à l'allure garçonnière

my real blog is alagarconniere.wordpress.com.

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#iris and julia

BFFs 4lyfe

frsrgln:

shit like this always reminds me of how awesome it will be when iris and i get older and are still super awesome babes. last week she got a mix cd i made her in the mail, and it made me happy that i made her happy. (i kinda miss the days when she had time for tumblr so she could reblog this shit) i want to kick all the jerks out of her life, and come snuggle with her and her awesome dog. this has been a tumblr best friend love letter.

champagneproblems:

[vintage-styled photo of a woman standing in a pool wearing a white flowered bathing suit with matching bathing cap. She is reading a book]
I try to hold off on posting “oooh look how pretty this tiny white lady is!” type of posts, but…really, I’d love to spend a day or two this way.

it’s more about the sentiment. like, i’d like to spend a day or two in the water reading books wearing gorgeous bathing caps and vintage bathing suits. fuck yeah.

champagneproblems:

[vintage-styled photo of a woman standing in a pool wearing a white flowered bathing suit with matching bathing cap. She is reading a book]

I try to hold off on posting “oooh look how pretty this tiny white lady is!” type of posts, but…really, I’d love to spend a day or two this way.

it’s more about the sentiment. like, i’d like to spend a day or two in the water reading books wearing gorgeous bathing caps and vintage bathing suits. fuck yeah.

Poetry Recs for Amara (or whoever else is interested)

blackbrrystone:

APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH AND POETRY IS AWESOME LET’S DO THIS

Some of my favorite poets are Michael Ondaatje (Buried 2, The Time Around Scars, Last Ink, The Cinnamon Peeler), Margaret Atwood (The Woman Who Could Not Live with Her Faulty Heart, We Are Hard on Each Other, Their Attitudes Differ, Is/Not), John Keats (Bright Star, Ode to a Nightingale, Ode to Melancholy), W.B. Yeats (When You Are Old, Sailing to Byzantium, The Second Coming), Eavan Boland (That the Science of Cartography Is Limited, The Rooms of Other Women Poets, Our Origins Are in the Sea, We Are Always Too Late), and Derek Walcott (Love After Love, Dark August, Midsummer).

Also:

oooooo damn i’ve got some reading/appreciating ahead of me, i can feel it. also: file under things iris will appreciate.

since i can’t reblog a reply and the entire internet needs to know of our boundless love:
tomorrow morning i am flying from québec city to toronto (thanks mom!) then taking the bus from toronto to peterborough to HANG OUT WITH IRIS WHO IS ONE OF MY BFFS OF ALL TIME WHO I HAVEN’T SEEN SINCE APRIL AND WE GET TO HANG OUT ALL AFTERNOON and then get picked up by my sister and go have a lovely time with my family all weekend! first time seeing my entire family since april, too long.
THIS DESERVES ALL CAPS.

since i can’t reblog a reply and the entire internet needs to know of our boundless love:

tomorrow morning i am flying from québec city to toronto (thanks mom!) then taking the bus from toronto to peterborough to HANG OUT WITH IRIS WHO IS ONE OF MY BFFS OF ALL TIME WHO I HAVEN’T SEEN SINCE APRIL AND WE GET TO HANG OUT ALL AFTERNOON and then get picked up by my sister and go have a lovely time with my family all weekend! first time seeing my entire family since april, too long.

THIS DESERVES ALL CAPS.

baruchandroll:

[description: vintage photo of two women on rollerskates skating through a park. they are holding hands. on the left is a woman in a suit with awesome pants that puff out at the thighs and a scarf and a bowler-ish hat. on the left is a woman wearing a skirt suit with a vest and white gloves and a little golfer-ish hat and curly hair. her roller skates are attached to her shoes, which have two inch or so heels]
liquidnight:

John Gutmann
The Lesson
Central Park, New York, 1935
From John Gutmann: The Photographer at Work

If this was facebook I would tag the woman on the left “Julia Caron” and the lady on the right as me. But in fact Julia doesn’t have facebook so tumblr will have to do.

YES YES YESsssss. i love you iris.

baruchandroll:

[description: vintage photo of two women on rollerskates skating through a park. they are holding hands. on the left is a woman in a suit with awesome pants that puff out at the thighs and a scarf and a bowler-ish hat. on the left is a woman wearing a skirt suit with a vest and white gloves and a little golfer-ish hat and curly hair. her roller skates are attached to her shoes, which have two inch or so heels]

liquidnight:

John Gutmann

The Lesson

Central Park, New York, 1935

From John Gutmann: The Photographer at Work

If this was facebook I would tag the woman on the left “Julia Caron” and the lady on the right as me. But in fact Julia doesn’t have facebook so tumblr will have to do.

YES YES YESsssss. i love you iris.

baruchandroll:

[description: photo of louise brooks. in the lower right corner, in pink ink, dated 20/12/80, the following salutation: “Dear Winston - I will gladly sign This photo but not the one that makes me look like a ghostly whore. All my best, Louise Brooks.”
flngs:

billyjane:

20/12/80
Dear Winston-
I will gladly sign
This photo but not
the one that makes me
look like a ghostly
whore.       
                All my best
                Louise Brooks
How to Annoy Louise Brooks « The Silent Movie Blog

heh

how had i not seen this yet! i love it when you tag me iris.

baruchandroll:

[description: photo of louise brooks. in the lower right corner, in pink ink, dated 20/12/80, the following salutation: “Dear Winston - I will gladly sign This photo but not the one that makes me look like a ghostly whore. All my best, Louise Brooks.”

flngs:

billyjane:

20/12/80

Dear Winston-

I will gladly sign

This photo but not

the one that makes me

look like a ghostly

whore.       

                All my best

                Louise Brooks

How to Annoy Louise Brooks « The Silent Movie Blog

heh

how had i not seen this yet! i love it when you tag me iris.

Hats off to beautiful femmes, by Ivan Coyote »

bookselves:

fouronesix:

interjections:

To all the beautiful, kick ass, fierce and full-bodied femmes out there, I would like to extend my thanks to you.

It is for you that I press my shirts and carefully iron my ties. It is for you that I make sure my underwear and socks match. It is to you that I tip my cowboy hat. It is for you that I polish my big black boots.

I know that sometimes you feel like nobody truly sees you. I want you to know that I see you. I see you on the street, on the bus, in the gym, in the park.

I don’t know why I can tell that you are not straight, but I can. Maybe it is the way you look at me. Please don’t stop looking at me the way you do.

All of my life I have been told that I am ugly, I am less than, I am not a man, I am unwanted. Until you came along, I believed them. Please do not ever stop looking at me the way you do.

I would never say that the world is harder on me than it is you. Sometimes you are invisible. I have no idea what this must feel like, to pass right by your people and not be recognized. To not be seen. I cannot hide, unless I am seen as something I am not. This is not more difficult, it is just different.

I know those shoes are fucking killing your feet. I want you to know how much I appreciate that you are still wearing them. You look hot. I love you in them. They look great with that dress.

If it makes you feel any better at all, the boots I have on right now weigh approximately 12 pounds apiece and they make the soles of my feet burn like diaper rash in a heat wave and it feels like I’m wearing ski boots when I have to walk up stairs. But I wear them for you.

Even still, my new boots are velvet slippers compared to your knee-high five-inch heels. I notice, and I salute you.

I promise, I am not just staring at your tits. I am trying to look you directly in the eyes, but you are almost eight inches taller than me, please see above note regarding your five-inch heels. At the same time, I would like to mention that while I was trying to look you in the eyes, I couldn’t help but notice your lovely new pendant. I am sure it really brings out the colour of your eyes, if I could see them.

I want to thank you for coming out of the closet. Again and again, over and over, for the rest of your life. At school, at work, at your kid’s daycare, at your brother’s wedding, at the doctor’s office. Thank you for sideswiping their stereotypes.

I never get the chance to come out of the closet, because my closet was always made of glass. But you do it for me. You fight homophobia in a way that I never could. Some of them think I am queer because I am undesirable. You prove to them that being queer is your desire.

Thank you for loving me because of who I am and what I look like, not in spite of who I am and what I look like.

Thank you for smelling so good.

Thank you for holding my hand on the sidewalk during the hockey playoffs. I know it is probably small-minded of me to smile wicked at all the drunken dudes in jerseys smoking outside the sports bar in between periods because you are so fucking hot, and you are with me and not them, but I can’t help it. That’s right fellas. You want her but she wants me. How do you like them apples?

Thank you for wearing matching bra and panties. I don’t know why this makes my life seem so perfect, but it really does.

Thank you for being the daughter my mother always wanted. You are so smart and successful and you dress so fine that you almost make up for her having me and my sister for her real children.

Thank you for reaching out in the dark at the movie theatre to grab my hand in the scary parts. It makes me feel like I am strong, that I can take care of you. Even if there is no such thing as vampires, and you do so much yoga that you could probably easily kick my ass.

I want you to know I love your crooked tooth, your stretch marks, the missing part of your finger, your short leg, your third nipple, your lazy eye, your cowlick, your birthmark shaped like Texas. I love it all.

I want you to know that I know it is not always easy to love me. That sometimes my chest is a field full of landmines and where you went last night you can’t go tomorrow. There is no manual, no roadmap, no helpline you can call. My body does not come with instructions, and sometimes even I don’t know what to do with it. This cannot be easy, but still, you touch me anyway.

Thank you for escorting me into the women’s washroom because the floor of the men’s was covered in something unmentionable. Thank you for asking me if I had a tampon in my purse really loud so the lady in the turquoise sweatshirt did a double take before gathering up her daughter and hitting me with a pool noodle. I can’t say for sure whether that is what actually would have happened, but thanks to you I didn’t have to find out.

Thank you for wearing that dress just because you knew it would match my shirt. Together, we are unstoppable. When seen through your eyes, I am beautiful. Turns out I was a swan the whole time.

This made me tear up so much. Honestly, I think this is the first good thing I have ever read about femme women, ever. I feel less weird today. I mean, I still feel like I have to be in the closet about my boyfriend to be a good queer (ally?) and how fucked up is that, but whatever, queer means a lot of things including the right to be turned on by hot people of any variety.

oh iris iris iris. how alike we are sometimes. i feel the same way, re: feeling like i have to be in the closet about my boyfriend to be a good queer, especially in a very straight city like québec. it is hard sometimes, but i am lucky to be in love with someone who 100% supports me and understands that i don’t think we should hold hands while walking around at pride, who does not want to shave her armpits for more reasons than simply the fact that she is lazy, that long hair means less dyke cred, that loving him means less queer cred, that i struggle with not being recognized as queer. thanks for sharing this, it is so beautiful. i love ivan coyote, have you read her piece “a butch roadmap?” it is pretty amazing too.