hello again my little, buttery buns filled with fresh jelly,
welcome to another day of this wild life where the universe could bring us more trump extortion, which is trash . . . but also hbo max’s veneno, which is truly excellent….but then a capitol coup, which is a nightmare . . . but then a FB message from one of my cousins feeling insulted by me saying trump is trash.
i’m very much over the excuses but stuff like this sucks because you love your family, you love the people around you, you love those moments. but this man legit doesn’t care about you or your well being. so while it’s sad to realize i probably won’t have a relationship with an entire side of my family anymore, i’m okay with taking the loss.
today’s newsletter is earlier than usually . . . like, by a week. but cool. fine. there are no rules anymore, babies. but mainly, just wanted to check in to see how you’re all doing.
tell me. you okay?
~laura
dumb sad things
looking at the real real over and over to find something, anything in my size. I found these socks.
watching a pug get pulled away from a golden retriever by their owner, and realizing that maybe i’m not ready to have a dog.
cutting about 3000 words from a chapter of my book. i write far too much.
everlane’s curvy fit jeans that go to a size 14. honestly, fuck everlane. you don’t get to use curvy for your non-plus-size customer base.
an 11 minute phone call with laser away just to book an appointment. can i just not have hair on my face? give me my groupon and let me live my hairless face life. is that too much to ask?
actual sad things
one of my favorite uncles passed away this week, and it didn’t really hit me until yesterday night. when my grandfather passed away in 2017, my uncle refused to leave my side the whole day and made sure i was okay. covid and the world and everything puts so much distance between us all, which maybe was the cause for my delayed reaction. i think of him patting my hand when i sat down on the couch at his house. i’m thinking of my cousins and my aunt who played a major role in who i am. i’m just thinking of what this means and death and life and the whys swirling around it.
found objects
sexual citizens: a landmark study of sex, power, and assault on campus . . . okay, not a jolly read but certainly something i looked through when writing my book.
larry madrigal’s paintings
gottmik merch . . . queer drag for life
free the work . . . work with others who don’t look like you
more reading: milk blood heat by dantiel w. moniz . . . i just read moniz’s “the loss of heaven” in the latest paris review and it was overwhelmingly sad and beautiful
i don’t deal with things well
i’ve always acted younger than my actual age which is odd because i’ve been dead set on being an adult (acting like, appearing to be) for my entire life — which has made me seem even younger when i fail at something rather than adulting through it. i’ve had my failures. a lot of them. so much that they haunt me every time i think about evolving, growing, being more than what i am. my therapist asked me to think about my younger self (inner child) to see how she feels, reacts, etc. what does she need?
when i look at her, i just want to break. she is so very scared. like, petrified . . . but solid? there is a deep pool of resilience behind her glossy blue eyes where her parents should be, where her little brother should be, where her childhood should be. she’s by herself in her an oversized minnie shirt and spandex shorts. she’s not big. she’s not small. she’s an average sized kid with baby fat across the stretches of her rigid body. but that didn’t stop everyone trying to jam her body into smaller clothes, smaller shoes, smaller ways for her to be smaller.
as a kid, i would hold my grandmother’s purse so i can feel the weight of what it meant to be an adult hoping that it would counteract my body taking up space. the keys, the glasses, the tissue paper, the grouping of coins as the bottom corners. i desperately clinged to objects that made me feel older. i loved to tap my fat, little fingers on the keys of my grandfather’s calculators praying to every god that i would one day have long, elegant, manicured hands that would click and clack their way to the jeopardy answers i didn’t know.
she needs someone to let her just be, not an overly excitable pillar desperately wanting to sink within the walls.
so, are we doing fine? probably not.
is every day a page out of a sci-fi novel? yes.
how many days are there until the inauguration? 13
am i getting braces? you bet your sweet ass i am.
is anal sex on the table in 2021? it has been there for awhile.
and will we ever make it out alive? gosh, i just don’t know.
but until then, we can donate to the trans women of color collective.
Hey Laura is a weekly newsletter dedicated to body image, sad stuff, joy, sexual wellness, life, butts, confidence, essays, fatness, crying until you're a puddle of DNA, embarrassment, and so much weirdo stuff. note: laura doesn’t take responsibility for your life and actions. she’s just an odd person on the internet that deeply wants to write everything in her heart and genitalia and flesh. some links:
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