“Butt Week has made me want to give a little extra TLC to my ass, to prepare it to be extra soft, plump, and ready to bite when I’m pushing it up against a girl under the covers in the near future.”
I will never again cultivate a romantic relationship with a cis person on purpose, not in this life. I have been hurt too badly, too often, by too many people. T4T only. Inscrutable genders from outer space to the front, those that can be best described as “smell of campfire” && “a great pink shape.” && those best described as “a single chandelier earring dragging across your chest while we fuck.”
The first draft of The Ship We Built was intended as a valentine for one person. Six and a half years later, The Ship We Built has been released as a novel with Penguin Random House and continues to be a valentine – now for anybody who picks it up.
When it comes to my queer desire, my favorite feeling is a juicy lack — I don’t have the person or thing I want and that tastes like salted caramel perpetually not in my mouth. The distance is not only enjoyable, it’s my edge, but sometimes it feels like there’s something missing.
What do Courtney Love and Greta Thunberg have in common? They both speak their minds, distrust power, and they’re both autistic. These two vanguards show us the power and political potential of autism while demonstrating how autistic people can shape a fairer and kinder world.
While I really love the feeling of being transported to a new time and place, like when I’m reading a good book, what really got me misty-eyed about this festival was how inclusive of all weirdness it was.
Is it not a gay badge of honor to be tired and sad and drained and to still exist?
Having settled into sweet solitary contentment, I wasn’t looking for love. It found me anyway. Meeting an old friend, I was struck by Cupid’s arrow when I realized she was single.
I spent my adolescence trying to be a boy. I wasn’t very good at it, but I tried really, really hard. I didn’t wear bright colors, I didn’t listen to pop music, I didn’t even style my hair until I was 17. I certainly wasn’t the kind of person to dress in drag. And yet I was. And yet I did. Because when I was 16 I won a drag show in Florence.
Watching them sweat from my spa on the sidelines, I’d thank my body. On the one hand, so humiliating; on the other, its own defense mechanism against the wretchedness of exercise.
The more I allowed myself to want, the more I realized I wanted. The more I leaned in to my desires, the clearer they became.
The Department of Defense has been claiming this is not actually a ban on transgender service members. But in effect, the Mattis Policy is “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell II: This Time As Farce.”
By the time I was ten, I’d attended three home births.
Birthdays are weird when you have a dead mom.
“everywhere i went i was protected. i was never in the dark. i was alone but i was never really alone because autostraddle was there.”
February 7th was our 14th dating anniversary and our 8th marriage anniversary. The truth is, I didn’t see myself married, in a house we own, with a child I carried, in a place in my life where I don’t want to move away or run off to the next tempting thing. I never thought I’d want stability, but here we are.
You see, my father was going to Heaven. He was raised an Orthodox Jew, the only child of Victor and Dorothy, but becoming Catholic, this was the way forward for him. He would be saved.
I was only pregnant for seven and a half weeks before my miscarriage. There was no body, no breath; there was no measurable part of a lifetime spent together. I’d only known there was life inside my body for three and half weeks, and yet the experience seems to still have a heartbeat.
The weekend Brett Kavanaugh was confirmed to the Supreme Court, I visited the Lesbian Herstory Archives and spent the day with coordinators Maxine and Saskia to learn about our past and draw strength in the present.
She has boxes of recipe cards; mostly I know their stories and not their flavors. She needs to know what I cook for dinner regularly; she eats a dinner of nibbles and stolen bites. She tells me that sugar is toxic and will cause irreparable harm to my body; she sends me a box of Christmas cookies. Scrumptious little crystals that can tear at my blood vessels from the inside.
The incredibly true adventure of one woman just trying to find a fcking menstrual cup that would work with her vagina. (Spoiler: she found one!)