The bathroom debate

Have you ever sat and listened to the ludicrous waffle spouted by the right wing in the US when it comes to transgender people using the toilets for their actual gender rather than their birth assigned sex? Have you sat and read the articles on how it puts our children at risk of assault, etc. etc. etc.? There’s nothing more ridiculous in my eyes than this debate.

As a disabled person who uses a wheelchair or walking sticks to get around, I use the accessible toilet. I can’t get myself up off the toilet without the bar to pull myself up on or on some days, help from my carer. That’s just the way it is. It doesn’t mean that I’m a pervert, and I don’t think anyone would call me one for needing someone with me in the toilet to help me in and out of my chair on bad days. So why is it that a person using a toilet cubicle or a urinal is a pervert? They are just going about their business.

Also, if you’re from the UK there’s another thing to add to this debate, something that all people who require the use of an accessible toilet will acknowledge, our toilets are unisex. Every single accessible toilet you come across in public spaces is unisex. Admittedly there’s usually only one, unless you’re in a large shopping centre, and it’s usually a single room, but that’s not the point. Ladies get one toilet, gents another, and the accessible toilet is unisex. We’re not expected to want or need a single sex toilet. For us it’s a case of ‘this is what you get’ and this has been the way of it since accessible toilets became a thing in the UK.

At home our toilets are unisex. We don’t have separate bathrooms for the men and women who live with us. We’d think the idea absurd. So why in the hell is it an issue when a transgender person who was born with different genitals from you wants to use the same toilets as you use because it’s the gender they are?

So this is Christmas….

…. almost. This year seems to have flown by in a flurry of activity that has been never ending. There’s been a tonne of stress and bodily pain and dealing with a lot of things I really wish I hadn’t had to. But overall I’m ending 2017 with a grateful heart. An exceptionally grateful heart. Things have changed this year, a lot, and actually whilst they were scary, I think overall they were worth it.

• I started this year with a decision that was ultimately life changing. But it meant that I was choosing to focus on my health, my diagnoses, and my ability to look after myself. My relationship of ten years ended. It was a tough decision. I’m not going to deny it. But it was something that ultimately needed to happen in order for me to focus on understanding myself as I now am.
• I spent an amazing few days in Telford with the FCD lot. Made new friends, reconnected with old ones, and began to realise just how loved I am.
• I spent an amazing few days with my two favourite people in Edinburgh. That trip was life altering in so many different ways, and it left me with a deeper understanding of myself and my relationships with both of them. I also made a new friendship with someone who is as nuts about hamsters as I am.
• I met Christin Baker in person. This amazing woman is the power behind Tello Films, she is a powerhouse and one of my inspirations. To sit and have brunch with her and discuss Riley Parra and other things was just amazing. And to be treated as human and not someone in a chair was beyond fabulous. Not that I expected anything less.
• Being able to support my wonderful Geonn Cannon as Riley went live on Tello and connecting with Marem Hassler was beyond beautiful. She is the perfect Riley. And I desperately encourage everyone to donate in the last few days of the season two crowdfunding so that we get to see the next instalment!
• Seeing Stockard Channing perform in London was a last minute, crazy, day whirlwind of an experience, and damn if I am not still recovering from that. To see her in all her formidable force on stage was just beyond epic. There are no words for that night.
• Being given a second hand laptop by a dear friend to replace my falling apart one was a huge plus. It’s enabling me to keep on writing.
• Sitting in Citizen M in Tower Hill working on The Stolen Generation was amazing.
• Consistently being published by The Mighty shows me my voice is being heard.
• Being reminded randomly by the most random people that I’m loved and appreciated is beyond special.
• And fundraising for C3 Foundation and trying to help them win the Newman’s Own Foundation Holiday Challenge on CrowdRise, has once again reminded me just how amazing people can be. You can donate to my Team C3 Page here.

This year has been amazing. If I could give shout outs to everyone who has made it so I would. But you all know who you are. Instead I’ll say this to just a few:

J – I’d be lost without you. You make every day so much easier and help me with so much.

MC – not your real initials but you know who you are. I look forward to our next adventure, and I’m so fucking grateful for the one we’ve had this year.

G – you’ll always be my platonic hubby. I love you.

JH – you’re my best friend, my sister, my guru. You mean the world to me.

SD – you blew me away when you sent me that PM.

DH – I love you too. Always. We neurodiverse thesaurus swallowers have to gel.

NLM – thank you for the book discussions and the ongoing support.

KitS- you’ve been a stalwart support as always, and you mean so damn much to me. We need to find a way to meet up soon.

KBS – where would I be without my sister in feminist fannish arms?

KazS – I’m so glad we’ve had the time to text this year. I love you.

To all I’ve met through The B Cup – I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

#RileyParra Episode 2, an open letter to Marem Hassler

I could make this blog post a blow by blow account of this week’s AMAZING episode. I could tell you all how Riley and Gillian (Hassler and Vassey) had me making heart eyes at my screen, or how Sweet Kara makes me feel more validated as a non-binary person. I could even mention that I about squeed the place down on seeing Maeve Quinlan and Connor Trineer on my screen. But this post is more than that. This post comes down to one small moment in a scene that brought tears to my eyes and made me so amazingly grateful that Marem was cast as Riley. I’m putting the rest of the post under a cut because spoilers, and triggers.

Grief creeps up on you

I’ve been dealing with a lot lately, still grieving Grandad, lost my job…. And to be honest I figured it was about as much as I could handle and then a post on Facebook reminded me it’s the UK Mothers’ Day tomorrow and a whole other wound opened up.

It’s been nearly 15 years since Mum died. Almost half my life… And yet it still feels like yesterday. And sometimes I’m halfway through dialling that old phone number before I remember it will be my step-mother or my father (neither of whom I want to speak to), at the other end. 

Mum wasn’t perfect, we fought a lot, but she loved me and she proved it time and time again. And this year with everything going on, it’s hitting a little harder. No one should lose their mother at such a tender age. 

Mum, I wish I could tell you just one more time that I love you.

Meltdown – a poem

Wanting to crawl out of my skin,
Creatures move as anxiety sets in.
Doubts rush through my head,
It’s the frustration that I dread.
Vocal chords and brain detach,
Can’t find the key to open the latch.
Lights are too bright to see,
Sounds seem to deafen me.
Hard to explain to an NT,
How difficult a meltdown can be.

(NT means neurotypical… Someone whose brain functions in a typical fashion).

(C) scribblenubbin 2016

Grief with Asperger’s

If you read my blog regularly, you know that I recently lost my Grandad. It’s been tough. Grandad was and is my first hero. He was the man who gave me a love of so many things and taught me about language. I still feel like I’m caught in some terrible dream.

Everyone goes through grief at different speeds, it comes out in different ways, and yet it has it’s similar stages. There’s denial, anger, sorrow, acceptance… And a few more I forget. But as an Aspie, going through the stronger emotions can be a terrifying experience.

For me, this particular loss is harder to deal with than others as it sets off some of my PTSD triggers as well. But overwhelmingly I see the Aspie traits intensified. 

I feel like I’m trapped in my head. I want to scream and shout and cry most of the time. But I find it hard to do so. It’s not that I’m not an emotional person, I just can’t figure out how to let those emotions loose. It leads to frustration and more stimming than usual. I press my fingers into my thighs and arms as hard as I can in order to try and feel pain which might release the tears. I’m snappy, seriously snappy, how JDV is putting up with me I don’t know. I’m also constantly shutting down.

My negative emotions are the ones  I find most difficult to deal with, and so it’s when I start to feel them bubble up that I go into meltdown. They taste sour and feel spiky, kinda like cactus spikes pressed into my internal organs. I forget to breathe and my arms and legs close inwards, my fingers finding somewhere to press into tender flesh.

When I’m like this, whilst I’m physically shutting down to close off the pain, I’m also hyper aware of every little thing around me. It sounds contradictory, but it’s true. I feel the individual fibres of my clothes, hear every noise at ten times its actual loudness, lights become brighter and moving even an inch seems like some epic task of passing through the space of an alien territory. I find it hard to sleep and I wake at the slightest sound or breeze. 

When I do sleep, my dreams are in vivid and lurid colours, which I know is a reflection of my state of mind. Normally my dreams are colourful but not to the point where things are the wrong colours and my brain screams at the wrongness of it all. 

For me, grief is an overwhelming mess of the senses. It consumes my thoughts and cycles through my head at a speed I can’t describe, round and round, constantly repeating the same thoughts as things I touch, see, smell and hear, become too much. If I could turn it all off I would. 

Alfred Charles

  
The man in the picture was my first ever hero; my Grandad, Alfred Charles (surname protected). He was a WWII Navy veteran, Princess Anne called him a liar when he told her his age, my mother sprayed an entire brand new bottle of Charlie perfume over his feet when he pissed her off and it was that that made him certain she was the right daughter-in-law for him.

Grandad made the best jams when I was growing up. He had a train set in the attic that was epic considering the tiny space it was set up in. He taught me how to care for fruits and vegetables in the garden, and repeatedly told me I didn’t have to be the way people expected me to be. When my father outed me to him, Grandad told me that I could call him ‘dad’ instead. That his son was in the wrong for kicking me out for loving women. He told me that he couldn’t care less whom I fell in love with as long as they never abused that love or me.

Grandad passed away yesterday evening. His heart literally just gave up. He was only a couple months shy of his 96th birthday. As a child and even as an adult I saw my grandfather as the unstoppable force. He was always so sure and so certain. It still hasn’t quite sunk in that my unstoppable Grandad has been stopped. 

At a time when so many public heroes have passed on so quickly and suddenly, I want to make sure that one of my heroes and one of the many unnamed heroes of the British Forces is remembered. Thanks to veterans like my grandfather, I grew up on an island not under Nazi occupation, and I’m free to live as a disabled, genderqueer, lesbian boi. 

2015 -ups, downs, and hope for the future

2015 has given me family time that was much wanted and needed. It has given me a new job, allowed me to escape from a crushing and crumbling workplace. I saw people I love dearly, and finished writing a screenplay, and published my first ebook. 

My darling AH has started on a path that will change the course of both of our lives in the next 12 to 18 months. I’ve lost furbabies but gained my precious Londo, who as I write this is sound asleep in his bed. 

My mental health has improved. I still suffer the PTSD flashbacks but they are less frequent, as are the nightmares. I’m on a regime of medication and self-care that seems to be working for me.

These are the things I choose to carry with me as I head into 2016. There has been pain, both physical and emotional, but the good that has been is what I take with me. 

To all who read my little blog, thank you for riding through this year with me, I hope 2016 will see us share many more adventures together. And just because, have a photo of my newest furbaby, Londo Mollari:

 

The Search for Lana

After putting it off for many many years, I took a leap and self-published an ebook at Smashwords.

The Search for Lana, the first of the Lunegosse series is now officially available for purchase. Please check it out, and if you don’t think you’re interested in it, share it with someone who might be.

Just click on the link above or the picture below:

Food is no longer the enemy

Food has always played a big part in my life. Growing up breakfast was a huge deal. No one left the house without eating breakfast. Cereal, toast, or porridge on a weekday, cooked breakfast on a Saturday and whatever we fancied on a Sunday, but we had to eat it. Lunchboxes came home empty if we didn’t want a fight, if you didn’t eat all of your main course at dinner, there was no dessert or supper. And the portions were not small.

But with sixth form and heightened responsibility, I was rarely home for meals. After seven years of being bullied at school and even longer than that at home, I needed control of something and food was what I could control. Especially as I wasn’t being monitored as closely. I started skipping breakfast, telling my parents I was getting it at school. Lunch was a plain roll and as for dinner, I perfected the art of silent purging. I pushed myself faster and harder and occasionally binged and purged when I craved the taste of something sweet.

Recovery is where I have been for the past fifteen years. I’ve managed to stop myself from any of those behaviours mostly, except when highly stressed a few years back, when I reached an all time low of 90 pounds in weight. On my 5’6″ frame that was too thin.

In the past two years though things have seriously changed. It’s been eighteen months since I last seriously thought about restricting or bingeing and purging, twelve months since I calorie counted with regularity, and a month since I thought that I need to go on a diet.

I will never say I am out of recovery, but today I can honestly say that my relationship with food is back on an even keel. I have sat at work listening to people talk about diets and how to lose weight and not been triggered into old thought patterns, I am finding it easier to not compare myself to others. I am seeing the beauty of my own body. Some days it’s harder than others but I always have at least two things I’m thankful for and love about my body and that is a step I never thought possible.

And I’m proud to print this and hang it in my kitchen:

To my father

I’ve written endless letters to you and never sent them. I’ve burnt the ones on paper and deleted the ones on the computer. I’ve tried to understand why you did what you did and I’ve failed in coming up with one reason as to why either of us deserved it. And it’s taken love from an unlikely source to help me see we didn’t do anything to warrant your behaviour. The fault was not in us but in you.

I won’t focus much on what you did to Mum, except to say my teenage self begged you to leave rather than continue to cheat on her. You didn’t. You were too selfish to see it would have made her final years less fraught with unhappiness. She hid it as best she could from us, but I saw it in her eyes when she thought we weren’t looking.Your snide comments and your constant emotional abuse have left me with deep scars. And for a long time those scars were filled with anger and hate. They still sting and haven’t fully healed over, but the anger and hate for the emotional abuse has subsided. I still find it hard to trust new people but I’m working on that and I think it’s helped me better judge who I want in my life and who I don’t. 

You gave me a distinct distrust of men and yet I work with them all day, I have male friends in my life whom I have learnt to trust, and I’m seeing that you aren’t around every corner. 

You chose to see me the way you do. You chose to focus on my sex and the fact you think women should serve men. You chose to publicly act like a decent man and privately become the monster who caused part of my self harm and PTSD. I chose to never go back after you kicked me out and I choose to look for the good in my life. I choose to embrace those who see me for me and not for what I can give them. I choose to smile when someone takes the time out of their day to contact me.

I’ve spent too long fighting demons you helped to create. Too long dealing with nightmares and doubts. You made me question the motives of everyone around me. But no more. I’ve still got a way to go before I can truly say I’m free of those demons but I’m getting there. One day I’ll forgive you, I’ll never forget but I will forgive. And it won’t be for your sake but mine. Until then, I have arms to hold me when I shake, shoulders to cry on, and more love in my life than I ever realised was possible. In the words of Sarah from The Labyrinth – YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME!

Transgender Day of Remembrance

Today will always be a hard one to get through for those of us not on the gender binary. We are reminded of those like us who have been lost to violence (physical and emotional) that has come from a society that just doesn’t understand that gender is emotional/psychological and sex is physical.

Whether FTM, MTF, genderqueer,genderfluid, androgyne, agender, or whatever other label is there, people do not understand what it is like to be one of us, to live in a world where we are constantly told to ‘get over’ our identities and conform. And woah betide us for trying to be our authentic selves. 

Here’s the thing though… I don’t understand the struggle of so many other minoroties, not from first hand experience, but I know they exist and I acknowledge them. I don’t belittle or try to derail them and I certainly don’t and never would think of violence towards them. So why do so many people threaten and commit acts of violence towards one part of my tribe?

Don’t tell me its because they fear the unknown. I have a lot of unknowns in my life. But they don’t make me violent. And please save your theological rhetoric about going against whichever Deity’s plan for us. Being Trans* is NOT a disease, it’s not a sin, it’s not a temptation to overcome. It. Just. Is. 

Is it really that hard to live alongside us? To work with us? To share the same restroom as us? Is it so very hard to just say ‘I don’t know your struggle but I won’t judge?’ Do we really need another year where Transgender people are killed for just being who we are?

In remembrance of:

Vicky Thompson, Tamara Dominguez, Elisha Walker, Kandis Capri, Amber MonRoe, Shade Schuler, K. C. Haggard, India Clarke, Ashton O’Hara, Merceds Williamson, London Kiki Chanel, Mya Shawatza Hall, Keyshia Blige, Kristina Gomez Reinwald, Brian Golec, Penny Proud, Taja Gabrielle de Jesus, and all the others who have lost their lives needlessly because of their gender identity 

Thankful Thursday

Thanksgiving is not a UK holiday, it’s one that other nations celebrate, but as the hype around the American one builds (it’s also my American other half’s birthday this year). I’m focusing on the things I’m thankful for.

– I’m thankful for the love of a woman who is still with me after eight and a half years, two break ups, and being 5000 miles apart.

– I’m thankful in the knowledge that in breaking ties from my father I have been able to deal with the mental health time bomb that was ticking inside me and am starting to see better days.

– I’m thankful for the love of my chosen family, who pick me up when down and laugh with me when up. They know how best to address my meltdowns (both PTSD and ASD).

– I’m thankful for the support of a person who 18 months ago didn’t know me from Adam but has given me love, light, hope, and perspective. And who isn’t afraid to give me a reality check when needed.

– I’m thankful for the things my body CAN do and that its been 2 years since I last had a severe ED trigger. 

– I’m thankful that in almost a year I’ve only scratched when stimming once, after a particularly difficult emotional event.

– I’m thankful that I’m no longer giving into self-harm temptations even when they are there. That I remember the promise I made and one made to me when the temptations occur.

– I’m thankful I work somewhere that when I told them on the HR form I couldn’t select my gender, they just told me not to answer it and listened when I suggested adding an other category.

– I’m thankful that people try and use my pronouns even if they mess up, and the understanding of my gender identity from unexpected places.

– I’m thankful that I have had the opportunity to work with Muslim people who have strengthened my belief that ISIS and the like are fringe elements, like the KKK and WBC are when it comes to Christianity.

– I’m thankful that I wake up each morning. Even when I want to go back to sleep.

– I’m thankful for the support of a group of women, most of whom I’ve never met in person and likely never will, who boost me creatively and personally.

– I’m thankful that finally, I appear to have found my tribe.

You shouldn’t need a national holiday to remind you to be thankful, and truth is, I really don’t, but it seemed like the appropriate time to post this?

What are you thankful for?

Dear Mum of two boys on my bus tonight

I saw the strained look as you wrangled your boys. The tiredness that tinged your smile as I smiled at you. I saw your eyes question if I know what it’s like to have special needs kids. I saw the look of fear as your youngest went into meltdown and you tried to deal with that and your older son. I saw the relief as I engaged the older one in conversation to save you trying to be in two places at once. 

You are doing a fabulous job. You are amazing. Your eldest introduced himself as W. He told me that R, his brother, has Autism and that he loves his brother but it can be hard sometimes. I told W that I too have a form of Autism and my dark glasses, are for something called Irln Syndrome and they stop the bright lights on the bus from causing me to have a meltdown. 

You thanked me for the ten minutes I gave you to calm R as we got off the bus. Please take it from an Aspie adult, you are doing an amazing job. W is polite and courteous and clearly loves his Mum and R’s meltdown wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I’ve had worse myself. Seeing you playing with him as he calmed warmed my heart. One day that smart little man and his big brother will thank you for the care you’ve given them. You are part of the Wonder Woman tribe of unsung heroes. 

D Day – today I shave my head

I’ll be honest. I’ve always wanted to shave my head for charity, since I was about 10 years old. And today that day is here. At 6:30pm my hair will be shaved for C3 Foundation and C Three Europe…. And I couldn’t be more thrilled that I’m shaving my head for both these not-for-profits…..

But now the day is here, I’m shaking like a damn leaf and my anxiety is up. This is a big change for anyone….. Let alone an Aspie with sensory issues. I have no clue what this will do on a sensory level. None. I’ve had months to psych myself up for today and I’m doing it. There’s no backing out and once it’s done I’ll probably wonder what the fuss was about.

A certain someone asked me if I’m sure I want to do this on more than one occasion. And each time I said yes. Well today I say goodbye to the mornings of crazy bed head and enter a whole new experience and I’m sitting on the bus trying to focus on the fact I have work to get through first.

I have promises of donations coming in in the next few days and I’m keeping the online donations open until Monday evening to match the promise of donations still to come. My friend, D, will be recording it all tonight for posterity. And I might do a periscope too. Just need to get through the day with swooping bats in my stomach.

If you want to donate or learn more about why I’m doing this, click on this link to my gofundme page

Please donate if you can and help me spread the word! 

last morning of bedhead for a while

On my childhood best friend’s 35th birthday…

My darling Dizzy Frizzy Blonde, we’ve known each other over half our lives, scary thought, isn’t it? Mum always said you’d be my Linda (her childhood BFF) and she was right. We can go long periods without talking, but we always pick up exactly where we left off, and it feels like no time has passed. We’re in our 30s and ‘responsible adults’ now, but given half the chance, we’d still skip down King Street, hand in hand, singing Disney songs like we did all those years ago.

Long before I knew I was gay, I think you knew. And a part of me thinks you knew (but have never said you did), that you were my first love.  It was an innocent love, a childhood crush, but it never created an awkwardness between us. We’ve never spoken about it, but then, we never needed to. You’ve always accepted me just as I am, warts and all, and your love has always been unconditional.

Looking back, I think you saw a lot more of what went on behind my family’s closed doors than I thought you did at the time. But you’ve never pushed me to talk about it. You’ve just always been there with open arms and extra hugs when I needed them. Our teenage friendship whilst so innocent had a level of maturity to it. We never doubted that we would always be there for each other and I don’t doubt that to this day. 

In some respects we appear to be chalk and cheese. You have an inherent femininity and I defy gender boundaries. I was always the brash one whilst you have always been more demure. But we share so much more than that, we are so alike, that I don’t think we could have ever been anything other than friends.

You have always been more than my BFF, more than my sister from another mister, you are a part of me, and I love you so very dearly. 

Happy Birthday my darling Dizzy Frizzy Blonde! May this year bring you love, joy and happiness! And endless conversations for us both!

Sinusitis, vertigo, nostalgia, and emotion

I’ve been dealing with a particularly nasty case of sinusitis this week that has come hand in hand with a suspected inner ear infection and vertigo. The vertigo is making standing a bit of a nightmare…. actually make that a complete nightmare.  You know that feeling when you’re drunk and the room spins and you want to throw up? Add in double vision and the fact I’m tripping over my own feet and you’ve got an idea of what it is I’m facing currently. I already have spacial awareness difficulties from my Irlen Syndrome, so adding in the Vertigo is making life a little interesting to say the least.

Being sick has left me contemplating memories from the past, mostly good ones, memories of school, of times spent with SJ growing up and numerous other moments that have engrained themselves on my memory. Ones that have taken me by surprise and left me grinning. But ones that are also tinged with sadness. Ones that remind me of what I’ve lost, what I went through in silence. Ones that remind me how lucky I am to be where I am now, even if they hurt like hell at the time. I find myself missing Mum right now, and missing others, not just those who have passed but people who are alive. I can’t believe it’s been a year since I returned to the island. And I’ve come to accept that certain promises that were made have not been kept. It’s time to move on. It was good to be able to reminisce and look back at good times, but I guess sometimes things just change too much and that’s ok too. I’m not the person I was and neither are others. We share a common past, but our present is individual and not shared. I choose to let go of the desire to try and build those bridges again, I am not going to be the one chasing down doors and hunting. I will let them do that if they want to contact me.

The earache that comes with being sick has messed with my sleeping patterns as well. Lying down causes the earache to worsen as the pressure in my sinuses builds up and it causes my chest to tighten with my asthma and not being able to breathe through my nose. It’s annoying as hell. And it’s that lack of proper sleep combined with hormones that’s making me a bit of an emotional wreck right now. I’m crying over the smallest things, and some of them don’t even make sense…. I cried at a toilet roll advert earlier because it had cute puppies in it. Yes that is the level of emotion I’m currently at.  And laugh if you may those that have never experienced a period, but this is what hormones can do to us without sickness, being ill at the same time is pretty much like setting off a ticking time bomb.  I’m a boi who just wants to be hugged by hir Mum tonight, even though logically I know that she’ll never be able to hold me again. She hasn’t in 14 and a half years and never will again.

My letter to Jennifer Lien

Before you read this post. This is an open letter, which I had decided to post here. These thoughts are mine and I will not apologise for them. I also suggest if you are triggered by issues of mental health, you do not read this post. Please note I will not be linking to the news articles available about Jennifer’s recent arrest, you can find them easily by doing a quick search on Google.

I carry you with me

I carry you with me.
You are in my heart,
A part of my being, my soul.
You are always there.

I carry you with me.
The necklace I wear,
Contains memories of you,
Deeply engrained.

I carry you with me.
Inked in my skin,
Black lines of love,
Tinged with sadness.

I carry you with me.
There has never been a day,
When you were not there,
We are part of the same whole.

(C) scribblenubbin 2015

Tello films…. More than just Lesbian TV

If you read my blog you know that I am a fan of Tello shows. I have a major love affair with Nikki and Nora, a viewing mistress in Hashtag Series, a bit on the side with Plus One and so many other love trysts with their shows.

But despite the above descriptions, it’s not just the shows that keep me coming back for more, it’s the family feel that comes with being a tello subscriber (and I’m proud to be a tello gold star). 

The beauty of this indie company is that they get their audience and the variations within it. And they nurture the talents within that audience too, encouraging us to spread our wings.

Tello give us amazingly written shows, fantastic actors, beautiful cinematography, and a feeling of being part of something special. Watching Netflix can give you interesting shows (I won’t deny I spend a lot of time watching Netflix), but tello gives you an extra something. A real sense of community.

I will time and again recommend that my fellow lesbians sign up and watch the shows they have to offer. Why not join in the live tweets as well to see why I’m head over heels for this indie web company?