Samsies and samsies. Mortgage free farm in a quiet town with a evil corporation to screw over? Hell yeah.
It’s not my favorite. It does mean I prefer to not be a couch potato. Sitting still and playing video games all day hurts so much worse than gardening or cleaning the house.
EDS? That’s why I hurt when I sit still too long, my joints literally slide out of place without muscle activation to hold them steady
Crunchy peanut butter and low sugar strawberry jam (it’s more tart is all, DGAF about the sugar content) mixed together, use as a dip for pretzels. Only done it with crunchy pretzels but might be fire with fresh hot pretzels.
Like a handful of other people in the comments I never dress up or wear makeup, it’s black pants and a t-shirt for me. It’s usually a graphic t-shirt that is silly so if someone’s like “oh cute t-shirt” sure, that’s fine. But if they’re talking to me specifically cute feels infantilizing. I’m a 33-Year-Old woman, I either look fine, nice, beautiful, or like a deranged raccoon holding a knife.
No more garbage genetics please. EDS, pots, ADHD, probably autism (on the waiting list for testing), chronic stomach troubles, depression, anxiety, hormone imbalances, PCOS, chronic pain, inflammation, weak loose skin. All that can go fuck right off forever and die. Once my body actually worked, and looked like it wasn’t cursed from the get go, I think I might actually like it. Mostly. Might like an androgynous unit for daily living and a feminine one for sexy times. Both thoroughly muscular of course. Gotta get that muscle tone. If we went for non human stuff on top of that, wings. Huge fuck off dragon wings. None of that Superman flying shit, I wanna FEEL the flight. Hell, I’d probably actually be able to enjoy doing any physical activity if my fucking body wasn’t so, so breakable. Really I just wish I wasn’t in so much pain.
As the less conventionally attractive woman, there’s a few different things that could happen. Option A: you can’t, she knows she’s not as pretty and has always known she’s not as pretty and will feel bad about being the one who doesn’t get hit on no matter what.
Option B: her and her friend are there to have fun on a girls night out and not to be hit on so she’s actually happy that she’s not the one being bothered. (Assuming this is In a social situation like a bar or a concert where going up to a woman and speaking to them because you are interested is socially acceptable)
Option C: The “less attractive” friend is presenting that way intentionally and is there for scary dog privilege and will back you down and make you go away because neither of them is interested in being bothered. (More likely in scenarios where it was socially unacceptable to go speak to the pretty girl in the first place, but not uncommon in social settings if the pretty girl is tired of being hit on and asks their friend to play bouncer)
-The humble perspective of the 5’10" but will still wear 5-in heals, 250 lb muscular woman who knows what way to twist a head to sever the vertebral artery. 🫠
In my case it’s because often even the slightest bit of humor or attention or willingness to play along with the bit gets me way more unwanted attention than I bargained for. If I respond like a person wanting to have a little fun with another person and it gets me treated like a thing they can now win and possess, the genuine human interaction has been tainted by the implication that it wasn’t genuine, there was always a motive and, because I played along, I’m now not a person to be interacted with, I’m a thing to be owned. I’d rather just not do the thing if that’s one of the possible outcomes. And yeah, that’s why I tend to not go out anymore.
Lost is a bit strong, it goes exploring and is politely but firmly removed by the kegal Captains.
Played in the creek (pronounced crik), caught pollywogs and toads and snakes. Walked barefoot to the farm down the street to buy sweet corn. Heard stories about my uncles finding dynamite in a cave near the railroad and bringing it home and passing it around at school before the fire department confiscated it all as well as stories of my great grandma holding my great grandpa at shotgun point till he did the chore he’d said he’d get to months before. I remember the internet screaming at me when I picked up the home phone. My dad’s first cell phone was a Nokia brick. The first Galaxy smart phone came out the year I graduated highschool.