She’s smiling even though she was dying inside from the boredom that is carousels. My birthday, 2014.
She’ll take pictures like this with me! Christmas, 2019
The infamous Wox of Bine night, 2013.
11… Reasons I Have the Best Person Ever
This post is sponsored… kidding. This post was inspired by my best friend when I asked her what I should write about today, and she told me “11 reasons I have the best friend ever,” so here we are. I changed it to “person” instead of friend because she’s more than my friend. She’s my sister, my partner, my soulmate, my other half, my forever and always, my constant. She is my person.
For those of you who don’t know her. Kelsey Roberts is a 25 year old bad-ass. We met seven years ago in college working at the library. She was a freshman; I was a senior. She just graduated from her Master’s program in Art History from George Mason University.
Kelsey has supported and loved me through some of the darkest times in my life. I really will never be able to thank her for everything she has been through with me, but it is a testament to our friendship and her heart that she is still around.
She’s fucking funny. We riff off of each other so well. We’re always in stitches when we’re around each other. I have so many screenshots of our conversations and an entire Google.doc of funny things we’ve said and come up with.
She didn’t run away after the first time we hung out. Seriously though. There were a lot of red flags telling her torun, but she didn’t. She was like, “Yup! This crazy matches my crazy, and it’s scary but it’ll be fun.” It’s definitely been scary, but it’s been a hell of a lot of fun.
She’s just the right amount of stupid. Actually, she’s not stupid at all, but she is a hypochondriac. When her hypochondria gets-a-going, she’ll believe a lot of things. Like the fact she’s allergic to the color yellow so she can no longer eat bananas. That’s not a real thing, but she totally believed me until I posted the screenshots of that text exchange on Facebook.
She puts up with me embarrassing her on social media. See #4 or writing about her on my blog or posting really embarrassing pictures from her drunken nights in college. (Which totally never happened. Kidding they absolutely did, and I was sober to capture her in all her glory.) Wox of Bine anyone? That’s Kelsey for “Box of Wine,” which she put on a short dude’s head so she could drink straight from the Wox of Bine’s spot.
We’re exactly the same height. Literally. Exactly. Except her mane gives her a quarter of an inch to a full inch depending on the day. We’re the same height, and it’s amazing. No awkward tall-short friend pictures for us. It’s a blessing.
She lived in DC for a few years. This was amazing for visiting purposes. I got to visit her and explore a really cool city!!!
Her love for animals is as deep as mine. We’re crazy animal people. She leans more towards cats but has a never ending love for dogs too. She fully supported me when I told her I picked up Tess and was probably going to keep her and help her through the puppy-situation. Kelsey was the first person I called with Tess news. Kelsey knew before Dylan.
She gave me a family. Her parents are now my parents. Her siblings are now my siblings. I love them with all my heart. I lived with them for almost three years. I go home as much as I can, and they love me unconditionally.
She has a heart of gold. Truly, she would take away the world’s pain if she could.
She is my other half. We always tell people: If you love Kelsey, you’ll definitely love me. If you love me, you might love Kelsey. Kelsey is pricklier and harder to get to know on the surface. In reality, she’s more optimistic, positive, and open than I am. She seems more difficult to get to know, but she’s protecting her soft, puppy-loving, do-gooder heart from being hurt by shitty people because she has been through so much in her life. We are two sides of the same coin. We balance each other and make one another whole. She is the person I turn to and vice versa. We met and instantly became attached physically and emotionally. It got harder when I graduated, but we talk every day, all the time. And we talk about EVERYTHING. From poop to sex to fashion to dogs to health issues to politics to family to my existential crises/feelings of impending doom to her hypochondria and everything in between. Nothing is off limits. We have no secrets, and whatever hasn’t been shared is solely because we forgot or ran out of time or we’re waiting until the next time we see one another in person, which should be sooner rather than later. Since meeting her, I have never once been scared about being alone. I found my person at 22. My person is not a romantic love, but it is the best love in my life. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her, and I miss her every moment we’re not together. Someday, I plan on kidnapping her and retiring to a lighthouse on the coast of Scotland where we will live together in peace raising dogs, cats, and White Park Cattle, while reading and writing about all the things we’re passionate about.
The one thing I don’t love: She hasn’t come to visit me in over three years. She needs to meet all her new fur nieces and nephews, see my new house, and sit on the couch and binge Netflix with me!!!
Celebrating PRIDE and the first few weeks in our house.Honestly, it’s amazing we made it through this year.
WE BOUGHT A HOUSE FOR OUR DOGS
I’m not even kidding.
We took possession and moved into our new home on May 29. I wish I could tell you that buying this house was a fairytale of magical bliss that brought us closer together. I would be lying.
IT WAS HELL!!!!!
If I never ever ever buy another house again ever, it will be too soon.
Dylan has been itching to buy a house since before we even met. I have been on the opposite side of the spectrum: I like apartment living. After three and a half years in an apartment, I finally gave in. He and I talked and talked and talked about it for about ten months. Should we? Were we ready? How would it work financially? Did we even like each other enough to buy a house together (the jury is still out on that one some days)? Also where would we buy a house? What did we want in a house? What did we NOT want in a house? In my mind, I’m nowhere near old enough to own a house. The bank disagreed with me, and gave us money to buy one eventually – more on that later.
This is a long and hellish story. Living it was something I hope to never experience again in my life. Granted, a lot of unique situations were at play.
In January, we found our realtor through my best friend. Michelle Miller is an angel. Honestly. She was sent to us by the great beyond to help us through this horrible experience, fight for us, assure us, keep us from killing each other, and be an absolute boss-babe Goddess. If you’re in Houston and wanting to buy a house, let me know, I will give you her information. She is AMAZING. I could write an entire love letter to her because I think she is just about the best human on this planet. We would not have made it through this without her.
I would not suggest EVER getting a mortgage through NAVY FEDERAL. Don’t do it. DO NOT DO IT. It was a miserable, horrible, terrible, anxiety-inducing, anger-filled experience. I cannot dissuade you enough.
It took us two months to get pre-approved for a mortgage. It should have taken a few days, tops. We kept getting denied. Which was very confusing because we were asking for less money than we knew we should get approved for. After changing loan officers, we found out the reason we weren’t getting approved is because the first one fucked up the paperwork SO bad. We were denied because he had tripled our debt and quartered our income. Well, obviously we didn’t get the loan under those circumstances because we wouldn’t have been able to afford oxygen. We eventually found out, the paperwork was saying the house wouldn’t be our primary residence… again, why would we buy our first house to not live in it? He was the WORST. Our second loan officer seemed better. We’ll circle back to her.
After two months of Michelle checking in to see how we were coming and two months of us being frustrated out of our minds because people suck, we were pre-approved!
It is now the end of February. On the day we received our pre-approval, I found a very pregnant Tess on the side of the road. We decided to keep her and take on the puppies because we knew we would be in a house within two months… (I’m rolling my eyes and face palming and sighing at my own naïveté on that one). We SHOULD have been in our house a month and a half lalter, but life had other things in store for us.
As happy and blessed as I am to have Tess and all thirteen puppies in my life, they made buying a house so much more stressful. I wouldn’t change anything because my life has so much more love in it, but it was hard and stressful. There was only so long we would be able to hide the existence of these puppies from our apartment complex before we needed to move into a house. The clock was ticking. Our lease on our apartment was also up at the beginning of April.
Dylan and I spent two days looking at the properties that fit our criteria. Which for me was: a space for a home office, a fenced in backyard for Beau and Tess (and eventually the puppies we were not planning on keeping but kept anyways!), and a Houston address. Dylan’s list included: two car garage, four bedrooms, a big house, updated, super awesome master bathroom, not a fixer upper, a place for him to game, room for his race car, room for his motorcycle, space in the garage to work, solar panels if possible, a big driveway, and more. He did actually get everything he wanted except solar panels. I got what I wanted too, which was easier because my list was short. We picked three houses to look at that would be perfect for us for the next few years. We were not looking for a forever home; we were looking for a fur-now-because-we-are-desperate house. We talked to Michelle, scheduled a day to look at houses and told her time was of the essence.
We’re in the first week of March. COVID was in the news. It was starting to be in the world, but it wasn’t a huge deal yet.
We looked at three houses. House number three was a four bedroom, relatively new house, with a decent backyard, recently renovated cookie cutter house in a newer subdivision. We didn’t really want a cookie cutter, new subdivision house. We like quirk. We like funk. We like trees. But, we needed a house. It was decently priced, and it had been on the market for just long enough, we hoped they would be happy to sell especially with the COVID shadow starting to loom. We put in an offer that day. They countered the next morning. We countered. We didn’t hear anything. We waited for four days… I had a feeling of foreboding the entire time, which has always been the precursor to bad news. The owners decided to go with another offer and never told us.
Michelle felt HORRIBLE. It wasn’t her fault. The sellers and their realtors were crapwads. Those four days were precious because the puppies were now outside their mama, and the clock was ticking. We weren’t heartbroken about that house because we weren’t in love with it, but we were in love with not being homeless. We needed a place to live, and our lease was up soon. Michelle told us to pick a gazillion houses and we would look at all of them the next day. So we did. We had wanted to be picky and keep the list small, but we were running out of time. I talked to the apartment and extended our lease three months. Thank God.
The next day, we looked at twelve houses. None of them were right. The next day, we looked at seven. I had almost made the executive decision to not go see the very first house on the second day, but Dylan said he wanted to. We walked through it, Dylan had the warm fuzzy feeling. I was being overwhelmed by anxiety and taken over by foreboding. Nothing felt right or good. Something was wrong or going to go wrong, I just didn’t know what that was. Dylan made a solid argument for the first house from the second day. I said “fine.” I didn’t care as long as we were going to have a place to live.
Our house had been on the market for 123 days when we put an offer in. The family that owned it were also military, so I played up Dylan’s 100% disabled veteran card a whole lot in our letter. I am not above using the truth to our advantage. Thank God I did. They liked us. They wanted to sell to us. After a little back and forth and Michelle being a badass, she got us an amazing deal in a super timely fashion. They accepted our offer. We had 45 days until we would take possession. That meant the puppies would be ten weeks old when we moved into the house. I would have to figure out somewhere for us to live for three-ish weeks once they turned six weeks old and were too big to be hidden.
We had the inspection done and all that jazz. Awesome. Things were moving along.
Pretty much as soon as they accepted our offer, COVID started being a really serious issue. Things were closing. People were staying at home. Quarantine was put in place. Masks were being mandated. Things were changing very quickly. Luckily for us, all the physical, in-person things were taken care of. We were assured nothing would keep us from moving in on May 4, our closing date. We had done everything we needed to do. It was the bank’s turn to get their ducks in a row.
The puppies and I and Tess and Beau and Dylan lived in our apartment until they were five weeks old and too old and big to hide and cover up the noise. There was a two pet rule in our apartment; we were thirteen over. Woops. I’m a rule breaker when I have to be. When it became too much for our apartment, we moved in with my best friend, Amanda the Saint, for three and a half weeks until we closed on the house and moved in on May 4! Yay…
Kidding.
COVID had turned the world upside down. We were lucky in a lot of ways, but it fucked some things up for us. Dylan did end up losing his job. The bigger problem was NAVY FEDERAL AND OUR LOAN OFFICER NOT DOING HER FUCKING JOB. Two days before we were supposed to close, we found out through a very round-about way that we weren’t going to close on time. We had to track down our loan officer’s boss – because our loan officer had a very bad habit of never picking up her phone and taking DAYS to call us back – to find out what was happening and why we weren’t closing on time. Also… I’m going to be fucking homeless with fifteen dogs in two days. Turns out, our loan officer didn’t do the paperwork she was supposed to do so we could close, which meant the potentiality of being homeless, living under an underpass with FIFTEEN dogs.
Michelle worked her magic and found a way to convince the sellers that we would move Heaven and Earth to figure this shit out and buy the house from them. They agreed to give us a three week extension. All they wanted was to sell their house and get their money. All we wanted was to buy their house and give them our money. But the bank didn’t want to do their goddamn job, so that they could take our money.
My dad flew down on Sunday to help me drive to Iowa with the thirteen puppies and Tess. Holy fuck, that was a horrible drive to Iowa. It was gross and disgusting. I should really write that story because yuck. I was going to Iowa for at least three weeks. If things didn’t get figured out with the house in that period of time, I would be in Iowa until we could figure something else out or find a new house. So you know… I would be living with my parents.
I was homeless with fourteen dogs. Beau stayed with Dylan, whose job was to pack up everything in the apartment. He got the luxury end of that deal.
After a really long and frustrating and fucked up process, we finally got the go-ahead to close on the house on Friday, May 29. I had been in Iowa for a month. My dad and I left Friday morning super early. We weren’t sure we were going to get the keys to the house that day, though. So we were driving to Houston on a hope and a prayer. Dylan got the keys at 5:00 pm. Dad and I were driving straight to the house and would get in at 10:30. Dylan would meet us at the house with Beau where he would have the air mattress set up for my dad, blankets for us, shower stuff so we could shower and go to sleep after a long day in the car. The movers would move everything the next day. We would hand over our keys to the apartment in the nick of time. Things would be golden.
Hahahahahahaha…
Dylan fucked that up.
After fourteen hours of being on the road, I called Dylan to see how things were at 9:30. He didn’t pick up. I kept calling. My dad kept calling. I just knew in my gut, he fucked up. I pulled into the house. The car was nowhere to be found. The lights were off. There was nothing in the house. I drove to the apartment. Keep in mind. We had been on the road for fifteen and a half hours with nine puppies and Tess. They were hungry and bored and ready to stretch their legs. So was I. I banged and banged and banged on the apartment door. He finally woke up. Turns out, he had laid down for a nap after getting the keys without setting an alarm. To say I was pissed is an understatement. I had spent the last three months NOT sleeping, taking care of puppies, and generally not having any kind of life. And on the ONE day I needed him to do ONE thing, he took a nap. When he finally opened the door of the apartment, I walked in to find NOTHING packed. I was ANGRY. Beyond angry. Like I said, I had spent the last three months taking care of the puppies by myself, going without sleep, giving up my life, moving out of town, being homeless, and a whole lot of other things. His ONE job was to pack the apartment. Our lease was up the next day. How the fuck was he going to get it done? He had planned on having the movers do everything, and I was never supposed to know because I was going to be busy at the house with the puppies.
Honestly, it’s a little bit of a miracle that we are still together. I was livid. I was fucking pissed. And tired. Really, really, really tired.
I took the key, the puppies, Beau, Tess, and my dad to the house. We let them run around the backyard and put some food in their bellies. Dylan finally showed up with the air mattress and towels and shower stuff. I looked at Beau. She’s white, but her skin has black spots. It looked like her spots were moving…. The backyard was INFESTED with fleas. I have terrible PTSD that is triggered by bugs. We were laying on the floor in our bedroom, so our bedroom was now infested with fleas. It was pretty much my worst nightmare. It was the exact opposite of the thing I needed that night. I didn’t get to sleep until 3:00 am. The puppies woke me up at 6:00. It was a hellish day.
Dylan and I ended up having a very long conversation, and he apologized for his stupidity. We’re fine now, but I was very upset. He was dealing with his anxiety and depression. He’s not just a lazy, good-for-nothing fuck noodle; he’s got his issues. Between COVID and all that went wrong with the house, we were both basket cases. It was a hard three months for everyone. But it was not the happy closing day where we left all the bad shit behind us that I had hoped for.
We have spent the first month living in our house dealing with life. COVID has made things difficult. I am the kind of person who likes to be unpacked immediately. That didn’t happen here. We’ve had basic life things to deal with like vet check ups, health issues, buying necessary owning-your-first-home items, catching up on sleep because I went without for three months, getting the dogs and puppies acclimated to their new life, and more. A week after moving into the house, four puppies went to their furever homes. The next week, two more went to their furever homes. Two weeks after moving in, we found out one of our A/C units and the furnace needs to be replaced. Three weeks after moving in, the water heater went out. We didn’t have a washer or dryer for the first three and a half weeks, which was terrible because I have a gazillion puppies that make a lot of laundry. We spent three weeks deinfesting the backyard and house of fleas, which we are now flea free. The plumbing had some issues, which cost more money. We need new windows because well yikes. Nothing has been painted, and it desperately needs paint because it’s this horrible purply-gray-taupe color with terrible stenciling. It has been a VERY expensive month. There are still boxes everywhere. The bed isn’t on it’s bed frame. The house is a mess. But we’re not homeless! We love our house and what it will be. The neighborhood is great. Life is starting to get into a new rhythm of normal.
Our family consists of Dylan, Beau, Tess, Makeda, Knight, Bear, Duke, and I. We were only going to keep three puppies, but no one wanted Duke. Which makes me so sad because he is the sweetest little cartoon of a puppy. He has a serious overbite that will take some money and work to make him better and let him live a full and happy life. We love him very, very much.
We took family pictures in front of our house a few weeks ago. All the puppies (except Duke because we didn’t know he was ours at that point), Beau, Tess, Dylan, and I in our rainbow PRIDE outfits, flying our rainbow flag and our Marine flag. We are a military family. We also believe in inclusivity and living your truth. We are a family full of disabilities. Our home is welcoming to all. We accept everyone as they are. Rescues, strays, pregnant mothers, and everything in between. Humans are welcome too. Our home will always be open and loving. It has been a journey getting here. It was hard and stressful. There were a lot of tears and fights, but we made it. Five months ago, we had one dog and lived in an apartment.
Today, we have a house with a big yard that we bought for our SIX dogs.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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The Black Book is one of the most moving and heartbreaking books I have ever read.
I am not the first person to come up with a list of ways to be a better antiracist, and I won’t be the last. You should look up others because I’m sure they are better. Obviously, this is a list of things you can do written by a white lady with a lot of white privilege who is on her own imperfect and perpetual journey to be a better antiracist.
This post is titled “… Better Antiracist” because hopefully you’re already on your antiracist journey. If you are not, WELCOME! Now is the perfect time to start your journey.
READ. There are so many wonderful books, articles, stories, etc. written by Black writers, educators, activists, etc. who have made it their life’s work to educate. You will learn so much from them. Also buying and reading their books supports them and their work. It tells publishers and academia to be more inclusive, to publish more Black authors, to support the Black community. All you have to do is scroll through my book reviews to find some really great books. Or just google it. (Google is a great resource, use it.)
EVALUATE YOURSELF. The hardest thing to do is admit fault or complicitness. We’re all racist. It’s ingrained in society. That doesn’t make it okay. When you have feelings or apprehension, ask yourself why. Evaluate what you do, your feelings, your thoughts, where you live, what you read, what you watch, everything. It takes time and effort. Being self-aware is hard, but it makes us better people. The more good people in the world fighting for equality and justice, the better the world will be. Be a part of the change, and that change starts within.
DIVERSIFY YOUR FEED. More than likely, you found me through social media. Social media is amazing. I love how it connects the world. It is also a way to maintain our safe bubbles. If you only follow people who look and think the way you look and think, you’re not challenging yourself to be better. How many BIPOC people do you follow? Seriously, go take a look. I had this realization a few years ago after reading a book (see point 1), and the first thing I did was go and follow writers, bloggers, actors, people of color. It’s important. And so easy.
DIVERSIFY YOUR LIFE. How many people of color are you friends with? This is harder to change because it takes more of a conscious effort, and a lot of times. It might even mean going pretty far out of our comfort zone. If you don’t have any friends of color, why? I grew up in a diverse city in Iowa – I know, it sounds like an oxymoron. I had access to immigrants, people of color, different religions, diverse cultures. I had access to be friends with people of all kinds, and I was. I have friends of all colors. I’m not friends with them because they have a different hue than me. I’m friends with them because I love them as humans, and I know I do because I didn’t let their skin color hold me back from getting to know them.
SUPPORT BLACK OWNED BUSINESSES. Take five minutes, google “black owned businesses in ____” and insert your area. You will find a ton of references. Whether it’s trying a new restaurant or shopping at a new boutique, when you support black owned businesses, you’re supporting the people. It’s harder for a Black person to get a bank loan to open that business. When we support them and they thrive, you’re telling banks to invest in those businesses. Money talks, so let yours.
FUCKING LISTEN. This could alternatively be titled SHUT THE FUCK UP. If you’re white, shut your mouth. So often the floor is ceded to us because of our paleness. Our opinions and experiences are treated as more important than those held by less pale people, which is stupid. As a woman, I’ve had to fight to speak and be heard. It can be hard to not talk when given the opportunity because I’m silenced often. It is so important to let people tell their own story and share their own experience. We need to not take up space that should have never been ours to begin with. We have colonized so much of the world, we need to stop colonizing time.
DON’T APPROPRIATE. At this point in time, I shouldn’t have to say it, but I do. Don’t appropriate. It’s wrong. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, google “cultural appropriation.”
SHARE. It’s really important to share the work, opinions, and experiences of BIPOC. And I mean this in a very works cited kind of way and not an opposite to #6 or #7 kind of way. If there is an artist you love, share! If there’s a writer you love, share! A blogger you’re low-key stalking their life, share! If you love it, other people will too. Everyone loves being loved, so share the love.
STOP STEREOTYPING BASED ON RACE. I hate this so much. Black people… are not anything. They are people. They are as diverse, multifaceted, interesting, and all the other things humans are as every other “race”. Stereotypes are stupid and should stop. Do not be that person who says things like, “Black people are bad tippers.” I heard that when I bartended. You know why Black people were tipping that person poorly? Because that person was serving them poorly based on a dumb-ass stereotype. That person didn’t deserve a good tip because they were serving like shit. If you start a sentence with “Black people…” it should end with “… are victims of systemic racism.” That is the option.
ASK TO BE CALLED OUT. I tell all my friends to, “call me out if I say something offensive, hurtful, inaccurate, uneducated, whatever.” No matter what or who they are. I want to be the best person I can be, and I can only be that person by being accountable. I want and hope all my friends will hold me responsible and call me out if I say some shit. I don’t want to be the person who hurts anyone, and I can’t know something until I know something. I surround myself with smart, amazing, vibrant people, and they have access to all sorts of information I have yet to access. When we open ourselves up to being responsible for hurting others or making them feel small or perpetuating horrible things, we allow ourselves to have innumerable teaching moments. When I open myself to the fact I can and will make mistakes, I’m less defensive, hurt, contradictory when I am called out. To create change, I have to be open to being the change, and I can’t be the change if I think I’m omniscient and all-kind. There is power in the vulnerability of allowing myself to be wrong. It is a kindness to others because I give them the space to feel their feelings knowing I will listen and accept responsibility in my role of shitty person. It enables open dialogue and deeper human connection. (You can also be the person to call out your friends and family in a kind but firmly don’t-be-a-racist-dick-noodle way.)
DON’T BE THE PERSON WHO CONFINES THEIR DATING LIFE TO YOUR OWN RACE. This is very specific. It bothers me when people say they’re not attracted to Black men/women or any other race. Sexuality is weird, I get it. If you’re not attracted to Black men, you don’t have eyes (but if you don’t have eyes, color doesn’t exist to you in the same way it does to seeing people). If you’re not attracted to Black men, you’ve never seen: Taye Diggs, Idris Elba, Daniel Kaluuya, Barack Obama, Michael B. Jordan, Chadwick Boseman, Anthony Mackie, Ta-Nehisi Coates, Jessie (the Director of Security at my building in Chicago, and the only regret I have in life: not asking him out). If you’re not attracted to Black women, you’ve never seen Michelle Obama (they are an attractive couple), Iman, Kerry Washington, Halle Berry, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Beyoncé, Gabrielle Union, Kamala Harris, Tiffany Hadish, and more. I find them all unbelievably attractive. Science would also agree with me because they’re very symmetrical. I can honestly name more attractive people of color than I can name white people. Just date people, don’t limit yourself.
Don’t limit yourself. That should be number one on the list. Being racist means limiting yourself. The world is not white. It would be so boring if it were. It is gloriously colorful. Soak up the world for everything it is, the good and the bad. Where there is bad, there is room for growth. Where there is good, there is room for better. Let’s be better citizens of the world and neighbors to our Black brothers and sisters (and BIPOC in general), who deserve to live in this beautifully colorful world with the same rights and peace as white men. I would say me, but the feminist in me says there is room to reach.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Making our own Pride Parade.Getting these pictures was a feat.We were full of Pride. | Dress | Tutus | Bow Ties | Shoes | Belt
Happy Pride Month!
It hasn’t felt like Pride because of everything else going on in the world. BLM, protests, COVID, and more have been dominating the conversation, which is not a bad thing. I’m thrilled BLM is starting to pick up some serious steam and gaining mainstream attention. Black Lives DO Matter.
The beautiful thing about Pride: it was founded in protest. It is a community of protest. The Pride community has not been up in arms about the lack of visibility this month. We’re fighting for lives. It is a fight the LGBTQIA+ community is all too familiar with. They have and continue to fight for their own lives. Trans lives continue to be questioned, negated, and criminalized. LGBTQIA+ children are still ostracized and renounced by their families. They are at higher risks of suicide, self harm, and violence. To be LGBTQIA+ is still seen as being “other” instead of “human.” The Pride community fights for visibility, legitimacy, rights, and more the same way BLM is. Being LGBTQIA+ does not discriminate based on gender or race or religion or socio-economic status. It is a rainbow community made up of everyone.
Pride matters to me for the same reason Black lives matter to me and Trans lives matter to me and every other life matters to me. Human rights matter to me. I identify as a feminist, but in reality, I am a humanist. I practice intersectional feminism because the work will not be done until everyone has the same rights and recognition as everyone else. People are different. We’re not the same. Our stories and experiences are as varied as our identities. That’s what is beautiful about the world we live in: no one is me, and no one is you.
I haven’t considered myself straight in years; I would call myself pansexual. I have always dated men, but if I were ever single again, I would date people based on who they are not their gender identity. My sexuality is nondiscriminating; I am more interested in the person than the parts they have. This is not my coming out. I’ve never felt the need to do it. Since my early twenties, I’ve been pretty aware and open about my sexual identity. When people call me straight, I disagree. I’m not straight even though that’s what I look like. I’m not hiding, but I’m not going to pretend I’m anywhere near Kinsey-Zero-Straight. Why I’ve never dated a woman: That’s a longer story.
My life and any area I reside – whether it be my physical existence or my virtual one – will accept everyone no matter gender, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, socio-economic background, religion, and anything else I’ve forgotten. I will even accept differences of opinions, political backgrounds, and more. I do not accept hate, intolerance, ignorance, and lack of compassion or willingness to listen.
COVID has affected so much. It has definitely put a damper on Pride. In Houston, the Pride Parade was canceled, as I’m sure it was elsewhere too. I was really excited to go this year because I was going to load all my puppies up in a wagon with their Pride gear on. We’ll all be out there next year in our rainbow extravaganza. We need to work on leash training before that happens; luckily, I have a year.
I believe in love. I believe in people. I will fight for everyone’s rights whether I belong to the group or not. I am an intersectional feminst, and every single person deserves to be seen, accepted, and affirmed for who they are. We must stand beside one another and fight for equality together, or nothing will change. Whether it be the BLM protests or a Pride parade or the Women’s March or really any other group fighting for their lives and their right to exist in peace, support in any way you can. Educate yourself. Stand up for others. March. Protest. Write. Sing. Talk. Volunteer. Vote. Show up. Open yourself up to new friendships and connections. Whatever works for you.
Do not be complacent. Do not stay silent. Silence kills.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Worth A Read Eh Length 496 Quick Review Anna of Kleve was the fourth wife of Henry VIII, faring better than any who came before or after, but was she hiding a secret love child?
I have a hard time reading historical fiction because I have a LOVE of history. To the point of obsession. I don’t love historical fiction because authors change and add and revise history like it’s their job, – it is – but the problem for me lies in the fact history is ridiculous enough, it doesn’t need changing. I understand making up conversations and filling in the gaps of history, but come on. I like Aliso Weir because she’s an actual historian with numerous historical nonfiction books and biographies published, focusing on the Tudors and other royal figures. She writes popular history, which is more accessible than academic writing for those who enjoy history and don’t want to be bogged down in academese. Her historical fiction is far more factual than most out there. She just knows her shit better.
Within the first few pages of Anna of Kleve, there is a sex scene. For me, it’s not a selling point, but the other 490 pages pretty much steered clear of the graphic sex scenes. Although, I think a lot of people read historical fiction just for the naughty bits.
Anna of Kleve was the fourth wife of King Henry VIII. She was never crowned, but she became a trusted friend of the king and loved by his children. Where his other wives found tragedy, Anna found a friend. Henry fell in love with her portrait, but he was disappointed by the reality he met. Henry famously told Oliver Cromwell, “I liked her before not well, but now I like her much less, for I have felt her belly and her breasts and as I can judge, she should be no maid.” the night after their wedding when he couldn’t or didn’t consummate their marriage. What does this mean? Alison Weir explores the possibility: Anna of Kleve was no virgin, but had a love child before their marriage.
Weir paints a convincing picture in her latest historical fiction novel Anne of Kleve, but is it convincing enough to change the way history views the fourth wife of Henry VIII? I found it interesting and compelling, but not revolutionary. As a student of history, it’s founded on a rumor that is not new. It circulated during Anna’s own time.
It’s a decent book. It took me a while to get through it. I highly suggest Anne of Klevefor lovers of historical fiction. For me, not my favorite.
Memorable Quotes “Men did commonly blame the wife if anything went wrong…” “…he had such a deep-rooted elied in his own righteousness that it would never occur to him that he might have wrecked her life.”
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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Enjoying downtown Houston last summer when I had significantly less dogs and far more time and no COVID in my life. | Dress | Watch | Earrings |
The last three and a half months have been crazy chaotic for everyone around the world. You’ve probably noticed the hoard of puppies in my Instagram stories or the pictures or the posts I’ve managed to produce. COVID and quarantine have definitely had a serious impact on my life, but the puppies have had a far bigger impact. Working from home, my quotidien life didn’t change drastically because of quarantine, but it did change because of the swarm, which is what we came to call the thirteen puppies. I love them, but I have missed out on a whole lot of things because of them. 1000% worth it, though.
Sleep. I have missed sleep. What is it? I don’t even know anymore. They are sleeping through the night, so I’m getting more than two non-consecutive hours now. I am playing catch up.
Beau. Because I was living at my best friend’s house and then in Iowa, I went two months without seeing Beau. It hurt my heart, and I know it hurt her feelings because I disappeared with a gazillion dogs for EVER. Luckily, I’ve been back in Houston for two weeks, and Beau and I have been snuggling like crazy trying to catch up.
Going Out. Even if COVID hadn’t shut down the world, I wouldn’t have been able to go out and enjoy the world. I feel like I’ve been so detached from everything because the puppies have kept me occupied and preoccupied.
Showers. I haven’t had tons and tons of time for showers, and even if I did, I’m not completely sure how useful they would be. The moment I get out of the shower, I tend to find poop or pee or throw up or most usually a combination of all three. It’s hard to convince myself to shower when I’m just going to be gross ten minutes later. Might as well stay gross.
Reading. I have not had time to read because my time is spoken for. I’m about a gazillion books behind schedule. Woops.
Looking Like A Human. I’m certain I look like an exhausted, chubby alien version of myself. Eating well went right out the window because I haven’t had the time to cook, let alone grocery shop. I’ve definitely put on some softer edges and some wrinkles.
Water. Honestly. I’m so dehydrated. I keep forgetting to drink water because… Well, I’m not good at it to begin with, so when I’m uber busy, hydration just doesn’t happen.
Knowing What’s Going On. Whether it be what’s going on in the world or what’s going on with my best friend, I honestly have no fucking idea. I’m not even on social media right now. This is the first blog post in a month! I found out about George Floyd because my best friend texted me (I did take time out to protest because that is FUCKING IMPORTANT, and social justice is a huge part of …on the B.L., so I can’t not march.) I love my friends, but seriously, I hardly talk to them.
Money. I’ve been spending it like it grows on trees because these puppies have been ridiculously expensive because the number of them and they’ve also had some super fun rare medical problems, but they’re healthy now. Also I’ve not had much money coming in because COVID has slowed everything down. I so poor.
…on the B.L. Hello. I haven’t written or posted anything in weeks and weeks. It’s hard to motivate myself to do anything with the very little free time I have when I’m exhausted. So here I am, finally posting something. Woo!
Houston. I’ve missed Houston. I was gone for a month, but even when I’ve been here I can’t even enjoy the outdoorsy things this great city has to offer because I’ve been momming it up. Oh well. Maybe soon.
bisous und обьятий, RaeAnna
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