Glastonbury, 2 day’s to go!
people on heterosexual couples in shows: understood that they are romantically involved even when it’s not actually canonically stated
people on queer couples in shows: well if you give me a ten page testimony from the creator explicitly stating that X and X are queer and together along with a full twenty page analysis of all of their screen time and interactions with every character on the show. oh and may i remind you that if i could possibly argue against what’s stated in canon then you’re reading too much into it? every queer character and couple need to be explicit in their sexuality and relationships. otherwise they’re straight.
But don’t you see? They may have had sex a few times and decided to spend their lives together, but that’s just because they’re going through some very tough stuff and they’re just feeling confused, and they think that human contact is what they need and they’ll take it wherever it comes from, but since they’re not at all queer, not one bit, they’re trusting their totally platonic best friend to help them with this, knowing that the strength of their great platonic friendship won’t make it weird or awkward, and once the shitstorm has passed they will be able to go back to their natural heterosexual ways. It’s just somebody helping out their friend, geez, don’t reduce their beautiful friendship to your gay porn.
“Fantasy doesn’t have to be fantastic. American writers in particular find this much harder to grasp. You need to have your feet on the ground as much as your head in the clouds. The cute dragon that sits on your shoulder also craps all down your back, but this makes it more interesting because it gives it an added dimension.”—
He knows. :)
What do you think they’re gonna do?
(breaks into your house) can i pet your dogs
I used to think I was getting away with something.
“Girls don’t count,” I’d say, running my fingers up her arm at the bar. “Don’t you know that?”
We both had boyfriends. Long-term boyfriends. Mine had introduced me to the concept.
“I wouldn’t feel threatened,” he’d say. “I know they could never compete.”
He meant that a woman, no matter how attached I got, could never “steal” me away from him. He meant that he’d only care about male penetration, about “sex” in the most typical terms. I was young and I didn’t value myself and I hadn’t been taught a lot about feminism or how relationships should work. I said nothing, because I wanted it to be true.
We went on a date, she and I. We saw a movie and then she came over and we drank wine and watched TV and hooked up on the couch and fell asleep. We were drunk and we laughed. I held her.
The next morning, he was angry.
“I thought girls didn’t count,” I said.
“Yeah, but you like, went on a date,” he said.
“We saw a movie,” I replied. “She has a boyfriend.”
“It was a date,” he said. He was irritated.
“How many people have you been with?,” they all ask, adding: “Girls don’t count.”
These girls. I remember them. They happened. They were there with me. They had red hair and bright red lipstick and they wore Boston Red Sox hoodies and they loved Russian literature and they had big, wily pet dogs and they spent the night.
I talked to them at parties or met them in the dorms freshman year or they were friends of friends who stroked my hair and said, “I just think everyone’s a little bit bisexual, don’t you?”
I loved them. They were real and they shared themselves with me and we spent time together at thrift shops and in classes and at bars and at friends’ dinner parties. We held hands while other couples passed around a joint. We buried our faces in each other’s soft necks under the covers. These were relationships. These were people I was with.
“I want us to be monogamous,” men say. “But you know, obviously girls don’t count.”
When did you first have sex?
It depends on what you mean. There was a girl in high school.
No, I mean your virginity. When did you lose it?
He is masturbating. I ask, “What do you want?” He says, “Tell me about when you were with your ex-girlfriend.”
Later, I say my ex-boyfriend’s name when telling a story about last year and he tells me, “You know, I could stand to hear less about him.”
“I just think you’ll end up with a man in the end,” he says when we’re walking to a bar.
“That’s presumptuous,” I reply.
“I just feel like you will.”
“Because you’re threatened?”
“Because it threatens you to know that I could one day not need a dick. That, god forbid, a woman who could end up with either actually chooses to disregard your precious penis.”
“Hey, take it easy. I was just giving you relationship advice.”
At the bar, our friends wonder why we aren’t speaking. Even he is confused by what happened. He doesn’t know what he did wrong.
For a long time, I said nothing. Because if they thought it wasn’t cheating, who was I to argue? I had freedom. I was getting one over on them. I was winning.
They were real. They were real and they counted. They’re not shadows among the men I saw. But I wanted them to be. I wanted to avoid the consequences, to avoid thinking, to avoid wondering what it meant. These men, they told me what it meant: it meant nothing.
And I told other women this fallacy. I moved in to kiss their necks and ears and said, “Girls don’t count, don’t you know?”
And later, they counted. And later, I knew.
Do you know what I want to see?
I wanna see a really cool Disney princess who can’t sing. I wanna see this pretty young girl who sounds like a beached whale when she tries to sing “Happy Birthday.” And none of the musical numbers feature her because she doesn’t sing.
But halfway through the movie, she figures out
She can rap like hell
This post kept getting better and better with every word
there is literally no difference between academic scholars discussing their interpretations of a text and a bunch of people yelling YOUR HEADCANON IS WRONG at each other
As a Masters student I can vouch for this.The difference is citations.