Dear Men and Men type Folks.

Dear assorted Men and Men type folks,


See this face:


Photo of the author, brown skinned wearing black frame glasses, dark purple lipstick and a scowl.

This is the face of a person who had to deal with some next level male entitlement before even having any coffee.

Let me set the scene.

Yours truly boarded the bus and settled in with some great stuff loaded up on my kindle to read. I had in earbuds, had my kindle all up in my face and was reading. Now, I don’t know what men are told, but generally speaking, if another human has reading material in their face and headphones of whatever sort in their ears, they probably don’t want to talk to you.

Enter, entitled nasty ass old man.

This man decided to move seats three times to get my attention. Finally, he sat next to me, way closer than is necessary and started yammering at me.

“Oh, what are you bout 22? Damn you look good. I’m a vet, come to my house.”

Seriously 0-come to my place in two seconds.

I said, no. No, I don’t want to talk to you. When I pointed out that if I was 22 he was likely old enough to be my Grandpa and no. He got offended and told me again that he’s a vet and I should show my thanks. Apparently by going to his house and fucking him today.

After two minutes of this bullshit I started to get loud and there were enough dirty looks aimed at him that he moved and I went back to my book.

At what point is it exactly that no becomes an incomplete thought?

At what point should it become a grown ass mans responsibility to realize, hey, this person does not want to talk to me and off I shall fuck?

I have a note for nice guys.

Dudes like this have fucked it up for you forever.

Here’s the thing. You might be a totally nice and interesting dude. Shit, if I didn’t have somebody I might want to holler at you.

However, after years of being treated like an Pussy Vending machine that if pussy doesn’t happen gets accosted in various ways, nah.

This type of treatment started even before I had boobs. As a flat chested, chubby little potato, grown ass men felt it was totally okay to offer me money or whatever to “keep them company”. I wasn’t even old enough to understand what it meant for a grown man to call me sweet and hot. It just made me uncomfortable and afraid.

As a teenager I understood what grown men meant when they asked what I wore under my cheerleading outfit or if I was still pure.

Now I’m a grown ass person. I’m almost 40 goddamn years old and after so many years I have zero tolerance.


If I’m putting out do not speak to me vibes, via no eye contact, headphones, book in my face and straight up not speaking; leave me the fuck alone or yes, I’m GONNA get loud and rude because you are taking up my time and getting on my goddamn nerves.

And no, it’s not just one incident. It is all of them.

A few of the less traumatic:

  • Guy who “just wanted to talk” following me damn near all the way home. Without my consent.
  • Group of guys cornering me in a store to get to go party with them.
  • Being grabbed in a bar because “I like my girls thick”
  • Being chased and subsequently getting rocks thrown at me because I would not flash some random group of dudes in a car.
  • Guy got out of his car balling up his fists because when he asked how much I said no.

Other gems?

Guy offers me a drink of who knows what on the street, I say no thank you he starts hollering- FINE YOU UGLY BLACK BITCH.


Well… In case it’s not completely clear, I don’t like that shit.

It’s exhausting. And that’s why I’m pissed off and yes, yes, I have zero interest in talking to any man who approaches me for any damn reason.

It’s been too many years of this type of bullshit. Too many years of trying to be polite, trying to be aggressive, trying to educate, trying to be “nice”.

I’m tired of being 100% and saying hey look I’m not interested and having to deal with some dude having a meltdown. I don’t know you. I don’t owe you shit. I don’t have to be nice when you’re obviously not being nice. I don’t HAVE to talk to you when I don’t want to.

Just because I’m alone at any given moment, doesn’t mean I’m waiting for you.

No is a complete sentence.

Body language is a thing.

Don’t fucking touch people without their consent. If they say no, leave them the fuck alone.

And if you find your feathers ruffling up to talk about how you are the most gentlemanly of gentlemen, thank these other douchebags for fucking it up for you. You, You in particular might be great. Shit, we could be honest, but, all these other fuckers fucked it up.

So what now?

I think I’m going to make myself some coffee and load some more great stuff to read on my commute. I’ll chalk up today as yet another reason why I don’t fuck with strangers and mostly strange men in general.


The Life and Times of a Twitchy Flailer.

If you’ve not seen me in meatspace you have yet to witness the awesome elegance and poetry in movement that is me stumbling around in the Spring.

Part of my seasonal allergies that are my ears clog up and I already uh, not super awesome balance is further off. I can’t walk a straight line, I often list hard to port or starboard, I kind of stumble over nothing.

I do it in my apartment, I do it walking around-I just stumble all over and on occasion someone will ask if I’m drunk or have CP.

I tell you this because I have a story to tell you about how elegant and majestic I really am.


Picture yours truly at about 22 years old in the summer, it is a warm beautiful day in downtown Seattle circa 1999. I was job hunting and really desperately wanted to work at this bourgie little gallery place. I had a friend help me dye my hair burgundy, I had my eyebrows shaped by a girl I was seeing. I had my I take no shit red lipstick on.

I even remember I was wearing a beautiful vintage sundress I had carefully dyed black. I was in modern parlance feelin myself.

As I strode up first avenue, arms swinging, doing my I have places to go so move walk, something happened.

I was quite thin for me at the time and didn’t have the money for new underwear. I had on my nicest pair, a pretty silky string bikini type. For those with less booty in the pants, if you’ve worn silky undies, y’all know, sometimes they get a little roomy in the butt area. the sensation is weird, loose fabric occasionally rubbing your butt cheeks, but you get used to it.

I was too busy thinking about the interview to realize disaster was about to strike in the form of me walking right out of my panties.

I kind of tripped over them as they slid off of one ankle.

I had a few choices.

I could stop, turn, go back and pick them up and put them in my purse.

I could stand there mortified and hoping the ground would swallow me.

I looked at my abandoned panties, checked the time and sprinted to my interview. No tears and cackling.

Another story, more than a decade later.

I was doing my normal walk to the transit center and one second I was walking the next I was rolling around in some beauty bark showing my entire ass (the ONE day I wore cute undies that fit thankfully) and flailing like a weirdo.

A couple of drunk men helped me, they thought I was crying and I was in fact howling in laughter. I’d managed to not break my phone, not break my glasses and not hurt myself. I was covered in stinky bits of dirt and wood, but, it was hilarious. Once I got to my feet I laughed, they laughed. They offered to buy me a beer, which I declined.

I have fallen in public more times than I can count. Stone cold sober, I fell down a flight of stairs trying to make a grand entrance at a club. I’ve had a boob fall out when I was trying to (again) pretend to be regal.

Just today as I was heading out on my last leg of my commute to work I almost fell out of the bus, got my shit together and went into Starbucks. I’ve got a massive headache and got myself an Americano and because I don’t take room the cup was really full. I managed to get my three raw sugars, a dash of chocolate powder and a bit of cinnamon into the cup, stir it and the lid back on without spilling.

I got a little, uh, stopper thing and made myself walk slowly the last couple of blocks to work because I know, I know damn well had I hurried I would have fallen or spilled on myself or something.

My magical point is this. Know yourself, know your foibles and don’t stress too hard about it.

I am a twitchy, jumpy, bad balance having, frequently unable to operate my body person. That’s just how it is and sometimes it sucks (falling and staining/tearing favorite clothes or hurting myself) I spill things constantly, I’m weird and much like an asshole cat.

And you know what?

Fuck it.

Be as inelegant, awesome and prone to taking falls of epic proportions. You’re still awesome.

Be the Shruggie. I am the Shruggie.


Itchy Cranky and everything.

I am in the middle of a breakout of Atopic dermatitis, eczema.

I managed to escape any breakouts for a few years. When I was a kidlet I had it often and it would get to the terrible part of scaling, scabbing, oozing.

The conflagration of aggressive fucking Sprintime, stress and I think my poor immune system battling so many colds and whatnots has led to me being itchy and dry and miserable for weeks.

That said, I’ll tell y’all how I’ve been dealing with it so far.

First thing is eczema aside my body skin has been dry as fuck. I mean, my body skin has been dry my entire life. I often walk out of the house fully brown and glowing, get to where I’m going, look down at my feet and say out loud, “WHY the fuck are you ashy?” Since about November my usual body skin care has only just kept me kinda moisturized.

This cannot stand.

I gave up my fancy smelly body washes. I LOVE having an entire wardrobe of body cleansing things at my disposal. I find having things that smell in a way to fit my mood very soothing. That said, commercial scented things can irritate my skin so I put them away.

I think I mentioned my personal dedication to the way of hydration in my facial skin care post here, but let me say again. HYDRATE!

And let me show you how I keep track without having to really keep track. I picked up this awesome water bottle with a clicker on top that goes to 3 at Safeway on mega clearance:


Photo of a blue water bottle with ounce and milliliter measurements.

See that? I drink about 2.5-3 of those a day. I also drink tea and coffee. Sometimes I buy the safeway brand sparkly fruit water.

Hydration inside check.

Now I have to confess that the ONE thing that would probably be the most helpful is a habit I just can’t give up. Really hot baths. It is AWFUL for your skin, but I can’t quit. To help mitigate my bad bathing habits, I often put a little baking soda in my water, a little powdered milk or oatmeal. Something to soften the blow.

I also have been cleansing with JUST my liquid African Black soap. Nothing fancy. It has helped keep my body skin a bit more comfortable.

Now (these are affiliate links in this Pin Board) here are some favorites that if your skin isn’t on the extremely (as in cracking/angry/like mine) state can work really well:

Next up, watch your lotion. I’ve found that most of the stuff in the drugstore, even stuff for mega super dry skin has the ONE thing my skin will not tolerate. Mineral oil or petrolatum in it. For me those ingredients over time form a barrier on my skin and I’m not really moisturizing just making it shiny. My skin gets drier and drier and itchy and the terrible cycle restarts.

So watch out for that.

On the pin board above, I have some easy to get lotions and butters that don’t’ have any. What works for me are things heavy in butters and oils Y’all, I grease myself and roll around like a chubby little seal.

My other superweapon is varying levels of exfoliation. I use an oily sugar scrub and here is the cheapest way to get that done and bonus you can cook with your leftovers.

  • Olive oil or other liquid oil. Edibles are great, especially if you get food benefits because you can get them that way.
  • Medium grain sugar. Not the fine stuff or the chunky. Regular sugar.

Mix them in a bowl until the texture is one you like. I like it kind of thick and not runny.

Use a pouf or your hands and scrub away boo. DO be careful. Your tub will be a greasy mess. I like to rinse off after that and I encourage you to follow with your heavy moisturizer and lounge around naked until it’s good and soaked in.

You can also use olive oil, coconut, whatever you have to moisturize right out of the bath or shower.

You can also dry dry brushing, using a bath brush on dry skin in circular motions to exfoliate. I’m a HUGE fan of exfoliating wash cloths as well.Protip for very fat folks or super tall folks there are extra long bath brushes that will help y’all be able to reach your own backs.

If your skin is dry and sensitive like mine there are some extra steps you can take to ensure your personal comfort.

Wash your drawers and bras and sheets in the least scented/most hypoallergenic stuff you can find and skip the fabric softener.

What else?

If you are itchy and don’t want to damage your skin, rub your itchy with a sock on your hand inside out. It isn’t as soul satisfying as a good deep scratch, but you won’t damage your skin.

If you are suffering a lot, raid your pantry. You can make a cool paste out of oatmeal you’ve smashed up and smear it where you itch. If you drink cow milk, a compress soaked in cold milk and put on angry red hot itchy skin is wonderful.

Other quick spot remedies. Stay stocked up on things like that benadryl spray, anti itch cream (the best one I’ve ever used I buy at the dollar store) and be prepared.

So that’s it my loves. Make sure you check out the pin board because I went HAM and put EVERYTHING I could think of on it.

Until next time, this is itchy ass Auntie Shannon wanting to live in a vat of coconut oil until my skin is better.

Natural Hair Struggle Bus

I’ve been fully natural probably about six years or so right now. If you don’t know when I say natural I mean my hair isn’t texturized or relaxed with chemicals.

I am what I can call without too much shame a struggle bus natural. All those gorgeous Black women you see rocking twist outs and braids and ALL the things are not me. I have a little bit of a complex but I am terrible at styling my hair. I care for it amazingly. Like, my hair is fucking amazing and gorgeous.

Styling…yeah no.

For this reason I’ve spent most of my time natural rocking various buns. When my hair was shorter, I made myself a sock bun. I’ve tried to give myself braids (FAIL), cornrow my hair (SUPER FAIL TEARS WERE INVOLVED) and tried a lot of other styles that uh…yeah no.

Here are some things I’ve learned and struggled with.

My hair is ALL the curls. From type 2 to 4 i got em. Some of my hair naturally grows with such a loose wave it is almost straight.

The above said, myhair does not fro. When I say that I’m talking a big round fro. That is what I was picturing when I first went natural. I’d forgotten the varied textures of my natural hair and thought for sure when I cut off the last of my relaxed hair, BOOM FRO.


Also standing between me and my fro dreams is the natural part I have in my hair. It goes from the middle front to the back of my hair where I have a dramatic change in texture.

How about a little look back? This was my relaxed hair in 2007.

 photo 1207.jpg

My hair was breaking off, I had no idea what products were good or not. It was thinning. This was very close to me jumping off of the struggle bus and just shaving my head again. Learning how to really care for the health of my hair was just so fucking hard.

Fast forward to a week ago or so. I have been (for about five months or so) doing what’s called a protective style (my go to is wigs) and decided to blow out my hair for a good trim.

Y’all…when I say that I somehow tapped into Black Girl Magic I didn’t know was there, I tapped into it and my blowout is gorgeous.


Photo of a brown skinned topless person with their head turned. Displaying fluffy blow dried black hair.

This photo was right after i finished blowing out my hair. I wasn’t covered in broken hair. My hair was soft and big and floofy. Like, I DID IT.

As is my habit after blow drying I moisturized and wrapped it for the night. The next day i was rocking this:


Brown person looking down. Their hair is in a high shiny black poof.


LOOK at my fuckin hair.

LOOK AT IT. I mean this is my actual hair and I love it so much. My edges still lay down for neither man nor product but wow.

I know my hair isn’t the giant afro of my dreams. I can’t even fuck with the people I see on the natural hair blogs and instagrams.

As much as I struggle to try and learn how to do a bantu knot out or a twist out or something with my hair, I’m learning to appreciate it on a whole new level.

I call my hair the Kraken and I do so with love. When sometimes I overhear pelo malo directed at me when I walk by the Latina hair salons in my neighborhood, or when someone asks when I’m going to “do something” with my hair or I am told that someone prefers my wigs to my real hair, I don’t give a shit.

I might be on the struggle bus and sometimes trying to teach myself to braid my hair results in tangles and tears, but god damn y’all.

I love it.

My Kraken is Good Hair.

My Kraken is difficult and prone do parting where I do not want it to part and shedding and slow ass growth but damn it, the Kraken is glorious.

Someday, my goal is to have midback length stretched hair. The kind that makes you think of Fantasy stories.

I’m gonna get there.

My next hair post, I will document my attempt to give myself yarn braids. There may be tears.

Becoming the Adultiest Adult.

Hello, my name is Shannon. I am 39 years old and I don’t know how to buy the proper underwear.

I know where to go to buy underpants, I know that there are many different kinds of underpants, but, every time I buy them, they disappoint.

Either I buy the size I should be by my measurements and they are way too big, too small, roll up and pull my pubic hair out, get baggy in the booty area, the crotch doesn’t fit right, they go up my butt or something else bad happens.

Or I find a good style and it immediately goes out of production never to be found again.

Sometimes I’m able to find mens underpants that fit well and don’t do all the bad things in my crotchal region, but a lot of the time my hips are too round and they don’t last.

Every time I want to buy new underwear I feel the full weight of just how shitty I am at adulting sometimes. I just……

I really wish that people talking about their adulting fails was a thing I was a young adult sitting in my apartment crying my eyes out because I forgot to buy toilet paper.

Recently I’ve felt less able to successfully adult than usual. I’m not into eating enough food is very unappetizing to me right now. I know in order to successfully be a fucking functional human I have to fucking eat so I’ve been trying really hard.

That said, let us celebrate the ways in which I am an inelegant terrible adult:

  1. Relating to my inability to buy underwear. Last night while I was walking home I almost walked out of my panties. Only my thick ass thighs kept my draws from hitting the ground. This is not the first time.
  2. When I can’t open a package of candy or something like that I tend to whimper and shake the package until someone helps me.
  3. My bestie (Y’all will see me refer to her as Cookie or Wifey) is so used to my inability to use words, she can translate whatever the fuck I’m trying to say and she imagines the weird noises I’m making while I do it.
  4. Sometimes I forget how violently twitchy, I am and hit myself in the face with whatever is in my hand.
  5. Sometimes at home when I need help say putting on my pajamas or I want my back scratched I make a terrible noise like a distressed koala at Uniballer until he capitulates.
  6. Often all I can do is yell NOPE and follow by noping all the way the fuck out.
  7. I can’t control my face.

These are but a few of my more adorable (if I say so myself) foibles.

Had you known me ten years ago you’d know that I was terribly ashamed of and often enraged by said foibles and occasional complete inability to adult. I have since learned to let it go.

I’m a flappy, flailing weirdo. I’m a big dork who can be moved to tears by trees and I’ve learned that being able to adult or not, I’m still kinda okay.

I did this entry because I am pretty sure lots of you need to know that if you suck at adulthood or are like me and am pretty not great at being a person, it’s okay. If you find yourself feeling shitty because you didn’t know a thing or otherwise failed at adult, remember this.


Image of a gold star with the words “I tried” in the center.

Sometimes it is okay to just shrug and say you tried. Even if you’re like me and you end your day almost walking out of your underwear.

But you don’t look poor.

I have been reorganizing my make up and skin care and I want to show y’all some of the stuff I like that I get at the drug store.

I  do dabble in high end skin care and stuff, most of my budget goes for a lot of drug store items. Mainly because of sales and whatnots.

In the last few years I’ve come to realize that a lot of my skin care related rituals and purchases are used not just to keep my glo up going but as a way for me to mitigate my skin picking tendencies.

My elaborate rituals are also a good way for me to just calm the entire fuck down. I like to keep myself connected to my Femmeness, my concepts and practice of self-care and it’s just enjoyable.

When I first started thinking about writing about beauty, myself, money etc a friend of mine pointed out that I “look expensive”.

Back then I felt some type of way about that, I felt uncomfortable. I don’t have or ever have had a lot of money and when I asked her about it, she clarified that I look like I have spent a lot of money to look well taken care of.

In the intervening years other folks have said similar things to me and I understand why it looks like I’ve spent a gazillion dollars on myself. It’s not that I drop major cash, it’s that I invest major time.

Once upon a time I was deeply self conscious about looking as poor as I was. I spent a lot of time and energy fixing minor clothing issues, reading what women’s mags have to say about cheap things and expensive things, I scoured thrift stores for the stuff in the best condition that looked anything but like stuff poor folks wear.

It was such a problem.

Back then, I did not spend quality time with myself. I did not devote specific time to self-care. I considered the time I did spend trying to look not poor as time taking care of myself. It was my job to not look like I was poor. That got reinforced in a lot of areas in my life. Job interviews were the absolute worst.

I felt like every frayed seam or stray hair in my eyebrows was proof that I was not good enough. That my poverty and looking poor telegraphed that my worth was low.

At one point I saved up about 40 dollars and went and got my nails and eyebrows done. I remember the little salon was in White Center and I sat in there nervous as hell because I didn’t know how to behave or how it would go. It was actually wonderful. I remember very clearly women with raggedy clothes and their nails done, they looked like regular round the way ladies having a keke and getting their nails did and being fine.

Now, for a while after that I spent the time on myself because I like it. I liked it then, I like it now. I don’t do my nails or beat my face because I need to or because I feel like if I look closer to acceptable everything will be fine.

Most days I am not so conscious of how expensive I do or don’t look at any one time. I have severed most of the ties to my self worth I had that were tangled up in whether or not I looked poor.

These days I’m more likely to be putting in extra self-care, work because I’m overwhelmed or I’m anxious. I won’t lie, occasionally I have the thought again. The wash of anxiety or pre-emptive embarrassed when I go into the fancy grocery store in my work neighborhood or on the occasion I want to visit the Mac counter or go into the mall downtown.

It amazes me that those hooks that are deep. I hate that sometimes I still have those shitty ass feelings. That there are days when I won’t go into the Sephora or to the Mac counter because I just don’t even want to deal with the possibility of dealing with the looks and what not.

The older I get, the easier it is for me to recognize when this bullshit is driving me. That isn’t to say I can always shut it down because I hate to say it, most of the time I just don’t want to deal with it.

I thought as I got older dealing with various microaggressions would get easier. It’s not, but I’ve learned how to cope a bit better.

I’m so close to 40 I feel like I want to have this shit worked out. I feel like I should be all the way grown the fuck up by now and have figured out how to deal with these feelings other than just not dealing with it.

I’m still figuring it out.

Fortunately, most of the time I don’t have those internalized classist feelings. So if you have these feelings, or whatever, you know, are shitty and terrible feelings sometimes it does actually get better and easier.

Next time I’m gonna talk about adulting and panties. Be prepared.


House of Weirdos.

Content Warning this is the first and only one.

There may likely be links in this post that you find creepy, disgusting, might give you nightmares. Continue this at your own peril.

No, I’m not showing anything, uh, terrible.

We’re gonna talk about how I dream about decorating my home and what I’m doing now.


Now I don’t have a lot of decoration happening in my apartment right now mainly because I had zero intention of living there as long as I have. I thought we’d have moved into someplace nicer by now but whatever.

What I have is a shelf full of skulls and a few other items.

Thing is, my aesthetic for home is mostly comprised of:

  • TEETH!
  • SHINY!

One of the problems I have with decoration is that I don’t even have furniture. I don’t know how to buy furniture. I’m almost 40 and the only brand new furniture I’ve ever had is my bed (that is in the worst kind of need to be replaced) and computer desks/equipment. It’s such a huge investment I dunno.

That said, I do fantasize and let me show you some of what I fantasize about. Let’s start slightly sedate with couches and shit.

I LOVE the aesthetics of Victorian style furniture, but it never looks comfortable.

Also shit like this, unf. In black, I mean COME ON. If I had a formal living room, this would be the shit.

I really like this and think I could chill out on it. Black, dark grey, those are my colors.

I want lots of dark, comfortable things. I want dark wood bookshelves because I own a fuckton of books.

Now for the decor?


I want things like this little fetal pig wet specimen piece. I mean..look it is SO fucking cute.

Also, I’d like to restart my collection of mounted bugs and stuff. I mean LOOK at this gorgeous giant scarab.

I want art. I’m SO into so many artists I just want art. I want to buy paintings and do things like commission an oil painting of Pyramid Head. I want full articulated skeletons. I want a taxidermied baby deer.

Recently I’ve discovered arty taxidermy. This artist, who does great gory/horror looking pieces. I also have a terrible love of sideshow/freakshow gaffs. I would LOVE an alligator boy.

What is always funny to me when I start thinking about these things is that really I don’t need all that. I’ve never had it or lived someplace where I have felt like I could put couches and art in it and feel like it is really home. I know that’s depressing as shit but that’s what it is.

It has been only in the last couple of years that I’ve even tried to think about what home actually might look and feel like to me. I’ve written about it a bit over here at Medium.

Lately, I’ve been sticking to the little things. My partner bought me an over the toilet shelving unit for my bathroom and I’ve gotten my vanity together. I have a shelf full of replica human skulls, a few shiny boxes. A giant Halloween decorative foam skull I attached fairy wings to.

I have faith I’ll figure it out.

But in the meantime, I will dream about an office full of bones, horror memorbilia, yarn, and other weird shit.




The easiest way to ID my style is probably to say I’m an aging Goth.

99% of my clothes are black. I’m prone to a mix of what I call casual office Goth, a little Trad Goth, a pinch of whatever other shiny, ruffly nonsense catches my eye.

I love soft clothing, hate pants, hate rigid fabrics (unless it is leather or tightly laced) and I’m pretty poor.

So let’s talk about some of the clothes I’m excited about.

I’m not even a tiny bit ashamed to say I’ve been shopping Hot Topic lately. If you are an old fat Goth like me you’ll remember Torrid pre-pink. Goth shit galore.

HT has expanded their plus size selections by a lot. Like, I hadn’t even bothered to look in a couple of years and wow. I was so happy I wrote the CEO to thank them. If you are a fatty who likes ALT clothes, seriously write in.

I’ve picked up some super cute dresses and can say that the XL/1X in a lot of the stretchy dresses are pretty generously sized and very soft. My current favorite dress is this one.  I got it in a size L but even being a big boob size 12ish I could have probably even gotten a Medium. This is my favorite dress. It is super soft, super stretchy and looks really cute on.

Lately all I want are skater dresses and skirts. Some cute nerdy tees, chunky kinda ugly shoes and cardigans and leggings.

I am generally pretty Femme but I love leggings so I’m trying to incorporate more stuff I can layer so I can reduce the frequency I wear pants with.

I have also done a little bit of the lowest key cosplays in my regular walking around life because that is a thing I like dong.

This is what I wore when Uniballer (my partner) and I went to go see Star Wars. It is my low key vader look:


The faux leather OTK boots I grabbed from DebShops last fall. The faux leather leggings came from Hot Topic and are a size XL. I could probably have gotten a size L and been fine. They sag a bit in the butt. The longer top came from one of those Asian street style shops on Ebay. A size 3XL I think. The sleeves are too short so I paired it with a pixie hem cardigan I got at Goodwill.

Also, I’ve become quite a wig collector and that was my first real human hair unit. I’ll do a review on her some other time.

As you can see, a large part of my aesthetic is also dressing like a cartoon villain.

Eventually my goal in life aesthetcally speaking is as follows:

Evil Nazgul Alien Queen.

I’m working on it.

After I finish purging my wardrobe (I will probably be selling some stuff along the way I’ll let y’all know) I am going to need a lot of the following:

  • Faux leather leggings.
  • Layerable sheer/almost sheer cardigans
  • Plain tanks
  • Nerd fannish tees
  • Vintage/Vintage looking slips
  • Flatform/platform/chunky shoes
  • Other printed leggings

I also really still want to give some Lolita pieces a shot. I also want to try some Victorian inspired things and some more DIY. I have space in my apartment now to set up my sewing stuff and am thinking about getting on some of these Goth tutorials.

The other I get my issues with my body aside, the more fun Goth gets to be. As I give fewer fucks about what folks think about how I look, I have been exploring more things.

Lately I’ve been obsessed with DIYing some shoes and things. The problem with a lot of DIY that often goes unspoken is how much it costs in terms of time and supplies. That is something that really, uh, yeah, it causes me some anxiety so I’m going to try to start out slow.

Maybe some minor alterations on stuff I have.

Next post, we need to discuss my witchy oddity obsessed aesthetics and how I am decorating my place. Bit by bit.


Thoughts on Health and Money and Shit.


Most of the shit I take.

Behold an arty shot of my health woo.

Lately, add in an allergy pill and add in a calmag powder and usual nighttime otc pain relief and you have a large amount of what I spend my money on.

I know I can see some of y’all rolling your eyes and whipping out one or another study that says that vitamins and supplements and anything not X thing is bullshit or you might wander off having lost all respect because, OMG WOOWOO.

I have been a lover of the vitamin for a long time. Over the years I’ve experimented and whatnot and what you see there in my palm is what feels best to me. Over the years I’ve been on various meds for things, I’ve radically changed my diet from time to time, I’ve lost weight, gained it back etc all in search of Health.

For years I believed that if I only tried hard enough, that if I stumbled on the right combination of Unicorn Piss Smoothies, proper sleep hygiene, and the perfect BMI that I would in fact be Healthy.

What I didn’t think about is the fact that my body, this poor much abused body has some specific things that don’t function well on it/in it and well, that’s just how it is. I have one kidney that isn’t bad exactly, but it doesn’t function all that great. I have a weak immune system. I was born very premature and that’s one of the things that never worked itself out. I have a glittery assortment of some sleep disorders, joint problems from untreated injuries. My feet are made in a way that sometimes makes walking kind of painful.

This body, my body is a bit of a trashbucket of shit that doesn’t work right.

Part of me figuring out my health woo has involved digging deep into my own internalized ableism. It’s another case where I told myself ALL the things I would never think or say to other folks. Days when I’ve not had quality sleep in weeks, I spent a lot of time with the most bullshit internal dialogues.

At one point in my life, I bought the idea that the solution to ALL my problems was fitness. Enough exercise and I would overcome my somehow self imposed health problems that have been with me since childhood. I exercised and saw no change so I exercised more. I used to exercise to punish myself for having a body that did not function the way I thought it was supposed to.

To this day, sometimes I go by the stairs, I used to run and shudder. I did the thing, the DO IT DO IT DO IT thing, I remember falling halfway up those stairs because my knees were in such bad condition I shouldn’t have been doing that. And I did it anyway. I lifted a lot of weights, I did all the things and my health took a steady downturn.

Then I went vegan for a while. Also to disastrous results. My diet was on paper beautiful. Dreamy even. However, it did not agree with my particular body and I started losing my hair. I started taking vitamins and experimenting with supplements back then out of sheer desperation.

During my first foray into vitamins, I had a moment of clarity. A come to Jesus talk with myself about my internalized ableism and I started to examine how the binarist view of Health as being you have it or don’t is damaging.

Holy shit. I’m not saying that when I started to really investigate the function of that idea in my life and how detrimental it was to me changed my life, but I’m gonna say it changed my life.

Health, capital H Health is often presented as the most moral thing. That if X person can do a thing, you should be able to do the thing as well and if you don’t, can’t or just don’t want to there is something wrong with you. You’ve let yourself down. You’re afraid of commitment or whatever the going jargon is now.

But what about health?

Health as in, taking stock of what you’re working with and doing what you can do with it? What if health in that context isn’t about it being moral, or competitive or as some sort of duty to prove something? What if you just want to feel as good as you personally can feel at any one time?

Back to my vitamin woo for a minute.

All my research and testing on myself with various vitamins and things was a start to me developing a less adversarial hate based relationship with my own health.

All this said, while I’m not the most woo person ever, this is my woo and it helps.

I like my vitamins and supplements, my experiments with medicinal teas and herbs.

When I get all restocked, I’ll probably do some posts about my woo. My current line up of things that are great. Why I take certain things, I’ll wax poetic about my witchy herbs and shit.

If this woo is not woo you approve of, feel free to skip these posts. I really don’t want to be lectured about my woo. Seriously. Don’t.


Summer Obsessions- Clothes

I LOVE summer clothing. When it comes time to shed layers and get my furry hams out into the sun I’m about that life.

So can we talk about what a broke ass old chubby Goth is to do?

We’ll do straight size stuff then some plus size stuff.

Target is often on my shitlist but, BUT I do love their little dresses. Like this one. I’m pretty sure my titty would fall out because such is my luck, but I love this little dress. Being that it looks like it is supposed to be loose, I’d probably get it in an XL.

And then I saw this one. And I am a complete sucker for an uneven pixie hem. I feel like it might not be stretchy so I’d grab it in an XXL.

AND this gauze maxi is just, yes it calls my name.

As you can see I’m really about that flowy comfortable life. Also pro tip if you are a person who’s body or measurements fluctuates, these type shapes for femme clothes can be very forgiving in that regard.

I’m looking and I kinda hate Target’s plus size offerings. I don’t see (as per USUAL retailers) a lot of the same level of choice in terms of plain cute cheaper dresses. Let me step onto my soap box AGAIN.

So hi, retailers? If you would kindly stop with the limited plus size options and realize how much damn money you’d make if the choices of the lower end, basic type pieces that come in a couple of colors (including stuff like leggings, tanks, the type of dresses linked above) you would make the monies.

Thing is, the idea of offering a stretchy item like a tshirt material dress in sizes XS-say 5/6XL would increase your customer base. The offering of well priced items just works. I’m not talking every line instantly, but come on now. Fat people want choices that are easily accessible and varied just like thin folks do.

I am going to stop with the links here because I’m mad as shit.

I want to talk to folks who aren’t fat right now.

This is the type of shit that often drives fat folks to wailing and gnashing of teeth. Something as simple as say a stretchy cute knit dress. Nothing fancy, nothing super constructed. The kind of thing someone my size can roll into Target and walk about satisfied should be available.

Normally I often find a walk a mile in my shoes things to be shitty, but I really want folks who’ve never thought about it to do a thing next time they are at say target.

Head into the intimates area and find some cute panties that are for someone who is a size 24. Try to find a bra to match over a DD.

Go into the area where there are those plain stretchy tank tops. Look for something over a size XL/XXL.

If you aren’t a person who needs these sizes, try asking about them. Talk to people.

Okay, so here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m going to do a separate plus size list because I want to also give some other tips for poor fat folks including deathfat folks.

But I encourage some of y’all regardless of your size to do some searching on your own and figure out how hard this shit can be if you like clothes, have an aesthetic and are outside of the market sizing.

That said, for my go to basics I think Walmart has some of the best size selection going and of course the low prices. Also from what I hear Kmart has some good stuff as well.

I will report back and share with y’all some of my fat shopper tips for some slightly more expensive shops.

That’s it for now friends.