At least in theory. But let’s face it. Christmas as an adult is way more complicated than it used to be.
As a kid, Christmas was a magical time filled with warmth and gifts and family. But when you grow up, those things change a little bit. Family becomes less of a support structure and more of a collection of people you are forever tethered to, people you will always love completely and immutably, but people whose company you might enjoy or be completely stressed out by on any given day.
Queerty breaks down why the cheery tones of the Salvation Army bells downtown still make me feel like a second-class citizen.
I was getting a pita doing some late Christmas shopping for my loved ones downtown the other day when the familiar ring of the Salvation Army bell nearly stopped me in my tracks. It was drifting over from across the street. I was headed that way. The light changed, and I walked. The closer I got, the bigger the knot grew in my stomach. I think I visibly stiffened.
I don’t know if it was the way I stared at the ground or what — it’s not like I really read gay (at least not as much as I’d like to) — but as I approached, the man standing at the little red kettle literally silenced his bell. He stood solemnly, like a pallbearer at a funeral, and watched me pass.
Which is not to say that the MPDG wasn’t a stepping stone in the humanizing of the female archetype in Hollywood. Basically, in old Hollywood, some women were crazy and damaged; other women were caretakers. Then came the MPDGs: crazy, and damaged, but also charming, and there to take care of you in ways you didn’t know you needed, a little like a rolfer.
Good news, Creampuffs! Carmilla has been renewed for a second season!
I mean, it’s very exciting. But was there ever any doubt?
Nonetheless, we, along with everyone else on social media, are very, very psyched. And in honor of the announcement, we’d like to report on the top 5 things we learned this week on Twitter about Carmilla and the lovely actors who star on the show.
This morning, the Daily Post’s writing prompt is “Kick the Bucket.” They’re asking: what’s on your anti-bucket list? What don’t you want to do in the new year? I sat down to answer that question, and found my strength.
I don’t want to feel small.
I don’t want to be boxed up by anyone’s expectations. I don’t want to be colorless, a series of outlines that people can fill in as they may. I don’t want to let people assume that I am whomever I imagine they might like me to be.
I don’t want to do things out of fear, but since I’m a person who will always have fear inside of her, patient, urgent, waiting, I want to be bigger than it is. I want to draw myself up to full height and tell fear to fuck off and feel it, feel it deep in my bones when, just for a minute, fear listens.
Sometimes I write fiction. Today, you get to meet Jackie and Olive. And Arno too, but nobody cares about him.
Jackie opened her eyes and Olive was already staring at her from across the pillow, eager. “Let’s go yard sale-ing.”
She closed her eyes against the bright sunlight and enthusiasm. “What time is it? I don’t want to. We never find anything. It’s all junk.”
Olive leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, then slipped out of bed. “I think we should. We’re always talking about spending less money on new stuff, buying into the whole consumer-industrial complex less, right?”
“If less is more, shouldn’t we be de-cluttering our lives? Getting rid of something every day? I read a blog where this couple got rid of something every day for a year.” She peered at the clock. “Jesus, is it before seven?”
Olive was tossing a pile of clothes off of her purple chair, looking for her robe. She finally located it hanging off of the mirror. “And the couple? At the end of the year, what did they have?”
Awhile back, I wrote about coming out, and the response I received was really encouraging. A lot of people responded with their own coming out stories in the comments. They wrote about coming out about their ADHD, their miscarriages, their divorces: life events, hardships, or facets of their personalities they had previously kept secret. I was reminded that we all have closets, but the more that we can throw those doors open and be our authentic selves, the happier we’ll be.
These queer YA fantasies will transport you to realms you never imagined.
It’s nearly the weekend, and the rain is hitting the skylight in its familiar and comforting way. It’s the perfect time for reading, and I have a pseudo-confession to make:
Sometimes I read YA fiction.
Because it can be amazing. And who, exactly, decides which books are just for children anyway? I’ve never been one to read within the lines. When I was six or seven, my father read me A Confederacy of Dunces — a book very definitely not written for children — and I loved it. And now at thirty, with no children of my own, I still enjoy reading a really good children’s picture book. The secret is this: any story can transport you, if it’s well-told.
This is why I used to move a lot. “It’s important to go somewhere big enough and strange enough that you’ll feel lost,” I wrote in my journal when I took myself, sight unseen, with no promise of a job, up to the Pacific Northwest.
Hannah & Maggie are the cutest, most adorable baby dyke folk duo you’ve never heard of.
Every once in awhile — not very often, mind you — I get bummed that I live on the West Coast. I was bummed after seeing the documentary Young @ Heart and finding out that their choir, while regularly touring Europe, hardly ever gets to California. And I was bummed when I was introduced to Hannah & Maggie, only to discover that they play a lot on the East Coast and pretty much never anywhere else.