Too Female

July 7, 2016lesbiyinzer 1 Comment

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

July 6, 2016lesbiyinzer 2 Comments

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!

Representation Day

July 5, 2016lesbiyinzer 4 Comments

So, I spent the day making notes for this blog post, part of a “No Chill Week” for my new favorite show, Wynonna Earp (because this fandom, myself included, has no chill). And, in true Monica fashion, I can’t find them. In an unusual twist, neither can my wife.

So, as you’re reading this, just remember how good it could have been, I guess.

Guys, Wynonna Earp has representation of all of the people — for days — and it’s a big freaking deal.

First of all, though this is far less personal for me, let me say how awesome it is that a person of color is shown as a viable romantic lead. I’m not saying it never happens, but outside of a Shonda Rhimes show, it’s unusual. And it’s awesome and sexy and hot and believable and amazing.

So, I’m a gay. As I have said many, many times before (just look at my previous three posts), it’s unusual to see myself onscreen. And it means something when I do. And if you’re used to seeing yourself everywhere, well, it’s not a feeling I can describe. Sometimes, especially in my younger days — you know, before I owned my awesomeness — it felt like I was the only person in this world like me. Gay. Nerdy. Et cetera.

And Wynonna Earp gently picks up this “normalcy” of other shows — gay characters few and far between, disposable women only there to advance a hereronormative storyline — gently packs it up in its U-haul, and moves it to Canada, where it evolves into something else.

Science fact.

I literally could go scene by WayHaught scene and talk about why each and every word, touch, look, and heart eyes means something to me.

But I will try and be succinct.

Instead, I will talk about two scenes which really stuck out to me because of representation. They both take place in the penultimate episode of the season, “House of Memories.”

First, the good. Waverly descends the staircase, eyes only for Nicole, as they see each other for the first time at Bobo’s party.

I know, I know. This is from that episode but not that scene. But the look is the same. Stay with me. I lost like an hour of writing time looking for those notes. (Photo copyright SyFy)

How many times have one of us wanted to see a woman look at us like that? I’m willing to bet a lot, and I’m willing to bet it has happened to quite a few of us.

Myself included.
But it’s so much rarer to see it on TV. That look — that one of love where your heart is ready to burst out of your chest because that other person is so perfect — it’s never me. Is never us. And this time it was.

Thank you for that, SyFy. Emily. Kat and Dom. Beau. Everyone. Thank you. I love you.

And thank you for the next scene, too — the one that is so much harder to write about. The one that I know so many of us have lived in one way or another but seldom see validated onscreen. That’s just as important even though it’s a thousand times more painful.

I saw all that, you know.

Not now, Champ.

So you two are like together now, eh? That’s disgusting. Disgusting.

I heard some version of this every day — Every day — for a very long time. From a lot of people. Sometimes from myself. And just because I can get married now doesn’t mean I don’t still hear it. It’s not always as blatant, you know. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes they don’t even know they’re doing it. But it’s there.

And so, once again, Wynonna Earp shows me myself.

Because representation isn’t always about the good. It’s important to show people the bad is still out there, because it is.

Thank you for that, SyFy. Emily. Kat and Dom and Dylan. Beau. Everyone. Thank you. I love you.

Representation is important. Even now — at 39, married, established, confident, happy — it means so much to me. If 15-year-old Monica — depressed, anxious, sad, lonely, alone, desperate to fit in, thinking she never would — watched this show, I can unequivocally say it would change her life. Give her a confidence in the knowledge that, hey, I’m not alone.

“There I am.”

Tell That Devil

July 3, 2016lesbiyinzer 5 Comments

I’m up a little early on a Sunday morning (thanks to an early bedtime last night), I have my coffee and my Graham, and the wife is sleeping soundly downstairs. A lot of tasks await us today (most importantly, making a birthday cake), but for now, I’ve settled down to write this damn Wynonna Earp post I’ve been threatening to do for a week. Obviously, minor spoilers are ahead. So if you don’t want to know what happens without seeing it yourself, well, stop reading this and come back in a day after you’ve watched all 13 episodes. I can wait.

When I sat down to write this several days ago, I realized it was a much bigger story than I thought. I needed not one but two prelim posts about a movie and a show that moved me, and those were hard to write. I told Chris yesterday over delicious, delicious hot dogs at Franktuary that the Buffy post really brought up a lot of stuff I hadn’t thought about in a while (or ever). Who needs therapy when you have a blog, am I right?

hotdog

~~Sausages~~ Wieners for life!

I had been wanting to watch Wynonna Earp ever since I saw it advertised on Lost Girl, another SyFy/Canadian show that happened to be about a bisexual succubus. You know, the usual. Its finale aired, and, much to my surprise, it didn’t fill me with angst, mostly because [spoiler alert!]…the ladies ended up together. That never happens. Like, ever. And they did. It’s obviously more complicated than that, what with the difference between human and fae lifespans, but I don’t need to tell you that, right? Right.

So, I had been meaning to watch Wynonna Earp for weeks, but I hadn’t had any free time. Work was busy, I was trying to stay active, etc. You know, life happened. So one day, a free hour on my hands, I decided to watch the first episode. And I was hooked.

I watched eight episodes in the next 24 hours. In addition to work and laundry and also probably Zumba, because I am a suburban soccer mom with no kids.

I hadn’t seen a show with so much of…everything since Buffy. The writing and the humor were on point, more than any show I have seen in years. (And trust me — I see a lot of shows. I watch TV for a living, after all.) The relationships between all of the characters were just…brilliant, especially between Wynonna and her younger sister, Waverly. It’s filled with strong women everywhere — heroes and villains. And the heroes are flawed and the villains are sometimes good. It’s wonderfully, richly, perfectly complex. Once again, a show set in a supernatural setting is more real than anything else on TV.

Then…I got a little more invested.

I’m no stranger to podcasts (I generally prefer listening to them over the radio in my car, at least when I’m alone). I listened to a Buffy rewatch one for years, then one about Lost Girl, then the Nerdist podcast because Chris Hardwick is all of us and it’s so great to hear him geek out. But this WE one is special. Bonnie and Kevin are clearly such HUGE fans and discuss things in intricate detail about the episodes, and they have interviews with all of the cast. The podcast got me even more hooked — I started rewatching the episodes, looking for the things they talked about.

Then…my 39-year-old self fell into the Twitter hole, which has been interesting. New social media are hard, guys. But I try. I think I’m pretty funny and sometimes insightful. And if you’re a fan of the show, you should follow me, because that’s mostly what I tweet about (sorry, everyone else, but not really). It’s honestly been so fun and amazing. I don’t think I’ve been this invested in watching a show in real time in, well, ever. This fandom is amazing, and the cast/crew is ridiculously interactive and generous with their time.

Once again, I found people onscreen (and online) that I wanted to surround myself with. And I couldn’t have picked a better bunch.

[Okay, the real, legit spoilers start now. Stop reading this part and come back to it if you don’t want to know stuff! Scroll down and pick this post back up after the picture of the Unicorn at Anthrocon.]

So, I am a fan of strong women (I did marry one, after all), but let me talk for a minute about the men in the main cast. Both are absolutely amazing as their characters, and (and I’m secure enough in my homosexuality to say this) both are incredibly sexy. In a video hangout after the penultimate episode, when they were talking about Doc’s (Tim Rozon) “sex swagger,” I may have mentioned that I’m a lesbian and his sex swagger affected me. No big deal. And Dolls’ interactions with Nicole and how he totally knows what’s going on before Wynonna (and almost everyone else) does — priceless. Perfect. Incredible. It’s totally my favorite thing his eyes do.

docdolls

Photo of these two handsome fellas courtesy of SyFy.

The supporting characters are so well-cast, too. They’re all three-dimensional, from mother-figure Gus to Sheriff Nedley (and his daughter) to all of the revenants. One of my favorite scenes features Chrissy Nedley, so proud of herself that she chloroformed Waverly to draw out Wynonna. That phone call is priceless and reminds me so much of vampire Harmony on Buffy. Also, where did she get chloroform? So many unanswered questions. And her character is also responsible for the “[Waverly] scissored a stripper” line.

I can even (grudgingly) appreciate Champ and what he represents. Tattooed arms so people think he’s a badass and one tiny tattoo where no one can see because he’s really probably secretly a wuss (a tattoo I have always referred to in my head as a Champ Stamp). He’s responsible for one of the most powerful scenes to me, too — where he calls Nicole and Waverly’s relationship disgusting. It hit me. Right in the feels. Because I’ve been there, and I know a lot of the fandom has, too. Hearing there’s something wrong with you, having it hit you in the face like an actual slap. Having to keep your cool and remain calm because you’re in public (which Nicole did) as opposed to losing it and feeling hot tears spill down your face at a restaurant (what I did).

Refusing to let it ruin your fancy party with your ladyfriend (Nicole) as opposed to having it ruin your Christmas Day (me).

Representation onscreen comes in many forms, and all of them are important. It means just as much to see a strong, powerful, sweet, (somewhat) butch ginger cop owning it and being true to herself as it does to see her reading the room and quietly dealing with some homophobic asshole. Well, trying to, until he threatens your lady and then you have to knock him down with one punch and cuff him, because you’re amazing. It gives me something to point to. “See? I’m not overreacting. People still think I’m disgusting, and that’s why, just because I can get married, the fight isn’t over. Stop trying to minimize me and my life. No one is trying to flaunt anything. We are just trying to live.”

Ahem.

And that brings me to the sweet, sweet pairing of Waverly Earp and Nicole Haught. A large part of my connection with this show. It’s a queer relationship that feels…real. On both of their sides. And one I can see myself in. I’ve been Waverly — approached and hit on by an intriguing woman, unsure what to do, how to react, what it made me feel; falling for this amazing lady but being afraid to show it; breaking down and making the first move because my heart will explode from my chest if I don’t. And I’ve been Nicole — confidently approaching this girl that I’ve been noticing and asking her out; sneaking glances at her and noticing her noticing you; being patient while she works out how she feels; looking super hot while doing it all. And their relationship is real to me, too — I’ve been the one hiding, and I’ve been the one hidden. Both are awful and exciting at the same time. And I’ve been them in the last episode — confident, out, happy, in love. Well, minus the possession, of course. So far.

wayhaught Photo courtesy of SyFy. Swoon.

One of my favorite things about these characters, though, is the fact that they don’t just exist for each other, especially Nicole. That was a pattern that Buffy fell into with Tara — at least until after she and Willow broke up. None of Willow’s friends knew her girlfriend (or wanted to, really). All they knew was that she liked Willow. Granted, that was enough for them, but as viewers, it really cheapened the character for us and made her less real. Well, not so much for Officer Haught. Her bonding and fighting with Wynonna while Waverly and her friends had girly “fun” time was so great and really added dimension to both characters. And her interactions with Doc and Dolls in the finale (and when she pulled Doc over for speeding) fleshed her character out even more.

It’s almost like a lesbian can exist on a TV show as a character in and of herself, not just to further a main character’s storyline. Like, maybe I am a fully functioning human with my own purpose and am not just on this earth to make the straight people’s lives more interesting. A novel concept.

Even though I connect so strongly with these two ladies, Wynonna Earp would be nothing without Wynonna herself. And Melanie Scrofano kills it. She’s so amazing. The entire cast is perfect, like I said, and and if you take one piece of this intricate structure away, it would all fall apart, but Wynonna is the cornerstone. She’s just so…real. Her reactions, her interactions, how she feels, what she does, who she starts as and who she becomes — all of it. And it’s so expertly played. She’s so flawed and also so perfect. She’s all of us. And Melanie makes us feel it all.

Let me just finish up with a few words about the creators of this masterpiece. Wynonna Earp is based on a comic book by Beau Smith, a fellow West Virginian. I haven’t read any of the comics yet, but the old ones (that the show is loosely based on) are on my wish list. And Friday, I came home to my wife greeting me at the door with “Hi. I got you a surprise,” and this was on the table.

13524559_10206757834972756_4467846663648361464_n

Best wife ever.

They didn’t have issue 1 (and she liked two of the covers for issue 3, so she bought them both), so I have to wait a few weeks for the first one to come in before I read them. Well, I should wait. I honestly can’t believe I haven’t torn through them yet.

And finally, the show runner, majestic unicorn Emily Andras. I was a fan of her work from Lost Girl, so I had high hopes. I could blather on and on and on about how awesome she seems, from (obviously) this amazing show she helped create to her interesting, engaging interviews to her weird obsession with cheese, but I won’t. I’ll only say this. The lesbians of the fandom got very, very nervous because we were worried that our precious queer characters were in danger of death because they were, well, queer.

anigif_enhanced-28129-1414779308-5

No reason.

Well, Emily took to AfterEllen to calm us the hell down and say that she had no plans of killing either of our beautiful non-unicorns this season. And we collectively breathed a gay sigh of relief and fell a little harder for this show. We’ve been burned before, Emily (see above), but you made us feel like we could commit without fear of it breaking our hearts. I packed up my metaphorical U-haul after I read that interview, and I haven’t looked back since.

And the finale aired, and it make our hearts soar! Love wins! This is amazing. And — oh, shit. WHAT HAPPENS NOW?!

Literal fandom train of thought.

unicorn

Unicorn, not a lesbian. Maybe. I don’t know their life.

[Okay, we are back to just mild spoilers now. Safe to pick it back up. Welcome back!]

So, thank you, Wynonna Earp, for all of the above. For being that show that the LGBTQ community didn’t know we wanted but now absolutely know that we needed; for so completely filling every 44 minutes with perfection; for giving us honest, true, flawed heroes and villains that captivate us. Thank you for giving us this show, these characters, these storylines. The writing. The jokes! And even stupid Carl.

On a personal level, thank you for stoking a wave of creativity I haven’t felt in years. I’m writing more than I have in ages (blogging, tweeting, interacting online, and everything else), and it’s so appreciated. It’s making the rest of my life better — making me better.

I hope that there’s a season 2 (and a season 3-10), but nothing will touch this special first season. From what it did for a fandom, a community, and for all of us individually, that’s lightning in a bottle that won’t ever be replicated. But I can’t wait to see how season 2 will make it better.

Slaying It

July 1, 2016lesbiyinzer 7 Comments

So, everyone knows how much I love TV. If you’re only a fan of my supreme writing skills and don’t know me, well, I’m pretty sure it has come through. If you do know me, you know that my profession for the last almost-15 years has been to watch TV all day. Well, technically, for the last several, I watch other people watch TV all day, because supervising. But still. And then, after a long day of work, sometimes I come home and…watch TV.

I don’t watch as much as I used to. Life with Chris is pretty busy. Since we only are on the same shift about half the time, when we do have the opportunity to see each other, we seldom want to be apart.

Who can blame me? Heart eyes for days.*

Ahem. Where was I? Right. TV.

Some TV shows have really resonated with me over the years, and a movie or two has really hit home, as you might remember from earlier this week. Carrie Fisher made six-year-old Monica realize she might be gay. But I’m a Cheerleader made me admit that I was gay, and it started something else — the urge to see myself onscreen more.

The next show that made a big impact was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Sadly, I did not watch it when it was first on — a friend introduced it to me after it finished airing. Three of us used to watch it together after work, staying up till 1:00 in the morning with the people from Sunnydale. Then the other two started dating each other, effectively shutting the door on our group hangs, so I started watching it by myself. It was better that way, anyway, because he dictated which episodes were “bad” and worth skipping. No time for that, mister. All of the episodes need to be watched! Even Beer Bad!

A gift from those friends for doing a reading at their wedding. I guess it ended well for them.

[ Spoilers from BtVS are ahead. But it’s been off of the air for years, so, really, if you don’t want to be spoiled, watch the damn show already. ]

Once again, I saw myself onscreen, both in nerdy Willow and gay Tara. And also insecure Xander, demonic Anya, knowledgeable Giles, and even kickass Buffy. Probably not in Riley, though. Thank God. “This show is so real,” I remember saying, thinking how ridiculous it was to say that about a show that takes place on a Hellmouth. But it’s true — literally high school (and eventually college) as Hell.

I always had a soft spot for Willow — nerdy, awkward, adorable. Also, Alyson Hannigan. Then she went to college, got dumped, went a little crazy, and met Tara. And I was a goner.

There I was, on that screen again.

A friend burned me a copy of the Once More with Feeling soundtrack, and I listened to Under Your Spell on repeat. In my car. Getting off the phone with my GF so I could listen to it one more time. Sitting in the parking lot of somewhere (Burgh’s? Kings? I think the GF let me go for a rare night out — Chris must not have been going) listening to it one more time, feeling my heart swell as Tara sung her feelings to Willow, explaining that she was completely taken by her. Being sad that the relationship I was in wasn’t that; trying to come to terms that I would never have that and that’s okay. That’s just not the kind of person I was, and I wasn’t capable of those kinds of feelings. I was happy enough, GF was a good-enough person, and that was…enough.

I was wrong. It wasn’t enough. I’m capable of more than I thought I was, and this is the result.*

The day I got the box set, I came home from work at 11:00pm and announced to GF that I would be staying up and watching Buffy. She just shook her head, probably. I don’t know. Maybe it spun the whole way around.

She went to bed, and I let Buffy, Willow, Tara, and the gang keep me company. My heart swelled, making me feel less alone with that sweet, sweet box set in my TV stand. Making me feel less alone than the woman sleeping in the next room did.

It’s amazing what we tell ourselves is acceptable in life, isn’t it?

We broke up, obviously. Some BS about her not being willing to put me through being with her. Some stupid, ridiculous crap where she tried to make herself out as a hero when all she wanted was out.

Best thing that ever happened to me. Not an exaggeration.

Buffy kept me company in those months after. When I needed a laugh, I’d turn on Doppelgangland, my favorite episode. When I needed a cry, The Body was the obvious choice. Wanting to be scared out of my mind? Hush. Reminded of the kind of love I wanted for myself? Seeing Red, stopping a couple of minutes before the end.

I could take this opportunity to drone on for thousands of words about the “Bury Your Gays” trope, about how a gay is brought on a show (often a lesbian), and then she’s killed for no purpose other than advancing someone else’s storyline. I could ramble about the horrible, horrible message this sends to the LGBTQ community — gays deserve to be killed, they only exist as characters to further the straight people’s journey, if you sleep with someone of the same sex, you deserve to die — but I won’t. It’s utter bullshit, and it’s rare to find a show that doesn’t do it. Not to jump ahead here, but SyFy (and the country of Canada) does it right, both with Lost Girl and (so far) Wynonna Earp.

But I won’t. Ahem.

The day after our first official date (because we really had been pre-dating for the entire week and a half beforehand — sorry if this is a surprise to the people we hung out with [Heather, Beth, Amy, Sansón]), we went for coffee with her friend/my acquaintance (now our friend) Michelle and hung out at Barnes and Noble. I somehow convinced her to come back to my place, and we sat on the couch and…watched Buffy. My rambling about how Doppelgangland is the most perfect episode is probably why she agreed to continue dating me.

Every time I watched that episode afterwards, I thought of our sweet, special date 1.5. It made me feel even less alone than before.

Chris agreed to watch the entire series while she was in California, just because it meant so much to me. I am under no delusion that it meant as much to her as it meant to me…but the fact that she did it because I meant to much to her — well, suddenly, I didn’t need to watch Doppelgangland as often, you know?

And then she took me to the bridge from Under Your Spell because I married the perfect woman.

Up next in Monica’s Blogs About Media That Means A Lot To Her…Wynonna Earp. That’s what this was supposed to be, and then I started word vomiting about Buffy, and I couldn’t stop it. No fever, though, so at least I didn’t have to pull out the cowbell.

Until next time, friends, may your stakes be pointy, your pancakes funny-shaped, your candles extra flamey, and remember — the hardest thing in this world…is to live in it, love makes you do the wacky, and bunnies, bunnies, it must be bunnies.

*Photo credit to Laura Kathleen Photography

But I’m a Talent Agent

June 29, 2016lesbiyinzer 3 Comments

So, as anyone who follows me on Twitter knows, I’m currently obsessed with the TV show Wynonna Earp. Or if you’ve talked to me. Or texted me for a recipe, I probably mentioned it, too. (Also, if you’re not following me on Twitter, you should. I’m reasonably funny sometimes.)

I mean, not really obsessed. Like, my wife still takes priority, but she’s very understanding and lets me do things like watch the live broadcast a few hours before we have to be at the airport and live Tweet it and then maybe join the video hangout and participate a little and encourage me when I talk about it even though she doesn’t watch it. Because she’s nice like that.

Also, super hot.

But you’ll watch it soon, right, honey?

Anyway, back to topic.

I’ve been a big TV fan for ages — for as long as I can remember, really. This is not an exaggeration. I was born in 1977 (representing 39, bitches!), and I remember watching Days of Our Lives with my beloved grandmother in 1980. Like, Marlena and Roman and the Salem Strangler. It even got a shout-out in her eulogy I somehow managed not to cry through.

The thing is, I never saw…myself on TV. Everyone was pretty, worldly, thin, confident, and, well…straight. Especially in Salem.

Because Jennifer Horton Deveraux.

Growing up, I remember latching on to people who seemed…familiar. Similar, maybe, even though I wasn’t honest with myself about why. I bought a Rolling Stone with Melissa Etheridge on the cover (and promptly purchased all of her CDs after Yes I Am came out — pardon the pun), read the parts about her over and over. I kept it in my closet (ha!), the nearness somehow making me feel not as alone. For every step forward, though, one backwards. I won tickets to see her in concert…and took a guy with me so “no one thought I was gay.” (I wasn’t the only one worried about that, though, because I remember running into two ladies that my brother graduated with, one of them telling me, “If I see any women making out, I’m going to be sick.” The other looked at me and shrugged. Now, almost 20 years later, all three of us are in long-term same-sex relationships. Hopefully she doesn’t throw up a lot.) I bought a concert t-shirt but was always too afraid to wear it. It’s still in a plastic bin in my basement, never worn.

That was a different Monica, you know?

Onscreen portrayals of lesbians were few and far between, and even the ones that existed weren’t anything like me. I’m no Carol and Susan from Friends. I remember saying (jokingly) that I “identified with the black lesbian” in Boys on the Side, though only half of that was (secretly) true. That Ellen puppy episode was in 1997, Roseanne kissed Sandra Bernhardt before that, and Rosie came out in 2002, after I was totally, completely, fully out.

In 1999, something changed.

I had graduated from college, was comfortably mumbling “I don’t know; I might be gay” to some select people (and had been for four years), and had finally been talked into seeing a therapist. After I told her about my nervousness about lesbians, she half-smiled, raised her hand, and said, “I’m a lesbian.”

Clearly, my gaydar was not fully functioning at this point, because she was as granola as granola gets.

Anyway, she recommended I see a movie — a movie called “But I’m a Cheerleader.”

Swoon.

I don’t know if you’ve seen this movie, but here’s a brief synopsis (if you don’t want to be spoiled, stop reading). Super-girly cheerleader Megan (a pre-OITNB Natasha Lyonne) is shipped off to gay-deprogramming camp (where she finally realizes she’s gay), where she meets some other gays, most notably Graham (an ever-perfect Clea Duvall), with whom she falls in love and probably lives happily ever after, maybe. They ride off into the sunset in the back of a pickup, so…

It is not an exaggeration to say this movie changed my life.

I sat in the theater surrounded by two friends an an intern (sounds like a rom-com), nervous but excited to see this movie my therapist thought would do me some good.

There’s a scene in which Megan is insisting the things she feels and does (checking out other women, pictures of girls in her locker, etc.) are normal and everyone does them. She slowly starts to realize that it’s not as normal as she thinks, ending with the exclamation, “I’m a homosexual!”

“Holy crap,” I thought to myself. “I’m a homosexual.”

And that was it — my “aha!” moment, where I finally accepted what I had suspected since I was six and known, deep down, since high school. I’m gay.

I went to my next therapy appointment, telling my therapist (named Chris, of course) that I was a giant lesbian. “So, you giant lesbian, what’s next?” she asked.

What’s next was, a few months later when that movie came out on VHS (!), I rented it once a week for several weeks. Watched it multiple times. I think this coincided with my brief period of unemployment, so I watched it a lot. Made other people watch it, including that girl who was also a friend who I had a raging crush on (because there was always one of those). “I don’t get it,” she said about Clea Duvall. I shook my head. I ran outside to do something while they kept watching — I think I had a flat tire or something — and when I came back in, after they had watched the scene in the dance club where my beloved Clea looked like how every even-a-little-butch girl wanted to look and kissed the super-hot girl, she looked at me and said, “I get it now.”

Every time I watched that movie, my heart swelled a little bit. I got nervous in anticipation of watching it. I rewound my favorite parts and watched them over and over (literally rewound — remember it was a VHS tape). I was sad when I didn’t have it; inexplicably happy when I did. It was like that magazine in my closet — keeping me company, reminding me I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t the only one. I wasn’t wrong or evil or awful or something to be ashamed of. I was worthy of love and a relationship (those would take a while to find — one much longer than the other, too).

So when I find that TV show or movie that makes me feel this way, I go a little bit nuts. I want to watch it over and over again, my favorite and not-so-favorite parts, engulf myself with the warmness that spreads throughout when I’m reminded that I’m not alone. Not that I need as much reminding as I used to, but it’s still nice to be reminded.

This also applies to people, as I try to surround myself with those who make me feel safe, warm, happy, not alone.

This lady in particular.

And maybe this doesn’t make sense to you if you’ve never been affected this way by a show or a movie or a song, but if you have, well, you’re not alone.

I felt this way with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and much to my surprise, Wynonna Earp hit me the same way. How and why and how is another post for another time, but when I was thinking about how to explain all of that, I kept coming back to Graham.

Not this one, but the cat’s out of the bag (ha!) as to where I got his name.

So, thanks, Clea and Graham (and Melissa) for making me feel like I’m not the only one. For making me feel like there was a light at the end of the tunnel. For showing me that there are other people like me. For helping me to hold on just a little while longer, because my pickup truck and sunset were waiting.

heart eyes*

*photo credit to Laura Kathleen Photography

Trouble in Paradise

June 19, 2016lesbiyinzer 1 Comment

So, I was going to go snorkeling with some peeps, and the place is by our building, so I decided to stop by our room and pee, get some face lotion, etc.

Because sometimes it’s nice to pee in your own toilet.

The elevator was broken, so I climbed six flights of stairs, bladder bursting. I went to open the door, and it wouldn’t. The key unlocked it, but it sounded like it was catching on something.

I slunk back down to snorkel town and explained that it was locked; maybe housekeeping was in there and locked the door? Well, that went over well with the wife, and all four of us marched back up six flights of stairs, and everyone tried to open it.

No luck.

Chris went to find help with Matt, and Amy and I stayed at the room in case someone actually was in there.

I wasn’t allowed to stay by myself because I wouldn’t have given them enough of the business. Amy would use her teacher voice, while I stayed back, shrinking quietly.

Two visits with a housekeeper, two calls to maintenance, and a desperate trip to pee down and up six flights of stairs later, no less than three maintenance dudes are clustered around our door, trying to decide if they should bust it down or drill into the wood next to it.

An hour later, eventual success. One of them spider-monkeyed onto the roof and was able to climb through this tiny window and flip the latch from the inside.

Yep.

We were so happy to finally get in our room and not be forced to switch rooms (because by some random karma, we have a ridiculously nice room)! I tried to celebrate with a local beer, and it had frozen. Beer slushy was impossible to drink, and I dumped it. Sad face all day.

Then we realized that the maintenance dudes somehow broke our patio door, but luckily, secondary maintenance man Matt was able to fix it.

Happy Sunday, yinz guys.

Yinzers of the Caribbean — live blog of the pre-trip activities

June 17, 2016lesbiyinzer 1 Comment

Tomorrow, Chris and I leave for vacation with Chris’ family. We are heading for the Caribbean, guys!!

But it’s never easy. Never easy. So, a bunch of people’s birthdays were entered incorrectly, and, as you can imagine, this is making it difficult to check in with the airline. This shit drives me bananas, and I am so grateful that Chris is here to calm me down.

PS — our travel agent is awful. And not helpful. If you’re considering booking an Apple vacation, contact me for my “do not call” list.

The list consists of one name.

So, I’ll be randomly live-blogging our getting ready and airport adventures. And there will be a bonus live blogger — my SIL Amy will be taking care of the NC portion, because sometimes yinzers move out of state.

Amy and her beloved. He’s pretty dreamy.

4:09pm — after leaving work early because of a ticketing issue and running a couple of errands, we are home. Chris has called and talked to three people about this, and there’s no solution. We just have to hope it’s fixed tomorrow when we check in.

7:34pm — a class in packing by the master, my lovely wife. And gems like “When you have big boobs, this shit is real.”

7:58pm — Graham has received his second shouting, courtesy of the packing genius.

9:49pm — break for ice cream and “Wynonna Earp.” It should be whiskey and doughnuts, but I have an early flight. For real, though, if you haven’t watched it, you should, especially if you are a fan of the gays and/or genre TV. It’s. So. Good. That’s going to be another blog post in and of itself that’s forthcoming.

12:37am — still awake and need to be up in less than two hours. Finishing up packing and listening to the “Wynonna Earp” fan hangout. More proof that my wife is awesome, since she hasn’t even watched the show yet. We would have fit everything into one suitcase if there weren’t a weight limit!

2:40am — awake. I swear.

NC UPDATE

2:00– The alarm goes off and it takes me a minute to figure out what’s going on. The good news is that I was actually able to sleep for a few hours! I hit snooze and pretend to go back to sleep.

2:01-2:08– I pretend to sleep while I have a sort of dream about a giant tortoise carrying a box turtle safely across a street on its back.

2:09– I give up on pretend sleeping and decide not to try to figure out what made these turtles so special that they were being cheered across the road by all humans in the vicinity. I have a text message from the airline that the flight is on time!

2:18– Another text message from the airline. The flight is still on time. Phew. I got worried for a minute. Hopefully in another ten minutes, I’ll get another reminder. (To be fair, the first message could have been sent hours ago. I didn’t check the time stamp.)

2:23– I packed my face wash, and don’t feel like digging it out of the suitcase, so I use this imposter travel-sized face wash in my cabinet. It claims to be morning fresh, but it really just smells like a grainy, orange-flavored cough syrup I used to take when I had a cough.

2:28– I now have the “riding backwards on a pig, baby monkey” song in my head for no apparent reason. If you know what I’m talking about, I apologize that it is now in your head. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, please check it out:

https://youtu.be/5_sfnQDr1-o

2:52– Everything by the front door and ready to leave! I found that the poor fish had his light on still and now he thinks it’s morning. Go back to sleep, fish, you’re drunk. Waiting for my taxi to wake up.

3:11– In the priority line with Aunt Deb and Sarah. Hopefully I’ll be able to check in with them because I’m traveling with them and won’t be kicked out into the “not special” line.

PGH

3:21am — the moon looks really cool, but when Chris said something about it, I responded with, “That’s no moon.”

3:31am — detoured bc of construction and almost taken out by a tractor trailer. Awesome.

3:28– American Employees have arrived and are opening things up!

3:33– The first people in line have been helped. We’re next!

3:35– More employees have arrived!

3:43– Out of bag check and headed toward security! Things went smoothly. Aunt Deb is TSA pre-check, but Sarah and I are not!

3:49– Sarah was told she could go to Pre-check with her mom, but I made it through security before them. They are almost through and we will be ready to sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Starbucks appears to be open.

3:57am — we are parked! Near 11G. Someone write that down.

Shuttle-stop selfie! This is what one hour of sleep looks like.

4:12am — sharing the shuttle with some Star Wars fans. The guy just quoted C3PO, and the kid has an R2D2 suitcase (like I do).

4:20am — in the check-in line. Fingers crossed that it’s as easy as Amy’s!

4:19– They opened at 4:15. I was the first person in line. Ready to go!

4:26– SARAH AND I ARE TRAVELING WITH DOBBY THE HOUSE ELF!

5:04– On board, got to board with Priority passengers since I’m traveling with Aunt Deb. Sorry, Zone 4 passengers! A little kid was in my seat, so I’m across the aisle from my assigned seat. They moved him over there so he could sit with his siblings. Hopefully we’ll be off in the next twenty minutes. I can’t wait to eat breakfast in Charlotte. I’m starting to get hungry!

5:55am — all through security, breakfast eaten, and waiting at the gate with 8 of Chris’ family members. One may or may not be drunk and is using a personal fan. She just said, “It’s short. It’s not long.” Yes. Definitely drunk.

6:24am — so. Tired. Need to board so we can sleep.

6:32am — boarding has begun, but we are in group four because we couldn’t check in online because the airline thought I was born in 1970, which I was not. So I checked my super-cute R2D2 carry-on. Be safe, little buddy! Bloop-bloop-beep!

6:45– Here we are in Charlotte. I got to sit in front of a family with 5 boys who were all under 7. There was a lot of screaming and arguing and children who wouldn’t sit down. I order a Bloody Mary at breakfast and am told they can’t serve alcohol until 7. I said, well then, I’ll just take the water for 15 minutes.

6:57am — we are boarded! There was some sort of double booking situation going on. Scheduled to land at 8:30ish. Bye, yinz guys!

7:59 am– saving seats for our people at the gate.

8:16am — landed! The Bojus got in trouble for reclining their seats, Mary Ellen offered to buy me an 8am drink (I declined), and the old dude next to me manspread into my legs and armrest the entire flight. Despite an allergy pill, I only dozed for about 15 minutes. But I did have a delicious Coke, so at least there’s that.

8:53am — the groups have joined, and the yinzers are almost complete!

9:01am — just me with some Hydes

9:23am — hopefully the pilot is a better flyer than he is a talker, because he just mispronounced the name of our destination with a “I don’t know if that’s how you pronounce it.” Uh-oh.

4:39pm — checked in. Exhausted. Many problems but happy to be here. Happy #YinzersOfTheCaribbean, folks!

Bar None

June 14, 2016lesbiyinzer 1 Comment

Think about your happy place. You know, that place where you can be yourself, relax, do what you want, secure in the knowledge that everything is cool. Be you. The you that you’re meant to be.

15-plus years ago — a lifetime, it feels like — the only place I felt that way was a bar. A dingy, dark, dank-looking place — by design, I later realized, to discourage people from coming in. A place Big Gay Tony dragged me to, in the hopes of finding me a lady. (He ended up going home with the only other guy in the dyke bar, of course, and this lady went home alone every time I went there.)

Honestly, it was pretty gross. It’s probably best I never saw it in the daytime. It was filled with mean girls, a different brand than I hated in high school but cliques all the same. I think maybe someon dealt cocaine out of the bathroom? Or maybe that was the one on Polish Hill. I remember one of my good friends (Caroline, whose calls I eventually stopped returning because girl was drama ALL THE TIME) had sex with her girlfriend in the bathroom. She thought she was so great, but…I just thought it seemed unsanitary. Oh, Monica. Never change.

Even talking about it, we had a code. Those in the know. I jokingly said I thought a coworker was flirting with me a little — a bubbly blonde who seemed extra chipper when I was around. Just something about her pinged the gaydar. My work friends thought I was just seeing the world through rainbow-colored glasses. We found ourselves in the bathroom at the same time and struck up a conversation about our weekends — what we did, where we went, etc. “Dormont,” one of us said with knowing smile. “Me too,” said the other. And then we knew.

My first attempt at flirting took place at this hole-in-the-wall — CJ…something or other. CJ Deighans? CJ’s, we called it, because who has time for last names? I met my first girlfriend there, who had a dog she named after the bar. (Oh, lesbians. Never change.) I met her through her ex, who Tony tried to introduce me to. Honestly, I think he just walked up to overweight girls about my age and tried to play the “Have…you met Ted?” game. You know, before it was cool. I dated that girl I met at that bar for a year and a half…and probably about 17 1/2 months longer than I should have.

The only public place we ever were affectionate was that bar.

Ever.

Let that sink in.

No touching. No hand holding. No kissing. No terms of endearment. Nothing.

I called her “honey” once while getting into my car in her driveway. She looked like she wanted to throat punch me.

She was also kind of awful.

Can you imagine? Can you imagine your only safe place having floors sticky with beer, air heavy with smoke, dance floor packed with a full spectrum of women — lipstick and leather and basketball shorts and cargo pants — while the DJ with the killer arms played horrible music? Because lesbians love line dancing, apparently.

And then imagine someone walks into your safe place, the one the extremely butch bouncer protects by just looking terrifying while she collects your five dollars, and starts shooting.

Literally the only place you can be yourself is violated.

Where can you feel safe? Where can you be normal when that’s taken away?

I’m a different person now. I don’t need a safe place. I’m my own safe place. I comfortably walk in a safe radius. I’ve changed, and so has the world, I guess. I’m better equipped if someone yells “hey, dyke!” at me, an occurrence that left me speechless at 24. But there’s less shouting these days.

Everyone saves it for the comments section.

Besides, if they’re staring now, it’s probably because of my hot wife.

I don’t need that bar to hold my lady’s hand anymore, but I remember what it was like. I remember how it made me feel.

If you never needed a bar to feel safe, you are lucky.

If you have never had to hide who you are, you are lucky.

If you have never felt fear in doing normal things, you are lucky. Normal things like…

Holding someone’s hand
Checking someone out
Kissing your spouse
Using a public bathroom and you forgot your purse and/or are wearing a hat
Using a dressing room
Getting married
Choosing to wear non-gender-conforming clothing on any day, especially your wedding day
Having children

I guess I’m just trying to explain why this shooting is, for me, extra terrifying. Maybe explain it to you and to myself.

15 years ago, that could have been me.

Except this time, I’m the lucky one…because it wasn’t.

Honeymoon, part 4

November 3, 2015lesbiyinzer 1 Comment

Friday morning, we hopped in the car and headed to the 17 Mile Drive, recommended by our guide book and ITMI Matt. Good call, both of you.

17 Mile Drive winds through Pebble Beach (and includes the golf course, among other things). These were truly some of the most beautiful beach views I have seen on this (or any) vacation. I’ll let the photos mostly speak for themselves.

Beach views.