I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything, let alone posted it, and I’m sorry for that. So I tried something different. Hope you enjoy.
(I don’t own the Hunger Games, I’m just having fun)
Imagine that Modern AU, where Katniss and Peeta are still in school and they are friends. But Katniss starts to long for a little more than a platonic friendship with him and, to get that stuff out of her chest, she decides to write him a poem. It’s easy to say that that doesn’t go very well, it turns out to be way harder than what she thought it would be. Just trying to make words rhyme is impossible, and lets not even start with writing down her feelings, it just, ughh. No, thank you. The paper ends scrunched up on the floor of her bedroom.
Enter Prim. Sneaky little Prim, snooping around her older sister’s bedroom, looking for that white stuffed goat of her sister so that it can have tea with her stuffed cat, Buttercup. But Prim ends up finding something else. Something much, much better than the old goat. A ball of paper lying inconspicuously on the floor near the end of the bed. A paper that, after straightening and taking her time reading it, happens to contain the best secret in the world ever. Ever. In the entire history of secrets.
But Prim can’t deliver it like that, oh no, so creased and stained, and look! It’s not even signed! She has to pretty it up. It is a declaration of love, after all.
A peek inside my middle school X-Files scrapbook...
So, I’ve tried to think of something meaningful that I could get the XF cast to sign at Wizard World this weekend, and I started thinking a lot about my childhood X-Files Scrapbook.
After a few days of hunting (where I found a lot of other cool stuff from the 90s), I found my beloved scrapbook deep in my storage unit. I took a peek inside, and it’s just this incredible confluence of XF fandom + puberty.
Yes, that’s right, before we kept “receipts” on Tumblr, we were scrapbooking them. Please note the fuzzy dog stickers holding everything together because I am dying.
Weekly TV Guide advertisements that I definitely got off some website and printed off of my IBM Aptiva. This was for The Rain King. Note that I am the woman in love.I, a 12 year old, am Fox Mulder’s greatest peril.
I found this Tofutti Fruitti promo in some women’s magazine, cut it out, and made the connection. FBI Agent in training over here.
At my school we were “forced” to make covers for our textbooks. We had free creative reign as long as it wasn’t “offensive”. This is but one of my textbook covers. I think it’s the nicest one. Note the shippiness and the pre-Gillovny era Gillovny photos.
I definitely printed the shippy quote from Haven’s collection of shippy quotes. For sure.
This was a health class assignment on puberty. I think from grades 6-8 I managed to work The X-Files into every. single. school. assignment. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m the only one who is obsessed with X-Files.” Which was kinda true of my peer group at the time.
Cover page for my home ec assignment. You know, I think I was a better writer and creative as a child, even though I still work in a creative industry today/have a fucking masters degree.
A friend left this in my mailbox when she came by to hang out and I wasn’t there. My friends really knew how to fuck with me.
Ok, but look at this (PRINTED!!) online poll. How the fuck could they split up the shippers like that? I demand a recount.
I found these photos in a fashion magazine and was inspired. Again, I was a better writer/creative as a child. This is fucking hilarious.
Above, a school assignment where we had to make a totem pole of our interests/dreams. This is the kind of cultural appropriation they wouldn’t allow in Canadian schools today. Can you spot the Emmy and the Golden Globe?
Hope you enjoyed this lil trip down memory lane. Oh, and if you’re at Wizard World this weekend, say hi! I’ll be lugging this monstrosity around and you’re welcome to check it out in person.
My sister’s got flattery down to a t. She just walked in the room && said to me ‘Lyn, I’m gonna audition for the school play && I need your help.’ && of course I’m just ??? how am I supposed to help you && she replies, ‘ Your life is one big act so i thought I’d ask you.’
When I sat in the theater on July 15th and saw this magical little blonde introduce herself for the first time, I had no idea that she was going to change my life. I had no idea that she was going to help me see and embrace the parts of myself I had been most ashamed of. I had no idea that she was going to help me feel more comfortable in my skin than I had ever felt in 27 years of living.
Growing up in a religious environment, as a child I thought “lesbian” was an adult sin I Didn’t Yet Understand. I didn’t know “lesbian” was being a 9 year old wanting to give a 12 year old a Valentine’s Day card because she was the most beautiful and captivating girl I’d ever met.
I thought “lesbian” was the slur that ruined Janice’s life in Mean Girls. I didn’t know “lesbian” was feeling pure bliss when my high school best friend would braid daisies into my hair.
I thought “lesbian” was two drunk girls pawing at each other while their boyfriends watched and another boy filmed it. I didn’t know “lesbian” was feeling my heart flutter every time I saw my college best friend, and wanting more than anything in the world to make her laugh.
I thought “lesbian” was a type of porn, a subcategory of “kinky”. I didn’t know “lesbian” was holding hands and suddenly, finally, feeling at home.
I thought “lesbian” meant seeing every woman as a piece of meat. I didn’t know “lesbian” could mean platonic physical intimacy, hugging a friend when she needs it because she’s a wonderful human and you’re a wonderful human and you care for each other as friends do.
In the last 2 months, I’ve cried and grown a lot. I’m still learning how to comfortably say the word “lesbian” out loud. To paraphrase Amy Poehler, I’m still unlearning a lot of what I’ve been taught to feel ashamed of. And in this journey, Jillian Holtzmann and Kate McKinnon are the role models I need. When I joke with my coworkers about being a “walking lesbian stereotype” (to see how they respond to the word) and my coworker looks at me and says “But you’re NOT, RIGHT?” and the only word that can escape my lips is “right.” When I come out to a friend and she seems cool with it but doesn’t ever hug me again. In these moments, Kate and Jillian are the role models who remind me there is nothing dirty or perverted or wrong with being a lesbian. I am not dirty. I am not perverted. There is nothing wrong with me.
Thank you, Kate, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being out. Thank you for being proud. Thank you for showing the world that lesbianism is as simple and pure and innocent as love is. Thank you for reminding me that lesbianism is about love.
i somehow never got around to posting about this on tumblr but i saw green day at the house of blues last month and billie joe told me he loved me and i still die inside every time i think about it i love this band okay bye