Vacation Vixen: Brittany S. Pierce

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

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

My Weekend Glee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Break-Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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