Another lesbian love letter … happy birthday my love

My one, my truth, my reason for idiotic bliss. I cherish this, your birthday as I have the others who have come before with as much awe and honor as I ever have.

You never cease to amaze me as we grow older, year by year and side by side.

The first birthday we shared I brought you the wrong gift but with all the right intention. You were so sweet about it all, I was embarrassed but glad to be with you.

My crush weighed so heavily on my brain I could barely remember to wrap your gifts.

Since your last birthday we never spent a night alone. You were next to me for cake and ice cream, for laughing until we cried and for beer on beaches. For every sweet moment in between.

My crush still weighs heavily and at times I can barely speak.

Sometimes it is all I can do, I stare in wonder and amazement that you are here with me. No miles to distance us. No goodbye need ever be long.

I am honored to spend this day, the birthdays previous and the days to come celebrating you. Your laugh and your smile. Your kindness and your generosity. Your strength and your courage. I admire you.

I am in awe of your ability to tackle anything that comes our way with strength and wisdom. You surprise me each passing year with your passion and commitment to our little family. I am moved by your beautiful gaze and am transported by your touch.



My pride, my lover, my best friend and my destiny. I have never been more grateful to be in your company.

Happy 41st my love, my gorgeous. My darling wife.

I adore you more than words will ever say.




Mothers Day in a new light

Today is the first day of May.

Today is the first full month of 2018 that I feel somewhat less lost as a mother, as a daughter and as a woman.

I have grown children, and teenage children, and fur children. I have a wife who I have been accused of treating like a child on occasion. Nobody is perfect, judgmental Judy.

I even have feathered children (I love those little cluckers).

I know, I look way too young to have grown children, thank you for thinking it.

The fact is I do. The oldest are adults, adulting in a grown up world far from my nest.

In case you need a quick refresher note here is a mini version of my sorta-adult life:

A long time ago in a land far away there was a young “know it all teenager” who found herself pregnant and stupid. She married her boyfriend, bought a house with a white picket fence added in a couple dogs and had everything but happiness.

More ridiculous things happened in the middle. Blah, blah, blah …

Fast forward 20 something years and that stupid teenager is a self proclaimed wise(r) woman. She made mistakes. She fell down alot, skinned her knees and nearly broke her neck emotionally and mentally. Eventually that lost girl found her happiness. She distanced herself from her own mother for fouls of a personal nature for years but has since, very recently, found forgiveness. Her grown children are distanced now, not by spite but by miles and sparse communication.

For all of my woes there is a light in distance, there is a summer plan to bring all of my people to the same harmonious place.

By harmony I mean grass and lawn chairs, sipping cold beverages and cheering on a game of corn hole or horse shoes. There will be laughter and loud voices, there will be barking dogs and trash talk. There will be breezes to blow the smoke from the grill.

There will be a stillness inside me finally even in the midst of reunion chaos.

Mothers Day may come in mid May but I am celebrating a little earlier. For the first time in a long time I have something entirely and unexpectedly related to extended family to look forward to.

Something that isn’t a surprise pile of dog poo in the hallway in the middle of the night when I get up to pee.

Something not related to a bag of cheese puffs in the pantry with a single cheesy puff left in the bottom of the bag.

Something uncommonly good to look forward to. Something not at all like a field trip leaving tomorrow at 4 in the morning which I learned about the night before.

Nope. Something really, really good.

Something great is on the horizon. A Happy Mothers Day indeed.



A wedding day love letter, on the 3rd year anniversary. 

3 years ago I wrote and sent an email to my soon to be legally wed wife. It was an emotional and exciting time and the biggest day of our life together to date. 

As we celebrate this anniversary I wanted to share that originsl very personal email here. I do so with her blessing. 



We are getting married …. today. Not tomorrow or next week. Today.

I was not sure this day would ever make it here or that we would be ready when it did. Over the last few days as we patiently (and equally at times, not so patiently) watched the countdown timer tick away, I tried to think of the perfect wedding gift. I thought of a million things but nothing seemed right until I went back, all the way back to our beginning.

Do you remember how we started? It was an email, simple words typed and delivered digitally but neither of us could have know what was actually taking place.

It was never just words, never just an email, and neither is this one.

I decided to write you an email for your wedding gift, I know what you are thinking, that you didn’t get me a gift. The truth is you did, I have you, a lifetime with you is the greatest gift I could imagine. You are my whole world. I hope this reaches you with as much joy and surprise as the first one did.

I hope that every message you ever get makes you smile but this one especially I want to be like the first. All the anticipation, the joy, the flips in your belly, all the wonders of sweet enchantment.

Everyday is another chance to make sure you know how much I love you, adore you, need and want you. I don’t want a single day to pass in our marriage that I don’t remind you. Starting with the first.

I am not sure what I would do without you, I don’t want to know a life without you in it. So when we say our vows later today, know that I mean every word of them. Take it all in, just like you did in the beginning. Let your mind replay them over and over just like we read each others emails and texts … over and over again. You are truly my best friend, the perfect lover and the person I want to share idiotic bliss.

I can not wait to call you my wife.

With all my love,


Almost there … 

Tomorrow morning is (fingers crossed) the final surgery and I am cancer free.

Tonight though real life is being lived. I am a mom, a wife and my family needs dinner. I began by throwing some chicken pieces in a shallow roasting pan and setting the convection oven to slow cook those bird bits to perfection.

I then snuck off and flopped onto my bed. I snuggled into my pile blankets, called my dogs to join and then began to browse the internet. I will need stuff to keep me occupied this week while I recover and this seemed like a good time to get some ideas.

Typical end the weekend stuff.

Only not so much.

The wife came in and belly flopped beside me. I love her but she has some serious bull in a china shop mannerisms. She landed sticking her chin directly into a rib. She says she heard a noise, I just felt the pain. I ignored her for the most part and continued to browse, pretending not to notice her or the now sharp pain in my upper abdominal area.

She grew bored and demanded attention again … about 10 minutes later. This time she tries to pull me away from my browsing with a little story.

She says that before she came in she “smelled something burning” checked the upper oven, nothing in there, checked the bottom. Just then “a poof of smoke came out” at her but since she “didn’t see fire” she thought it was fine.

She thought it was fine. 

I looked away from my phone for the first time with terror in my eyes. I envisioned my oven engulfed in flames and my kitchen filled with thick smoke which would certainly kill us all.

She didn’t even move.

I started to flail, throwing blankets and attempting without much sucess to get up from the canine restrictions currently imposed on my legs.

I got to the door and the smell was clearly something burning, but it was much more than that. Think self cleaning oven. It was obnoxious. I was sure that chicken had tipped or something and we would be having PB&J for dinner tonight.

By tonight I really mean maybe forever because fancy 2 oven ranges are expensive and I am, as I mentioned, a mom aka cash poor.

While I’m running worst case scenarios in my head she had beat me to the kitchen. She opened the lower oven to show me there was no fire …. to prove somehow she had been fine to ignore the initial smoke and smell of burnt cheese on the oven floor.

*I assume the last batch of pizzas spilled over in there, not that I would know it was burnt cheese since nobody mentioned it.

So by now I see the chicken looks fine, perfectly placed and roasting casually. No need to fight over who gets the last of the good jelly or who has to have the butt end of the bread.

Crisis averted.

The house smells weird and I still have surgery tomorrow but it could be worse.

It could be way worse.

I could be dying. I could be a cancer victim and not a survivor.

I am grateful for stinky smells, family dinners and if my family is in a good mood, even for the last of the good jelly.

It’s good to be a mom.

It’s good to be a wife.

It’s good to be alive.

The tale of a lesbian and her new doctor. Warning foul language ahead.

It has happened every single time I have seen a new doctor since I got married. 

I go in to fill out my paperwork, hand over my ID and insurance card and wait. 

It doesn’t take long before the whispers.Then they call out to me in the waiting room. 

I know what’s coming but before I can approach the counter they shout… 

 “Is your real name Jolynn?” 

“Who is Jolynn?” 

“Your what?” 

“Sorry, your … spouse?” 

Yes. Fuck. Thanks for keeping that on the low. 


They don’t do this to straight married women. 

Never would they say … “ma’am this card says Steve. Is Steve your real name? Who is Steve? Oh. Your husband? Is that right? You say Steve is your husband?” 


It would never happen. 

It would be unimaginable to think that it is the entire waiting rooms right to know that I am married  … and to who. Yet it has happened on multiple occasions. I happen to need to see an array of specialists and every single office has been incredibly *special* in the insurance process. 

Not that I am ashamed to have a wife.

I parade this rock  around on my finger  like a beauty queen wears a crown. 

When she is with me she is arm candy … like a sexy, smiling, human accessory that holds my purse and tells me my ass looks amazing. 

That’s not the point. 

I’m 100% sure when I get back to the waiting room they will ask if I am pregnant. 

Then they will ask how I can be sure I’m not. 

Today might be the day I explain it …loud and in detail. 

After all if we are sharing we might as well share it all …

Pride. You’ve got it or you don’t.

Yesterday was the Pride festival for Asheville, North Carolina and it was held in beautiful Pack Square Park. We call it home, lots of people call it a vacation destination nestled in Western North Carolina.

We arrived early’ish in the day. It was gorgeous, partly sunny and warm enough to need a little shade but not shorts. The perfect early fall day in the south.

We wore our newly purchased, just for this event, matching t-shirts and held hands as we strolled. You can say we looked super gay but that was the theme. We were headed to Pride after all.

We walked past a few screaming protestors at the festival line. Each shouting ridiculous things about lesbians and something about children. While I know a lot about both I had better things to do than correct them.

I stared quietly, hoping that what I heard about how looks could kill was correct. It seems it wasn’t as none of the preaching, sign holding annonces dropped to the ground.

I passed  by wondering what compels someone to throw that much hate at such a peaceful, colorful group of people in the middle of a city.

Even though extra security was evident, it didn’t take long to forget those sign holding screaming lunatics were even We received so many kind words, thumbs up and sweet compliments on our matching ensemble. It was delightful to be noticed for our love (literally!) in a way much different than the usual stares and glares we get out and about in society sometimes.

There were white tented booths in the park, each with a mission to sell us something whether it be a hand craft, some rainbow colored something or an agenda of some sort.

I would say I wasn’t buying … but who am I kidding. I wanted to soak it all in. I was proud to be there and proud of the businesses who came out to show their support. It was amazing.

I stopped at nearly all 100 or so booths. I picked up beads, sampled wine, picked up more beads, scored some colorful sun glasses, signed up to win stuff, gave to charity, listened to people talk about their organization and bought some cool lesbian swag from local vendors.

We had a couple beers, met up with old friends and watched some people dance.

Watched some people try to dance that is.

We listened to a local drum circle and a group of guys singing their hearts out. We watched “Cher” give a spectacular performance, some Drag Royalty delicately balance crowns the size of Buicks on their heads and some scantily clad performers high kick their way to tips from the crowd.

There were cheers and applause from a park full of people.

So much talent and so much self esteem. Get it girl.


Everyone there in unity and rainbow colors in spite of controversial legislation, a nauseating political race, and so shortly after a mass shooting of people just like us … a massacre for simply being proud of who they were.


Thank you TD Bank!



There were speeches and heartfelt pleas to be kind to one another. There is certainly more than enough hate in the world without us attacking each other. There was talk about repealing the stupid bathroom bill – also known as HB2. If you don’t know about HB2 read up here. Basically it means that you are required by law to use the bathroom designated by your birth gender. This doesn’t really mean a change in my life but it could for many, many others and quite unfairly.

None of that kept the community from celebration. It was a great day.

A beautiful, sun shining, peaceful day.

It meant a great deal for us to be there, to represent, to be counted in a community so united yet sometimes just as divided.. The festival in Asheville was held in Pack Square Park right in front of City Hall. I am super blessed to have my life here, my wife and my kids and my friends.

Please, if you have the opportunity, show your love and support.

It matters. You matter. Be counted.

Be present. Be proud.

Have pride in yourself as a member or as an ally to the community.



Pride Swag. $10 well spent.


The time things got up close and personal with the TSA agent

This weekend the kids were scheduled to fly in from a long summer visit at dad’s. The excitement was in the air from the minute I woke up. 

I put on a sundress and remembered the last time I tried to get past security in a comfortably fashionable covering.

 It wasn’t a good idea.

Apparently a long flowing maxi dress makes you look like you might have strapped explosives to your thighs. Not that I have much room … you know with all that thigh gap I don’t have. I could start a fire with the way these thighs rub. No flammable substance down there – I promise. 

Let’s just say I attributed my outfit choice to it not going over well last summer with airport sercurity.

So this year I decided to keep it super simple. A simple Folly Beach Tee and short cotton shorts. Sporty pull on style bottoms with no belts or buttons or zippers or anything that could set off alarm bells or blinking lights … or cause anyone to pull on some blue latex gloves for a pat down. 

I left my untamed curls loose, no bun, no hat, no chance for weapons hidden in there. I was thinking of all the ways I could have gone wrong last time.

I’m usually a flip flop or sandal girl in summer but bare feet in an international airport is down right frightening. I paired my simple outfit with some no show socks and a pair of Nikes. I made a joke to the wife I looked like the typical lesbian stereotype, totally not my style. 

I was slightly uncomfortable in this outfit of choice. I looked like a different person but not a psycho hell bent on distruction. 

Or so I thought.

Even though I generally wouldn’t be seen outside the gym or lounging at home like this I figured I was covered just enough while still being transparent. Or enough to not be stopped in security for suspect I’m about to do something terrible with my clearance pass. The one I was provided to pick up my unaccompanied minors. 

I get to the security line, remove my shoes, put my belongings in the bin. No pockets, no purse, no flowing outfit, no bare feet. I’m good. Right? 


The nice TSA agent waves me into the time machine looking thing. It reminds me of the banking drive thru things that suck the capsules into the building and back. The agent tells me to step into the giant capsule and spread my legs to put my feet on the outside the yellow shoe prints painted on the flooring area. No problem. I do as I’m told and put my hands up in front of me just like the directions show.

I may have even smiled for my virtual strip search picture session. 

I’m waved out and asked to stand to the side. I didn’t realize what was happening. I’m still smiling. Then the body image shows up on the screen with a yellow box on my groin area in the back. What the hell. The lady agent informs me she will have to ask me to turn around and she will need to pat down my “bottom” … seriously? She tells me what she’s doing while I stand there to be frisked for whatever they think they picked up in my naked x-ray. 

To be clear there was NO reason for abnormalities in my groin area .. or any area. No reason for yellow boxes or pat downs. I am certainly not the next lady panty bomber. 

To make things worse after the friendly grope session I had to be further checked for terroristic tendencies. 

Lady agent advised me to turn to face her, palms up so she could wipe this small white strip all over my palms and fingers. They plugged it into a machine and I was told to wait. Once it came back all clear the agents smiled at me and told me I could go. 

I was slightly terrified at this point. Mostly because I wasn’t sure why I needed to be patted and what was wrong with my hands.

 Let’s be honest … I just really wanted to know what kind abnormalities are going on in my shorts. 

I grabbed my belongings and put my shoes on. Totally bewildered and feeling equally embarrassed and violated I headed to find a beer. I ordered and connected to the wifi for a little research while I waited for the kids plane to land. 

I read horror stories about other people having the same things happen. Not at the same time, but nobody could be that lucky. It seems the abnormality in my shorts could have been anything. Or nothing. The hand wipe situation was likely checking for traces of explosives. 

Good thing I wasn’t recently blowing up mines in the backyard. 

All in all I learned it probably doesn’t matter what you wear. 

It doesn’t matter that your lady bits aren’t boarding a plane and you’re just trying to pick up your kids. 

It probably doesn’t matter how you style your hair or what shoes you have to put in the bin.

 It doesn’t matter if you look like you might be on a murderous rampage or if you just want to see your kids get safely off a plane.

The agents have a job to do and no amount of time spent on trying to look innocent makes you any less a threat to the friendly skies. If nothing else I feel a little safer putting my babies on a plane next summer because of all the security. Also I know to arrive early and bring extra cash for the drink I will need once I make it past the pat down and swab. 

I’m convinced at this rate my next trip past security will involve walking to a private room and dropping pants for a personal show and tell.

I’m a little concerned about my relationship with TSA but it appears it is all in an effort for my kids to safely fly across the country 2x a year. It’s worth it.