“In the safest, most boring country, the worst lone gunman shooting happens. The worst in the world, in history. But it will not make our country worse. The safe, boring democracy will supply him with a defense lawyer as is his right. He will not get more than 21 years in prison as is the maximum extent of the law. Our democracy does not allow for enough punishment to satisfy my need for revenge, as is its intention. We will not become worse, we will be better. We lived in a land where this is possible, even easy. And we will keep living in a land where this is possible, even easy. We are open, we are free and we are together. We are vulnerable by choice. And we will keep on like that, that’s how we want to live. We will not be worse because of the worst. We must be good because of the best.”—Ola (via youmightfindyourself)
hey all, sorry for occasional dashboard spam but i’ve gotten a lot of requests for the full script lately so i thought i’d repost this. thanxx for all the feedback and interweb love <333
fat-bottomed girls — kim selling 2/25/11
fat-bottomed girls — kim selling 2/25/11
if every bastard who had ever judged my body were lined up in front of me firing squad-style and i was given the right to do with them as i pleased, i would be at a loss. i would probably yell —eat me!— because i love a good fat girl pun, but there’s nothing else left inside to make them understand the extreme ignorance and misspent pain they embody.
you can all just fucking EAT ME. devour my scarlet throbbing flesh like junior high vultures like sorority pledge councils like debutante beauty queens i don’t look like you what the fuck else is new?
there is no footnote in the regulations index of my life that tells me i have to sleep on ellipticals and suck down the hopeful semen of boys named jimmy until you understand my body.
you won’t ever understand my body. i am miss piggy, i am mama cass, i am fucking aretha. and i love being these women. i love being fat. my thighs shriek rough and ready sex like downtown thunder my ass drips vanilla milkshakes and my personal style is baby gay madonna meets crop top goth AND IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER. being fat doesn’t make me different, —fuck, i look like america— but loving that i’m fat makes me a pillsbury rebellion.
i hold protests in my mouth when i eat in public picket signs wallpaper my willing body when i dance naked in my apartment. RIOTS NOT DIETS is tattooed across my chest and i live for the moment when i shock you into silence. because being me is political and you never voted for this shit.
body image is just bad english for how hard you stomp the sidewalk or how many cracks in the mirror you’ve traced. i may have been picked last in softball, but i was nationally ranked in tennis, and you’ll never be ready for this jelly because all you nibble on are sad-ass spoonfuls of organic low sodium peanut butter.
yeah, i tend to date black guys and i rarely say no to a homemade baked good but that says no more about me than — how you chew big red compulsively when you’re nervous, or how you can never say no to your mother — says about you. so just let it be. we’re grown-ups now, i think. there are no more lunch time kickball teams, and i already have a date to the next dance. so when you feel the need to pretend to be concerned about my health or well-being just know that i’ve already let go of the trigger firing squad-style just know that you don’t have to count the calories when i tell you to fucking eat me.
“These people shouldn’t be in my present. They deserve to be in the past. But in 2011, there is no past. You’re not allowed to grieve anything because nothing actually dies. It just sits there slowly decaying, staring at you with a sinister grin. Sometimes Facebook feels like a museum of my life. I guess I’m just finally getting tired of looking at artifacts. I guess I’m just too sensitive for fucking Facebook.”—Ryan O’Connell for Thought Catalog (via clairefoley)
… “4) Traditional Bavarian breakfast consists of white sausage, pretzels, and beer. I have been told if you order it after noon, you are obviously a tourist. Allow that to sink in: if you order beer AFTER noon, you are a tourist. Sounds like a win. “
while i’m so glad barb is taking her a.m. drinking worldwide, i’d like my margaritas for breakfast partner back here in ‘murika, please. still my numero uno booze writer, though!
“femme is genderqueer. because it’s gender, queered. it’s femininity without the passivity. it’s holding on to the parts of femininity that we love (and that is different for each femme) and mashing it up with all sorts of things that are considered unfeminine, like being assertive, or loud. divas are genderqueer. they are femme. they are all the performance of femininity minus the docility.”—clementine cannibal - http://clementinecannibal.com/ (via alittlequeerlove)
My husband, however, had this to say about it (and I’m paraphrasing): Men don’t like to consider that women may be viewing them as rapists. Jen’s post made it clear that any man, any time, could be viewed as a rapist, no matter what his intentions actually were.
That totally blew my mind. If you’re a man, not for the reason you think. You see, all men look like rapists to women. All of you, all the damn time. If you go out in public and you are a man, a woman has looked at you as a potential rapist. What blew my mind was the idea that men aren’t aware of this. Really, I thought you would be.
Here’s the thing, all women are always aware of the risk of rape. We all know how prevalent rape is. We’re all aware rape can happen to any woman at virtually any time and that no woman is entirely safe anywhere. Men may pass right over an account of a rape, but women do not. So we’ve heard stories of rapes in church bathrooms during services, in stairwells, elevators and parking garages, in changing rooms at department stores, in movie theaters, in cars, in planes, in parks, in airports, in buses, in our homes. We know that old women are raped, toddlers are raped, nuns are raped, pregnant women are raped, everyone is raped.
So, everywhere we go, we can’t help but think This is a place where rape happens. I am not unusually afraid of rape, by the way. This is a normal level of fear for a woman who has not been raped.
this is the summer i gave in entirely to my lifelong peripheral interest in red lipstick and liquid eyeliner as an everyday thing. i wear big, silver hoops regularly, black satin and leopard print. this is the summer i note differences in myself through fashion choices.
i spend far more time reading than i ever have, even as a student, really. what this means is i am not spending nearly as much time thinking about myself, except in big, sprawling, things to do with my life ways. not really in the petty, day-to-day, which might be why i’m wearing that shit i’ve always thought i could. and i can.
i haven’t written or said much about this summer except my late-night drunk ramblings, blogging of a will, or some photos of me trying to hold my eyes tight shut against spinny head.
today i applied for a job as an assistant manager at espresso royale, which is something i told myself i would never do. but hey, here’s the world, and i’ve got bills coming, and no health insurance, and aching wisdom teeth and a car that needs a quart of oil a week. this shit has benefits and a real manager job at the end. and fuck, i can not keep this oily, fake, customer service counter-girl polite shit for fake tanned, polo-wearing moms who call skim milk “skinny” anymore.
but still, there’s this nag, this pull, so what i also do is fill out an americorp application, get real brave, and commit to august 1, 2012 as the date i want to leave. i sheepishly ask for recommendation letters, and i beg the universe please let me do this part, at least, right.
i acknowledge that things do not magically get better, and i do not magically get richer. that i need to act on my own volition and make these things happen, but in the meantime, behind the curtains, i set the stage for the big stuff, for the grandeur and adventure i read about and fixate on, and bide my time until i get there. because i will.
“And who is Michael Bay now? The Rock. Armageddon. Pearl Harbor. Bad Boys II. And finally, the Transformers trilogy, his magnum opus – perhaps not only for him but for every man-child, the long expectant Second Coming of Lost Time, as once more we can all be children at play, building things and blowing them up. Going back to that old Strickler review, it’s amazing to see how far the critical community has come around on Bay. He is now the antichrist, and not without qualifications. The flirtations between Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler in Armageddon, the idiot take on history in Pearl Habor, and simply the erotic fetishizing of violence in everything…Michael Bay makes movies for our worst impulses, making the idiot in his collective audience purr. Attending one of his movies is like being caught masturbating – except everyone else in the room is masturbating also. It is fantasy as form. He’s succeeded in creating a treasured aesthetic, as the sensibility of 1990s music videos have now become commonplace in action films. Films don’t breathe today, so much as they glide down a runway, bullets firing away at the same time. To complete the formula, Bay puts in his sitcom humor, something the folks in the suburbs will find very delightful. Explosions, cheeky laughs, Oscar-nominated actors….more explosions…as the movies are the epitome of glossy fashion, user-friendly models downloadable for fulfillment.”—
“…We can tell our children that school is important until we’re blue in the face, they’re not stupid. They see the loudest applause is for the kids on the field. They know teachers are paid poorly and don’t drive fancy cars. They know people plan Super Bowl parties but mock the National Spelling Bee. In other words, they see the hypocrisy, and we can’t expect society to correct itself. If we want to have any lasting influence on the way our kids approach education — the way future generations approach education — then we have to grab our pom-poms and paint our faces and celebrate intellectual curiosity with the same vigor we do their athletic achievements.”—Why I’m raising my son to be a nerd - CNN.com (via loveyourchaos)
“[Rebellion’s] most profound logic is not the logic of destruction; it is the logic of creation … the logic of the rebel is to want to serve justice so as not to add to the injustice of the human condition.”—Albert Camus (via azspot)