| Favorite Books |
Drop City, The Darling,The Last Living Slut (born in Iran and bred on the road), Disco Bloodbath, Love Sick, American Girl, Perks, On The Road, The Awakening, Guests of the Sheik, Dora
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| Favorite Queer Books |
The IHop Papers, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe
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| Favorite Movies |
Daydream Nation, Forrest Gump, Domino, Australia, Romero films in general, Garden State, Book of Eli
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| Favorite TV Shows |
White Collar, Six Feet Under, Glee, My So-Called Life, Friends, Mad Men, One Tree Hill, True Blood, E.R., Grey’s Anatomy
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| Favorite Music |
Death Cab for Cutie Ella Fitzgerald The Wallflowers Fiona Apple Weezer Usher The Beatles Sublime Never Shout Never Paramore Iron & Wine Nicki Minaj Nirvana Michael Jackson Lady Antebellum Katy Perry Jay-Z Ben Harper Gwen Stefani Pink Floyd Eminem Dave Matthews Band Coldplay Bob Marley Rihanna Maxwell City and Colour Wyclef Jean Brand New Mae Alanis Morrisette Patsy Cline Katy Rose Panic! At The Disco Tracy Chapman Tegan and Sara Elton John The Clash The Smiths Something Corporate Saves the Day Taking Back Sunday Queen Yeah Yeah Yeahs Say Anything Billy Joel The Moldy Peaches Kanye West The Weakerthans The Ataris Duncan Sheik The Ramones The Streets Jack Johnson MIA We The Kings The Benjy Davis Project Barenaked Ladies
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| Favorite Sandwich |
Ham, Salami, Cappicola, Provolone, Lettuce, extra Vinegar, Mayo, Hard Roll.
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| Favorite Thing to Autostraddle |
Mila Kunis… (oh you meant in real life?)
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| Favorite Quotes |
happiness in the face of horrible is not the goal. Feeling the horrible stuff and knowing that you’re not gonna die from the feelings? That’s the goal
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| Favorite Thing on Autostraddle.com |
sunday funday, get baked, Rachel’s political musings, when Laneia actually posts!
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| Favorite Writers |
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
And if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
For your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have been touched by the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life’s betrayals
Or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
Without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with JOY, mine or your own;
If you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of
your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or
to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day,
and if you can source your life from ITS presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “YES!”
It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
—- Oriah Mountain Dreamer, May 1994
Besides the obvious difference, there was not much distinction between losing a best friend and losing a lover; it was all about intimacy. One moment, you had someone to share your biggest triumphs and fatal flaws with; the next minute, you had to keep them all bottled inside. One moment, you’d call her to tell her a snippet of news or to vent about your awful day before realizing you did not have that right anymore; the next, you could not remember the digits of her phone number or the sound of her voice.
Handle With Care – Jodi Picoult
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