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!)
“Zoey and I tried to feed our cravings for simple American cuisine, but despite our clever substitutions and meticulous adjustments and innovative ingredients from the bazaar, nothing tasted quite right. Not bad, just not what we’d been looking for.”
“These drawings were done during the two year period that my wife, Sarah, and I were trying to get pregnant. So much has changed in my life since then. These doodles sat, almost forgotten, for almost a decade.”
“I am 12. I have never thought of the idea of being gay. I am the only one being called gay at school, that I know of, and I am learning very quickly that it is the worst thing one could possibly be. It feels contagious, like I’m walking into school every day with a giant, hideous cloak of gay-ness, and everyone knows it.”
One of the most annoying things I have heard during this process of figuring out what to do and how to react to the FOSTA-SESTA prohibition deal is “Don’t panic.”
I was just a closeted teen lesbian, wishing on every star in the galaxy that I could one day waltz with Jennifer Lopez!
Sometimes being queer and black, bisexual and biracial, feels like contradiction, like too many things, and sometimes I’m not sure that I’d recognize myself if I walked by.
In which a debate over body hair pushes a white mother and her brown daughter to the limits of mutual understanding.