Let’s Talk About ‘Latinxs’

feature image via la flama

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The term Latinxs began popping up on my tumblr feed about a year ago. At first, I ignored it. The onslaught of new queer terminology while necessary, radical and exciting, often exhausts me. It’s like, I know I have to learn about and embrace this new thing to keep up with my people but I just picked up five new terms last week. Can I get a moment to breathe?

But that’s just me and my cis-privilege keeping me from embracing things that don’t apply to my identity, know what I’m saying?

And, Latinxs didn’t go away. I saw it being used by more Afro-Latina/Latina centric, queer-ish blogs that I love. It’s staying power and something about that X made me want to learn more about it.

Where did it come from? What does it mean? Can Spanish be gender-neutral? What would my grandma think of a gender-neutral term for Latinos?

The more I read about it, the more sense it made and I felt that pride in my people. Like, way to push the boundaries of a language in order to place yourself and your needs at the center. Put that X in there and let them know you exist. Use that X as a beacon for all those who identify and feel similary. Here we are. You are not alone, you know?

As much as I read about Latinxs, I couldn’t fully grasp how to explain its usage to others or the importance of it, until this response piece from the news site, Latino Rebels. The Case FOR ‘Latinx’: Why Intersectionality Is Not a Choice written by María R. Scharrón-del Río and Alan A. Aja offers a fierce take down of a piece published by The Phoenix, Swarthmore’s indie newspaper. Their piece is literally “An Argument Against the Use of The Term ‘Latinx, which includes such gems as:

• It excludes any older Spanish speakers who have been speaking Spanish for more than 40 years and would struggle to adapt to such a radical change.
• If you take the gender out of every word, you are no longer speaking Spanish.

The Latino Rebels piece “The Case FOR ‘Latinx’: Why Intersectionality Is Not a Choice” dissects major flaws in the Swarthmore authors arguments which include the inability to comprehend the need for gender-neutral language, among other things.

Highlights from the Latino Rebels piece made me raise my brown fist to the sky, like yes, let’s do this and have these conversations! Why not queer up/reclaim the Spanish language?

• “…indigenous languages in Latin America (and throughout the world) range from the genderless to the multigendered, going beyond the binary. This is another instance in which Guerra and Orbea, while claiming to denounce imperialism, actually fall into one of the markers of colonization: the erasure of indigenous history and its cultural legacy.”
• “To change the Spanish language to include others is deemed as a threat to the whole Latinx culture and their identities. This is certainly another symptom of unexamined privilege and internalized colonization. Moreover, it also implies that our Latinx identity is so frail that without protecting the integrity of the language of our colonizers, we risk losing the main instrument of colonization that still binds many of us.”

But before I give away too much of the good, stuff, go read the article. Let the Latino Rebels know what you think and of course, as always, drop your thoughts in the comments here too.

What do you think of the term Latinxs? Do you use it? Did the Latino Rebels do right by the term in their argument?

Here is that link again:

* The Case FOR ‘Latinx’: Why Intersectionality Is Not a Choice

Orange Is The New Black Episode 308 Recap: Fear and Loathing in Panty Town

Hello and welcome to the eighth recap of the third season of Orange is the New Black, a network television beauty pageant that pits Evangelical Christian mermaids against renegade Wiccan Werewolves to decide once and for all who’s worthy of the last Strawberry-Rita.

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Welcome to mystery-meat hell, snitches. Red’s kitchen is the New World Order and that means bags of pork-and-cow-guts puree have arrived on the scene. Litchfield bought them wholesale from the local school district. No word yet on if they’ll also purchase the school’s surplus of six-month-old graham crackers and hard-as-a-rock, slightly gray raisin snacks.

Marizta and Blanca slice the bags of chunky meat smoothies open and slop them into a metal pan. Beef Wellington. It’s a celebration.

Red is pissed. She was hoping they’d be able to expand the vegetable garden with grazing land for cattle. She’d envisioned the day she could sacrifice her fattened calves to the Russian Gods of War and use their flesh to feed her prison kindred. All those innuendos with Cracker Barrel Healey were for nought.

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The slop makes the cafeteria rounds. It’s a symbol of what actually trickles down when trickle-down economics is served to the masses. Beef Wellington, my ass.

Black Cindy, the New Jew on the Block, greets her table of fellow kosher diners with all the warmth and affection of a sitcom Bat Mitzvah. Judaism has saved them all from having to consume Guy Fieri’s backwash meat surprise-a-rooni.

Of course whenever Black people have something wonderful, there’s gotta be some jealous fool trying to scheme on taking it away or getting their portion of it. We see you, Piper. Can Jewish Black Cindy live, y’all?

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Morello’s cool with it. Maybe one of her imaginary Jewish husbands will actually marry her and then she too can have a bowl of Stef’s vegan matzoh ball soup.

Piper, who’s never had life so hard before, wonders what Demarco is sprinkling on her meat chowder. Obviously, it’s meat-flavored Crystal Light. Piper is now jealous of both Jewish Black Cindy and Crafty-With-A-Flavoring-Packet Demarco.

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Listen, JBC might be switching religions but she’s not one of those Norma-worshipping nutjobs. Huge difference. Huge.

At Norma’s table of Dianetics and drag queens, all followers are holding hands and whispering, “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell are you gonna love anyone else?” over and over again.

Poussey is so sad she’s not at that table with them. She was really hoping to lip-sync for her life and win. What’s the prize, you ask? Is it ten thousand dollars worth of cubic zirconium diamantes? Nope, it’s 30 seconds of intense eye-contact from Norma, La Santera Blanca.

Taystee tells Poussey it’s a cult. Black Cindy tells Poussey it’s a cult. Everyone tells Poussey it’s a fucking cult, and yet: they don’t know what it’s like to get touched by La Santera Blanca. None of them know what Poussey knows. None of them have seen the heavens overflowing with marigolds and semi-naked loverbois plucking on harps.

Poussey has seen the Promised Land. She’s been touched by Norma and that shit is too real for words. And if anyone has a pill for believing in this storyline, please send it my way. Actually do you have enough for all of us on the OITNB recap team? That’d be great, thanks.

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In the hallway of broken dreams, Pensatucky meets one of the creepiest dudes to hit Litchfield yet, C.O. Charlie Coats. Like what kind of casting calls is OITNB putting out?

Wanted: White men who look like they could be pedophiles or serial killers or murderous clowns. Actually, if you look like you could be all three of those things, you’ve got the part.

C.O. Coates is on van duty with Pensatucky but since he doesn’t know his dick from a doorknob, Pensatucky must instruct him on how to be a guard and start a vehicle.

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In the edgy white-girl section of the Litchfielmd dorms, Tank Girl and Bif Naked chit chat about interior design strategies. Tank Girl wants to cover the walls in monochromatic chevron wall paper. Alex isn’t having any of that. Chevron is over, Tank Girl. It’s fucking over.

So Alex does what any good Scientologist would do and uses a beard to have a baby while jumping on Oprah’s couch. A frightened Tank Girl flees the scene. Alex is surrounded by criminals, heavy rollers even the sheisty individuals. She doesn’t trust anyone, not even a beloved comic book heroine.

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Flashback to Alex crying at a funeral and could she be anymore gorgeous in the moment? No. Alex is literal perfection. She’s at her mom’s funeral, without Piper. And I swear to Jewish Black Cindy, one of the best ways to weed people out of your life is to take attendance at a funeral. Alex’s mom sounded like she was the actual best. She cared for shelter dogs, fed homeless people, and loved her drug-dealing, gal-pal-having daughter. What more could you ask for in a mom?

Alex leaves the funeral looking so fly. Blue hair extensions hanging down her back, black leather jacket, etc. As she walks away from the funeral, Fahri rolls up in his totally neutral, not-used-for-selling-drugs and/or doing-illegal-activities car and scoops her up. Ugh, we all have that one friend who’s a complete bastard and yet somehow manages to be there during our roughest times.

Fahri is that friend. He’s the friend that says “fuck your ex-girlfriend” while offering you a bump of funeral cocaine. And if you’re really lucky, before you snort the coke, he’ll also put you on to a drug deal in Paris. Cuz money makes the world go round and your mom’s dead, so what do you have to lose? Nothing. Alex takes it all.

Playlist: We Need You Bad As A Heartbeat So Please Don’t Go, Girl

Listen, I think we should talk. Please don’t get weird like I’m not trying to be clingy. I just have some stuff I need to get off my chest. And like, it’s about our relationship and I just hope you have the space to hear me out.

I miss you, ok? Like, I miss all the thoughtful things you have to say, the things that shed light on when I’ve misunderstood a Pretty Little Liars reference or when my online activism doesn’t reflect my activism in real life. You’re the one that points all that out and you do it in this way that makes me feel loved and respected, most of the time, and I really appreciate it. I don’t have a lot of people in my life that engage with me in that way and so I think my heart got used to you being here and sharing yourself with me, with all of us.

Also, like you’re funny as fuck and I’m funny too and when we’re funny together I think anything and everything is possible. Like, we could spread intersectional feminism, Hansen’s 33 Ways To Eat Avocados, and neon rainbow glitter to the far reaches of the galaxy while wearing matching poom poom shorts, like that could be us but you’ve stopped playing.

And it’s ok, like I know you’ve got shit to do and an appointment on Tuesday to heckle-watch OITNB and you have all these new friends that you met at A-camp but like I’m still here and I want to respect your space but maybe just drop in and chill sometimes. It’d be really nice to see your avatar and read the things running through your mind.

This is basically a Drake song that I’ve written for you, so just like imagine him rapping all of these words and I promise they sound less creepy. Look, yo, sometimes you gotta fight for your friendships and not be scared to be vulnerable. You’re worth all of my give a fucks and I’m ok with that and you should know that you’re valuable to me and that you deserve friends that miss you like I do, like we all do.

It’s not just me. We all miss you. I know it can feel mad awkward to post your feelings in such a public space but it helps our community more than you might believe that it does. Our people want to see each other and you’re a part of that, you and your beautiful avatar and text and persona.

Now, we all know that sometimes commenting might not feel safe. People are racist, transphobic, classist, rude, and also sometimes just at a different point in their personal evolution. But as a team of Autostraddle writers, we’ve gotten much better at diving into the threads with you. We’re deleting things that are just plain disgusting and full of hate. We’re trying our best to redirect conversations that derail from the voices of queer/trans people of color. We’re elevating the voices and needs of our trans fam and recognizing/owning cis privilege. We’ve gotten better at naming white supremacy and using our voices to dismantle it.

None of us want a cookie or a pat on the back for this work. It’s what we gotta do to be our strongest as a community. And it’s not over, there’s so much learning and growing to do. There’s still so much to fight for and so much evolving to do.

You’ve evolved with us. You’ve been the driving force in our revolution and we don’t ever want that to stop. Why not share yourself and all your growth with the world? The world needs you and so do we. We need those conversations back, right here on the site.

And like I got the whole crew together and we made you a playlist. So maybe you’ll come back and comment and leave gifs and jokes and keep the community tight and give us all the love we need to keep writing and keep doing this thing that we all do together so well.

– Gabby

We Need You Bad As A Heartbeat So Please Don’t Go, Girl

[Stream the playlist here]

Need U Bad – Jazmine Sullivan
I’ll Be Missing You – Puff Daddy and the Family
Where My Girls At – 702
Where Did Our Love Go – The Supremes
Where Are U – Justin Bieber, Skrillex, Diplo
Where Have You Been – Rihana
Please Don’t Go Girl – NKOTB
Don’t Forget About Us – Mariah Carey
Stickwitus – Pussy Cat Dolls
What Hurts The Most – Rascall Flatts
How Come You Don’t Want Me – Tegan and Sara
Why Don’t You Love Me – Beyonce
Moment 4 Life – Nicki Minaj feat Drake
Mama’s Broken Heart – Miranda Lambert
Over and Over – Nelly Feat Tim McGraw
U Got It Bad – Usher
Say Something – Timbaland feat Drake
Right Here Waiting – Richard Marx
Officially Missing You – Tamia
Baby Come Back – Player
The One That Got Away – Katy Perry
Come Back to Me – Janet Jackson
Blank Space – Taylor Swift (not on spotify but v important for this playlist)
Still Into You – Paramore
Another Sad Love Song – Toni Braxton
Careless Whisper – Wham!
World Spins Madly On – The Weepies
On Bended Knee – Boyz II Men
I Miss You – Klymaxx
I Want You Back – ‘N Sync
Where Do You Go – No Mercy
Como La Flor (Live) – Selena

Orange Is The New Black Episode 305 Recap: Fake Acid, Fake Personality Tests and Real Panties

Welcome to the fifth recap of the third season of Orange Is the New Black, a docu-drama about the last, bloody effort of men to thwart the inevitable genesis of an earth-saving matriarchal society.

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Poussey is laughing, probably because she saw a pic of Lauren Morelli at A-camp making suspenders in Laura’s workshop. Damn it’s nice to open with Poussey and that perfect smile of hers.

Enter Taystee carrying cleaning supplies and bringing her own gorgeous smile and perfect cheekbones to the scene. Poussey doesn’t jump up to help her and Taystee gives her some friendly shit for it. They’re just chums being chums y’all.

Poussey is going through the library’s card catalog to determine which books were destroyed during Caputo’s Bed Bug Reign of Terror. She comes across Bernard Shaw’s Arms and The Man and makes up a summary for it. In Poussey’s version, the book is about a man who loses his arms and must use his feet as weapons. But it’s all a euphemism for being a lesbian without arms and using your feet to fist someone.

Since Samira Wiley is painfully underused in this season, they threw her a bone and let her play pretend for about five minutes. Poussey goes off on an adorable tangent, giving us her best movie trailer voice-over about the “man using his feets as a weapon” aka lesbians lesbianing with their feets.

Poussey then let’s us all know that she’s got a nap scheduled later and when I was in college, “nap” was code for “come over for a sex break” and so…Poussey is giving us everything we need in this scene. Taystee adds to Poussey’s interpretation by stating that “arms” could be weapons and that’s just code for dildos. Duh.

Poussey brings up that nap again but Taystee doesn’t bite. Fuck, like why won’t she just have a quickie nap with Poussey? Everyone takes a lesbian nap in college at least once, right?

But like any suave ladylover, Poussey doesn’t chase or beg Taystee to nap with her.

Taystee talks about the new job that’s offering $1 an hour because fuck the prison industrial system forever. Maintenance sucks. Taystee finds gross chia poon hairballs in the corner of all the showers. And when all the chia poon hairballs get together, they form Pubetropolises and Taystee has to clean them up and that shit is nasty.

Again, what better way to give Taystee and Poussey screen time than to have them talking about nasty ass shit like this? I mean, I can’t think of anything else for them to say to each other. They do the best they can and still make it cute. So back to Pubetown.

Poussey is convinced that the new $1 an hour job is gonna be the worst and instead of discussing it further, she heads off to her happy hour in a bag, that good ol’ prison hootch.

Taystee: Um, it’s 8 oclock in the morning. You drinking already?
Poussey: It’s always 5 o clock in prison

Word.

Poussey heads out into the Secret Garden and digs up her super hidden aka not hidden at all, Ziploc bag of drink and it’s mostly empty. The hootch remnants look like vom, btw.

Taystee heads out into the courtyard of dreams to watch Poussey scramble around for her next bag of vom drink. But lo and behold, all her bags are empty. Taystee suggests that it could be the drunkard prison squirrel but Poussey says that he’s been sober for awhile now. Poussey thinks that the hootch thief is probably another inmate.

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Flash to Sex Machine aka Señor Beer Can Caputo making coffee. C.O. Ford approaches him about their health benefits. He can’t seem to figure them out. Also, the enrollment period for their healthcare plan is every fifth Wednesday but not after the 13th of each month because then it’s every fourth Friday before 11pm but not during the spring and C.O. Ford can’t seem to get it straight. And like any good boss, Caputo doesn’t know shit.

Wanda shuffled over to let them know that doors were put in somewhere and new beds were ordered and who the fuck is actually taking care of things in this prison? It must be a conspiracy, like when that one girl you hate is nice to you and then you turn around and she’s fucking your girlfriend. Yeah, the new corporate prison people are that girl.

Wanda doesn’t trust that trick. Neither do we. Neither does C.O. Ford. Caputo is over it. He’s over their need for stability and health care. They got a uniform right? And a walkie talkie?? Like what else could they possibly need? Jezzus, just shut up about everything else sayeth Caputo.

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Gloria finds Daya in the industrial freezer which is the Litchfield equivalent of an open hydrant in the hood during the summer. Gloria tells her to stick an ice cube in her bra and keep it moving. Gloria is a fucking G, btw.

Gloria joins her kitchen crew and they all talk in Spanish with their delicious and perfect Dominicana accents. Ok, maybe it’s just Blanca speaking in Spanish and everyone else talks in English but whatever, the accents are so hot. And I’m just in love with all of them, ok? They’re talking about the new job.

Blanca, who’s like on the low one of my fave characters this season, posits that this new job could be one where they all wear sexy gender-neutral firefighter outfits and put out fires. Maritza wouldn’t mind handling a big hose which isn’t a euphemism. She really likes hoses, y’all. Daya thinks it could be a call center. Flaca wants to make all the commissions.

Gloria: Commissions? Right. You get ten percent of nothing on every nothing you nothing.

Real talk though, if any of her kitchen crew applies for the new job, Gloria’s gonna whip off her prison chanclas and beat all their asses.

Gloria catches Norma not only being late for work but also putting out her own brand of white lady santeria. Gloria’s not having that shit. She tells Norma to put that egg back w all the other eggs and get it together.

Maritza wonders if the new job is them picking up trash. Flaca is convinced that they’re going to be required to code a new enterprise to Mars and utilize all their makeup skills to give astronauts the best eyebrows and since they’ll be the astronauts, they’ll already have the best eyebrows.

Maria calls them out and says no one wants them to be astronauts. Cuz they don’t have the skills for that shit. Homegirl is still mad that she can’t see her baby, rightfully so.

Flaca makes that same point and surprisingly, Maria doesn’t take it too well. “What you say about my baby, bitch?!” is the general feel and they get into a small scuffle. I kinda like it. Girl fights are my favorite. But before they get to pull off hairnets and scratch each other’s eyes out, Gloria breaks it up. She makes Flaca scrub pans as punishment for having the best eyeliner.

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Thus begins Flaca’s first real flashback. We get to see her teenage goth self looking so cute with purple tips and purple lipstick. She’s face-timing with her drug dealing yt boyfriend. She’s trying to sell drugs with him but he wants to be the one paying her telephone and automo bills.

Flaca’s mom shouts at her en Espanol where available to get her ass into the living room. Bye bye yt boyfriend.

Flaca’s got some sewing to do because Mrs. Ramirez needs her dress by this weekend. She wants the Emma Stone Golden Globes special and she’s gonna get it. Flaca’s mom isn’t playing around with her in-house fashion shop. Of course while the women work, Flaca’s brother gets to sit on his ass in the living room and watch tv. Big shouts outs to one of my boy cousins who’s over 21 and still watches cartoons in his underwear while my aunt makes him pancakes shaped like stars.

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Back to everyone’s favorite character to not give af about, Piper! This scene is brought to you by the letter S. S for scuttlebutt. I literally scream laughed when Red said “scuttlebutt” in her borscht accent. Even Red knows Piper ain’t shit. Piper wants to know what the new job is all about. Like she asks for the 411 cuz she’s hip wit it. Piper wants a new job. Electrical sucks without Nicky and her wild mane of drug-hiding hair.

All Red really wants to know is if her looks makes her look like the Heat Miser. Yes, Red you look like the goddamn Heat Miser from The Year Without A Santa Claus. Own it, bb. Own that shit.

Piper attempts speaking in truths by telling Red that yes, she looks like the Heat Miser but it’s a beloved children’s Christmas cartoon and by default no one is afraid that Red is going to steal Santa Claus. Or kill Rudolph. Ok maybe Red might kill Rudolph but still, her look is hot fire and she should keep it. Maybe minus the severe old lady liberty spikes tho. Piper offers Red some candy cane lip gloss and a Charlie-in-the-box from the Island of Misfit Toys to make her feel better.

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Cut to Corporate Jackoff Jr. peeing in the john and Caputo about to pee but thinking better of it. Ugh. Can we stop showing men peeing in the bathroom on tv and in films everywhere? Like we’ve all been subjected to the men-talking-about-things-at-the-urinal scene so many times in our lives. It’s over. I’m over it. Jeezus. Can’t they talk somewhere else? Caputo and Jackoff Jr. on screen take away from any of the women having more screen time so obvs I’m against this. Blah blah blah corporate takeover. Smarmy nervous Caputo wants a meeting blah blah Jackoff Jr. is like sure whatever. Go finish peeing, Caputo.

Big Boo shows up for a moment with flowers for Caputo but it’s not enough for me to feel better about so much time being devoted to Caputo & Jackoff Jr.

ATTN OITNB: NO ONE IS WATCHING THIS SHOW FOR THE BACKSTORY ABOUT OR DIALOGUE BETWEEN ANY OF THE MALE CHARACTERS. NO ONE.

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Cut to Healey and Red. I love Red so much. Why are they doing her like this with all these scenes between her and Grandpa Douche Healey? POR QUEEE??? Red needs to be plotting her kitchen takeover or figuring out a way to smuggle in more chickens, not half-flirting with the old grey nightmare. She is cute with her new looqs tho. She’s Heat Miser lite and Healey notices. Sometimes all a person wants is someone to notice the little things, right? Sigh. Fine.

Berdie, the new C.O. or something, the breath of fresh air their department needed, breezes on through and asks for help. She needs a hard femme to help hang her Autostaddle calendar. Red suggests she ask Laura W. or Mary T. Berdie thanks her, sticks her tongue out at Mealey Healey, and continues on her merry fucking way.

Healey doesn’t like Berdie because she’s perfect and better at her job than he is and so his white male superiority complex is acting up. His belly swells with unnecessary pride so often that it pops a button on his work shirt. Red fixes it for him in a tender-icky moment between them. Literally, in any other context I’m down for older people falling in love but I can’t w Healey y’all. I just cannot, will not, won’t stop.

However, Red’s flirting ends with a discussion of irritable bowels so I’d say she’s winning at wooing Healey since his whole everything gives me IBS.

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We zoom over to Norma, La Santera Blanca, as Gloria is about to let loose some chancla ass whoopings. No one steals Gloria’s eggs for spirit work. Let this be a lesson on cultural appropriation for generations to come. Don’t fuck with shit that ain’t your shit.

Norma snatched Gloria’s candle, beads, honey and her magic eggs.

Gloria: This ain’t your history. It ain’t your culture. It stops now.

Gloria takes pity on Norma and gives her the honey. For eating only tho! No Spellllsss!

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Over in the Spanish Harlem section of Litchfield, Maritza and Flaca talk about this magical job and how Flaca is gonna kill it during the interview portion. Like this is some kind of Miss Prison Pageant or something. Insert unnecessary slur for dark-skinned folks en español and continue conversation — the casual racism everyone spews on this show is a bit much. Flaca is aiming for the stars in prison.

This job could get her out of the kitchen and closer to fulfilling her destiny. Flaca is destined for greatness, y’all. I mean look at the wings she made with her eyeliner. Martiza is pissed cuz like the kitchen staff is family and family units work when each person does what they’re supposed to do. Can’t have a functioning kitchen when one person is daydreaming about being better. This is literally the entire premise of the movie ANTZ y’all.

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Flashback to Flaca standing in the halls of The High School for Latina Goths, with her friend who looks like Spinelli from Recess. They’re fly af.  My god if I had been in hs with them, I would have written creepy journal entries about how bad I wanted to be their friend and also Elicia-esque poetry about wanting to snuggle their faces.

In her own DIY segment, Flaca demonstrates how to make and sell fake ass acid to buy flatform shoes, the only acceptable school shoes in the HS for Latina Goths. She made her cherry bomb tabs and sold them at the US Lesbian Soccer World Cup and made that cash.

Cue awkward wanna be cool teenage boys looking to score some acid cuz all the lesbians at the soccer game chased them away from the field. Flaca takes pity on them and offers to sell them some more. Cuz the HS for Latina Goths teaches its student body to take pity on lesser mortals at all times.

Flaca: Acid is not for escaping reality, it’s for embracing it.

She sells them the acid at school like mad suspect like she’s never seen a movie before or seen other people not sell drugs in high school oh my god you don’t do it at your lockers. You do it down the block or like between stalls in the girls bathroom or LIKE NOT AT ALL CUZ YOU WILL GET FUCKED SO HARD FOR SELLING DRUGS WITHIN A SCHOOL ZONE JEEZUS CHRIST KIDS DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME OR AT YOUR HS FOR LATINA GOTHS.

Spinelli thinks Flaca is gonna get busted for selling fake shit. Flaca goes on a Neil DeGrasse Tyson style monologue about the wonders of the universe and assures Spinelli that it’s all good, baby baby.

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Cue Cesar and Daya in the hotel lobby of Litchfield just kicking it and talking about Bennett’s extreme white flight. “That fucker hobbled away into the sunset” And in true Cesar form, he uses asinine logic steeped in misogyny to explain why it’s not Daya’s fault that Bennet ran away cuz real men stick with their crazy pregnant bitches no matter what especially when they’re in prison cuz that’s what real g’s do while they move in silence like lasagna. Cesar OUT.

Daya is sad and that makes me sad.

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We zoom happily over into the Great Hall of Litchfield. There’s a buzz in the air as the sorting hat finds its way into the kitchen or the test for the new job whatever. Everyone is huddled over their personality quiz with their appropriate race/ethnic group and praying for the best.

Flaca and Blanca are obvs at the same test taking table. Flaca freaks out cuz she sucks at taking tests. Yo girl, I feel you. And Blanca, the secret queen of this entire season, tells her that her insecurity over taking a test is just an excuse for her stupidity.

Over at Black Cindy’s Table of Excellence, Black Cindy is convinced that because they’re taking a reading test for this new job, the new job must be building warheads or spaceships or something involving white folks colonization of mars. Or private military contractors like Halliburton are going to use their labor for profit and to weaponize smallpox. Black Cindy knows what the fuck is up. Obvs whatever it is, the inmates are going to suffer from disastrous side effects like turning into the Simpson’s three-eyed fish or possibly syncing up with periods so strong they cause a flood that frees everyone at Litchfield.

Suzanne jumps in and teaches us about how mutations actually work. Our babies will be born with the gills and we’ll just all die of cancer.

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TURN YOUR PAPERS OVER AND BEGIN TEST-TAKING PANIC ATTACK

At the post-racial, white american table, Big Boo and Alex talk smack about the creepy E-Harmony meets Divergent style questions on the test. Uppity ass Piper thinks they’re going to get in trouble, so she leaves the table and no one misses her. Alex and Big Boo take shots and get cozy cuz fuck Piper. JK I KID but that would be super hot anywayyyy.

And for some reason a hot ass woman of color sits next to Alex and more chills went through my body then when Piper was munching on Alex’s bits two or three episodes ago. WHO IS THIS SCORCHING INMATE??

Leanne and Ang make a pact and do their secret handshake that’s also code for not understanding why they’re so deeply attracted to one another.

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This scene pings back and forth from table to table. Every cast member gets a second to showcase their feelings on this test. It’s fun. Also, Flaca is slowly melting down and shooting into deep test panic mode which totally reminds me of every time I took a math test ever. Also, Morello gets in some good worry-based screen time. Too bad we won’t get to see her having orgasms with Nichols anymore.

Flaca melts down completely and C.O. Maxwell sends her on her way. Bye Flacita.

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We’re back at the High School for Latina Goths and Flaca’s sharing her vision for an all emo wardrobe, draped heavily with goth fabrics and multiple shades of black. Hark! Who’s at the top of Mount High School? Some idiot that dropped Flaca’s fake tabs and is about to jump off the building, that’s who. I would be so pissed if I was Flaca like damn way to call attention to my whole shit with your dumbass. And then he jumps and Flaca’s eyeliners bleeds through the streets.

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In Ye Olde Prison Chicken Yard, Red and Jones discuss what types of vegetable they should plant. They’re doing just fine until Litchfield’s Rush Limbaugh joins them. He just stands there as all the carbon monoxide pours out of his mouth and into the air. Red applauds his hot air and Jones watches them both like “what is even happening right now.” Jones is over Healybaugh and doesn’t even want to be in this scene.

Man tells story. Women pretend to be interested. Time for the rest of us to fold some laundry or go for a run before Healy’s carbon monoxide kills.

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Over in more interesting pastures, Black Cindy and Watson are getting some exercise running. I would have rather watched them run in silence for the entire time it took Healy to tell his wak ass story, btw.

Piper’s running behind them. Alex tosses her a gatorade and they cop a squat by the prison yard gates. Piper daydreams out loud about the life they could live outside of prison.

Piper could do electrical work and Alex could run a landscaping business and they could be dykes for real! According to Puta Madre Piper, that includes not shaving, driving pickup trucks, camping and going to golf tournaments. Alex, not at all amused by Piper’s lesbian stereotypes, wonders who that fine ass human is running around the track. Piper says more stupid stuff and Alex shuts her down. Alex is hella good at wrecking any and all jokes Piper makes. But then Alex says something about the inmate’s Disney princess being Jasmine and I feel like this is some racist bullshit that white girls would only say to each other, so once again I’m good on Alex and Piper and their whole thing.

Alex is scared she’s gonna die in prison. Piper thinks it’s funny to burst holes in all of Alex’s “I’m gonna die” conspiracy theories. I can’t tell who’s more annoying at this point: Alex, the paranoid racist, or the oblivious box of uncooked spaghetti that is Piper.

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Soso comes to Norma for guidance and love. Soso tells some convoluted story about a hugging saint and I almost fell asleep but then she asked the world’s most important question: Why don’t I have any friends that care about me? Norma holds her hand. Soso knows there are connections to be made but how? Where? With whom? What is life, y’all? The Care Bear Norma Stare works again and Soso is soothed.

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Back in the Secret Garden, Poussey works on her gourmet alcoholic milkshakes while Leanne and Ang bring her their tithing envelopes.

Leanne is convinced that a squaccoon is stealing Poussey’s hootch. Poussey stops what she’s doing and gives Leanne a basic lesson in animal sex times that includes the true fact that raccoons and squirrels can’t procreate. Leanne’s like whatever this is America and anything is possible in the Land of the Free. According to Leanne, pee and cayenne pepper will keep the drunk squirrels and horny raccoons and deadbeat skunks at bay. She is a fucking genius.

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Pornstache’s mom and Daya are back at the UN Negotiation Baby Peace Treatises. Daya’s like just take my baby, white lady. Pornstache’s mom is upset that Daya won’t let her deliver the white savior speech she had Patricia Arquette write for her. She’s been practicing all morning and like why is Daya being such an agreeable bitch? Still she tries to deliver the speech and Daya’s eyes just roll all over this scene and just take the damn baby, ok?

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The new work assignment sheet is up and the inmates are lined up as if they were waiting to find out if they made Glee Club. Everyone makes Glee Club, y’all. Black Cindy and Watkins make the cut. So does Piper. Suzanne doesn’t and she almost tailspins into a slapping fit but Taystee reminds her she’s too magnificent for this job and that test.

Watkins and Black Cindy engage each other in the magical way Taystee and Poussey used to and it makes me miss their chemistry. Black Cindy’s gonna get a new hair piece and I hope it’s glorious.

Morello didn’t make the cut but it’s probably because she wrote a non-fiction essay entitled “How My Totally Real Husband Named Christopher Stole Christmas” instead of answering any of the questions on the test.

FLACA GOT THE JOB CUZ HER SMARTS KICKED IN LIKE WHAT.

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Piper thinks it’s hella funny to make jokes about her girlfriend’s very real fear of getting murdered in prison. It’s like when you find that person that knows how to make light of your trauma even when you ask them to stop, that’s the person with which you maintain a romantic relationship, that’s the keeper bae. Hahahaha someone’s gonna kill you and it could be me. Ahahah. Aww c’mon, it’s just a JOKE.

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Poussey pees around her hootch. This is def the scene that’ll get Samira Wiley that Netflix Emmy. Def the scene.

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All the C.O.s get their hours cut. UNION UNION UNION.

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Black Cindy walks up in the bathroom just swinging her new hair. She’s important and gorgeous and my queen. If she wants to be. Anyway, she tells Taystee to go get Poussey before Poussey digs up the whole Secret Garden trying to find the hootch thief. Taystee is the one who took the stuff. She hated seeing Poussey drink so much. Ride or die friendships. But Suzanne thinks Poussey should have something to focus on even if it is the imaginary prison juice thief. I can’t get over their maxi-pad mask Taystee’s wearing, like cannot get over it.

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Red and Healy are snuggled up on his office couch. Red’s talking about the yearning passion in her loins and Healy thinks this means he’s gonna get a two-minute hand job for sure but it turns out that Red’s talking about her love of the kitchen. THE KITCHEN. She’s not trying to give him an HJ. She totally led him on with her Russian accent and less severe hairstyle.

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We enter the 24 hour Meth-O-Mat where Leanne, Ang, and Soso fold all of the laundry. Soso is really attempting to make friends here and it’s just not happening. In a last ditch effort to connect with them, Soso just says Wal-Mart and it’s literally her best line ever. Cuz Wal-Mart.

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Gloria’s kitchen is a buzz with hotdog buns. Flaca makes her grand announcement about quitting kitchen duty and working at that new job. Gloria’s unimpressed and asks Flaca if she thinks she’s better than everyone else. And this whole circumstance is like a metaphor for what happens when you get your higher education on and some of your friends and family from the neighborhood judge you and treat you differently but it’s weird cuz usually there are folks that are proud of you too but this is prison and who gives a fuck about Flaca getting this new prison job besides Flaca? No one.

Except for Marizta. And homegirl is so heartbroken that she can’t say a word and their friendship is everything and I bet her heart is crushed beyond repair. Like those friend heartaches are worse than the romantic ones and I just want to give her a hug.

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We’re back to high-school-Flaca getting arrested in her house for selling the fake drugs that some idiot took before he jumped off the roof. She spills her guts to the cops which is like always the wrong thing to do if there isn’t a lawyer for your ass present and of course, they don’t care. They cuff her and take her away.

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Caputo and Corporate Dweeb Jr. talk about things. Blah blah blah something something new job. No one cares, Caputo. Just cash your checks and trim your stache.

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All the new hires gather together and find out that their new jobs is:

PANTY SEAMSTRESS

Cue Flaca’s face.

End scene.

The A+ Bee Issue 22: The QTPOC Speakeasy Takeover

Hello, galaxy defenders! Welcome to a very special edition of the A+ Bee. Ring the alarm cause we’re throwing elbows like Xtina in the 90s. No but seriously, we should talk about camp for a second. The QTPOC Speakeasy got together on the mountain and made magic happen. It felt like a non-stop sleepover, social-justice-based workshop slash dance party and also, a family BBQ rolled into one. We hope that next time you’ll join us.

What does that have to do with the A+ Bee? Well, when we got together we did a couple of things and one of them was a Bee Takeover! Elicia and Carolyn were in charge of organizing a crafts session that was focused on filling all the spots in the Bee with Speakeasy-geared content and pics. We thought it’d be a great way to make a thing and show the mountain our faces. Unfortunately, we didn’t get it all together on the mountain cause Chelsey, who is the sweetest and has the best hair on the planet, plans these so far in advance and we (The Speakeasy) just didn’t get our shit together in time.

But y’all know how these family BBQs go… tell people to show up at 4 pm so we can all start eating at 8 pm. Much love to all the members of the QTPOC Speakeasy who put their hearts into this A+ Bee and to Chelsey for putting all of our work together.

Download the PDFhere!

You Should Go: NYC All-Ages Pride Party with Everyone is Gay and Autostraddle at Bluestockings

Yo, Pride month is here. Whatever that means for you, we hope you enjoy it. If you’re headed out to Riis Beach to soak in the topless and queer section, go, baby, go. If you’re at the crafts store buying out their entire glitter and stickers section, we hope your credit card goes through.

Pride can also be tough. All the parties are so focused on booze and ladiesladiesladies!!!! What if that sentence alone makes you feel like you need a nap? Also, what if you’re under 21? What if you don’t drink? Where do you go? What do you do??

We’ve got you, lil queermo. Everyone is Gay, Bluestockings Books and Autostraddle have gotten together to throw the best All-Ages Pride Party in New York City.

Everyone is Gay co­founder Kristin Russo, along with Autostraddle’s Gabby Rivera, will emcee. We’re going to have music by Jenny Owen Youngs and Mal Blum! Spoken word by Gabby and Khalin Vasquez, a Lincoln Center Poet-Linc alum.

Admission is free!!

There’s a suggested door donation of $5 to benefit the work done by Everyone is Gay, Autostraddle, and Bluestockings. But don’t sweat it if you can’t swing it — just come be with us! Bring your lil baby dyke cousin, all of your friends, your college roommate and their Tinder date. Bring everyone you know and love.

And then carry on to the NYC Dyke March!

RSVP here on FB

When: Saturday, June 27th, 2015

Time: 2 pm – 4 pm

Location: Bluestockings Bookstore, 172 Allen St., NY, NY, 10002

Orange Is The New Black Episode 302 Recap: Bed Bugs Stop The World. World Stop.

Hello and welcome to the second recap of the third season of Orange is The New Black which has all my friends in a binge-watching time-warp codependent relationship with Netflix. Hey, at least we’re all in this together!

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Flaca has bumps on her arms, obviously they must be crabs. She lists all the different ages she’s been when crabs have taken over her body. Each year has a delightful, warm-hearted anecdote re: crabs. She tells this to Dr. Dude whom I’ve never seen before but when do I ever really pay attention to men? Anyway, back to the crabs which turn out to not be crabs because you don’t get crabs on your arms. At least that’s what Dr. Dude says. Flaca’s shocked. She hasn’t even had her arms near anyone’s chacha. So how for she get bitted?

Dr. Dude runs off in a panic.

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We flash to Flaca and Maritza on the Latina side of Prisonlandia ripping sheets off their metal cots. IT’S BED BUGS TIME. Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun BED BUGS! Sing it with me to the tune of the Batman theme song. Everybody now!

Maritza isn’t phased. Like bed bugs for real? Or more like poison ivy? Or scabies? Or possibly an allergy to mashed potatoes? No, bitch, it’s chinches.

Flaca takes a minute to give us Bed Bugs 101:

• They don’t live on you.
• They live on your sheets, and clothes and shit.
• Wash everything.
• Flaca didn’t give NOBODY bed bugs. Someone gave them to her.
  

  Yo but for real, I don’t even know Joel Marsh Garland like that.

Daya and Aledia stroll through San Litchfield. — How is Daya still pregnant? Have we talked about this? Riese, did you see how pregnant she still is? Is Daya ¼ elephant? We should have jumped into this season with a pretty little chubby baby but nope.

Anyway. Daya adds her fifty cents and a quarter water to the “is it scabies?” debate raging between Maritza and Flaca and everyone else. Her verdict? “Cooties are still cooties.”

But where did the chinches come from? Daya’s grubby little garbage pail sister? Maritza’s waitressing job at a hotel in Miami? No. According to Aleida, they came from Flaca’s “hairy chia pet poon” and they’ve been living in there since before Flaca got locked up. In fact, the very first bed bug breathed its first breath in Flaca’s chia poon.

Word spreads like a bedbugs outbreak and Blanca demands that Flaca and Maritza stay on their side of the dorms. Gloria orders everyone to strip their beds. Aleida let’s out a long fuck, the kind of fuck we all need to let out sometimes…

dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun BED BUGS!

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Red walks to her old digs with Piper. Before she turns the corner, she takes off her “sad clown” expression and throws on her “I’m a bad old bitch” face. Necessary facial changes, y’all.

Piper, the cherubic spawn of Polly Pocket and Dennis the Menace, is happy that Red’s back. Red gives her the cold shoulder. Piper is a lying sack of weasels and Red doesn’t have time for that shit. See, last season, when Piper got furlough because she’s white, had political leverage, and there was a death in her family, she passed by Red’s family business. It was shuttered. Instead of being real with Red, Piper, the lying sack of weasels, lied to Red and said business was booming. She lied to Red, y’all. So Red’s pissed because her morose-looking sons and bumblefuck husband visited on Mother’s Day and she knows something’s up with the business.

Obviously in Piper’s world, lying makes everything better. She’s still figuring out how to live with consequences, jeez. Red takes two marshmallows and stuffs one in each ear. No time for this. None. Piper takes this opportunity to wax about her very real and firsthand knowledge of an exotic culture. This time it’s Korean culture, next week it could be Indian. Who knows? As Piper speaks the language of her people, NPR-ese, Red calls bullshit.

Bullshit in Russian is “Bullshit.”

Red calls Piper “a selfish little person” which is Russian for a “lying sack of weasels.”

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Next up we have Mendez’s Stepford Mom with a Heart of Gold visiting ye olde jail.

Bennett has an internal panic attack over Mendez’s mom visiting Daya’s fam. Mendez’s Mom admits to also having the fever for Latina Flavor, so she’s totally down with this whole situation.

Pornstache loves ya, mami.

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Mendez’s Mom admires Aleida’s Hispanic skin. But Aleida wants to know if bitch has her money.

It all boils down to Mendez’s well-off white lady mom wanting to adopt Daya’s baby and give it a better life. Daya’s hood family will be no match for Mendez Gilmore of the Connecticut Gilmores. Aleida gets a cut, the baby gets a rich white family, and EVERYONE WINS. Except Daya.

Daya is gonna suffer bad emotionals her whole life.

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Latinaville is bustling with bras and super comfy tighty whiteys. Since the bedbugs came from Flaca’s chia poon, everything must burn or be washed.

Anyway here comes the mope-faced nebbish Bennett. He reminds me of a soggy bowl of Cheerios. I can’t with him. He’s in the dorms while they’re undressed-ish even though only female guards are allowed.

Daya’s still pregnant and in her underwear while they’re having a super awkward and whiny conversation about the meeting of the moms. They flirt and it’s gross not ’cause they’re straight but because of his privilege and her imprisonment.

Daya’s made up her mind. She’s keeping her baby. Ooh, she’s gonna keep her baby.

What will the women wear now that they’ve had to give up their clothing? Send in Office Depot’s new fall line of paper bag hazmat dresses! Cue fashion show!

Caputo takes this moment to brush his scruffy whiskers against Bennett’s smooth-as-a-baby’s-butt-cheeks. He whispers, “It’s me.” Bennett stiffens, he pants, “Yes, daddy, I knew.”

Caputo gives Bennett shit for stalking Daya and tells him that the way to deal with being around womenfolks is to choke ones chicken. Flog one’s bishop. Jam one’s jimmy. Just beat it. I could continue.

As the wisdom of men is passed on through the generations, Caputo is informed that they’re out of construction paper uniforms. Enter Litchfield’s first “Super Casual Friday.”

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Bennett’s army days are in full flashback swing. He’s as annoying as a soldier as we’d all expect him to be. Yes, sir, I’m ready to get in the shit, sir! Cue army-style slurs for Arabic people. Cue helicopters. Cue Bennett using his good old American charm to win over his superior.

Get yourself a snack and come back.

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And we’re back at the lesbian pajama party brunch, Bras-n-Panties v. Team Blue Scrubs. Everyone’s scratching.

Scott and Wanda are grumbling about money. Caputo sends Wanda to pick up more Office Depot hazmat prom dresses for the inmates.

Let’s take a moment to appreciate Maritza.

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Black Cindy shoos away unwelcomed guests at the VIP table. In drops Poussey wearing a garlic chain, a black sports bra and cute grey briefs. I’m sure some of us took in a very deep breath when she walked into the scene. Ahem. — Also, who’s the person sitting next to Watson? Cuz she made my heart skip a beat. I definitely paused and rewound to catch a glimpse of her again. Why can’t life be more like Netflix? —

Poussey is wearing the garlic necklace she bought at La Botanica GloNo. It wards off the evil chinche spirits and offers protection as she fulfills her destiny as the Avatar.

But what everyone at the table really wants to know is why are the Latinas still making food with Flaca’s chia poon if all the bed bugs came from there? PROTEINZ.

It’s been three days since Black Cindy showered and I think she looks glorious. Taystee thinks that’s the reason she’s itching. Everyone else thinks it’s gross.

Poor personal hygiene can be a sign of depression. Suzanne is a prophet.

Tits, pits, and naughty bits are really the only things that need scrubbing, according to Black Cindy.

Everything else can ferment. Like Pensatucky’s old teeth.

Pensatucky’s new teeth decided it’d be a good idea to sit at the Black Women- only table. Note: don’t sit at the Black Women’s Only table unless you have a permission slip signed by everyone already sitting at the Black Women Only table and everyone who’s ever sat at the table and everyone who ever will sit at the table.

And THEN Pensatucky decides to go in on Vee. So she drops her white ass into their VIP table and then proceeds to shit upon someone who they have a complicated love/hate relationship with? Suzanne wastes no time in attempting to potato-whomp Pensatucky. Taystee calms Suzanne down so she doesn’t get thrown into solitary.

Pensatucky is summoned to drive the jail to society prison shuttle. If you’re nice, she’ll also take you to In-N-Out Burger.

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The scene ripple fades to Piper asking Alex whether she’s hungry or not.

“I’m not standing in that parade of tits and ass.” Well you knew what you signed up for when you agreed to be the Grand Marshall of the Reno Pride Parade, Laura Prepon. You knew!

Alex is convinced that there’s a target on her back. She’s worried about getting shanked in her sleep, rightfully so. And Piper, being the out-of-touch-basic-ass main character we’re all forced to suffer, tells Alex that she’ll survive and that the cockroach is her “spirit animal.” Y’all can those of us who aren’t Native stop calling things our spirit animals? Like I thought we all already knew not to do that.

Alex is over it too. She asks Piper to really think about what she just said and of course, Piper doesn’t. Piper goes on and on about how awesomeness of roaches. Since Alex doesn’t have a potato, she can’t potato whomp Piper. Alex walks away instead.

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Nichols and Big Boo notice a slew of early releases exiting the prison. They talk about drug smuggling. It’s all very Breaking Bad. Bonus: Big Boo in a black sports bra too.

---

If you don’t know about the ways oatmeal can spice up a spell, too fucking bad. Gloria’s not about to share that knowledge. Actually, it’s for the itching re: Flaca’s bed bugs.

Bennett, once again abusing his power, corners Aleida in the back of the kitchen and questions her motives around meeting up with Mendez’s Mom. Daya’s there too. Still pregnant, btw.

Aleida breaks down MM’s reason for wanting to adopt Daya’s baby. She has a nice home, lots of money, and she feels guilty for raising Mendez. Together, the baby and Mendez’s mom get a fresh starts. Bennett tries to interrupt but he gets the shut-the-fuck-up finger from Aleida.

Daya’s still got time on her sentence. So does her mom. Grandma’s too old. Cesar might use the baby as bait in a dog fight. What’s a girl to do??

Daya’s not sure if she’s gonna keep her baby. But she also doesn’t know that her moms just shook down Mendez’s mom for a monthly allowance. Bloop.

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22 Food Items Gal Pals Brought Into My Life

Hello, snaps, crackles and pops! Right now, Beyoncé is singing about waiting for me to get home to her so I can turn that cherry out. It’s a good Sunday. Let’s talk about food and gal pals.

I grew up on Puerto Rican food with a side of quick fix American dinners. At 19, I was someone who mainly ate some form of rice and beans or chicken tenders and french fries. Oh, and guacamole but that’s because I loved nachos, not bc of heritage — see above ethnicity. But then I started dating, flirting with and going out with all sorts of mind-blowing, hyper-intelligent, and food-savvy women. And even the ones that weren’t so great brought some tasty treats my way. My whole culinary world exploded — not literally, but so close to literally that you could feel the sonic booms. So to all the gal pals, secret crushes, and sexfriends that bought delicious foods into my life, this post is for you. May you all still be eating well and feeding the people you love.

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1. Mushrooms

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2. Italian Sausage and Broccoli Rabe

Italian girls from Westchester hold a special place in my heart.

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3. Butternut Squash

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4. Pizza Dough

When the sweetest human teaches you how to make pizza dough, you eat forever.

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5. Hot Pockets

I still don’t know if I ever liked how these tasted or if I just thought it was cute that she’d cooked for me.

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6. Snap Peas

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7. Aloo Gobi

Thank you forever to the sweet and beautiful girls who took pity on me in East Harrow. They saved me from stomach rumblings by sharing the foods their moms and aunties cooked for them growing up. All I had to do was talk in my New York accent and wash dishes afterwards.

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8. Cauliflower

Who knew cauliflower wasn’t just the nasty sidekick to a gross vegetable platter at a Superbowl Party?

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9. Crepes: More specifically banana + nutella crepes

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10. Purple Potatoes

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11. Esquites

Legit wept the first time I ate esquites.

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12. Shallots

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13. Corn Dogs

Katy Perry uses corn dogs to start fights over sports ball.

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14. Maryland Crabs

The crab fest thing was barbaric and weird, for me. But it’s huge in Maryland.

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14a. Old Bay Seasoning

Because this is how crabs are seasoned in Maryland.

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15. Pizza with Sweet Corn and Prawns

Something inside of me died a little bit when I ordered pizza with foxy Brits for the first time. Y’all are putting what now on this pizza? I still ate it tho.

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16. Cinnamon in Coffee

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17. Mangu Dominicano

Dominican girls run the world.

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18. Brussels Sprouts

Found out this year that brussels sprouts grow on a stalk. Thanks, Trader Joe’s. I thought maybe they came from a bush. Nope, stalks.

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19. Salad

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20. Green Chiles

The Latina desert dykes I chilled with in Santa Fe killed it with these chiles.

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21. Empanadas

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22. The greatest cookies of all time

I knew she loved me when she made my momma homemade Oreos.

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* Bonus Drink: Bulleit Bourbon

Because what else is your burlesque-dancing homegirl outta New Orleans going to bring to drink and reminisce over?

How to Make DIY Lavender Salve for Soothing the Grrls and Loverbois in Your Life

By Gabby & Laura

Hello, bright and shiny starships. Hope you’re flying high on love and fresh-baked cookies. If you’re not at camp with us, my heart sends you a thousand rainbows and a golden unicorn. We’ll be missing you, dearest heart!

At this camp – along with Mary T., Alex Vega, and Laura W. — I’m part of an Acts of Care workshop. One of the things we’re going to be making there is lavender salve.

I panic sometimes and panic, for me, leads to anxiety attacks. One day, my very best gal pal rubbed some lavender salve on my hands and the panic attack didn’t come. Her lavender magic has staved off anxiety attacks, helped me fall asleep, and if I put some on in the morning, it generally keeps me calm all day. Like, it could be a placebo, but I’m a believer.

We’re making lavender salve on the mountain and sharing how we make it with you, glorious reader. So you too can go forth in the world and make some lavender salve for one of your best camaradas and help them get through tough times with a small act of community care.

Note: Making things is what my girlfriend does. She has amassed all the tools, jars, and oils to make this type of stuff over the course of about fifteen years. Don’t feel pressured to go out and buy this stuff just to make one thing. Connect with friends who make things or start with lavender essential oil and add drops of it to your pillow. Or, opt for a quick act of free community care: Offer up a hand massage to someone you love when they’re stressed.

Loverboi Makes Lavender Salve

Ingredients

44 g (1.5 oz) of Coconut Oil

• Price: 44 g @ $7.99/pound  = $0.75
• Buy local at: Trader Joe’s, Indian grocery stores, any large grocery store
• Coconut oil acts as a carrier oil that dilutes the lavender oil so that you can spread it all over the important bits of your body. If you don’t have coconut oil, you can use olive oil, jojoba oil, almond oil, or avocado oil, but stay away from canola or a generic vegetable oil because I don’t know what’s actually in those and it could make your skin break out.

6 g (.2 oz) of Beeswax

• Price: 6 g @ $3.99/3 oz = $0.35
• Buy local at: any craft store (look in candle supplies), beekeepers, farmers’ markets
• Since oil is liquid, we need something else to turn it into a salve. Beeswax not only solidifies the oil in the container, but keeps it from running all over your skin. As an added bonus, beeswax is an emollient and a humectant, which means it keeps your skin moisturized. If you’re a vegan who doesn’t use beeswax, you can substitute carnauba or candelilla wax (I’ve never used either wax, but I’ve read that neither of them sticks to your skin quite as well as beeswax. I’d throw in 4 g of shea butter if you happen to have some, you know, just laying around).

30 drops of Lavender Essential Oil

• Price: 30 drops @ $14.41/2 oz = $0.36
• Buy local at: natural health store (look in aromatherapy section), some large grocery stories (e.g. Fairway, Kroger)
• This is the stuff that really does the magic. It’s calming, a soporific (isn’t this a great word?), relieves headaches, and soothes itchy skin. We’re going to add a good amount to this recipe, but you’ll still be left with plenty in your bottle to use in other projects.

Materials

• 1 60-mL (2 oz) container
• Shallow pan
• Heat-safe measuring cup
• Kitchen scale
• Chopstick or other stirrer
• Pot holder

Instructions

1. Before you start measuring, fill a shallow pan with water and bring it to a boil.

2. While you’re waiting for the water to boil, measure the coconut oil and beeswax into the heat-safe measuring cup. We’re going to hold off on the lavender oil, because it could boil off while we’re melting the beeswax and we don’t want to lose any of the good stuff.

3. Place the measuring up in the water-fill pan and let the beeswax (and potentially the coconut oil if it’s cold in your house) completely melt. You can stir with a chopstick if you want to help it along.

4. When everything has melted, use the potholder to remove the measuring cup from the water (Pro tip: let your water keep boiling while you work. You’ll use it at the end to clean the measuring cup. We’ll come back to this at the end).

5. Immediately pour the beeswax and coconut mixture into the container you’re going to store your salve in. Quickly add the lavender oil and stir to combine the ingredients.

6. While you let your salve harden, clean out the measuring cup. It is a complete pain in the ass to try to scrub oily salve out of a cup with a sponge. We’re going to avoid this by using the water we left boiling. Pour some of the water into the measuring cup, swish it around, and pour it out. Repeat three or four times until you’re out of water. There might still be a little salve in there, but it’s a whole lot less to deal with than before.

7. Use it! Rub the lavender salve on your body. If you have a headache, your temples and/or under your nose are good places. If you’re feeling antsy or can’t sleep, you can rub it on your chest, under your nose, or even on the bottoms of your feet. Or if your loverboi is feeling any of those things, offer them a lavender salve rub down.

Friday Open Thread: House, Pajama, Dance, Rooftop, Rent — What’s Your Favorite Summer Party?

feature image via Shutterstock

Hello road warriors, nymphs and radical debutantes! Welcome to this week’s Open Thread. We’ve had an exciting week. We saw Furiosa the Movie in theaters, used tarot cards to guide our self-care practices, and figured out that we’re all wondering what she’s doing when she’s not texting you back. So many things were accomplished and still the beautiful, extended, Memorial Day weekend is upon us. You know what that means for us in the States: beaches are open, people are on holiday and it’s time to do the rounds at all the first-weekend-of-summer parties.

I’m not talking about boring hetero parties fueled by drinks with names like Lemon Lime Strawberry Hennessy ColadaRitaBloodyLongIsland, where dudebros are acting a fool and in less than six hours the entire thing will be covered in vom and passed out people. To me, that’s not a party; that’s a dangerous, stinky, hot mess. Or just something weird where Zac Efron works his poom poom.

I’m talking about queer parties with brujas, loverbois, Harry Potter heads, and geeked out cyborgs. Parties where introverts have a space to be quiet and Extroverts have the dance floor.

We Party Like This:

And Like This:

Tonight, I’m going to a Bad Lesbian Movies On Netflix Party and I wish you all were coming with me. It’s so chill. There’s a mix of sober and non-sober folks, introverts, extroverts, inbetweenaverts, and nice jumble of ethnicities and identities. This shit is gonna be so v. chill and still it’s the first party of the summer for us. The only way it’d be better was if it was also a slumber party.

So how do you party, baby tigers? Does it have to be loud, sweaty, and sexy? Or are there only two people at your party, and you’re one of them? Are you light as a feather and stiff as a board? Do you dance? Do undertake the very important job of holding up the wall at a party? Is a party filled with you and your baby and your friends and all their babies? Or are you naked and dancing with non-baby-having friends right now? Tell me. Also, got any safe for work party pics? Probs not, right? Here’s one from me!

Also, as always, please use the thread to share a week in your life. I’ve got two job interviews next week and my best little homie is napping on my couch right now. I’m happy and it’s weird. So tell me happy things, anything that made you smile this week.

Ain’t no party like an AS party cuz we party on top of a fucking mountain.

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How To Post A Photo In The Comments:

1. Find a photo! This is the easy part. Find a photo on the web, right click (on a Mac, control+click), hit “Copy Image URL” and then…

2. Code it in to your comment! Use the following code, and use a DIRECT LINK to the image. Your image link should end in .JPG or .GIF or .PNG or .CallMeWhateverYouWant even. I don’t care, but it should be an image suffix! KINDA LIKE THIS:

<img src=”http://imagelink.jpg”>

If you need to upload the photo you love from your computer, try using imgur. To learn more about posting photos, check out Ali’s step-by-step guide.

How To Post A Video In The Comments, Too:

1. Find a video on YouTube or Vimeo or WHATEVER and click “embed.” Copy that code, but first make sure it’s for 640 px wide or less. If your player is too large, it will not display properly.

2. Copy the code and paste it directly into your comment.

3. Go forth and jam.

No White Tears: A Non-Guide on Dealing with Microaggressions from Your White Partner

Hello, shining stars of the galaxy, I hope you’re all feeling cared for today. The protests and rallies in Baltimore, Philadelphia and across the country – due currently to the murders of Freddie Gray and London Chanel but the list of names is long and never-ending – have many of us feeling pushed to our emotional and cognitive limits. Many of us are afraid for our lives and the lives of our people. Black Lives Matter now and forever. I write these words so that we don’t forget the state of our nation even in the midst of writing articles about love and relationships. Everything is connected.

We do not write in a vacuum.

We do not love in a vacuum.

We love with the weight of our skin colors between us and our different physical abilities. We love amidst peaceful demonstrations and wars with bodies that have been and seem to always be abused and marginalized. We love each other across bulletproof glass and from different ends of the privilege spectrum. We love as descendants of enslaved peoples and the offspring of slave owners. We love without always having a shared language to bring our very different worlds together.

There are no handbooks for us. We see mega rich and shiny people in girl-on-girl relationships on the teevee, but many of us have little to no guidance for our relationships. We need all the support we can get. Sharing our stories is the easiest way to get the word out and help each other.

So let’s talk about microaggressions and acts of racism in our love relationships. I’ll start: I’m a queer Latina boi from the Bronx in a relationship with a queer femme white girl from the Midwest. This isn’t my first time dating a white girl. At 32, I’ve finally learned how to call yt (white) girls out on microaggressions and racist behavior. For me, calling someone out isn’t about gleefully shaming someone’s prejudiced behavior anymore. I’m more concerned with taking immediate care of myself and deciding if I’ll continue to engage with that person. The harm they’ve inflicted via actions or words needs to rest solely on their conscience and they need to rectify it. I’m not doing that for anyone, no matter how cute they are.

This is not a how-to guide; there’s no right way to navigate these situations. POC aren’t a monolithic entity in which all racist acts are experienced and digested in the same way, if at all. Nor should it be seen as another moment where a POC + yt person relationship is elevated above other interracial relationships. This post is an invitation to a broader discussion. What I have to offer is my experience; the framework of my understandings of racism and microaggressions in a romantic relationship are based on the aforementioned race dynamic.

Because let’s not kid ourselves, microaggressions can be experienced while dating another person of color. Although the dynamics aren’t the same, the situations are just as toxic and harmful to experience. Non-black POC aren’t above bullshit. Neither is anyone whose intersectional identities connect in a way that vibes more with the status quo. Like if you’re cis or able-bodied, ya know? To quote Autostraddle contributor KaeLyn, “People with more systematic privilege than you are always going to fuck up.” Word, friend. I’m just sharing some instances of microaggressions — because sometimes we’re not even sure if that’s what’s happened — and some ways to deal in the hopes that you will share yours and we’ll all be able to make it out alive, looking sexy and loving our hardest.

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True Examples of Microaggressions Culled from Real Life and The Internet

Microaggressions: Racial microaggressions are brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, and environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial slights and insults to the target person or group (D. W. Sue, 2005).

1. Your yt gf is complaining about her Black boss. All of the complaints are valid but she uses language peppered with phrases like “those people” and maybe even wonders how her boss was deemed qualified to become her boss, maybe somehow all of a sudden she’s talking about affirmative action and you’re like “what the actual fuck is happening, right now?” And none of it feels right and what she’s saying reads like someone else’s tumblr post about their awful racist ex.

2. Your partner doesn’t understand why Black people, Native folx and people of color in general, can’t just react peacefully when their own people are murdered by law enforcement officers, the KKK, or deluded pro-America vigilantes. Also, they don’t see how a system that supports housing inequality, school to prison pipelines that disproportionately affect Black and Latin@ peoples, brutal holding centers for undocumented folx, among other disgusting social practices that are legal doesn’t always deserve a peaceful response from its citizens.

3. Without prior discussion as to what’s appropriate, white boo decides to call you their “little/sexy/hot, insert slur/obnoxious stereotype here.,” e.g. aren’t you my “hot little chola or tamale” or something equally cringe-inducing.

4. You’re out socializing with your person and their group of friends. One of their friends says some out-of-pocket racist bullshit and your partner says nothing. No one even reacts. You react and then everyone thinks you’re too sensitive and shit gets awkward. You both leave early, together. The ride home is silent and your person doesn’t give you even a slight hint of understanding. Now you’re the girlfriend that none of their friends wants to chill with. And no one has your back.

5. Without any warning, your yt boo decides to share their secret obsession with “thug porn” or “hot asian babes” and you’re just like… wayment…

6. Someone not white was mean to your boo and she’s crying about it and feels victimized because of her whiteness. She wants you to make her feel better and to denounce the person of color she’s talking about.

7. Your latest primary partner posts all the appropriate anti-racist stuff, does tremendous amounts of social justice activism and schools other white people on how they’re bad allies and gentrifiers. But they often forget that they’re also gentrifiers. They often speak over the voices of people of color on topics of racism and oppression and gentrification so that everyone knows/hears/sees how anti-racist they are.

8. Tinder-date turned current sex-friend dresses up in their idea of Native American gear to participate in a sports thing or puts on a sombrero & mustache to celebrate “Cinco de Drinko” and doesn’t understand why you just can’t have some fun!

9. Just chillin’ with bae and they play the new Janelle Monae and straight up look at you, a beautiful Black woman, and say, “Funny how I’m teaching you about your culture, kinda, right?”

10. White tears are shed when yt boyfriend isn’t allowed to go to the POC-only party. They say it’s unfair and if there was an all-white party it’d be racist. You’re stuck trying to uplift yt boyfriend or bounce to the POC-party. Or both?

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Tips for Dealing With Microaggressions and White Tears in Yer Relationship

1. Listen to yourself.
If there is any moment where you feel emotionally unsafe, don’t doubt yourself. Step away. It’s OK to pause, to shut that shit down, and to remove yourself. Not that you need my permission at all, but damn, I know that I’ve doubted myself in situations like that. I’m here to tell you that you’re not being too sensitive. Racism is real and is embedded in our language, interactions, politics, etc. and you shouldn’t have to tolerate it.

2. React however you feel is best. Do the thing that keeps you whole.
Only you know the nature of your relationship. Nothing I say here is going to fit everyone nor is it intended to. Here are some ways that I’ve reacted to racist bullshit in my relationships.

Options:

• Explain in under five sentences why you are upset and need to remove yourself from the conversation. I chose under five because that is enough information to give someone with respect to yourself and to them. (I’ve chosen to briefly explain things in the past because just dipping out of a convo cold turkey can exacerbate someone’s anxiety issues. Depending on the relationship you’re in, that may be something you’re cognizant of and give a fuck about.)
  Ex: I’m leaving. I’m not talking to you right now. I will contact you tomorrow. Do not contact me. If you don’t respect my boundaries, I won’t be able to communicate with you anymore.
• With exceptional finesse, proceed to tell her all about herself and how she just acted a racist fool.
• Excuse yourself without a word.
  There’s one Jay-Z verse that’s been my personal mantra since it dropped:
  A wise man told me don’t argue with fools
  Cause people from a distance can’t tell who is who
• Flip the fuck out because it’s your right. You don’t owe anyone courtesy after they’ve dropped an N-bomb or called you any other racist slur.

3. Protect your energy.
How much energy are you willing to invest in this situation? If your partner is so with it that all you have to say is “Babe, your fucked up internalized white supremacy is rearing its oppressive head,” and lovermuffin is all like, “You’re right babe. I’m sorry about that. I value Black women and all women of color and really need to take a pause before I say things that don’t represent my value system,” and then actually does the work, then maybe y’all are OK and are really gonna make this interracial love thang work.

If that’s not how it’s gonna go down, and you’re going to face mad pushback for protecting yourself and attempting to educate them, asking yourself if you have enough energy or want to invest the energy you do have in such an undertaking is a good move — a super good move, no lie. Your energy belongs to you first and you decide how you want to share or utilize it. Some relationships deserve careful conversations where both partners are OK with being vulnerable in order to tackle difficult issues. Other relationships can’t handle those discussions without devolving into abusive back-and-forths founded on faulty understandings of racial inequality or situations where one partner needs to be coddled and reassured by the other that they’re not acting in a racist manner. Only you know what kind of relationship you’re in.

4. Reach out to your people.
Who in your circle is going to be able to automatically “get” why you’re upset? Contact that person. Ask that person to hug you or to sit with you or un-ghost themselves on gchat and rise in solidarity with you. Find the safest place to breathe, whether it’s your activist circle or coven of hard femme brujas. Stay there for as long as you need. Vent. Vent. Vent. Get it out. All of it. All of that racist, disgusting, debilitating shit must be purged. Holy shit, don’t sit on your feelings, let them explode all over the night sky and fall into the ocean. Swim in that shit with your ride or die camarada and when you both make it to the other side, remember that being a warrior is in your blood.

Read books that provide connection to your truth as well as refuge. Read the works of: Assata Shakur, bell hooks, Michelle Alexander, Mia McKenzie, Janet Mock, Gloria Anzaldúa, Staceyann Chin, Kay Ulanday Barrett, Isabel Allende, and Celine Parreñas Shimizu. These are not the only authors and poets who write about race and social justice and living as a person of color. Find whoever speaks to you and dive into their words. Watch all the movies, and tv shows that highlight and respect your identity.

Online spaces are helpful too. You can vent anonymously on the Microaggressions tumblr. The QTPOC Speakeasy is always ready to hear you and offer love and support. There are other online support groups specifically for people of color in relationships with white people. Such as the QTIPOC Dating White People Support Group.

5. Remember that they have to do the work.
The onus isn’t on you to educate. Your partner needs to figure this out for themselves. Your partner needs to feel motivated to read books written by QTPOC about all sorts of things, not just issues of race. They need to seek out spaces led by Queer and Trans People of Color, sit in those spaces, and listen. Your partner needs to actively develop a value system based on anti-racist principles, not rely on you to provide it for them. They need to embody these principles in majority white spaces so other white people don’t get a pass when they’re with each other and so that the work doesn’t always fall on people of color.

With that in mind, you can make the decision to discuss things with them and allow space to hear what they have to say if you want to. I’ve chosen to listen and share insight because I’ve believed in relationships as a whole. Like, if this person can be here for me during my darkest hour, then I can provide similar support to them during their personal evolution. But not everyone is worthy of that type of support and none of us owe it to anyone.

6. QTPOC-Only
Some people choose to only date other POC and/or only other Black people and that’s OK. This isn’t you being weird and somehow proliferating reverse racism – that’s not a real thing y’all.

I’ve often thought: I’m so done with dating yt girls. They just don’t get it.

Other POC homies in my circle have expressed similar feelings and have stuck to them. They don’t date white people because their understanding of racism and experiences of racial inequality/injustice/violence is so frustratingly different and minimal that the divide isn’t worth crossing, not even for love. It’s also something that can make one question if our understanding of love comes from a conquered colonized mindset that has forced us to elevate and desire whiteness. And what kind of love is that then? Can real love exist between two people when the imbalance of privilege, quality of life, and just plain safety is severe and often insurmountable? Even love between Black people and non-Black POC can stretch the limits of understanding and solidarity. So, this is where listening to your heart and soul is of the utmost importance.

7. Grab yer umbrella and walk through the white tears
So maybe this gloriously f*cked up human is worth it. Maybe this thing between you two is worth salvaging and navigating the dark and hard places. And like, maybe they’ve been a bedrock of stability and support for your entire personhood and you want to walk through the storm with them. Ok, then. Make this decision for yourself, tho. Do not give in to pressure or coercion. So how do you move forward? Again, here’s how I’ve done it and continue to do it.

• Ask for uninterrupted talk-time. If they can’t do this, then fuck, idk what to tell you. But for me, it was a demand and not a request. Either you let me talk and tell you about how you fucked up on me, or we don’t do this at all.
• Speak without apologizing for your feelings. Lay out the hows and the whys. Ex: When you said/did X, I felt violated. Your actions were rooted in white supremacy and racism. It hurt me and made me not want to deal with you. This is my truth and you cannot explain your way out of this or flip it on me. If those are your intentions, we can stop right now. We can discuss this in an honest way once you’ve apologized.
• Allow them to respond to your statements and ask questions. You’ve made the decision to wade through this. Let your partner get out their weird/misguided or absolutely fucked feelings. Deal with what you can and be very clear about what you cannot and will not help them through. Again, if they start getting argumentative or turning things into a debate, step away.
• Remember that at any time, you have the right to step away and regroup.
• Share resources and hold them accountable for finding their own. I’ve sent links and shared books with my current girlfriend, just as a general practice but also during random moments of racial tension. I’ve also kept a lookout for when she goes and does radical awesome intersectional work on her own and with others. That shit is mandatory.

Ok, dip your hips and do the butterfly if you’ve made it this far. White supremacy is a motherf*cker, so is white fragility, which is what we’re dealing with when we choose to engage in discussions of race with yt partners.

Dr. Robin D’Angelo, a dope anti-racist educator, defines white fragility as: a state in which even a minimum amount of racial stress becomes intolerable, triggering a range of defensive moves. These moves include outward display of emotions such as anger, fear and guilt, and behaviors such as argumentation, silence and leaving the stress-inducing situation.

I wish I had a term for the act of diving into emotionally distressing conversations with romantic partners steeped in white fragility. That shit causes some serious toxic stress. And if you’re someone whose identity is connected to multiple marginalized groups: trans, brown, disabled, impoverished, to name a few — as many of us are. The stress of microaggressions and acts of racism is coming from so many sides. To add one’s romantic relationship to the mix of unsafe situations is further debilitating. How dare we not have a word for that type of stress and emotional pain. Like, the fact that we don’t have a term says so much, right? Maybe we could make one up.

I’ve laid out some examples, some tips, links, and a huge chunk of myself here in this post. It’s not perfect but I hope it’s helpful. I’ve had moments in relationships where everything is perfect and then boom, something awkward and race-based happens and I’ve felt alone. I’ve felt like there’s nowhere to really go with this type of stuff and these feelings. I’ve wondered if I was being too sensitive or too angry, or if I need to leave this human that I love so much for safer racial pastures.

Again, we all come from different worlds with complicated intersections of privilege and suffering. Many of us need to check our privileges while simultaneously calling out the world for misgendering, misrepresenting and mis-everything our identities. This type of stuff is messy and complicated and makes us cry. But if we’re gonna do this and fall in love and stick it out, then we need all the help we can get.

I would love to hear from all of you. What types of racial microaggressions have you experienced in your relationships? What steps did you take to get through them? How did you heal?

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To read more about microaggressions:

• Disarming Microaggressions:
  How Black College Students Self-regulate Racial Stressors Within Predominately White Institutions
• Racial Microaggressions In Real Life
• Why White People Freak Out When They’re Called Out About Race
• Is It You Or Is It Racist? The Insidious Impact Of Microaggressions On Mental Health
• The Microaggressions Project
• Students See Many Slights as Racial Microaggressions
• Eight Things White People Need to Really Understand About Race
• Discussing Micro-Aggressions

I could literally keep adding links forever. Please add your own in the comments to make our list stronger!

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This comment space is primarily for POC to discuss this issue — if you choose to post as a white person, please be aware that your comment could be deleted if it’s unproductive to the discussion. 

VIDEO: Nicki and Bey Giveth Much Life in “Feeling Myself” Music Video

The internet exploded last night. Did you feel the quake? Did you look to the heavens and wonder if angels or asteroids had crashed through the atmosphere and landed outside of your door? I know you felt it.

How could you not feel the aftershocks of the “Feeling Myself” video? Yes, I’m unabashedly, healthily obsessed with Nicki Minaj and Beyoncé. I know I’m not alone. I know I’m not the only one who’s had this song on repeat since the PinkPrint dropped. It sits right in between “Get On Your Knees” and “Only,” Nicki’s mega hit with Wayne and Drake. Nicki’s flow is slick, confident, dripping with everything that makes her the Untouchable Queen of Rap.

Bitches ain’t got punchlines or flow. I have both and an empire also.

It’s that heavy bass thump, the snare, the simple whistling sample in the background and some well placed snaps that get you going. And then Nicki just drops bars as Beyoncé stops the world and the world fucking stops. “Feeling Myself” was fire before the video dropped. Shit now, now, the earth is aflame for the Nicki/Bey friendship canon.

Everything works. It’s another simple video, like Bey’s 7/11; just some gorgeous friends hanging out in ridiculous fly gear, bamboo earrings on 1000, attitude on deck, and “Oh my god, don’t you wanna ride with us” type of video.

I’m with it. All day shipping. Can Nicki & Bey be in the next Mad Max movie cuz then I’d literally explode and it’d be the happiest day of my life. And even though I’ve been a vegetarian for two years, I’m fiendin’ for a cheeseburger and fries with a side of Nicki & Bey.

“Mad Max: Fury Road” Is The Kickass Feminist Action Movie We’ve Been Waiting For

Yo, mutha flowers, a bunch of us went to go see Mad Max Fury Road this past weekend. Had we known how incredible it was going to be, we would have organized a caravan of all you beautiful queers across the country to come together and watch it as a pack; a sexy, renegade pack of unapologetic feminists ready to blow shit up in the name of freedom and solidarity.

But even on our own, in our own hometowns, in separate movie theaters, we watched and fell in love with the delicious, delirium-inducing, debauchery that is Mad Max Fury Road.

Also, Charlize Theron as Furiosa, the real hero of this entire film. Ay, mi corazón. Let’s discuss. SPOILERS!

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Furiosa, Mad Max, & The Five Wives

Mey, Trans Editor:

One of my favorite things about this movie was that it not only had its Hard Butch heroine in Furiosa, but that the Five Wives, who were presented as being these beautiful, feminine, helpless girls who were coddled and pampered (but also sex slaves), also got their chances to shine and have some really cool action moments. All of the women in this movie were capable, not just the one named Capable. Toast the Knowing, Cheedo the Fragile, The Splendid Angharad, Capable and The Dag (has there ever been a movie with cooler character names???) all did things that helped ensure their survival. None of them were helpless damsels in distress. And let’s not forget the Vuvalini, who give us even more diverse kickass women. There were just so many awesome women in this movie!

Audrey, Contributing Editor:

Charlize Theron delivers a captivating, challenging performance as Furiosa, arguably her best since Monster, as she barrels across the desert in a souped-up war rig to carry five angelic, badass women to a search for hope. Those women each embody their own strength and grace, overcoming fear and internalized misogyny to create a vision for a new life. Instead of forming a chorus of interchangeable former sex slaves, they are five women with their own goals, struggles and connections to each other and other characters. I want to watch the movie again and focus only on their experiences with and reactions to the horror unfolding around them, because there is immense texture within their stories.

We only spend real time with two male characters in the film: Max, whose struggle with PTSD is one of the most honest portrayals of mental illness I’ve ever seen on film, and who seems perfectly happy to play backup to Furiosa’s commandership; and Nux, whose transformation from mindless, frothing henchman to a helper who finds his beating heart through the kindness of freed slave Capable speaks deep truth about allyship and sacrificing our own privilege to pursue liberation for all.

Hannah, Contributing Editor:

Charlize Theron carried the weight of the film’s emotional journey, and managed to do so even though pretty much the whole entire film was a high speed car chase. Tom Hardy as Max, though the title character, was pretty much eye candy. I actually fucking love Tom Hardy. He’s crazy talented and not sore on the eyes either. But I felt like his Mad Max was a little… introverted.

Okay, but those sister wives are what confuse me. In a film with such a strong female lead, how could George Miller write such thoroughly forgettable supporting characters? Zoë Kravitz and Abbey Lee stood out against the rest of the damsels in distress as genuinely talented, but the others weren’t really given the opportunity. Also – not that I expect anything more from a big budget Hollywood action film – but how in the hell is Zoë Kravitz the sole black person in this future earth?! Am I to infer that when hell broke loose the people of color were the first to go? Because that’s actually how I’ve been making sense of it.

Also, not that I expect anything more from a big budget Hollywood action film, but how in the hell is Zoe Kravitz the sole black person in this future earth?! Am I to infer that when hell broke loose the people of color were the first to go?

Gabby, QTPOC Editor:

Charlize Theron’s Furiosa is the HBIC in this movie. I had my palm raised to the universe the second she took control of that big rig and led the charge across the desert. She’s tough, like hella-fucken tough, and I wanted to be in the rig with her. She’s over dealing with some patriarchal, violent goon, dude-monster. He’s a rapist, a slave owner and he’s hoarding all the natural resources, like the CEO of Nestle.

And Charlize’s Furiosa, is ready to snatch his post-apocalyptic reign of terror and take her enslaved homegirls with her. And she does: Furiosa fights like a UFC champ and did we mention that’s she’s an amputee? All praise our homegirls that are disabled ‘cuz they can and will fuck shit up and lead us into the promised land. Hallelu.

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Mad Max Fury Road: All The Extra Feels

Audrey, Contributing Editor:

Mad Max: Fury Road feels revolutionary. The film is essentially a two-hour chase scene, complete with infinite gunshots and explosions, a few desolate wastelands, and a fantastical rig where half-living goons beat the drums — and shred the flaming guitars — of war. Inside these trappings, Mad Max tells the stories of powerful women fighting furiously for liberation.

Overall, the film is wonderfully acted, beautifully filmed and scored, and perhaps the most ardently feminist blockbuster film I’ve ever seen.

Mey, Trans Editor:

Holy cow I loved this movie. Like, who woulda thought that a Mel Gibson movie franchise would have turned into an awesome movie about a bunch of ladies looking badass and powerful and beautiful and then acting even more badass and powerful and beautiful?! I also loved that while the movie is called Mad Max Max is, at best, an ancillary character; the movie could have easily happened without him.

It was anti-rape, anti-military, anti-totalitarianism and strongly pro-women. I mean, it was pretty much just a group of women fighting against toxic masculinity, and doing it in a movie genre that’s normally reserved for celebrating toxic masculinity.

This movie was so straight up anti-patriarchy, it was amazing. The whole plot was about them trying to escape or defeat the evil hyper-masculine world of the Citadel and the men who run it. It was anti-rape, anti-military, anti-totalitarianism and strongly pro-women. I mean, it was pretty much just a group of women fighting against toxic masculinity, and doing it in a movie genre that’s normally reserved for celebrating toxic masculinity. It was all about these Wives who were sex slaves to the Immortan Joe, but as Kate Leth pointed out on twitter, there wasn’t actually any sexual violence in the movie, which is pretty amazing for a post-apocalyptic action movie about sex slaves.

Brittani, Comedy and Sports Editor:

I liked Mad Max because it shows us what will happen if men continue to be in charge: they will destroy everything and develop a weird obsession with breast milk. Though this movie’s plot is literally, “Oh, we have to go to this one place, oops no, let’s go back” and it explains SO LITTLE of what you’re expected to just accept as the reality of the situation, I still enjoyed it. At one point men are only allowed to stay with a group of badass women because they are competent, which is a pretty low bar but still not the standard men are held to today. I also like that the Baby Man Army is nursed back to health via blood because it’s furr shurr a shout out to PERIODS.

Other favorite moments include finding which men could not keep a beat in any scene with drums. Overall, it is one of those movies where like no one cares that you can barely understand what the characters are saying because it’s not going to make anything make more sense. Also, for it to be a movie that is just non-stop violence, it doesn’t delight in it and isn’t terribly gruesome (which was my concern going in). I know that there’s so much misandry and feminism, but by far the best part of the movie is that fucking guitar situation and if you do not laugh every time it comes on screen, you don’t have joy in your life and I feel sorry for you.

At one point men are only allowed to stay with a group of badass women because they are competent, which is a pretty low bar but still not the standard men are held to today.

Hannah, Contributing Editor:

This movie kicked ass. I was forced to watch it in 3D because everybody I was with wanted to, but I grinned through the nausea because there is not a moment in this film where really hot people aren’t kicking so much butt.

Gabby, QTPOC Editor:

I fucking love action movies. I love high-speed car chases, tough A.F. one-liners, and explosions. Unfortunately, I don’t enjoy watching men do stuff, unless they’re helping old ladies cross the street or carrying newborns in Baby Bjorns. I’m so completely over the whole “Watch Men Blow Things Up To Save People + Here Are Some Titties” movie genre, so I’m not ever trying to pay money to see male-dominated actions movies that often get their kicks from exploiting women and praising the brutality of men.

There are two reasons I went to go see Mad Max Fury Road:

1. Charlize Theron’s Movie Poster ALH
2. MRAs freaked out about it and the internet trolled them hard.

I had no idea Mad Max Fury Road was going to be one of the greatest feminist action blockbuster of all time.

Laura W., DIY/Craft Writer:

I really, really didn’t want to see Mad Max. But then Gabby told me that MRAs were protesting it and would I please go see it with her and I did a 180 and was like, “Heck yes!” So obviously I loved this movie; pretty much the only thing I didn’t like was the soundtrack. Since talking about movies isn’t really my forte, I thought I’d rewrite the soundtrack. With a little help from Ms. Rivera herself, I made an alternate soundtrack full of songs that fit Mad Max’s feminista vibe. What songs would you want to hear chicks smashing cars (and the patriarchy) to?

p.s. Am I the only one who wants to talk about how Nux was Tony from Skins? I can’t be, right?

[STREAM THE PLAYLIST]

Fighter – Christina Aguilera
Shut Up and Drive – Rihanna
Bust Your Windows – Jazmine Sullivan
Sandstorm – Darude
Electric Lady – Janelle Monae feat. Solange
We’re Not Gonna Take It – Twisted Sister
Run the World (Girls) – Beyoncé
Boys Wanna Be Her – Peaches
Missing – Everything But The Girl
Goodbye Earl – Dixie Chicks
Independent Woman, Pt. I – Destiny’s Child
Freak Like Me – Santigold
Just a Girl – No Doubt

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So there you have it, gorgeous warriors of the desert. Now, if you haven’t seen it, round up all your best homies and make a trek to the nearest theater. Have a few drinks beforehand or afterwards and make a night of it. Go with your fists raised high and salute big, stupid, glorious, Hollywood blockbusters and what it looks like when stories aren’t tailored to men and their fragile egos. Go see what it looks like when we’re driving the smoking tractor-trailers into the unknown and fighting for our sisters to live free.

HBO’s “Bessie” is The Bisexual Badass Biopic Of Our Dreams

This review contains mild spoilers for HBO’s Bessie, which airs tonight at 8:00 p.m.

Queen Latifah was born to play Bessie Smith.

I’ve grown up with Queen Latifah in my pop culture world. First, she was my favorite rapper because she dared to ask men “Who you calling a bitch??” on the rap anthem/classic U.N.I.T.Y. Then Queen La blew up the television sitcom world with Living Single, a show about a group of young Black professionals having fun and working their way up in the world, and I loved every minute of it. Shit, truth be told, Living Single’s whole look got snatched by white media to make Friends, amiright?

Anyway, all this to say, I’ve watched the Queen make so many different moves and artistic choices, and it’s here, in Bessie, that she radiates. Bessie is the role of a lifetime for Queen Latifah. She’s never been more poised, emotionally raw and free in her skin in any other role. Not in Chicago, not even on her own talk show, The Queen Latifah Show.

All hail the return and the continued Black Reign of Queen Latifah.

Directed by Dee Rees, Bessie is the biopic of the most popular female blues singer of pre-Great Depression America. And honestly, before watching this movie, I didn’t know too much about Bessie Smith at all. Damn, y’all, we’ve been missing out on a legend.

Bessie Smith belongs up there at the top of our bisexual role models list: above Evan Rachel Wood Bisexual and past Callie La Mega Badass Bisexual Babe. Bessie’s romantic entanglements move the narrative – as is the case in most films about women – but this focus feels more authentic. Bessie doesn’t rely on any of her lovers to fuel her ambition or push her career forward. The momentum is all hers. And damn, it looks good to see Queen La as Bessie cuddled up with the beautiful Lucy, played by Tika Sumpter, exchanging sweet words while wearing silk pajamas. It’s equally as thrilling to watch Jack Gee, played by the ever enigmatic Michael Kenneth Williams, willfully audition to be Bessie’s main man. As for Bessie, she snaps them both up and let’s them know she doesn’t belong to anyone but herself.

Now, some of the romantic twists are a bit confusing. If you’re hoping there’s gonna be a moment where everyone sits down and discusses the parameters of their polyamory, you’re gonna be waiting a while. Order some delivery. Keep waiting, cuz it ain’t happening. I wanted a little more explanation: like how did Lucy feel when Bessie started up with Jack? How did Jack feel when Bessie started banging new dude and Lucy and whoever? Was this just how things went back in the day? All show and we just don’t talk about it? The one constant is that Bessie’s in charge.

Bessie is bomb, y’all. Super bomb. She stands up for herself and her people even in the face of the damn Klan. The Klan and the moments with rich white people are fucking terrifying. Like hold-my-breath, oh-my-god is Bessie going to die right now, terrifying. There are no white saviors in this film, thank the universe. Bessie Smith doesn’t cater to white people or men and as brave as her fight is, it’s equally gut-wrenching; at any moment, the world she fights for could have swallowed her whole and left her to rot. Queen Latifah ever so capably maneuvers Bessie from any sort of static strong-Black-woman archetype and weaves a palpable vulnerability, an ache for love, into her portrayal and it’s glorious.

But let’s backtrack a second, because maybe you’re not with me right now, maybe you’re too busy scrolling through Tumblr for pics of KStew and new boo and that’s okay. Lemme pull y’all on back to this movie, right here. ‘Cuz Mo’Nique literally almost stole Queen La’s whole damn show and that woulda been some shit. Instead of stealing the thunder, Mo’Nique’s portrayal of Ma Rainey, the world’s most famous old school butch switch daddy, flows effortlessly alongside Bessie. Mo’Nique is a powerhouse, a sexy badass and if you didn’t f*ck with Mo’Nique before, ya better start now or you’re gonna miss your life.

Mo’Nique’s Ma Rainey wears a 3-piece suit one night and sings a song about not needing a johnson to please the ladies. I started screaming and fanning myself on my couch. The next night, she’s on stage in a beautiful glittering gown, complete with a white feather in her hair, crooning to a sold-out crowd panting to hear her moan the blues. I kinda loved their non-static presentations. Sometimes I feel like our community is missing out on that type of fluidity. Ma Rainey slayed in her suit and her dress and could give one damn if you cared. She got the ladies, the cash and the fame no matter what.

Here’s an excerpt from my notes while watching:

MONIQUE AS MA RAINEY OHMAGAD MA RAINEY WAS GAY-ISH TOO

I’m literally blushing right now. Ma Rainey has all the fine girls sitting on her lap, not even twenty minutes in and we get Mo’Nique in a full tux singing a swag ass song about being butch and not needing a johnson to satisfy all the ladies omg omg i am hyperventilating. AYYYYY.

I think that kinda sums her all up? Yes?

Ma Rainey takes Bessie under her wing and teaches her how to be a traveling performer. A kinship blossoms between them; they both love women, sing the blues, and have to deal with white people trying to steal their profits and men who want to control them. It’s a shame that their relationship turns sour, but it’s that break that pushes Bessie out into the world. It’s then that she claims her identity as an artist and becomes a star.

This movie is well-done, like so well-done. The vaudeville stage moments and all of the singing in clubs and giant tent revivals are lively and beautiful. The black excellence in this film is something to behold and revel in. Everyone is gorgeous. The costumes, the wigs, the make-up, the dancing: all of it is authentic and just so much damn fun to watch. There aren’t enough period dramas with Black people and people of color at the forefront, and not enslaved or at the mercy of white people. Bessie transcends all of that. Bessie is alive and vibrant.

And best of all, at least for me, the healing that Bessie needs to pull her life together is found in her friendship with Ma Rainey. Like: be still my damn heart. Do you know how beautiful and profound it is to witness two Black women heal each other? The final moments between Ma and Bessie got me weepy eyed. And I’m hoping you’ll feel it too.

Watch Bessie. Do it for the moments of bisexual badassery. Do it for the love of the blues. But goddammit, watch Bessie so that HBO knows this is the type of content we need and want and so that more Black women and women of color get the roles they need as actors and directors in an industry so polluted by rwm: rich white men.

Watch Bessie because her legacy is an important part of our history as queers in this world.

So go, watch, and then come back here and tell us all your feelings.

Bessie premieres tonight on HBO at 8pm EST.

What if Sunday Funday Was Your Girlfriend? Dee Rees, Natalie Portman, and Carrie Brownstein Could Obvs Come Over And Play.

I’m officially no longer a Sunday Funday virgin, y’all. And I’m like so excited to share this monumental occasion with each and every one of you. I wish actually losing my virginity had been this exciting. Also, it’s Mother’s Day so if you like your mom(s) and are still able to call her or go see her or something, maybe go do that now. You can always come back later. Hope you don’t mind if I help myself to what’s in your fridge and hey, do you have twenty bucks for a cab?

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Acclaimed Fictional Ballet Dancer & Rapper, Natalie Portman Set to Star as Ruth Bader Ginsberg in Upcoming Biopic

Maybe I’m the only one who remembers that time Natalie Portman rapped on SNL. I don’t think I am though. Anyway, yo, she’s going to play the Notorious RBG and we’re all gonna watch it. Maybe she’ll lay down Ruth Bader Ginsberg’s Ten Supreme Court Justice Commandments for the soundtrack.

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Oh Come All Ye Faithful To Gay Religious Things

Daughter of Raúl Castro, Mariela Castro, sponsored a blessings ceremony for gay couples in Cuba on Saturday. Gay marriage is still illegal in Cuba but the ceremony represents shifting attitudes towards LGBTQ folks and Mariela Castro’s commitment to the community. PS- Dozens of homolicious couples held hands and wept while being blessed by various Catholic and Pentecostal Clergy folks.

The Archbishop of Westminster is set to say holy words and give love to the LGBTQ community at mass today at the Church of the Immaculate Conception. So like if that’s something you’re into, go get you’re church on.

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Shonda Rhimes and Dee Rees Team Up As World’s Greatest Storytelling Duo

Shonda Rhimes is basically the goddess of mainstream television. See Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal and How To Get Away With Murder – ICYDK. And Dee Rees wrote and directed one of the greatest girl-on-girl films of all time, Pariah. Together, they’re bringing Isabel Wilkerson’s book The Warmth of Other Suns to FX.

The book chronicles the movement of some 6 million African-Americans from the south into the north and western regions of the country from the period of 1915 to 1970. “Warmth of Other Suns” tells much of the story through the eyes of three characters who made the journey in different decades. Wilkerson, a Pulitzer Prize winner for her work at the New York Times, earned a host of critical kudos for the book.

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But Like For Real Tho, What If Carrie Brownstein Was Your Girlfriend?

I’m like the worst 30something queer on the planet cuz I was like wait, who’s Carrie Brownstein? Feel free to throw Sleater Kinney cds at my head – thank you, Wikipedia. Anyway, Lindsay King-Miller over at the Toast wrote an entire thing dedicated to this v important what if.

If Carrie Brownstein were your girlfriend, your cats wouldn’t just love her, they’d love each other. They’d curl up between you and Carrie Brownstein in bed, no hissing or posturing, just warmth and softness. They’d constantly be head-butting each other out of the way in order to snuggle with her, but they’d never come to blows about it. Somehow she would never get cat hair on her clothes.

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Macedonian Protestor Serves Hard Femme Realness Against Police Brutality

The badass woman alert twitter handle posted this last night and I’m so for it. Protests started in Macedonia on Tuesday due to long-stemming tension with the government over police cover-ups of killing a student in 2011 and violations of human rights.

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Wentworth Crushes Competition At Australian Logie Awards

Wentworth is the Australian version of OITNB but with more fight scenes and less sing-a-longs. I’m obsessed with Bea Smith’s new undercut and the actress who plays her, Danielle Cormack, won a Logie Award. Wentworth as a whole also won for Outstanding Drama, so yeah! Also, hey Australia, why are your words so weird?

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Gay Acrobats Get Engaged On Italian TV

Two members of Les Farfadais, an acrobatics troupe, got all sorts of gay-engaged in front of everyone watching Italia’s Got Talent while wearing the best silver outfits on the planet. And no, same-sex marriage isn’t legal in Italy but maybe these two adorable gayze can bend some political/religious hearts.

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Danielle Brooks of OITNB Shares Mad Personal Stuff & Implores Young Girls To Love Themselves

And then I fell in love with her all over again. In an essay for Glamour magazine, Brooks shares some deep and dark stuff about her adolescence, including thoughts of suicide and body-hate, and how she overcame it all. She ends the essay with a promise to speak up for little girls who may be bullied or shamed and shares how her body is a source of joy.

I’m making a promise to speak out for that little girl that I used to be. I might not have the power to change what media puts out there, or to single-handedly convince young girls like me that they should love themselves. But what I can do is start with me: living each day, embracing who I am. Embracing who I am by refusing to hide my legs or or cover my arms because they make someone else feel uncomfortable. By realizing that every stretch mark on my body is kissed by the sun, and no longer wishing them away. By no longer operating out of a place of fear. So if you see me on a carpet with my arms and legs out glistening, or my midriff exposed, it’s a reminder to myself and the world that I know I’m beautiful.

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Mother’s Day Brunch As An Act Of Feminism

Did you know that once upon a time women eating out in public without men was illegal? And when it was legal, people still thought you were a big old trollop if you did it? I didn’t but NPR put out this piece for Momma’s Day that connects brunch to revolutionary acts of feminism. You should read it.

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We End With The World’s Cutest Child

According to me and everyone who’s ever watched this video, like this is what your Mom, Dad, parent, sig other, favorite teacher and first cat, see when they look at your beautiful face.

Friday Open Thread: Did You Forget That Very Important Thing You Had to Do?

Yo! I am late to the Open Thread party. This was my ONE job for the day, y’all and I was late! And I don’t even have an excuse. I woke up at 11am and had breakfast. I got my best homeboi to shape me up. I was chillin.

Didn’t even remember that I had things to do. Like responsibilities. I know I’m not alone. I know I’m not the only one who’s had that “oh fuck” moment where the realization of that thing you had to do appears all of a sudden from the fog of your over-stimulated brain and strikes an immediate clutch-your-chest wave of fear that ripples throughout your body. Tell me I’m not the only one. This is why the thread is late, y’all, ’cause today I had that moment.

I was going to ask about your dreams because I have the most epic dreams, like dreams where I’m in a black and white movie and everyone is speaking Japanese and no one can point me the way to the Bronx — those types of endless dreams. But maybe today’s not the day, maybe today’s the day where all of you commiserate with me on your biggest “oh fuck” day. Tell me about the day you forgot to pick up your friend’s kid from day care or the day you left a birthday cake inside of the oven and it turned into birthday burnt af brisket. What have you forgotten to do? And how did you recover?

I recovered from this by sitting my round ass down exactly where I was and typing this up for all of you and for me and for the sake of my relationship with the beautiful people who run this site. Hallo! I set myself up with some Missy Elliot radio, a cup of hot beautiful coffee and a laptop that’s telling me I might have 45 mins left to finish this.

And of course, share whatever you feel in the comments. Is there something you just have to share? Did you find the most beautiful lime green tutu at the thrift shop? Did you finally learn how to pop an endo on your Kawasaki? Or perhaps… was this week the week where you made the best grilled cheese sandwich of your life? Share the things!

Also, I’m dropping some selfies of me looking terrified and apologetic into the comments. Feel free to join me. Let me see your beautiful faces.

PS: Here’s some Destiny’s Child because maybe you forgot to pay your bills on top of everything else, maybe I did too.

How To Post A Photo In The Comments:

1. Find a photo! This is the easy part. Find a photo on the web, right click (on a Mac, control+click), hit “Copy Image URL” and then…

2. Code it in to your comment! Use the following code, and use a DIRECT LINK to the image. Your image link should end in .JPG or .GIF or .PNG or .CallMeWhateverYouWant even. I don’t care, but it should be an image suffix! KINDA LIKE THIS:

If you need to upload the photo you love from your computer, try using imgur. To learn more about posting photos, check out Ali’s step-by-step guide.

How To Post A Video In The Comments, Too:

1. Find a video on YouTube or Vimeo or WHATEVER and click “embed.” Copy that code, but first make sure it’s for 640 px wide or less. If your player is too large, it will not display properly.

2. Copy the code and paste it directly into your comment.

3. Go forth and jam.

Sleep Tips for Sleepless Queers

by Gabby and Riese

I have received information and materials from McNeil Consumer Healthcare, Division of McNEIL-PPC, Inc., the makers of TYLENOL^®. The opinions stated are my own. This is a sponsored post.

Sleep is a gift. A good night’s rest heals the body and soul and is glorious but for real, it can be super elusive! It’s like that one fine person on OkCupid who keeps checking out your profile but won’t ever message you.

When I can’t sleep, I start to freak out. I try out every corner and side of my bed. I lie one way and then I lie another way. I give up, get up, and play Trivia Crack on my phone all night until I pass out from sheer content overload and then cry when my alarm goes off an hour later. I know we all share in this struggle ’cause y’all are the ones reblogging my tumblr posts at 3 AM. We’re in this together!

So, let’s help each other sleep, yeah? I’ll share my tips and you’ll share yours. Then maybe we can have an international spiritual slumber party, but the kind where people actually slumber. Here are some sleep tips for all you busy queers:

Read A Freakin’ Book

Choose wisely, though! Don’t be mad at me when you can’t sleep because your foolish self decided to read Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk or The House With A Clock In Its Walls. Read something gentle like Pat the Bunny. It’s a touch and feel book, yo. You can touch it and feel how soft it is and lull yourself to sleep. No but seriously, reading is my first go-to. You’re accomplishing something (because reading makes you smarter and, obviously, more well-read) while slowly drifting away into the night. But I’m talking about a book-book, y’all, the kind that’s printed on paper, not a book on a kindle or an article on your phone, which brings me to my next point —

Step Away From The Blue Light

Research has shown that using an e-reader, laptop, or smartphone before bed can really mess you up. That light your screen radiates tricks your mind out of sleepiness and into alertness and harshes your melatonin mellow. There’s even a study that showed people who read on an iPad for four hours before bed had a harder time falling asleep and ended up getting less REM sleep than those who read a print book before bed. So put away the laptop. Oh and also:

Treat Your Phone Like It Has The Zombie Virus

TURN OFF YOUR PHONE. Turn it off! Choose the strongest of all your IKEA tupperware. Place phone in tupperware. Wrap tupperware in a black trashbag. Set bag on fire. Then go to sleep. Alternately: leave it in another room. Alternately: turn off the ringer and flip it over so it won’t light up with notifications.

Your mind can’t start preparing to shut off when a device that literally connects you to the entire universe is sitting there, receiving transmissions from said universe and then alerting you of them. That’s the actual opposite of “relaxation.” Also, seriously consider investing in an alarm clock so you don’t need to keep it by your bed and can resist the temptation to check it first thing in the morning, too!

Deep Breaths

Sometimes not being able to sleep is connected to being anxious or worried or just plain antsy. This happens to me all the time. I’ve started recognizing these feelings and using my breath to calm down. I shut my eyes and concentrate on taking long, slow, deep breaths. (A lot of smart healthy people suggest a precise equation of breathing: breathe in through your nose for four seconds, hold it for seven counts and then exhale for eight counts. Repeat, repeat, repeat.) That’s it. And for me, it helps so much. I’m out before I can think of more things to worry about.

White Noise / Fan

If you’ve got trouble winding down ’cause every little noise distracts you or rouses you out of half-sleep, try turning on a fan or a white noise machine. Your brain will be lulled by the sameness of that one particular sound and therefore is less likely to notice other, unexpected sounds than it would be if the room was previously silent. At least that’s how I think it works. All I know is this: it works. (Especially helpful for sleeping with snorers!)

Lavender Oil

A few drops of lavender oil on your pillow and sheets work wonders. It’s like secret hippie magic for the senses. Those drops whisper to your body, “Sleep baby, ’cause you’re too darn pretty not to. Momma Lavender loves you.”

Podcasts (But not Serial, anything but Serial)

Podcasts are relaxing. Definitely Not The Opera is a good one. Sook-Yin Lee has the world’s most relaxing voice and when she speaks, it’s like the angel of the universe is telling you that everything’s going to be okay. And it’s a Canadian podcast; you know Canadians are the chillest people ever. They want you to sleep.

Cast A Sleep Spell

I’m not going to tell you how. We’re not supposed to talk about this. If you don’t know how to cast one, find a coven or a botánica. But don’t you dare say I sent you.

Stretch Them Limbs, Loverboi

Before laying down to sleep, set aside fifteen to twenty minutes for stretching. Whatever your body is capable of doing or however it can bend, do that. This is something I do either before I go to bed or after tossing and turning. I touch my head, shoulders, knees and toes a bunch of times with deep intention and deep breaths. Or get yourself some yoga to help you sleep better.

Stargaze ‘Cause We’re All Just Bits of Sky Anyway

If you’re just lying there freaking out about how you’ve been lying there for so long and you’re checking the clock and oh my lord you’ve been lying there for so long WOW YOU’VE BEEN LYING THERE FOR SO LONG SO LONG  — get up. Stop trying. Stop stressing out about how you’re stressed out. Step outside of the crib and look up into the deep dark blue of night. Take in all of the stars. Find peace in the sky and take that peace to bed with you, Dreamlover.

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You Could Win a Thing!

So now that we know some ways to sleep better, let’s hear the embarrassing things have you done after a sleepless night. Share with @TYLENOL on Instagram using #IWasSoTired and #Sweeps for a chance to win a $1,000 Bed, Bath & Beyond™ Bedroom Makeover.

Learn more here.

NO PURCHASE OR SUBMISSION NECESSARY. OPEN TO LEGAL RESIDENTS OF THE 50 US & D.C., 18 AND OLDER. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED. Sweepstakes ends 5/1/15. Prize awarded as a gift card. For Official Rules, how to enter without use of a mobile device or submission, prize descriptions and odds disclosure, visit here. Bed, Bath and Beyond™ is not an official sponsor of this promotion. Sponsor: McNeil Consumer Healthcare Division of McNEIL-PPC, Inc., 7050 Camp Hill Road, Fort Washington, PA 19034.

Salsa y La Naturaleza: How a Willie Colón Song Taught Me About Queerness and Love

It doesn’t matter that I didn’t think my dad loved me as a kid.

Every time we exhale, the shit parents do to us holds less weight. Past 48 hours memories blur, fade, blow into the mist. At least that’s what they say, that’s what should happen, right?

But those memories bruise ribs.

They do not disappear.
They squeeze through cracks in bone and become marrow.
They fade into the bloodstream and are absorbed in our movements.

No se puede corregir a la naturaleza / you can’t change one’s nature

It’s true though. I asked Grandma about it — his lack of love.
“Grandma, I don’t want to go home. Dad doesn’t love me. Can’t I just stay with you?”
She opened her arms to me. In a past life, one before me, she’d divorce his father.
Religious. Aggressive. Military man. His father. She’d had enough then too.

La Naturaleza

Grandma confronted my Dad, her son.

Love is vital.

I was terrified Dad would smell the snitch on me but still, I asked. I was five. I prayed he would still love me. Had to love me. Maybe I was missing something.

Grandma wanted to prove that I was worried for no reason. Of course, he loved me.

Her curved banister, carpeted, rose petal pink, served as a hiding spot. It’s the focal point of this memory, this blip of a narrative. I hid there as my father’s mother questioned him about not loving me. This man, who gave no hugs, sang in a Christian band, and worked for a Latino-owned company like it was the 1950s, my father — the wait-til-your-father-gets-home type of father — my grandma asked him why her first-born grandchild didn’t feel loved.

I sat on the top step, nose-running, heart exploding into break beats.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs. I experienced a life after death moment, still very much alive. We were at a standoff with Grandma in the middle, all these questions festering between us. We shared no common language. Not physical. Not with words. Non-existent.

“You know your father loves you. Stop. This. Right. Now.”
My mother’s voice is the only voice I remember in this moment.
Denial. Assured denial. Aggravated Denial. Denial.

We are doing the best we can. No one cares.

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No se puede corregir a la naturaleza / you can’t change one’s nature
Simón tú hijo, El Gran Varón /Simón, your son, The Great Man

It’s 1989 and Willie Colón releases “El Gran Varon.” I’m seven years old. Sitting in the backseat of our white minivan. Small enough to feel vulnerable to the rapture. Small enough to understand some words in Spanish. Aware enough to know that there is a difference between English and Spanish.

Dad only listens to Christian music or Salsa. His favorite is Salsa. Always too fast, always too many sharp notes on the trumpet. It didn’t sound like the television to me. But this song, “El Gran Varon,” pressed stillness into my Pentecostal, child-anxiety.

Dad told Grandma he loved me.
Dad told me that if I kept crying, he’d give me something to cry about.

He’s doing the best he can.

En la sala de un hospital        
De una extraño enfermedad murio Simón
Es el verano de noventa y tres
Al enfermo de la cama diez, nadie lloro

In a hospital room? That’s where Simón died? Why didn’t anyone cry? How could no one cry? I cried in the backseat of our white minivan. Seven. My broken Spanglish got me only so far in deciphering this song, far enough to ache for Simón.

Willie Colón’s voice was my grandma dressed in her widow’s black counting novenas. It was End of Days empty, calling out for redemption. He sang like that time I asked my Grandma if my Dad loved me, like that time I got spanked for asking such an obvious question.

My answer for him, the answer I’ve created for us, was and still is, I’m not really sure how to love you, yet.

I was afraid to ask my Dad why Simón died alone. Patience just wasn’t a thing he could do. He had no time for ‘are we there yets’ or never ending rounds of ‘but why, Dad?’

I didn’t want him to see me crying and then decide to give me more reasons. There are always real reasons to cry, right? The song hurt and that pain made me brave for just a split second, so I asked.

Nadie lloro / Nobody cried

My father looked to his right, made eye-contact with my mother. They shared permission? Sadness? I feared getting it — you know, that front-seat backhand.

But Dad spoke to me in this delicate voice, the voice reserved for real life shit, the shit you have to tell kids even though you know it will stomp them, you know it will push them closer to adulthood, to death, to belief in the finite.

That voice.

He said, “Muñeca, Simón died of AIDS. His family didn’t love him anymore.”

Inconsolable in the backseat, I cried into my coloring book.

I knew about AIDS. AIDS killed my cousin José. We’d just buried him. AIDS made my Grandma and Titis knit squares for the quilt they carried while marching at the White House with all the other Grandmas and Titis.

We didn’t talk about that song again for awhile. But like my Dad and I didn’t really talk anyway, so the silence was just miles passing under our feet.

Still, he never skipped past the song when it came on in the car or in the kitchen on Saturday mornings while my Mom cleaned the house. Over the years it found space in the grooves of my fingertips, the tension behind my eyelids, and as my Spanglish became a language, I understood more. I ached more for Simón and for myself.

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No one cares. This is not a big deal.

How you felt about your father growing up means nothing now.

He’s about to retire.
His patience is as long as the shadows in his eyes.
He is obsolete and he can’t stop thinking about the days when he wasn’t.
He can’t stop thinking about what could have been.
I can see it on his face, in the tears he never sheds.

I imagine his thoughts. Still there is a language barrier. Still it is our silence that speaks.

Nadie lloro

Simón’s extended family is absent. No mothers. No Grandmas. No Titis.
It’s him and his father. Only his father.
The song is about two men.
The song wants to be about two men so badly.

Al extranjero se fue Simón
Lejos de case se le olvido auqel sermon
Cambio la forma de camniar
Usaba falda lapis labial
Y un carteron

Simón was different. Something was different. I was different.

I’m 14 years old and I’m getting A’s in Spanish.

Simón was wearing a skirt, and some lipstick when his father came to visit.

I squirm, flinch, die a little bit when my mother makes me wear skirts. Lipstick isn’t allowed.

My father is silent. He lets the song play. This alone is a radical act. I don’t understand why my strict Christian father let’s a song about a man — who becomes a woman, who wears a dress who puts on lipstick, who contracts HIV, who dies of AIDS alone — play. Is it my Spanish? Am I not understanding this song? Who is Simón?

Who is my Dad?

He’s quiet. He doesn’t explain the song and doesn’t defend me when I’m pressed to put on a skirt in the dressing room for my mother. These are conversations between women.

Simón’s father doesn’t recognize him. I don’t recognize myself. Some days I have no idea what my father’s voice sounds like but I know his looks. I know his ‘just in case you’re up to no good’ glare, thigh slap. Unexpected. Unannounced, without a word.

Maybe if we could talk to our fathers there’d be less shock and awe. We wouldn’t be at war.

Maybe Simón would be alive. Maybe I wouldn’t want to hide inside of my flesh when he walked into any room. Because even though my Spanish was getting stronger, I still couldn’t say a word to my Dad without being afraid of him and his hands and his God and his machismo.

What would he do if I told him about myself? What would he do if I asked him if Simón was gay too? Or a drag queen? Or transgender? Would he even know? What would he do if I used the words associated with this culture that we speak about in silence? No one says gay in Spanish. No one says queer. People say faggot and dyke in Spanish but we don’t use those kinds of words in this house. So we don’t say anything.

Still, he let’s the song play.

Dad let Willie Colón’s voice drop Simón’s tragedy into my heart and fill in the spaces of confusion and shame.

If Simón was a girl, then I was a dyke and if my father let the song play, then maybe I could sing to him and we’d finally be able to speak to each other.

Simón tu hijo, El Gran Varon

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Simón died alone. His father saw him dressed as a woman and never took another step near him.

The song tells us that we can’t change nature, that what is will always be. This is when the song picks up. Instead of being on the side of the father, the side of machismo, the side of what our religion says is right, this song is on the side of Simón.

Escandalo. Radical. An opening, vocal, spiritual. Possibility.

No se puede corregir a la naturaleza

You can’t change someone’s nature. The trumpets bloom and shout, reaching for the heavens. The tempo moves fast enough to break a sweat, even without understanding the Spanish, the body knows that something has changed.

Salsa is the language of a people stuffed into a barrio and left to bleed to death. And yet, there is joy in what is natural — to sing, to live, to remember those who have died alone.

To remember that time when you were five years old and you didn’t think your dad loved you.

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I’m 19 and getting A’s in college-level Spanish because easy As are the best As and it’s like I actually speak a second language.

I tell both of them I’m gay. Mom and Dad.
Grandma knew. She always knew even though I was never able to speak those words to her.
Mom leaves the table. Dad stays.

He let’s the song play.

He doesn’t flinch when she leaves the house and doesn’t come home for hours. He doesn’t flinch when I bow my head and cry at the dinner table. He sits and waits.

This is his language.

He says, “You’re still my kid, muñeca. Nothing changes that.”
We sat there listening to each other’s heartbeats.

We have this moment, one where I know that I still have a home.
Finally, something shared.
Silence. Truth. Denial rejected.

El Gran Varon

What is natural is triumphant.

Simón died alone so I didn’t have to.

A generation of us, Latinas, salseras, little kids in the backseat of the family car, we have danced to Willie’s cry, daring us to love hard, daring us to love past bigotry, machismo, to love our sons in dresses, to keep vigil by their bedsides when they’re stricken by disease, by loneliness, by homophobia, to love the children who reclaim their souls by creating new identities by leaving what is known and daring to strike out alone wearing bold shades of lipstick and burning our skirts and silences to the ground, we’ve been asked to be better, to be triumphant, to honor what is natural, to honor who we are so that none of us die alone.

That’s him, my Dad. But that’s me too.

In that moment, en la sala de un hospital, at our dining room table, he didn’t leave me.
I didn’t die alone.

And I will never skip that song.

I will be just like him in that moment.
I will cry in front of my child.

And we will sing to la naturaleza and praise its beauty and we will hold hands and gather our people in song and we will love loud like the trumpets and the congas and the rhythm of swaying palm trees in the inner city where all the Grandmas and all the Titis live and spread life and love.

We will share a language.

And none of us will die alone or in vain.
And we will dance and dance.

No se puede corregir a la naturaleza

Campership Alert: Sharpe Suiting Wants to Send You to A-Camp This Spring!

A-Camp is steadily approaching, dream weavers. For some that means planning road trips with shiny-faced queers that you haven’t seen since the last time you climbed down the mountain or maybe it’s keeping price alerts for all the airlines that’ll get you on top of Mt. Feelings. That good old Degrassi “Whatever It Takes” mentality has set in and it’s all or nothing.

So let’s cut to it: are you ready for a brand new Campership? The ambitious and talented humans over at Sharpe Suiting have thrown their dapper brims into the ring and are generously offering their assistance to get you to glory aka bring your fine ass to A-Camp tuition-free!

Sharpe Suiting is a custom suit and dress wear company with an intellectual approach and a classic feel. The Los Angeles company surged to attention last year with their very successful Kickstarter campaign for a ready-to-wear line. Since then, they’ve been measuring, suiting, and loving queer and androgynous bodies with gusto and bringing fine masculine-of-center tailoring to the masses.

Meet the team and check them out at the Dapper Q Fashion Show this past December:

All the work that they put into measuring queer bodies has been saved and utilized to create a sweet ass algorithm called “andropometrics” and that’s how Sharpe Suiting will be able to put clothes for our bodies directly into stores in a global ready-to-wear line.

In less than a year of business we have custom-made over 100 suits for a diverse group of clients in our local LGBTQ community, particularly those who identify as butch, androgynous, trans men, genderqueer, tomboys, and anyone who is ‘masculine of center’

One thing at a time though, deep breaths, I know you’re excited! First, let’s go back to that Campership. Sharpe Suiting wants you to look your very best and revel on the mountain. Here’s what you gotta do:

How to Win a Free Trip to A-Camp from Sharpe Suiting:

1. Like Sharpe Suiting on Facebook AND follow Sharpe Suiting on Instagram.
2. Facebook or Instagram a picture of yourself looking SHARP with your number one camping essential. Include the hashtag #CAMPSHARPE and tag ‘Sharpe Suiting’ (Facebook) or @sharpesuiting (Instagram).
3. Feel free to be as funny, clever or practical as you want to be!

You do not need to be a masculine-presenting lady to snap a photo with your most favorite camping essential and enter this contest! The only requirement is that you have to not already be signed up for A-Camp. We look forward to basking in the glory of your submissions! Tuition and shuttles in between LAX and the campground are covered; the winner is responsible only for covering their own travel to LAX and/or to the campground directly.

*DEADLINE EXTENDED*

The deadline has been extended and you now have until the end of the day THIS THURSDAY APRIL 9TH, 2015 to post your entry. The winner will be announced on Friday April 10th! Good luck y’all!

This Shit Rules: Loverboi Fresh

Hello fancy dandelions, hope the world is treating you well. And if it isn’t, I hope that you’re treating yourself so fkn good that the world is jealous.

This is my first post about beauty thangs ’cause I’m a pretty low-maintenance kind of weirdo. I’m like a five-minute shower, shake my jeans off the floor, scrape the last bits of deodorant from that plastic applicator thing and rub it under my arms type of kid. Not like if I’m going on a date or to work, but like if I’m just running errands, I’m not putting more than ten minutes into getting it together, feel me?

However, I’ve found myself in a relationship with a crafty little human who makes wonderful things. And without even realizing it, I’ve gathered an array of her homemade products and some very necessary queer/hippie extras that keep me feeling so fresh and so clean clean. Now I get to share that stuff with you and we’ll all be fresh together and the world will be so mad.

PS: I get most of this stuff for free cuz I’m the gf. But since I love y’all and wanna hook it up, if you buy anything from my girl’s Etsy page, use the codeword Loverboi for a 20% discount.

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Coffee ‘n Peppermint Face Scrub

Yo, no lie, my skin is good to me. It’s not blotchy and I’m not prone to breaks outs. BUT it’s sensitive af, so I don’t normally use anything but plain old soap to wash it. And I have one of those strawberry noses which is a cute way to say that my nose is covered in mini-blackheads and I’ve never known what to do about them but hope other people can’t see them.

So I tried this wonderful homemade face scrub and it’s the best thing ever. It’s literally coffee, sugar, and peppermint essential oil which is basically like a candy cane double shot latte for your face.

And something about the coffee grounds and the peppermint oil working together makes my face feel like it’s super clean and wide awake. Every other week, I’m scrubbing like a fiend.

Pro-tip: Be gentle when you rub it on your face because the coffee grounds are a little rough.

Coffee Break – One 4oz Jar $5.00

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Easy, Wheezy! (Hippie Vicks Vaporub)

I’ve got some wicked asthma. Last winter, before I was put on the proper asthma meds, I’d wake up in the middle of the night wheezing and choking, unable to breathe for almost an hour at a time. It was hell and it worried my girlfriend and Lizz Rubin, my favorite almost doctor. After a month of wheezy nights, my girlfriend set out to make a healing salve cuz obvs she’s a witch and wanted to heal me.

The first time she rubbed it on my chest, the wheezing stopped within a few minutes and my whole body calmed down. It reminds me of the Vicks Vaporub my momma used to rub on me as a kid but minus the eye-watering chemicals.

Easy, Wheezy! not only alleviates the burning and whistling in my lungs, it calms me down and puts me to sleep. I think she loves me, y’all.

Easy, Wheezy! – One 2oz Tin $6.00

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Cocoa Butter Lip Balm

This winter was murder on my bembas. They were dry, peeling, and angry at me for never having things like lip balm in my pockets. My lips even cracked at the corners and that’s what broke me. As I was leaving for work, I dipped into my girl’s stash of hippie stuff, found a tube that looked like lip balm and prayed for the best.

The lip balm I snatched was on point.

It rubs on smooth like chocolate and tastes like chocolate but it works like real lip balm. Immediately my lips were cool and they healed up fast. Also, they were a million times more kissable, so… yeah. You want this lip balm in yer pocket and on yo lips.

Cocoa Butter Lip Balm – One .15 oz tube $3.00

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Formidable Formula Deodorant

At first, I wasn’t too down with hippie deodorant. Something about it made me think I’d just be wet and stinky all day and have to rub tea tree oil all over myself just to cover up the funk. But I watched my girl rub the stuff she made under her arms and she didn’t ever stink, not even after going to the gym. I thought she’s either a super witch or maybe her hippie deodorant actually works. Both are likely tho.

She made me a batch cuz she was sure that the aluminum in my Dove deodorant would kill me faster than as asthma attack and so I gave in and I’m a believer. I even help her make it sometimes.

Formidable Formula Deoderant – One 4oz jar $8.00

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Lavender ‘n Honey Soap

This soap is sweet. It smells good, is all natural, and doesn’t dry out my skin. Also, it’s made with tea leaves and this gives the soap an exfoliating quality. I’ve definitely rubbed it on my bum to get rid of dry skin. It’s cool. I trust you guise to keep that between us.

Note: This product currently isn’t for sale on her Etsy page but if you make a request because of this post, she’ll make some just for you!

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Nature’s Blessings Pomade

Khane Khutzwell, one of the most talented queer barbers out in Brooklyn, put me on to this hair pomade almost three years ago and I haven’t used another product in my hair since.

It doesn’t crust up or make my hair stiff. It leaves my curls shiny and gives them some much needed body. It also gives me a natural look whereas regular gel has often left me feeling like a Gotti Boy.

Also, how can you not love a product that lists ‘good intentions’ as one of its ingredients?

This product isn’t made by my, gf btw. Go see Khane Khutzwell in Brooklyn or order it online from Mystic Essence.

Nature’s Blessing – One 4oz Jar $3.50

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