Shiny things that Mamma likes

Musings and pretty things from a plus size burlesque dancer in Missoula, MT. A little fashion, a little body positivity, A LOT OF BURLESQUE AND NERD.

“You don’t believe me when I tell you that I like the noises you make when you sleep
And I don’t believe you when you tell me that my voice is your favorite sound,
Not when you can sing like that.
One of your ex’s name tastes like stale coffee
And the other one burns as if I’ve swallowed a scalding pot.
You don’t understand why I don’t discuss my first love with you
But how am I supposed to tell the sun that I once fell for the moon?
If I could, I’d pay rent for the spaces between your fingers,
So if anyone else tried to intertwine their hand with yours,
They would be trespassing.
I’m very good at useless metaphors
And very bad at telling people how I feel
But on our worst nights, you’re snow in the month of March
and even though I’m sick of winter,
I will never stop appreciating the beauty of a blizzard.”

All About Us, #1 (via dare-you-to-love-me)

“Well, let me just put a stop to this shit right now. You can give me gold-plated day care and an awesome public school right on the street corner and start paying me 15% more at work, and I still do not want a baby. I don’t particularly like babies. They are loud and smelly and, above all other things, demanding. No matter how much free day care you throw at women, babies are still time-sucking monsters with their constant neediness. No matter how flexible you make my work schedule, my entire life would be overturned by a baby. I like my life how it is, with my ability to do what I want when I want without having to arrange for a babysitter. I like being able to watch True Detective right now and not wait until baby is in bed. I like sex in any room of the house I please. I don’t want a baby. I’ve heard your pro-baby arguments. Glad those work for you, but they are unconvincing to me. Nothing will make me want a baby.

And don’t float “adoption” as an answer. Adoption? Fuck you, seriously. I am not turning my body over for nine months of gaining weight and puking and being tired and suffering and not being able to sleep on my side and going to the hospital for a bout of misery and pain so that some couple I don’t know and probably don’t even like can have a baby. I don’t owe that couple a free couch to sleep on while they come to my city to check out the local orphans, so I sure as shit don’t own them my body. I like drinking alcohol and eating soft cheese. I like not having a giant growth protruding out of my stomach. I hate hospitals and like not having stretch marks. We don’t even force men to donate sperm—a largely pleasurable activity with no physical cost—so forcing women to donate babies is reprehensible.”

The Real Debate Isn’t About “Life” But About What We Expect Of Women | The Raw Story (via brutereason)

"So, reading those three paragraphs above? I bet at some point you recoiled a bit, even if you don’t want to have recoiled a bit.  Don’t I sound selfishHedonistic? Isn’t there something very unfeminine about my bluntness here? Hell, I’m performing against gender norms so hard that even I recoil a little.

This is actually what I think, and I feel zero guilt about it, but I know that saying so out loud will cause people to want to hit me with the Bad Woman ruler, and that causes a little dread. Why do we feel this way?

What kind of training and socialization did we receive that made us think there’s something terribly wrong about a woman who is hurting no one and is actually pretty nice but wants what she wants in her private life and doesn’t apologize about it? Is there a reason that we should bully women into pretending that they’re more interested in being selfless and eternally nurturing than they actually are, even at great cost to themselves?”

(via voicesforchoices)

how to identify “boy” clothes and “girl” clothes

windschanging:

valkubus-shipper:

patrocluschironides:

are you a boy? your clothes are boy clothes.

are you a girl? your clothes are girl clothes.

are you outside the binary of boy and girl? so are your clothes.

did someone just tell you your clothes don’t match your gender identity? they are a trashcan and their clothes are trashcan clothes.

Or in the words of Eddie Izzard.. 

Because this cannot be reblogged enough.