one of my main nicknames courtesy of my family is “emmy” and my uncle was like “what if you marry a guy named anthony whose nickname is tony then you’d be emmy and tony”
and then “what if his last name was award”
and then my cousin put in “if you have a son you could name him oscar”
emmy, tony, and oscar award
oh my god
sell oscar to leonardo dicaprio
It is December 6th, and I remember.
I was 13 years old when Marc Lépine opened fire and murdered 14 women for being at engineering school when he wasn’t. He blamed feminism for the situation he was in, and murdered these women for being in non-traditional jobs, for being there.
Every year, the memorials I go to are different. Some are quiet - I remember several winters in the snow, holding candles and reciting names like a talisman against violence.
Geneviève Bergeron, 21 years old. Hélène Colgan, 24 years old. Nathalie Croteau, 24 years old.
When I was younger, they seemed impossibly mature and sophisticated. I used to imagine them laughing and enjoying university, cut down without warning. Now that I’m 35, they seem so young, and I wonder if they were afraid.—
Self reblog from last year. Still worth reading. Still remembering.
Today is the anniversary of the Montreal Massacre.
I will not forget.
tiny little turn ons:
- people leaning against walls with one shoulder while they talk
- catching somebody turning away smiling at a joke you made
- people who linger on a hug for just a second after you let go
- somebody glancing at your lips while you’re talking