I’m about to take ya’ll to church, where — every once in awhile — everything is gospel and nothing hurts.
Being queer is a lot like being Southern. Both identities refuse to be contained by border or stereotype.
Everything is slower in the South. I’m (slowly) realizing that this includes progress.
Sticks and stones may break your bones, but good sassin’ will knock you out for a week.
Pulling yourself up by your bootstraps is only an effective strategy if you have boots to begin with.
Georgia’s got a hot new lesbian in her legislature and she’s at the helm of some pretty progressive policies.
Actually, I love the image that comes from being from the same state as the Honey Boo Boo Child herself.
What can we stand to learn from a self-described ‘misfit’ living in rural Louisiana in the 1950s?
“If you’re reading this and are currently in love with a tiny place that hasn’t loved you back yet, I want you to know that this is okay.”
“She wore jeans and flannel button-downs. Sleeves could be rolled up; pantlegs could be cuffed. They allowed her to move while scrubbing office floors on all fours.”
In the rural South, the word “tomboy” is basically a euphemism for “She’s genderqueer, and she may or may not grow out of it. Hell if we know.”