Thicker Than Water

Month

August 2012

  • me: *on tumblr while watching gymnastics*
  • me: *reblogs post*
  • gymnastics commentator: oh my that was a fantastic tumble!
  • me: thank you
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popeyeschicken:

do you ever rip off a piece of your lip with your teeth and swallow it and realize you just ate yourself 

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July 2012

Jul 31, 2012750 notes

heavycalorieconsumer:

Hey im mitt romney haha *pulls a lever & pig’s blood falls from a huge bucket on to the entire lower class* Dont forget to vote this fall 

Jul 31, 2012541 notes

shavingryansprivates:

i hate the phrase “life is short” because life is literally the longest thing that any of us will ever experience

Jul 31, 2012265,045 notes
“Some hearts understand each other, even in silence.” —Yasmin Mogahed (via lethalmutation)
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REAL → hanneblank.com

goforthandbeawesome:

real women

Posted on June 23, 2011

Excuse me while I throw this down, I’m old and cranky and tired of hearing the idiocy repeated by people who ought to know better.

Real women do not have curves.   Real women do not look like just one thing.

Real women have curves, and not.   They are tall, and not.  They are brown-skinned, and olive-skinned, and not.  They have small breasts, and big ones, and no breasts whatsoever.

Real women start their lives as baby girls.  And as baby boys.  And as babies of indeterminate biological sex whose bodies terrify their doctors and families into making all kinds of very sudden decisions.

Real women have big hands and small hands and long elegant fingers and short stubby fingers and manicures and broken nails with dirt under them.

Real women have armpit hair and leg hair and pubic hair and facial hair and chest hair and sexy moustaches and full, luxuriant beards.  Real women have none of these things, spontaneously or as the result of intentional change.  Real women are bald as eggs, by chance and by choice and by chemo.  Real women have hair so long they can sit on it.  Real women wear wigs and weaves and extensions and kufi and do-rags and hairnets and hijab and headscarves and hats and yarmulkes and textured rubber swim caps with the plastic flowers on the sides.

Real women wear high heels and skirts.  Or not.

Real women are feminine and smell good and they are masculine and smell good and they are androgynous and smell good, except when they don’t smell so good, but that can be changed if desired because real women change stuff when they want to.

Real women have ovaries.  Unless they don’t, and sometimes they don’t because they were born that way and sometimes they don’t because they had to have their ovaries removed.  Real women have uteruses, unless they don’t, see above.  Real women have vaginas and clitorises and XX sex chromosomes and high estrogen levels, they ovulate and menstruate and can get pregnant and have babies. Except sometimes not, for a rather spectacular array of reasons both spontaneous and induced.

Real women are fat.  And thin.  And both, and neither, and otherwise.  Doesn’t make them any less real.

There is a phrase I wish I could engrave upon the hearts of every single person, everywhere in the world, and it is this sentence which comes from the genius lips of the grand and eloquent Mr. Glenn Marla:

There is no wrong way to have a body.


I’m going to say it again because it’s important: There is no wrong way to have a body.

And if your moral compass points in any way, shape, or form to equality, you need to get this through your thick skull and stop with the “real women are like such-and-so” crap.

You are not the authority on what “real” human beings are, and who qualifies as “real” and on what basis.  All human beings are real.

Yes, I know you’re tired of feeling disenfranchised.  It is a tiresome and loathsome thing to be and to feel.  But the tit-for-tat disenfranchisement of others is not going to solve that problem.  Solidarity has to start somewhere and it might as well be with you and me.

Jul 31, 20122,608 notes

I think I fall a little in love with people when I catch them in small moments, when they think no one’s looking at them, when they absently twirl a strand of hair between their fingers, when they lick their thumb to turn a page in a book. There’s something beautiful about a person who is lost in a thought, or adjusting their shirt, or is scratching a phantom itch on their arm, or even someone who is looking at someone else like I am looking at them.

Jul 31, 2012136,113 notes
  • first day of school: 30 pencils, 64 crayons, 20 pens, 12 rulers, 10 notebooks.
  • end of school year: 1 pencil you found in the hallway.
Jul 31, 2012110,734 notes
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