So I've been talking to this guy, yet he wants me to shave my bush and grow out my hair. I really like him but I just if I do that it feels like I'm taking away my identity. You've been my hero for years. What the hell should I do about this.
do what makes you feel okay inside.
doing hair removal for your partner (i’ve done it, and sometimes still do) doesn’t mean you’re necessarily disempowered, unless you feel like you’ve really got no choice in the matter.
if its a deal-breaker for your partner, it might be an indication that said partner is being a too controlling. it’s your body. that means its your call. end of discussion.
i generally deal with this conundrum by waxing very occasionally, letting things grow for months, or years, and making sure that i always feel like i’m in the driver’s seat. that way, if i decide to wax for a partner to turn them on, I feel like it’s MY gift to them, not THEIR control over my decisions. make sense?
and for the record - and this is not to humble-brag but to prove a point - i’ve slept with TONS OF PEOPLE who you’d probably peg as the type to sleep with femme supermodels.
and when they get in bed with me and my hairy muff, there has never, ever been a problem. nobody has ever recoiled in horror. if you carry yourself with confidence, your sex appeal goes way way deeper than the hair.
and…my own informal personal poll has yielded the interesting fact that most people i know prefer a bush to no bush (both genders). so there’s that.
as my then tour-manager emily white and i used to say on tour in defense of our hairy, unshaven legs:
A name that rhymes with take can’t be forgotten. Dad said my first word was drink, though I wish it was mother, maybe I would call home more often. Why is my favorite letter, because I like to question everything, including you and me. My favorite symbol is the semicolon, because I let it out to play, to flirt on a screen too bright for tired eyes, changing an innocent hello to a goodbye of innocence. The most beautiful word I’ve ever seen you utter is fuck, usually between your teeth, into a pillow or a fistful of my hair. The ugliest word I know is hatred, thick and rich like an apocalyptic fog. It doesn’t roll off the tongue because you have to work at it. I definitely misspell defiantly, and it might be the other way around but I’m in love with my own confusion. As Patrick Stump and Elton John said to me the other night, “You are what you love, not who loves you.”
“A few years ago when Billie Piper was playing Rose, I was very worried because the next week’s episode was called something like The Day Rose Died. I can’t remember exactly what it was called. Well, my children were in love with Rose as a companion, and I was worried about her. So I sent an e-mail off to Russell T Davies, who of course had grown up on the classic Doctor Who series, and I said “Could you just reassure me that Rose does not, in fact, die because my children shouldn’t watch it if that happens,” and he sent an e-mail back to me saying, “You killed Adric. What do you care?”—Peter Davison (via perpugilliam)
DO YOU EVER HAVE FRIENDS WHO ARE IN A REALLY SHITTY SITUATION AT HOME AND YOU JUST WANNA KEEP THEM AT YOUR PLACE FOREVER AND SNUGGLE WITH THEM AND EAT PIZZA AND WATCH YOUR FAVORITE MOVIES TOGETHER AND SHOVE THEIR PARENTS/SILBINGS INTO A BIG PUDDLE OF MUD THEIR OWN BLOOD
“I love tattooed women, maybe because they are uncontrollable, they are themselves to the point of drawing symbols of their power on their skin. Talk about owning your own body, being in your body, claiming yourself. I love it. When the world is in an uproar over whether women should have a choice or not when it comes to their own bodies, being tattooed is one of the most visible choices of all.”—Margaret Cho (via bodypartss)
bohemianrationalist is one of my closest friends, she’s one of the most awesome people I know, and I love spending time with her whether that’s hanging out at home or going out for a meal, or just exploring towns and finding cool places and things. For some goddamn reason, her entire family, and a good deal of our mutual friends, always think we have a sexual relationship. This is a problem I’ve always had regarding female friends, but this past year it has bothered me more than ever. Why is it that people just cannot accept that people of opposite genders can be friends?
It goes farther than that though, I’ve seen lots of videos online in which people on the street, or a college campus, or some similar place, are interviewed and asked if they believe it’s possible, and they invariably answer no. And that bothers me so much.
Is it really so hard to believe? With Blake, it negatively affects her own relationships. It seems she can’t have a boyfriend who isn’t increasingly jealous of me over time, who suspects things between us, and who can’t seem to conduct a trusting romantic relationship with her while I’m still her friend. Her own family has suspected sexual relations between us pretty much since they met me.
Really, I find it insulting. That someone would reduce such a close, personal, friendship to a simple, demeaning, “oh they must be fucking,” just pisses me off so much.
Wow ok so my mother’s friend didn’t know about the Fibonacci sequence and asked me about it, I told her Fibonacci was the guy who invented the pinecone and the sunflower and I think she believed me until my mother stopped laughing and told me to be nice..
“I am tired, not of arguing in favour of equality, diversity and tolerance, but of having to explain, over and over and over again, why such arguments are still necessary, only to have my evidence casually dismissed by someone too oblivious to realise that their dismissal of the problem is itself a textbook example of the fucking problem. I am tired of being mocked by hypocrites who think that a single lazy counterexample is sufficient to debunk the fifteen detailed examples they demanded I produce before they’d even accept my point as a hypothetical, let alone valid, argument. I am tired of assholes who think that playing Devil’s advocate about an issue alien to their experience but of deep personal significance to their interlocutor makes them both intellectually superior and more rationally objective on the specious basis that being dispassionate is the same as being right (because if they can stay calm while savagely kicking your open wound, then clearly, you have no excuse for screaming).”—Foz Meadows, “I Am So Very Tired” (via morecoffee)