I’m going to confess to you, right here and now, that I have done feminism a grave disservice. And I’m a repeat offender. I have used the “I have a boyfriend” excuse to duck, dodge, or deflect
I love my Mac. Sometimes I take it to bed with me, it’s true. Though, things between Siri and me are somewhat strained (she still can’t remember my mother’s name? Really?). We’re all in the thrilling,
I wish I could tell the 12-year-old me in this picture not to worry so much. That once she gets her braces off and figures out what to do with her hair, things will come together. What follows is unedited, unfiltered self-loathing. April 22, 1987 I need to tell whoever is reading this, why does
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