. The only standout to me is when I stood, naked, in front of the sink in our kitchen and ate leftover wings from the night before. And, yes, Chris still married me.

Chris, Amy, and I all kind of got ready together. Chris did my makeup, and she and Amy did their own makeup and got their hair done. Dawn did my hair, too, but it seriously took about 30 seconds. Chris’ hair looked amazing. If you have a special day needing special hair, give Salon Sartori a try.

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Photographing proof of me wearing makeup. Also, look how awkward I am when just holding Chapstick!

Then my mom came and hung out with me while the girly people took 17 hours to get ready. And Laura took some shots of our jewelry, our clothes, and my mom and I trying to overcome our awkward German nature and touch each other.

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Then…it was time. Time to marry my most favoritest person in the world. If you’d like to know my feelings about that, please see the picture to the above left.

To be continued!

Toronto, part 3

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We left dinner with our new friends, both still alive. None of them turned out to be murderers, which was an added bonus.

Chris got to pick what we did the next day because I had hijacked Saturday. As always, she chose wisely. We breakfasted at Tim Horton’s, because Canada, and headed to Toronto Island. We skipped the ferry and chose instead to take a water taxi…which meant we were jammed on a pontoon boat with 10 other people. Have I mentioned lately about my fear of drowning, water, and/or boats?

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Before…

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During…

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After.

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