My Weekend Crush

Start the week with Fleetwood Mac, end the week with Christine McVie. Her sudden passing Wednesday is a reminder that the music that moves us stays with us always. While it was easy to joke about the group’s legendary interpersonal entanglements (most of which played to the public through song, much to our eternal gratitude), McVie was a pilar in a group filled with people destined for pedestals. Her songwriting was clear, heartfelt, urgent. And while her voice may not have the witchy magic of her iconic co-worker Stevie Nicks, it had essential clarity and pop perkiness that helped Fleetwood Mac become one of the most sonically layered groups of our time, and really any time. And then of course, there were the “Glee” covers. Fleetwood Mac’s catalog played as the score to so many pivotal Brittana moments. So those on The Good Ship will never forget how McVie’s words nestled deep into our, and Brittany and Santana’s, hearts. And, like with Glee, Fleetwood Mac’s heated personal drama has faded with time. And what’s left is the music and the emotions. Songbirds only get sweeter with time. Thanks for the music, Christine. Happy weekend, all.

For All The Gay Sharks

So I wrote a little something about Naya Rivera’s enduring legacy for The Hollywood Reporter today. This one goes out to all of the #gaysharks and every fan who boarded the S.S. Brittana. Her tragic death was confirmed yesterday, and the sadness set in all over again. As Santana Lopez, Naya touched so many lives. And this moment, when she is outed before she is ready and then performs what I believe the single best mashup ever done on “Glee,” is powerful beyond words. Cory and Naya are forever intertwined because of it, and now for such unspeakably somber reasons as well. But take heart that Naya will be inspiring young and not-so-young queer women and fans forever. The woman may be gone, and we mourn her so, but make no mistake she will continue to change the world.

Read my THR guest column here: How Naya Rivera Became an Icon for the LGBTQ Community

Forever Naya

Oh, Naya. I truly don’t know what to say at the news of her probable drowning yesterday after a day boating with her 4-year-old son. It’s so unspeakably sad. As of this moment, they have transitioned from a rescue to a recovery mission. We can continue to hope, but the truth is we have likely lost someone very special.

It’s not hyperbole to say Naya helped to change the world as Santana Lopez. She definitely saved lives. While all the articles I’ve read about her tragic incident so far have made mention of her role on “Glee,” most fail to mention the importance of her character to LGBTQ youth and those not-so young across the globe.

Sure, Kurt Hummel was the immediate gay breakout star. But Santana’s journey reflected that of so many queer women, especially young women. Her love for Brittany, her realization of her sexuality, her struggle to coming out (well, outing), her happily ever after.

I have been involved in a few fandoms in my day, but the Brittana fandom remains extraordinary because it’s one of the first massive, mainstream shipping fandoms just for lesbian, bisexual and queer women where we also actually saw them realized on screen. (Yes, yes – of course Willow and Tara remain an O.G., don’t worry.)

And, what made it even more cherished is that fans essentially willed it into existence. What started as a throwaway line ended up with a wedding ceremony. The lesbian blogging community demanded Brittana happen, and it did. But that wouldn’t have happened without the support of the actresses themselves – Naya and Heather.

I had the incredibly good fortune to meet Naya, albeit briefly, at the GLAAD Media Awards in 2011. This was when Brittana was in full frenzy. She was so gracious and lovely. And, well, we all know Naya has always been a knockout.

Through it all, Naya played Santana with sass and vulnerability – a difficult combination under any circumstances, but she had to do it all while singing and dancing up an absolute storm. And her voice, well, it still cuts powerfully through space and time. Just thinking about her makes me want to rewatch all of her “Glee” performances. “Rumor Has It/Someone Like You,” “Me Against the Music,” “Valerie,” “Songbird.” Oh, God, “Songbird.”

The last thing she posted was photo of her with her young son titled, “Just the two of us.” May the world wrap him in love and peace. May her memory remind us that one person can still make a difference and touch lives they’ll never know. Life continues to be so very unfair and so terribly cruel. On days like today, it sure is hard to keep believing.



ETA: Naya's body was recovered Monday, July 13. Seven years to the day that her co-star Cory Monteith died from an accidental drug overdose. May her family and the young son she saved as her last act on this Earth find peace. Thank you, Naya. Rest in power.

I Brittana You

Fine, “Glee,” fine. You made me watch the big wedding. It was uneven and unrealistic, but that’s pretty much “Glee” in a nutshell. But the Brittana bits, fine, they got me, fine. They got me not necessarily because of the poignancy of the actual moment. That was ruined by having Kurt and Blaine horn in on Brittana’s big day. Seriously, how can a show this freaking gay not take the time to make two episodes dedicated to two different, independent same-sex weddings for its two different, independent same-sex couples? Also, Kurt’s jacket was otherworldly awful. It was blue shiny camo. BLUE. SHINY. CAMO.

But, now I’ve veered off the point. And the point was the episode didn’t necessarily get me on its scripted poignancy. Sure, there were nice moments between Brittany and Santana – lovely even. But what got me was what watching something like this can mean for fans who have stuck with this coupling. Yes, this was pure, unabashed fandom service. But, hey, this fandom has been through a lot – they deserve it. What I like that – unless Ryan Murphy & Co. royally fuck this thing up in the final five episodes – lesbian viewers will have another happy ending.

This sort of thing is still important. Do all of our stories have to be happy, of course not. But there need to be enough happy endings to allow us to dream of our own. So, thanks for that. Thanks for all the pinky holds and scissoring talk and the Lebanese goodness. Thank you to Naya Rivera and Heather Morris. Thank you for Brittany and Santana. Now ride off into the sunset, you two. From background characters to forever OTP. You made it, ladies. You made it.

Will You Brittana Me?

Yes, the Birttana proposal happened. Yes, it was kinda sweet. Yes, they’re endgame. But what I really want to talk about his how Glee finally addressed its most important and ignored issue - Kurt’s toothless baby mouth. I mean, I love the guy and all, but for six seasons every time he opened his mouth to sing all I saw was the cavernous maw of a newborn. This epic burn monologue almost makes me happy to be watching “Glee” again. Almost.

http://rampagebb.tumblr.com/post/108315898233/santana-slaying-and-telling-k-urt-how-it-is

Look, I’m past caring about “Glee” in anything more than a nostalgic, head-shaking sense. But after skimming the first three episodes I have to say they’re not totally terrible. Granted it is totally terrible storytelling that a bunch of college dropouts should be hired on the spot to become teachers and coaches without credentials or experience or anything but pretty smiles and pretty voices. But, fine, I’ll suspend the laws of physics and disbelief and pretend that they’re all gainfully employed at accredited institutions to lead and instruct our nation’s youth. Watching this show requires the removal of at least one lobe of the brain already.

Aside from all of that, the big Brittana proposal episode last week actually had a few delicate touches and lovely recalls. Them saying they love each other to infinity. Them snuggling on the bed talking about scissoring. It was nice, OK, it was NICE.

While I still don’t trust Ryan Murphy with lesbian (and really any female character) storylines as far as I can throw a gay shark, I am happy the writers appear to be finally giving fandom with what they deserve. (p.s. Don’t worry, Klainers, I have no doubt your endgame is coming, too. Not a spoiler, just a hunch.) Fans of these characters have suffered long enough. Wrap it up and just make the people who cared so very much about these kids who sang and danced in the middle of class for no reason whatsoever happy.

p.s. Who was that little lesbian who came out of nowhere to hand Santana the ring? Or does Snix just bring her minions with her everywhere she goes?

p.p.s. I did not think the Coach Beiste trans storyline was totally terrible either. I sincerely hope they do something real with it moving forward and not just let it disappear like all those Glee Version 2.0 kids they brought in two seasons ago never to be heard from again.

Endgame. Endgame. Endgame.

Fine, you win, “Glee.” I will watch for endgame. I will watch because of Brittana. I will watch to see their endgame. Are you happy now? ARE YOU HAPPY? Damn you.



p.s. I reserve the right to change my mind if the so-called endgame sucks, per usual.

Moving Vixen: Brittana

DAMMIT, GLEE. Now I am going to have to watch next week's episode, too, to see what those lesbian lilies are all about.

p.s. Though any real lesbian knows they mean I dare you to love me.

Vacation Vixen: Brittany S. Pierce

I could use a lot of words (and more than a few cuss words) to tell you how I felt about the season finale of “Glee” last week. Or, as I like to call it, “Goodbye, Heather Morris. Thanks for all the Sweet Lady Kisses and the Amazing Ass Dancing.” But mostly I want to marvel that someone brought in to teach the other actors the “Single Ladies” dance turned into a season regular, series favorite and someone who genuinely mattered in the lives of a lot of people – especially young people finding themselves. Sure, things may not have turned out as we liked or hoped or made any kind of sense given the laws of space and time and quantum physics. And I have long since sold my stock in the S.S. Brittana cruise ship company. But to quote Rayanne Graff, we had a time. And while it may well be over, it’s nice we got to see that weird, beautiful, unexpected unicorn at all in the first place.

p.s. I'll be on vacation for the next two weeks (well, part vacation, part staycation). So I will be posting mostly Vacation Vixens these next 14 days. But, I might pop in a few full posts because I just cannot help my damn self.

My Weekend Glee

Right, so I said I wouldn’t write about “Glee” until “Glee” gave me a good reason to write about “Glee” again. And last night, well, “Glee” gave me that reason. How do you begin to make amends with the Lesbian Blogging Community? Well, proving Santana is a member of that Lesbian Blogging Community helps. And name checking AfterEllen and Rizzoli & Isles lesbian subtext doesn’t hurt either.

Last night “Glee” broke the fourth wall once more to address the Lesbian Blogging Community, but in a way that neither shamed or insulted us. Instead it acknowledged our existence and by doing so addressed some of our complaints. In fact, they practically followed my good and wise friend Heather’s suggestions for how to get their shit together to a T.

Grovel? Well, Santana declaring has an “out and proud, lipstick loving, AfterEllen-reading girlfriend” means our existence has not gone unnoticed. Bring back Santana? Hell yeah, and by bringing her to New York instead of keeping her a Lima loser (cough, Finn, cough). Extend the same courtesies to your lesbian and gay relationships as you do to your straight ones? Santana kisses Elaine and Brittany – on the lips and everything. Give Santana a girlfriend? Well, sorta – Elaine turned out to be gay for pay and an Ani DiFranco T-shirt. Learn the word “endgame” and apply it to Brittana? Not quite yet, but I still hang on that four-letter word “hope.”

So is all forgiven? Well, no. I mean, I’m not so easy that one shout out to AfterEllen makes everything magically better. But I do appreciate the effort and am thankful for that first step toward reconciliation. We, the collective Lesbian Blogging Community, are an awfully demanding bunch. I should know, I try to please us every day. But I also think we’re by and large fair. So if someone tries to do better, I want to applaud and encourage that. Redemption is a hard and even harder earned. What happens next will make all the difference.

But what else impressed me just as much as the unabashed name drop was the nuanced handling of the Santana-Brittany-Sam love triangle. The entire Lesbian Blogging Community/Brittana fandom wasn’t accused of knee-jerk , not to mention violent, myopia. Instead Santana and Sam were presented as equals, vying for the love of a bisexual woman who was allowed to make her own decision. Sure, we might not be happy with her choice right now. But it wasn’t made because Sam is the boy or lesbian are nutters. Gender wasn’t an issue, just that eternal struggle between the head and the heart. Santana will probably always love Brittany – but she knows she has to move on for now and will do it in that concrete jungle where dreams are made and lesbians live in Tribeca communes.

“Glee” has always been that strange amalgamation of raw heart and self-aware snark. At its best it transcends its silly song and dance with simple truths that help us understand each other a little more. Or be so bitchy you just can’t help but laugh. And when it’s brilliant, it’s brilliant. That moment when you realize who you really are and how hard it will be to show that to the world, “Glee” knows how to do that. When it’s not brilliant, well, we all know what that’s like. While I never expected this show to be perfect, I do demand it keep trying to be better.

And, on a completely shallow note, I can’t help but be thrilled that Santana Lopez has a favorite Rizzoli & Isles Lesbian Subtext Blog. Which means Santana ships Rizzles. And I write Rizzoli & Isles Lesbian Subtext Recaps. Which means, wait, does Santana reads my blog? Fiction/reality, who cares. Everything is gayzzoli – even Brittana – and nothing hurts. Now that Ms. Lopez (and the always amazing Naya Rivera) has moved back in, I’ll be watching on the regular again. Just when I thought I was out, “Glee” pulls me back in. Happy weekend and watching, all.

The Break-Up

Right. So let’s talk about it. I mean really, really talk about it. Process, if you want to be all lesbian about it. Yep, I’m talking about “The Break-Up.” (Quit reading now if you haven’t watched last week’s episode of “Glee,” so you can still have some deluded semblance of mystery about what breakup I’m talking about.)

So, Brittana broke up. Santana broke it off with Brittany and we all cried – don’t lie, you cried. My very wise friend Heather Hogan astutely noted in her lovely AfterEllen recap:

For all of its missteps and flip-flops and bizarro misogyny, the one thing Glee has always done exceptionally well is hit us where it hurts. See, because this show isn’t really about what we experienced in our teenage lives; it's a show about how we experienced our teenage lives.

And that’s the thing about “Glee.” When it works, it’s magic. When it doesn’t, it’s a fucking mess. If the emotions aren’t right, there’s no fixing it with a flashy song or dance. You can’t fake The Feelings, especially The Big Gay Feelings. Those either ring true or they don’t. That’s why it was all wrong when Finn song assaulted Santana. That’s not how it would feel if your outer got all up in your grill and lectured you that girls just want to have fun. You’d punch him in the nose with rage, not hug him tight in thanks.

But when Santana sits Brittany down and sings “you are the best thing that’s ever been mine,” you know it’s real. Those emotions, what it feels like to look at the first person you ever loved and know you have to let go, those emotions are ones we’ve almost all felt. Maybe not that exact circumstance, definitely not with those amazing legs that go on forever crossed just so. But the how it felt part, heavens, yes.

Now, we can argue about whether Brittany and Santana had to break up. Why, Ryan Murphy, why? But you can’t argue about how it felt. You can’t argue with the soft, ravaged anguish on Santana’s face. You can’t argue with the raw, pulsing nerve of Brittany’s tears. Breaking up with someone you love, man, does it hurt. Like crumple up your heart into the tightest, hardest ball ever hurt. It’s knowing you are leaving someone you will always love “the most” kind of pain. I can’t say it’s a good hurt, but it’s a true hurt.

And, for all its ridiculousness, that’s what I want from my “Glee.” Not that everything makes sense or is even remotely possible given the laws of physics and constraints of public high school choir budgets. But that the emotions they sell me feel true. Whether it be joy or pain or fabulosity, I want my “Glee” to be honest with me where it counts – The Feelings.

Also, can we take more than a minute and talk about Naya Rivera’s performance? The way emotions wash gently over her face, the way her eyes speak and her voice transcends. Yeah. We have not seen the last of this woman. Not even close.

So am I happy that Santana and Brittany broke up? Fuck, no! I will go down as a proud and faithful crew member of the S.S. Brittana. Let the band play as the ship sinks. I will dance to their beautiful music until the very last millimeter of deck goes under the cold, icy water and descends to the floor of the deep, dark ocean. Too many shipping metaphors? Never! But at least the way they broke up, as much as I hate it, feels real.

In a little over three short seasons this silly show about an even sillier show choir has managed to spin an entirely unsilly story about a super snarky cheerleader and her super sweet best friend who somehow fell in love and made it connect with countless gay girls and straight girls and gay boys and maybe one or two straight boys and more than a few of us who are too old to be called either girls or boys anymore. So while we may complain loudly and passionately and righteously about how some of it was handled and keep a hetero v. homo kiss counter running nonstop in our heads, we cannot deny that in some things the writers and even Ryan Murphy have done some things just right. Even if it was accidental, even if it started as a joke, you can’t deny that Brittana mattered. They touched people, some of them the most vulnerable among us at the most vulnerable times in their lives.

Some people think caring about TV is silly or dumb of that word Brittany hates most, stupid. Sure, it can be. TV isn’t real life, of course. Real life can be so much more mundane and magnificent and everything in between. TV is just TV. But the thing about it, the thing that can make it magic when it works, TV can make us feel real things. Real, horrible, beautiful, heartbreaking things. Oh what “Glee.”

Sweet surrender

“Glee” is about opening yourself up to...oh, fuck it, it's about surrendering all hope. To be fair, “Glee” did what “Glee” apparently does best in the finale – it was wildly inconsistent. First, it gives us the delightful spectacle of Burt Hummel recreating the “Single Ladies” dance. If you’re wondering why I started watching “Glee” in the first place, it’s for unexpected moments of sheer joy like that. And then it gives us ridiculous loose ends, like Brittany flunking and no one realizing/worrying/caring to sing a remix of a “My Fair Lady” song to help her. If you’re wondering why so many gay gals have holes in their TV screens today, it’s because they threw their remotes through them last night in a fit of Brittana rage.

Though what surprised me most about last night’s big “Glee” graduation finale was how little it moved me. I mean, sure it pissed me off at times. But never did I feel the emotional resonance I should have felt after spending three years with these characters. Part of this is inherently the fault of the “Glee” Powers That Be. They’ve let it be known pretty much all these characters will be back next season, in some small way or another, next season. But the rest is just, again, “Glee” being “Glee” and forcing its preconceived hero narratives into places they don’t belong. The women offering themselves up to make sure the men achieve their very important dreams? All the underclassmen dedicating a song to Finn Hudson? And now there are two holes in my TV screen.

And while I knew that the Rachel/Finn relationship was always the central relationship for the writers and I expected it to dominate the finale, I never expected them to give such short shrift to the other relationships fans – particularly its gay fans – care so very much about. Kurt and Blaine repledging their eternal devotion to each other alone in the choir room, without so much as a hug or a kiss? Brittany and Santana not even having a chance to work out their relationship because Brittany is flunking and no one really cares and Santana is going to New York without discussing it first with the person she loves most in the universe. Also, there’s no way in hell Santana ever had a mullet. Please, I can believe that the Glee Club in a small Ohio town can afford dozens of costumed back-up dancers, laser light displays, rain machines and more for rehearsals, but I can’t believe that.

I guess in a way I’m relieved. I’ve cared about these characters for three long years. I’ve watched this show hoping it would overcome its lesser demons and rise above to open us all to joy. And I’ll never stop believing in this cast’s talent and potential. But now that they’ve graduated (well, some of them), I can release the dream. I can, indeed, surrender.

My Weekend Kiss

So let’s talk about The Kiss. Let’s really, really talk about The Kiss. The song may say a kiss is just a kiss, but the reality is often so much more complicated. A kiss, The Kiss, is always more when it comes to gay relationships both on screen and in real life. Something as simple as a smooch takes on complex cultural and socio-political ramifications when you’re gay. I know, and all you wanted to do was make out with your girlfriend.

So then, let’s talk about The Kiss. The thing is The Kiss wasn’t even the first kiss. That was the small peck shown earlier in the episode. The first kiss was the briefest of A-frames, a split-second lip touch we gives to our loved ones almost without thinking. A “I love you”-drive-by by way of your lips. But The Kiss, the one at the Sugar Shack, well, that’s different. And, as we all know, that kiss wasn’t really their first kiss either. But their first on-screen kiss. And in short, it was perfect. I could go on for a couple days about how perfect, but it was all there, the love, the tenderness, the passion. Granted, no tongue. But, hey, this isn’t Showtime.

But what I’m more interested in, besides the gorgeous aesthetics, is what led to them. Instead of just having them deliver their long-overdue first kiss – the one us faithful on the S.S. Brittana had been screaming for since the beginning – they made sure to make a point. Which is, why can’t gay couples kiss just like straight couples – on TV, in the street, at school, anywhere for public consumption? What’s with the insane double standard that lets Finn and Rachel suck face for several uncomfortable minutes but that takes nearly three seasons to let Santana and Brittany touch lips?

In short, to quote Santana, it’s bullcrap. Gay couples should get to kiss in public just like straight couples. We shouldn’t have to worry who a simple sign of love might offend. What someone might say. What someone might do. Yet, all too often, we do. Or, at the very least, we know and we don’t care. If I want to hold your hand when we go out, I’m going to hold your hand. If I want to give you a kiss on the cheek when we’re sitting together, I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek. If I want to kiss you at the Valentine’s Day dance, I will damn well kiss you at the Valentine’s Day dance. But there’s the thing, there’s always – even if only in the backs of our heads – the moment of recognition that someone might object. And it’s not there for straight couples, and that’s fucking bullcrap.

Granted, I’m not talking about some gratuitous make-out session here with hands up shirts and down pants and all over. Gay, straight, whathaveyou – that’s the “get a room” kind of stuff that should be private. But the everyday affections – the little kisses and big hugs and long lingers – those we should all share all the time because they make us more human. In the end, we’re really not that different. All I want to be able to do is kiss my girlfriend. And you should be able to kiss your boyfriend or your wife or your husband or your non-labeled, full-committed life partner whenever and wherever. Because kissing is awesome. And everyone should do it more. Happy weekend, all.

p.s. Oh ye of little faith who were impatiently waiting for me to get my Brittana on this week. Have I ever jumped ship, ladies? Our girls sure have come a long way. And what better way to seal it than with a kiss. Once more, from the beginning. Le sigh.

The Kiss

I will, very soon, have so much more to say about the Big Glee Valentine’s Episode. But for now, because love is still very much in the air, please enjoy The Kiss. I don’t know about you, but my heart grew three sizes that day. Perfect ladies, simply perfect.

Holding out for a hero

This fanvid is pretty extraordinary. So well done, so gorgeous and so exemplary of exactly what has bothered me about the writing of Santana’s big coming out arc this season. I’ve watched this video half a dozen times, and each time it thrills and annoys me in equal measure. This is not the vidder’s fault (seriously, amazing, mad props upon mad props – nothing but respect, yo). Instead it’s fault of the writers of this crazy thing called “Glee.”

And this, this is why. It’s not that Santana didn’t earn her coming out story; she certainly did. We’ve seen her struggle with her sexuality, struggle with openness, struggle with acceptance. All this things have been well done and thoughtful. But what Santana’s coming out story didn’t earn was its hero. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again and I’ll never stop saying it. Finn Hudson is not the hero of Santana Lopez’s coming out story. He doesn’t deserve that distinction for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that he’s the one who outed her in the first place. But, most of all, he wasn’t there through her journey.

But do you know who was there through her journey? Do you know who encouraged her every step of the way? Do you know who was there, is there and will always be there? Brittany. Yeah, remember her? You know, the whole reason Santana realized she was a lesbian in the first place. The person Santana loves. The person who was there with support and hugs and very special misspelled T-shirts. The person who has never stopped telling Santana to be herself, to love herself and to let her awesomeness shine through. Yeah, you know, Brittany.

Or, perhaps even better, how about Santana is allowed to be her own damn hero? Find herself. Save herself. Do we really need some dude – and a straight, white dude at that – to be the savior for a strong, queer Latina woman? Really? She can’t look into herself and find something inside her on her own that tells her she is strong enough? That moment where we stop and admit to ourselves that we deserve to be happy, no matter what other people think.

And that, that’s why the video annoys me. Because each time it plays I see those looks, those genuine looks, between Santana and Brittany. I see the love and sympathy and longing. I see why Santana might finally find the strength to step out and step up and step toward the woman she loves. And then, then that fucking Finn Hudson pipes up with his big fetus face and ruins it for me.

You know, the writers may think we’re grumpy or whiny or sneezy or sleepy, for all I care. But what we really are is fair. We only want what’s fair, and what would have been fair is for Santana to finish her journey out of the closet hand-in-hand with Brittany, not pushed in the back by Finn. We want our heroes to be worthy. That’s really not too much to ask. We also want a Brittana kiss – you know, as long as we’re asking for things that are fair.

So, fairness in mind, please enjoy yet another video by the same vidder (the incredibly talented scoouuzz), with the rightful heroes in all their glory.

p.s. Yes, I have now heard about the Ryan Murphy “We made two girls scissor! What more can we do for you?” comments from the yet-to-be-aired Inside the Actors Studio. And, no, I cannot properly comment on that without a fifth of whisky and baseball bat. But, needless to say, if Ryan thinks what Brittany and Santana were doing on that bed was actually scissoring, he is more confused about what constitutes lesbian sex than I even thought possible.

I Nuzzled a Girl

Oh, son, you done gone stepped in it now. Last night newbie “Glee” writer Matthew Hodgson – who let’s face it was already on many gay ladies’ shit list for writing the “I Kissed a Girl” episode where no girls actually kissed – went and tweeted a fan that Brittany and Santana had already kissed. Yes, really. No, I am not kidding. Yes, I wish I was. But no, here is the tweet.

(Yes, I know all about that glowing article about him from yesterday on that other site with the initials AE. No, I have no comment. Yes, the timing is hilarious. But no, I still my comment is no.)

Fellow “Glee” writer Michael Hitchcock also replied to the same tweeter, with an extra special twist of contempt.

Here’s a small hint, dude, don’t tell a die-hard fan she doesn’t watch the show she probably spends more waking hours obsessing about than you do. Have you met this thing called “fandom?” If not, crash course – Fandom remembers everything. EVERYTHING.

Now, first things first, they are clearly both epically, epically wrong about Brittany and Santana sharing any sweet lady kisses (a fact which series creators Brad Falchuk and Ryan Murphy have themselves confirmed). That was The Great Neck Nuzzle of 2010 they’re referring to. Trust me, fellas, us gals have watched that scene over and over and over and over again and as much as we want there to be lip locking, there simply isn’t. An almost kiss is not a kiss.

Both Matthew and Michael have since deleted their respective tweets. Michael tweeted and then deleted an apology to the same fan. And Matthew tweeted and so far has left up a clarification of sorts to a different fan.

Hey, guys, there seems to be some serious confusions amongst the “Glee” ranks about what constitutes kissing. So, please, let me help you with some easy to understand visual cues.

THIS IS KISSING

THIS IS NOT KISSINGANY QUESTIONS?

Still what this whole weird mess really does – besides make me sad that maybe neither one of these fellows is all that familiar with what kissing really is in the first place – is makes me worried about what the hell is happening in the writers’ room. I mean, seriously, what is happening? I know continuity was one of the things everyone said they’d work on this season, and they have (they mentioned Tina’s former stutter and Santana’s Rocky Horror lips and Puck’s pool cleaning business). But to not know the basic romantic on-screen history of two major characters is a pretty Joe Biden-worthy Big Fucking Deal. Or, at least it should be a Big Fucking Deal.

Though perhaps, well, perhaps that’s the problem in the first place. Perhaps these characters – these beautiful, strong, queer female characters – aren’t really that big a deal to these writers. Perhaps they’re just a nice, pretty garnish to the show’s more important main dish. Perhaps getting things right like whether to girls who are in love have actually kissed on screen just doesn’t matter in their world. Perhaps they think we’ve gotten all the storyline from them we deserve already.

Well, if that’s the case, then I heartily welcome the writers to kiss my ass. Though, at this point, I have to wonder if they even know how.

UPDATE: Well, I give up. The show's only lesbian writer (and really only full-time female writer), Ali Adler, also thinks Brittana has already kissed. At this point, I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry. Maybe I'll just nuzzle someone I deeply love until I feel better.

Oh, we got Troubletones

You guys, you guys. I am in love with a fictional high school glee club. No, not those darn New Directions. I mean, I used to love them but we were all so young and things were so different then. No, I’m in love with the new girls on the block. I’m in love with the Troubletones.

In a few spectacular numbers, this all-girls phenomena has not just won my heart but wrapped it around my finger and made me beg for more. In all seriousness, I would camp out overnight like a crazed Twilight fan to buy tickets to one of their shows. I have my sleeping bag ready. I am only partially kidding.

When I first saw their” Candyman” performance, I clapped and grinned. So much fun, so much energy. And then came the epic Adele “Rumour Has It/Someone Like You” mash-up. I couldn’t stop watching it and I’ll never stop loving it. So here comes the big Sectionals performance of “Survivor/I Will Survive” tonight. And I think the only way to describe it is to say “Oh, the house that was here? Yeah, it’s gone. The Troubletones brought it down.”

Oh, kittens. Second 53, Second 53.

[region-free link]

But what is more extraordinary, what is more sensational, what makes them not just another group that sings and dances is that this is a group fronted by an amazing African-American young woman and sensational out lesbian Latina young woman and her fierce out bisexual girlfriend. And they’re proud and loud and OH MY GOD, YOU SAW THE BRITTANGO PART, RIGHT?

Also, important sidenote, the choreography they perform during “Survivor/I Will Survive” is known as “waacking,” a style that originated in gay black and Latino disco clubs in the 70s. I ignorantly called it “flail-y when I first saw it, which I apologize profusely for as I know basically nothing about dance history. Kids today are still doing the Charleston, right? I am, clearly, the last person on this Earth who should be commenting on complex choreography. If you really want to see flailing, just watch me dance.

So, in that context, having the Troubletones waacking to a mash-up of a popular gay anthem (and a kick-ass Destiny Child number) is really pretty awesome nod to both minority and gay culture for “Glee.” It’s an organic and empowering way to showcase ethnic communities many probably aren’t familiar with.

Which is why it pains me all the more that the Troubletones will probably lose. Now, stop throwing Slushees at me. I have NO IDEA whether the Troubletones will actually lose. I have no spoilers. I have seen no screeners. I know no insider information whatsoever. But, I do have a brain and eyes and a sense of history. This show is about Mr. Shue’s New Directions, not Shelby Corcoran’s Troubletones. This show is about Finn Hudson and Rachel Berry, not Mercedes Jones and Santana Lopez. So, there is really no way the Troubletones can beat New Directions that works into the narrative Ryan, Ian and Brad have created. Much to my continued chagrin, they are not the heroes of this story. We all know that.

So, again, we pretty much know the Troubletones won’t win. Or they will win, yet somehow still lose. Or there will be some sort of tie, yet somehow still lose. Bottom line, our sassy sisters of song will eventually be folded back into the New Directions. Could I be wrong? I guess anything is possible. But, I fear, tonight will be the last we see of these girl-power, minority-empowering Troubletones.

So, then, I will let them have their mighty swan songs. A look back in wonder.

Rumour Has It/Someone Like You

[region-free link]

Candyman

The petition for a Troubletones spin-off starts here.

Out, out damn Gleek

I defend “Glee” a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Like there were stretches where I felt like all I did was defend my love of “Glee.” So, in that respect, I feel I’ve built up a close-to lifetime supply of goodwill for this silly little show about a show choir in Ohio with a magical costume and backup dancer budget that makes trickle-down economics seem positively Keynesian.

So now, now I feel like burning through a little of that goodwill. If fact, I feel like setting the whole house on fire and watching the flames lap loudly against my still raging soul. Why? Well, because last night’s episode of “Glee” really fucking sucked.

It didn’t just suck because of the normal inconsequentialities and flagrant inconsistencies that can make “Glee” so frustrating for people who insist on living in a fact-based reality. I’m saying it sucked because for a show that prides itself on sending a message of tolerance and diversity, it sent a message of consequence-free outing and white-male salvation. It was severely misguided to give it the benefit of the doubt, and a few of those dreaded –ist and –istic words if you don’t.

Also, don’t get me started on the fact that the episode was called “I Kissed a Girl” and no girls actually kissed. (That cheek kiss was cute and all, but come the fuck on.)

What “Glee” can sometimes do well is peel back the skin of a significant social issue and expose the beating humanity underneath in a way that helps everyone understand it better and therefore fear it a little less. It’s how things change in the world, by realizing we’re really all not that different.

What “Glee” can sometimes do badly is take a significant social issue and simplify it down to a glib streak of superficial cheerleading and then preen itself wondering why it’s not being slapped on the back and handed cigars for the beautiful bundle of enlightenment it has just birthed unto the world. That’s how people self-congratulate themselves without changing a damn thing.

I mean, the whole show started out on the wrong foot with Santana being punished for slapping Finn. Granted, physical violence – even the deserved kind – is unacceptable and should be dealt with. But Finn outed Santana. And that may not be physical violence, but it is psychological violence. And, no, do not trot out the “Finn didn’t mean to out her and couldn’t know it’d turn into a political ad” malarkey. He yelled it at her across a crowded high school hallway. He’s dense, but he can’t be that dense.

But instead of handling the fallout from this outing. Instead of delving into its ramifications. Instead of showing while, even if unintentional, it was wrong. Instead of all that, Finn is turned into some kind of gay awareness superstar and the episode becomes A Very Special Intervention Outing Glee. Never mind that last season, when Kurt was being seriously bullied by Karofsky and then discovered he was actually also gay, he took great and extraordinary pains not to out him. Never mind that Kurt did this because Karofsky wasn’t ready and it would be wrong to force someone who isn’t ready out of the closet. Never mind that as recently as last episode, Mr. Shue, Coach Sylvester and Kurt’s dad all seemed super concerned about how terrible it was that Santana was being outed.

Nope, instead there are absolutely, positively, unquestionably zero consequences for Finn outing Santana. Not a talking to from Kurt, his gay step brother. Not a lecture from Burt, his super gay friendly step-dad. Not a dirty look from Rachel, his has-two-gay-dads girlfriend. Nope, just a gold star for essentially blackmailing Santana to come out or risk suspension from school. Isn’t he a stand-up guy? Hey, kids at home, out your friends and be a hero. Everyone’s doing it! Yay! Outings! YAYYYYY!

Look, life is better when you are out. This is almost universally true. But there are very real consequences for coming out for some – including but not limited to isolation, violence and worse. And there are equally real consequences for being outed – consequences which weren’t even glossed over. They were entirely ignored.

Also, what the hell was that throw-away line from Santana about: “I told my parents last night and they were actually OK with it.” How many exceptional scenes of the Kurt & Burt show did we have when he was dealing with his sexuality? Granted, it doesn’t and shouldn’t be the same response. But it shouldn’t be an afterthought. We didn’t even get to see Santana’s parents, let alone a whole paragraph of dialogue about their reaction?

The one well-played and meaningful scene in Santana’s entire outing saga was her quiet, powerful talk with her abuela at the kitchen table. That’s what “Glee” can do well, when it wants to. That’s the raw human condition that brings us all closer. That’s real fucking life.

Also, my heavens, how spectacular has Naya Rivera been through this whole mess? So spectacular. I will go down with the Brittana ship. I will be the violinist clinging to the deck as the water pours savagely into the hull. That’s how much I enjoy these characters and these actresses.

But, lord, do they deserve better than last night. In fact, this is the worst-case scenario I dreaded when I first heard spoilers about Santana’s outing. That it would happen in a “it’s for her own good” kind of way without any repercussions therefore sending the message that outing people because “dude, the whole school already knows” is perfectly OK and probably a good thing and possibly something they’ll give you a medal for.

The thing is, you can help your friends come out. You can support them. You can listen to them. You can encourage them. You can be there to dry their tears and squeeze their hand and find their strength. But that’s not outing. That’s not taunting someone with the possibility of the person she loves not loving her back. That’s not calling her a coward. That’s not what happened That’s not the kind of private, careful, meaningful support “Glee” showed. Not even close.

p.s. This would have been a wonderful place for, say, Brittany – you know, Santana’s girlfriend – to come in and privately encourage her. Brittany, who has been so supportive of Santana throughout her whole journey. Brittany who loves Santana more than anyone else in this world. But, no, that wouldn’t fit into the show’s pre-destined hero mold.

Speaking of that and this whole “it’s for her own good” shit, what was with all the menfolk being the saviors for the womenfolk this episode? Oh, I get it. This is the “Glee” where the boys all saved the girls from themselves. Gee thanks, mister. What would those frail ladies with our crazy lady brains have done without the guidance of a Finn or a Puck last night? Poor closeted Santana and poor nutso Quinn might have gone on forever without being rescued. And if men weren’t saving women, women were sacrificing themselves for me. Like Rachel turning herself in for Kurt. And when women weren’t being saved by men, or sacrificing for men, they were fighting over the big lugs (i.e. world’s least likely two points on the bottom of a man-topped love triangle, Sue and Beiste).

Oh, and of course there was the obligatory superficial female empowerment this episode. You know, when all the Glee gals rallied around Santana for a little girl-on-girl power in the form of that ridiculous, ridiculous ode to drunken making out. Still, as much as I hate hate hate that song, I couldn’t hate hate hate the performance because that, again, is the power of “Glee.” It takes preposterous things like a 30-year-old arena power ballad about believing and makes it give you automatic goosebumps. So, yes, I tried my best to set aside my hatred for Katy Perry’s co-opting of lesbian culture to enjoy the unapologetic eye candy of every Glee girl ship, crackship and ship you never knew you shipped cavorting together for our pleasure.

Still, we haven’t even begun to touch on Quinn and her storyline of pure crazy and the Puck-Shelby teacher-student carnival of inappropriateness. If we did, we’d be here all week.

Yes, I enjoyed the cheek kiss and thumbs up. And yes of course I enjoyed the big Brittana hug (though hello – NOW KISS). And, hell, I’ll even rewatch that ballot smooch. But, no, I do not have to accept that an episode titled” I Kissed a Girl” featured exactly zero girls actually kissing each other. And, no, I do not have to accept that an episode about coming to terms with one’s sexuality was really about the benefits of outing. And, oh hell no, I do not have to accept that in an episode that should have been all about women, men were its central heroes.

Also, I will never forgive Finn Hudson for ruining Cyndi Lauper for me. Or, as Santana put it so eloquently: “Thank you, guys. Thank you Finn, especially. You know, with all the horrible crap I’ve been through in my life, now I get to add that.”

Oh, Santana, honey. We’re right there with you.

Out of this world

Being gay means lots of things. It means you fall in love a little differently than most of the world. It means you are hated irrationally by some of the world. It means still don’t have all the same rights as the rest of the world. And it means you’re going to have to tell the world you’re gay and therefore all of those different, hated, unequal things in the first place. It’s a lot to ask of a person to admit to. Yet so many of us do because to not would mean to not be who we really are.

Still, coming out is always your choice. Because it’s your life. And no one can tell how to live your life. And no one can tell you who you are. Only you can do that for yourself. At your own time. When you are ready.

Last night’s “Glee” was many things. It was way too focused on the vomit-inducing student-teacher cliché that is Puck and Shelby. It was way too invested in this ridiculous Crazy Quinn storyline and its equally ridiculous commentary on adoption. It was too confused about election law and what constitutes legal, non-slanderous political advertising. And it was probably way too close to home for many young or questioning people who aren’t out of the closet.

Let’s get this out of the way immediately: No one has the right to out you. When you come out is up to you, period.

So then just because Santana can be a raging bitch sometimes, doesn’t mean she deserves to be outed. Just because she’s mean to Finn, doesn’t mean she deserves to be outed. Just because she hasn’t made the decision to be out for herself yet, doesn’t mean she deserves to be outed. Santana did not deserve to be outed.

The last four minutes of “Glee” last night were particularly powerful. And, no, not just because that Adele mash-up is still SOFA KING AMAZING even after 3,876 repeat viewings. But because it showed, through Naya Rivera’s extraordinarily nuanced performance, what it means to be outed. You can see Santana’s whole world crumble in an instant. “I can’t believe this is happening.” “I haven’t even told my parents yet.” It’s all there, on the surface. The panic. The fear. The despair.

And here’s the other thing about being gay. Straight people, even the super allies and the most supportive, they can’t know what it is to come out. They’ll never have to do it. They don’t know what it means. What a big step it is. What a difficult confession it can be to even just to ourselves. That’s not really their fault, but it’s also not their place to judge. So when Finn tells Santana in a crowded school hallway that she should come out of the closet, that’s not just getting revenge – that’s imploding a life. And when he calls her a “coward” for not being out, well, that is almost as bad as outing her. Also the stuff about Brittany maybe not loving her back, that was just fucking mean.

Being in the closet can be a terrible burden. Carrying a secret can crush you slowly. But being ripped out of the closet before you’re ready is even worse. There could be very real consequences from being outed. Being kicked out to losing your job to being bullied to being beaten to even worse. So, then being ready to face that, being prepared – well, that’s everything.

But then, here’s the thing about being out. It’s better when you’re out. Maybe not right away. Maybe not for a long time. But it’s better to be open. It’s better to accept and embrace and love who you are for all the world to see. And once the world sees you, it’ll see you’re not so scary – we’re not so scary. Coming out matters because knowing a gay person makes it hard to hate us unconditionally. It’s easier to hate blindly what you think you don’t know or think you haven’t met. Because, make no mistake, we are everywhere.

That’s why there is one important exception to the outing rule. Those who hide their truth while actively using their power and position against us, they shall be afforded no quarter. Those conservative politicians who vote against our right to equality under the law, but shtup strangers in airplane restrooms. Those powerful players who call us an abomination, yet hire rentboys to tend to them on the weekends. That’s not coming to terms with oneself, that’s just pure hypocrisy. And that will not stand.

So, yes, it is better when you’re out. But that doesn’t mean it’s better before you’re ready, before you’re safe, before you decide. For some of us it’s a lifelong journey. And that’s OK, too. The goal is always to be honest and happy with yourself. So we get up each day, look ourselves in the mirror, and hope we like the person staring back at us – however long it takes. And when you do, we’ll be here. Because while you may feel alone, you’re not alone. That’s the other thing about being gay, you get a whole new family. And we love you, unconditionally.

Someone like Brittana

So, I woke up early intent on finishing another post this morning. And then I opened the Tweeter Machine and my feed was all my adorable Brittaniacs going, “Have you seen it? HAVE YOU SEEN IT?!” And now, after seeing it, I can safely say there is nothing else in the world I want to write about. Period. Full Stop. Just Brittana. And after watching The Troubletones do this amazing Adele mash-up of “Rumour Has It” and “Someone Like You,” I’m pretty sure it’ll be all you can think about, too.

[Note: Hit 1080p & Full Screen and just let the awesome wash over you.]

[Note 2:Here is a link to a region-free version for my international friends]

Don’t lie. You watched that like three times in a row, didn’t you? I know I did. Now, setting aside the video’s obvious emotional backstory (relax, relax – you know I’m going to get to it), the whole number is just gangbusters. Sorry, New Directions, but there’s a new sheriff in town and she is packing Adele in her holster. There is no musical ammo better. Look, I’m not sure if that metaphor worked, but just go with it.

I know this Tuesday’s “The First Time” was perhaps a letdown for those of us aboard the S.S. Brittana. They had zero moments (or even eye contact). But if this video from next week’s “Glee” is any indication, our adoration will be redeemed, and then some. I’ve been trying to avoid detailed spoilers, because I know some big Santana and Brittany developments are coming. Granted, I like knowing big-picture spoilers. In general plot developments, etc. But I’m loathe to know turn-of-the-screw episode minutia. Still, it seems unavoidable at this point to realize that some major Brittana emotions are brewing. The way Santana looks at Brittany when she sings, “I heard that you settled down, that you found a girl and you’re married now.” And then turns. And then looks at directly Brittany. Let’s just say Big Lesbian Feelings are happening in her heart, and my heart and everyone’s heart if it’s beating.

And, once again, I cannot be more impressed with Naya Rivera and her nuanced, powerful performance. It’s one thing to be able to deliver biting one liners. It’s another to be able to sing spectacularly. But this girl can also pack an emotional wallop. The Santana story arc in particular through the three seasons of this show is nothing short of spectacular. I don’t know what the future holds for Santana, but I certainly hope with all of my shipper heart that her love gets to last, and not hurt instead.

Let's get it on

I’ve been thinking a lot about sex. No, not like that. OK, a little like that. But mostly I’ve been thinking about sex as it relates to my favorite TV lady couples. And right now, sadly, we really only have three sexually active lady loving lady couples on North American primetime television: Callie & Arizona, Bo & Lauren and Brittany & Santana.

Now, there are a few more you could technically count. Thirteen and her zero-lines-of-dialogue girlfriend who disappeared off to Mykonos on “House.” Special Agent Diana Berrigan and her girlfriend Christie who has appeared once in three seasons of “White Collar.” And then there’s Emily Fields, though I’m not entirely sure where her revolving door of girlfriends is right now on “Pretty Little Liars.” Also, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t slept with any of them which makes me sad for her girlfriends because, well, you’ve seen Emily – right?

So, back to our big three. Calzona is the most stable and established, clearly. They’re married. They have a child. They’ve also addressed the whole lesbian and/or married-with-kids bed death problem already. And while their screentime has been all-too-short this season, what we’ve seen seems to be pretty normal, healthy and relatively lusty. We’re going to just call them the happily marrieds and move along to the more confusing couplings.

Now, it’s probably (actually no probably about it, but go with me) unfair to compare the representations of sexuality on “Lost Girl” with that on “Glee.” One is a dark, adult show based on overtly sexual themes. The other is a mainstream, teen show based on high school kids singing and dancing at random. They’re very different, but they both feature same-sex female couples who have seen their relationship develop on a very slow boil through the seasons. And in that respect, they’re very interesting examples of contrast.

On “Lost Girl,” the lust and the desire has been out there for a while, with little actual sex both on-screen or off-screen to show for it. But the two times they did sleep together, they were both explicit and exemplary in their depiction of a relationship in its various stages (i.e. First time – tender, exploratory. Second time – hungry, urgent.)

But, they’ve also done an admirable job of showing both sweetness and tenderness amid the push-you-on-the-bed, pull-you-back-to-me-by-your-thighs hotness. (Ugh – still so fucking hot.) The animal instinct is balanced by the small kiss on the cheek the morning after. The protectiveness. The genuine care. Nicely done, “Lost Girl.” Nicely done.

Sure, we don’t know how this whole frozen Nadia-sicle thing is going to play out and whether it’ll all end in heartbreak and more succuface rebounds with pizza delivery drivers. But for now, for now it’s pretty perfect. And the sex is downright rocking.

Over on “Glee,” the sexuality between Brittany and Santana has been handled very differently. Granted, teen show v. adult show. Coming out story v. will-they-or-won’t-they story. But while all the sex in Bo and Lauren’s relationship has been out in the open, all the sex in Brittany and Santana’s relationship has been off-screen. And, make no mistake, they have sex. They have sex-is-not-dating sex. They have scissoring-doesn’t-mean-I-want-to-have-lady-babies-with-you sex. They have does-taking-a-bath-together-means-we’re-dating sex. They’re getting it on like bunnies in cheerleading costumes – we’ve just never seen it. Any of it. Not even one little sweet lady kiss. And that, that’s pretty bogus.

While I do like that they’re taking their relationship slowly and delving into its ramifications, I don’t like that somehow this one couple in the entire Glee universe hasn’t had a chance to even share a small smooch on screen. Rachel has kissed Finn, Puck and Jesse. Quinn has kissed Finn, Puck and Sam. Heck even Kurt got to kiss Blaine – and Karofsky. And Santana and Brittany have both kissed their male dates in straight (or misguided gay, in the Britt-Kurt case) pairings. But Brittana together – nada. Not even a kiss on the cheek. Brittany has kissed that damn little Elvis-haired leprechaun more than Santana on screen.

And, having seen a screener for this week’s new episode, I can tell you the odds don’t get any better. We have not one, not two, not three, but seven – yes, SEVEN – kisses between Finn and Rachel. Kurt and Blaine, by comparison, get two. For the gayest show on television, that’s still pretty damn straight.

Now, certainly, a major mitigating factor here is that Santana and Brittany’s relationship is not out. Santana is not out at all. So, the lack of PDA is understandable. But, the lack of showing affection in private is not. And therein lies the rub. “Glee” isn’t just set in the classrooms and hallways of McKinley High. We’ve been in the living rooms, the bedrooms, the cars and even the motel rooms of our favorite Glee Club members. And we’ve even been in both Santana and Brittany’s bedrooms. Yet somehow, they never took the opportunity to show a little affection – let alone a kiss.

Now, this would make sense if they were still dancing around the issue of being into each other. But these two gals have been making with the sexytime since they were sophomores at least. And now, as seniors, it’s kind of about time we got to see it. And I’m not just saying this to be the pervy perv who perks up at the thought of girl-on-girl action. (Though, come on, we all know I’m the pervy perv who perks up at the thought of girl-on-girl action.) I’m saying this because seeing it helps make it real.

This whole idea of Brittana is still very theoretical. We’ve been told they have sex, we’ve been told they’re taking baths together. We’ve been told they do all the tender, sexy, hot things real couples do. But aside from that one nuzzle scene in Britt’s bedroom and the occasional shoulder lean or pinky link, these two could very well be besties with a touchy-feely side. OK, there was also that tequila body shot. God bless you, tequila body shot.

Yet still we’re stuck in this infernal cycle of tell, don’t show. We want some show. We want it now.

To be fair, part of this is just “Glee” being “Glee.” I don’t think they’ve been particularly good at conveying love, lust or longing. Will and Emma? Good lord, these are adults who don’t have sex. Finn and Rachel? They certainly have the awkward part of teenage love down pat. And do not get me started on this severely misguided, totally overdone and ridiculously dumb student-teacher thing between Puck and Shelby. Do not. And even they’ve kissed.

When you have a couple with real chemistry like Brittany and Santana and actresses up to the task like Heather Morris and Naya Rivera, you shouldn’t squander the opportunity. Brittana means a lot to a lot of people watching out there at home. People who might be questioning their own sexuality. People who might need reassurance of their sexuality. People who just want to know that love can be possible regardless of sexuality. Sure the sweetness of Brittana has been wonderful. The little looks. The little touches. Holding hands under the napkin. My heart, heavens, my heart. But that doesn’t mean we can’t ask for – even demand – more.

This silly little show about a show choir means something much more than jazz hands and diva battles to so many people. They say a kiss is just a kiss. But when it comes to Brittana, a sweet lady kiss is just everything.

NOTE: Tierra de lobos is a Spanish, not Mexican show. Hence it is European, not North American. Otherwise, trust me, I would have included that caliente.