Hilarity and Fashunz

COVERGIRL, PUT THE BASS IN
YOUR WALK

The other day I dressed up, in so much as a fattie queer like me can dress up without looking like a pickle that rolled under the couch. I had recently shaved my legs for the first time in about two months and felt like showing off my gams, so what the hell, right?

My fat-shaming grandma constantly adds onto her self-directed body-hate with "well, at least I have great legs." And there is no "at least" in the family legs. We have leg hotness to spare. (Of course, what we have in legs we lack in ass. You win some, you lose some.)

I am pretty obviously impressed with my own fantastic gorgeousness in these photos. And WHY NOT, when you have this much gorgeousness to go around? My only regret is not spending more time actually, you know, drying my hair, instead of wafting some warm air over it in the vague hope that it would spontaneously decide to behave. This was a bad choice and one that I intend to repeat as many times is convenient for me never repeat again.

Nobody can accuse me of not being able to
look awkward for a camera.

Glasses: Some red things from JC Penney Optical, because I am super interested in designer brands
Cardigan: Short sleeved pointelle-knit cardigan from Old Navy in Gray, XL
Dress: Torrid, the smallest size, whatever that is
Shoes: LifeStride Magnolia Espadrille Wedge, black, 9M

Today's model is a ludicrously good-looking inbetweenie with lots of opinions which she stores in her frontal humps for sustenance while on long journeys. Her measurements change whenever she looks at a pastry and so will inevitably be incorrect by the time this is read by the public, but she is usually 5'8" except immediately after being complimented, at which point her head expands and increases her height by several feet.

She weighs anywhere between 210 and 225 on any given day, and enjoys gin & tonics, large women, and long walks just about anywhere but the beach.

Why We Do The Things We Do

I've been struggling over what I want to write here for a couple of days. I have a lot of thoughts that rip around inside my head, careering off the walls, generally causing havoc and driving those around me batty, but somehow none of them are cohesive enough to write down. Which is a bit of a silly thing to say, I suppose; few thoughts are cohesive until written down, and you don't really know what will be cohesive until you've figured out what sorts of words it's made of.

I'm sure it's a common ailment, but at some point along the line I appear to have picked up the notion that anything worth doing is worth doing not well, but perfectly. On the first try, ideally. Every post on this blog must be a magnum opus or it shouldn't be written at all. Every room I tidy must be spotless or I shouldn't even bother picking up my laundry. Every note I hum most be pitch perfect or it's not even worth reverberating in the first place. This tends to create an atmosphere of fearful inactivity, as I'm sure you can imagine.

One of the things I love to do is draw. I love to tell stories, and I love to draw, and sticking everything together makes comics, and I love comics. Through a combination of outside pursuits (well, if college counts as an "outside pursuit") and exhaustion I haven't sat down and drawn anything - let alone a page or two of comics - in about a year, maybe more. I did, just the other day, just to see if I still could. I couldn't. Not very well. My hands don't remember where the lines go, and all my old frustrations are fresh on my skin.

The thing about comics, especially when compared to writing, is you have to draw everything. You can't pick up a thesaurus and find a new word, you have to pick up your pencil and draw a new thing. Drawing takes time, and it's difficult (even if you're "good at it" which I purportedly am), and so much more of it depends on muscle memory than most people who don't draw would ever expect. So if you've never drawn something before, like, say, a tree, chances are the first time you try it it'll look like you tried to draw something you already know how to draw dressed up in an extremely bad tree costume. Which is why, being as I am an enormous horn-dog, all of the new things I draw end up looking curiously feminine. How a tree can have big hips I don't know, but I manage it. (Brings whole new meaning to the term "morning wood.")

This is all related, I swear.

Doing new things - like starting a blog, or drawing a tree - it's hard. Everyone knows it's hard. You don't ever have to tell someone that doing something difficult for the first time will be infuriating and impossible and if they get it right it was probably a fluke, because chances are they already know it, in their bones. You just have to do it. And then do it again. And again. And again. And again. And eventually, in fits and bursts and tiny miniscule almost-imperceptible steps, you get better, just by doing.

And sometimes it is really okay to improve by doing. By doing publicly, and loudly, and maybe even on the internet.

Today I wrote a blog post. Maybe tomorrow I will draw another tree.

Hello!

My name is Grace. I have a degree in Linguistics with a minor in Comparative Religion, and when people ask me what I can do with that I usually respond: "starve, mostly." Because that's mostly what you do.

What it means for this blog is that I am very talkative, very opinionated, and extremely educated in a plethora of thrilling and unfortunate ways, and it will probably make all of our lives a little bit more difficult than they really need to be, in the end. Admittedly it will mostly be my life which is made more difficult, but since you are here you get to watch, and won't that be exciting? Yes. I thought so.

I made this blog because I think about a lot of things at once. I am queer and care a lot about GLBTQI issues, which will show up a lot here. I am female-bodied and care a lot about feminism, which will show up here. I wear clothing larger than a size 12 (most days)* and care a lot about the fat acceptance movement, which will show up here. If any of these things make you uncomfortable or angry, you should probably leave for the sake of your blood pressure. You are absolutely welcome (until such a time that you prove yourself to be an unconscionable cock-rocket) but you may not find this blog to be a very good place to spend your time.

These three things make up the core of this blog, but you will also likely see art, technobabble, fashion, baking, fiction, and stupid pictures of my enormously fat cat, Daisy. Because that is just how I roll. Unfortunately it is also how Daisy rolls. Because she is so dang fat.

* I'm an inbetweenie (/ɪnbiˈtuiːni/ n. a person, typically femme-presenting, who can comfortably shop in neither straight-size clothing stores nor plus-size clothing stores). Even when it comes to my physical body I live in liminal space.