Clavicularity

pandalot:

1. Eat it
2. Eat it all
3. It’s the season of pumpkin and cranberry and peppermint everything
4. Fuck the magazines that try and guilt you with the “Christmas 8” or whatever they’ve made up
5. And fuck anyone who chirps at you and asks “do you REALLY need that second helping of green bean casserole?”
6. Oh and cupcakes make a great cheap/last minute gift for any occasion (you can even make them vegan!)

Congratulations you have all the tools you need to deal with holiday food this year.

(Source: pandavalkyrie)

ineptshieldmaid:

Here’s a pose I haven’t done here before, ha! Not sure why I felt inspired to take this photo, but I went with it. I liked it well enough to share here. Showin’ off some fat booty, ha.

Actually, since we are on that topic, there’s something I’ve wanted to say regarding that for a little while now. Part of the inspiration when I started this blog was not only showing off men’s freestyle fashion, but also general body acceptance. If you search the internet for men in skirts, one thing the majority of the guys in the photos will have in common, is that they are stick thin. For the longest time, I really felt like freestyle fashion was totally off limits to me given my size, even though I’ve long been a supporter of the women’s fatshion movement. Anyhow, eventually I realized that my personal hangups about my own size were a bit hypocritical in that sense, and decided that since there wasn’t a plus size men’s freestyle fashion inspiration on the internet, I would have to be that inspiration. 

Some of the criticism I see about myself on the internet concerns my size, and I find that a bit unfortunate. Style isn’t size exclusive. Some of my plus size readers can probably relate, and even I’ll admit I do still struggle with body acceptance sometimes. The thing I often remind myself of is that instead of getting so hung up on the question, “Does this dress make my butt look big?” I should instead realize that yes, my butt IS big, regardless of the dress, and that’s OKAY. In my world, fashion is limited by neither gender nor size. Love yourself!

- Michael Spookshow at His Black Dress

gyzym:

so there’s this reason i typically avoid watching graduation episodes of shows, and it’s this: we have this tendency, as human beings, to ascribe moments of significant emotional change to moments of significant physical circumstance change. and it’s an understandable tendency, really, because on a personal level, it’s almost always true to some extent: when your physical circumstances change significantly, in whatever way, you generally have a significant emotional reaction to that at some point down the line. but the thing is, it’s a REACTION, it’s a REACTION to the change in circumstance, and when you switch that order around and apply it to moments that large groups of people experience, you end up feeding everyone these ideas! these ideas that there are specific times and moments and places where people MUST decide certain things about who they are as a human being, and that concept is so asinine when held up against the MASSIVE amalgamation of memories and thoughts and reactions and changes that make up the full existence of a person.

here’s something i wish someone, ANYONE, had told me when i was eighteen, something i still have to remind myself of all the time: contrary to what tragically appears to be popular belief, you cannot ruin your life. god knows you can make choices that affect it significantly; god knows you can make mistakes that affect it significantly; god knows terrible fucking things can happen that can leave you reeling and shattered and not sure how to go on. but you can’t ruin your life any more than you could ruin a historical event, because that’s what a life is: it’s a walking, breathing history. you are everything you’ve ever experienced, every single second of every single minute layered on top of each other in huge, staggering volume, so much that even you could not possibly remember all of it. even you, who lived it, would never be expected to recall the very first moment you—oh, god, did anything, really. i couldn’t even begin to tell you the first time i laid eyes on the color of freshly cut grass, but of course i’d recognize that color instantly—and that’s just a color! one! color! think of how many THINGS there are that you’ve known and thought and felt and heard and touched and seen and wanted and expected and lost and loved, and then tell me again how it would even be POSSIBLE to ruin something that massive. tell me again how it’s even a remotely adequate verb.

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ineptshieldmaid:

The Catch-22 is this: If I say that I became a nude dancer primarily for the money, then I feed into the stereotype of sex workers as victims. I feed into the stereotype that nobody really wants to do sex work, that sex work is always horribly unpleasant at best and abusive or exploitative at worst, and that there is no reason anyone would ever do it other than coercion or desperation.

[…]

Realizing this immediately made me think of Natalie Reed’s excellent post on Catches-22, and how every marginalized group has one or more Catches-22 working against them, one or more ways in which nothing they can possibly do will be right. Women are either sluts or prudes; bimbos or ball-busters. Black people are either lazy criminals or “trying to act white.” Trans people are either caricatures of gender stereotypes, or aren’t feminine/ masculine enough and aren’t “really” trans. Atheists are either a hive mind/ echo chamber or are succumbing to divisive rifts and schisms. Poor people are either leeching off the system or “taking our jobs.” Etc. Reed argues — correctly, I think — that these sorts of no-win situations are a hallmark of discrimination, “the most direct and immediately recognizable way of knowing that a given group has been predetermined to be in the wrong regardless of what they do.”

- Greta Christina

ineptshieldmaid:

I’m well aware that there is not now and never has been anything truly, traditionally badass about me. But I’ve always identified with badass women on a very personal, emotional level. Wonder Woman, Buffy, Starbuck, Trinity. I didn’t merely look up to them, I felt like them. I was convinced that underneath all my anxiety and privilege and geekiness was a core of tough, capable, superhero gold. That, if the time came and I was called, I’d step up. I’d fight.

But I can’t throw a punch. I can’t shoot a gun. I’m deathly afraid of bugs, I bruise easily, and my hacking skills consist of my ability to locate any style of shoe on the Internet in mere seconds. Hell, I can’t even run more than a few blocks without getting winded.* And, more importantly, I do not like conflict.

[…]

But if we’re talking about crisis roles, I’m a caretaker. When everything goes kablooey, I may be the wrong person to send out on a revenge mission, but I can delegate tasks, calm upsets, and heal. And that might not seem as cool on the surface, but if fighters were all we had, we’d be in deep doo-doo.

I will always love dressing as badass as I possibly can without feeling ridiculous. But I’m getting comfortable with the notion that, when the zombie apocalypse arrives, I won’t be on the front lines with a shotgun. I’ll be behind the scenes tending wounds and soothing nerves.

- Sadie Doyle

And that, ladies and gentlefolk, is why, as a growned-up person, I have learned not to ask myself “What would Alanna the Lioness do?” or even “What would Keladry of Mindelan do?” but “What could I do that would let me me look them in the eye after this?”

I think “what can I do that would make me feel like them?” instead of “what can I do that would make me be like them?”