One of the most popular slogans from the second wave feminist movement was “the personal is political.” The feminist movement gave me the tools to understand the world around me and to understand my own lived experience. I needed feminism far more than I understood at eighteen. I once read an interview with Dorothy Allison where she told the reporter, “For me, feminism was a love affair.” For me, feminism will always be a love affair. But now, after spending five years wholly embodying my feminism and dedicating myself to feminist work, I’m realizing that I won’t last in this movement if I don’t own up to just how personal the political is.
This is my first step in that direction.
She said, “I’m not a fucking statistic,” but I could only see her through percentage signs and medical dictionary definitions. The first woman I ever loved told me that when you’re queer and Black, illness is a shadow that always follows you, but that no one ever acknowledges. I walked away because I didn’t know how to see it.
About to wear my scissoring tank to ikea, thanks autostraddle for contributing to this lesbian activity
Every day for the last six months almost exactly, and often more than once, I’ve asked Shannon to marry me, or she’s asked me. Sometimes it’s been when we’re driving and the stars are coming out and sometimes it’s been over dinner and sometimes it’s been in bed and sometimes it’s been over text and a few times it was on a mountain and once it was when I was drunk in the parking lot of a Trader Joe’s just outside of Disneyland, and every time she’s said yes or I have, and every time but one it has not counted and it has also counted more than anything.
In the first post of Love & Canada, my new mini-series at Autostraddle, I wrote about how my future immigration marriage isn’t an immigration marriage and how I’m having a lot of wedding feelings. (via carolynyates)
You wrap a towel around yourself and walk cautiously into the hallway, fully entertaining the idea that Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern have robbed your house and then turned every faucet on full blast before making their getaway in a beat up blue minivan. Your pace quickens as you descend the stairs to find an ankle-deep lagoon in your kitchen. You splash into it to and run like a confused bird to the bathroom where you find water shooting from the wall like a broken fire hydrant, all the while yelling “WHAT THE FUCK SHIT FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT?? SHIT FUCK WHAT?? OH MY FUCKING FUCK HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK.”
Just a couple of gems from Heather Hogan’s 6x04 episode recap. All credit to her right here.
Emily and Sara are taking turns having a hundred showers. When Emily returns from one such scrub-a-dubbing, she finds Sara on the phone hollering at her mom about … whatever things a person yells at an imaginary parent. “Oh my god, Mom, I have a new life now, and a career. I dress like a lesbian and take a hundred bubble baths and make fetch empanadas with my girlfriend. No, that’s not a euphemism, Mother. I’m talking about meat-stuffed pastries! Ugh you’ll never understand me I hate you!”