1973

we have to start killing random men until peter tork comes back

i remember being taught by my butch lesbian neighbor how to figure out if a button-down shirt fits properly, and her femme wife teaching me how to tie a tie. it was in my dining room that we used as a makeshift nursery for my sister. the walls were blood red, and the floors and ceiling were dark. the whole world felt like it was suffocating you in that room, much like life felt for me at the time. i was fifteen years old, and it had been seven months since my mother had last spoken to me. my father was drinking. i was failing my classes partially because my brain couldnt stop projecting old home movies onto the backs of my eyelids and i couldnt stay present and partially to see if anyone would notice.  no one did.  no one but my neighbors.

they invited us over for dinner. the butch always greeted us while the femme finished dinner and we took off our shoes and one would take our coats and the butch would clap her hand on my shoulder, and the femme would touch my elbow gently while she took out my chair. they fed us, we played board games, they talked openly about being gay. they held hands across the dining table, and twirled their wedding rings, neither seeming to notice they were doing it. watching them methodically work, hosting this beautiful dinner, moving together like two pieces of an intricate puzzle, like weaving together yarn and hemp, like gears, like one soul split evenly between two bodies–

i had never seen love like that. i had never met women like them. women who wore athletic sandals in november. women who wore sundresses with denim and cowboy boots and called her wife “sonnyboy,” whose wife was always quite put together, button-down buttoned to the top, tie straight (with the constant help of her wife), hair short & cropped to the scalp all the way round. women who both did the dishes. 

i didn’t know love like that was an option. i had only been shown angry, volatile love. i didn’t know i could be a woman like that. or rather, i didn’t know i could be loved as that kind of a woman. i had been taught that women like that are lonely. they’re ugly. but i watched her. her crisp leather jacket, her darkwash, baggy jeans on summer days that she folded once over her brown boots with the yellow shoelaces. she wasn’t ugly. i watched her, and i bought brown boots.

sometimes u are rly rly rly sad and then u dance in ur underwear to a song u used to love when you were fourteen and like. ok yeah hope will find me again. and u too

why does it look like micky and davy are siblings and mike and peter are the divorced parents forced to hang out for their kids

Did anyone else see the daydream believers reference on the finale of The Floor last night ??

The category was boy bands and every other picture was of the real band.. so what happened…

listening to under pressure in the car and I said "sing it queen" when freddie mercury hit that one high note & then I glanced nervously at my 56-year-old father to check for signs of confusion/distress. honestly I was kind of surprised that he didn't seem bothered by my fagisms he didn't really seem to notice at all actually. then I remembered that queen is also The Name Of The Fucking Band

joseph and the amazing technicolor dreamcoat son or jesus christ superstar daughter

i seem to find pisces aquarius capricorn & jones in the wild a lot and every time i do i have to stop myself from obtaining another copy like i have THREE please don’t look at the adorable picture of micky on the back or you will feel bad and want to take another copy home… dont. turn. it. over.