Sometimes I forget I even have this.
my mom is trying to pick a colour for her new wheelchair and me and my dad are telling her to get black and she’s just like “but how will I know if someone is stealing it” and my dad is just like “because you’ll be sitting on the floor” and she slapped him
I think the word ‘feminist’ has been polluted, horribly. I raised my daughter as a feminist, and she won’t identify as one, because the word has been so fucking polluted by boomer media in the sense that it means that you’re ugly, or you’re fat, or you’re a lesbian—nothing wrong with being all three of those things—and every time I read an article in the mainstream media, it’s like, ‘Feminism’s dead! Dead! Dead, I tell you! Dead!’ And I’m like, No, it’s really not—not in me. Do I believe in feminism? Of course I do, I’m a fucking feminist. Do I believe that there are a lot of us out there? No. I really don’t.
“Why were you homeless?”
“It just got to a point where my mom couldn’t maintain anymore. The sad part was that it was during high school. So I had to keep it a secret. Cause, you know, it’s high school.”
