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Georgia travels : Milledgeville / Savannah edition

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 | never have i ever | 

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Where you come from is gone, where you thought you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it.”
-Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood

This month, my travels took me to both the homestead and the birthplace of Flannery O’Connor—Milledgeville and Savannah, respectively. Though I have yet to crack open a book of O’Connor’s, I recently purchased “Flannery O’Connor: The Complete Stories,” and I feel I’ll be more connected to her words now thanks to the foundation I’ve built learning about her personal life and habits. 

It came to pass that I joined a ladies book club and embarked on a whirlwind day trip adventure to Milledgeville one steamy Sunday. Andalusia invited mysterious rains that traveled around the property—it was pouring down on the peacock enclosure, but not in the donkey cemetery. Roving rains like in the Hunger Games’ Quarter Quell. We laughed and chalked it up to good ol’ southern spookiness, passing around a bottle of Moscato picked up at a gas station along the way. 

We wondered about Flannery’s love life, a topic she kept entirely mum. But she was a hottie writer who studied at the Iowa Writer’s Workshop and brushed shoulders with important writers like Robert Penn Warren, John Crowe Ransom, and Austin Warren. Surely Miss Flan took a lover, even if she never wrote about one. 

For any lover of southern gothic literature, Andalusia is a little Georgia gem not to be missed. It’s perfect for book club outings and the like, but if you’re looking to indulge in some roadside antiquing, don’t plan your trip on a Sunday. We were disappointed that most of the antique shops were closed on our journey. 

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to make Georgia howl |

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Where is there a place for you to be? No place… Nothing outside you can give you any place… In yourself right now is all the place you’ve got.” 
-Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood

//

Savannah heals my soul every time. Difficult to not be wholly swept up in nostalgia land—pirate pipes, matching turquoise rings, naked moon bathing, and The Skeleton Key. But the effect is always the same. 

A cookie sample from Byrd.

The fisherman’s sandwich at Zunzi’s

Coffee at Foxy Loxy (my favorite cafe…in the world).

Dog watching at Forsyth Park, and tree climbing too.

Beers on River Street on any day that is not St. Patrick’s Day.

Historical churches, and haunted squares.

The city has its own magic—it soothes my loneliness and broken spiritedness. At times I’ve felt that Sherman’s mission to “make Georgia howl” carried on, and in those times, I make my own march to the sea. There’s something about Savannah. 

I enjoyed a few days of city respite there this month, and felt my spirits lifted. I feel it is the most quintessentially southern town, and as I explore my southern roots and begin to love them, towns like Savannah have become particularly special to me.

Decatur Book Festival is happening this weekend, and I stopped by the Make Black Out Poetry tent—ended up making my very own blackout poem. Excuse me if the content is a bit awkward. Blackout poems tend to bring up what’s on your mind, and that’s where my head’s at. There are some incredibly beautiful collaged and painted poems for sale on the Make Black Out Poetry website, and at their festival booth. I’m thinking one of these would make a nice gift for a friend. 
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Decatur Book Festival is happening this weekend, and I stopped by the Make Black Out Poetry tent—ended up making my very own blackout poem. Excuse me if the content is a bit awkward. Blackout poems tend to bring up what’s on your mind, and that’s where my head’s at. There are some incredibly beautiful collaged and painted poems for sale on the Make Black Out Poetry website, and at their festival booth. I’m thinking one of these would make a nice gift for a friend. 
ZoomInfo
Decatur Book Festival is happening this weekend, and I stopped by the Make Black Out Poetry tent—ended up making my very own blackout poem. Excuse me if the content is a bit awkward. Blackout poems tend to bring up what’s on your mind, and that’s where my head’s at. There are some incredibly beautiful collaged and painted poems for sale on the Make Black Out Poetry website, and at their festival booth. I’m thinking one of these would make a nice gift for a friend. 
ZoomInfo

Decatur Book Festival is happening this weekend, and I stopped by the Make Black Out Poetry tent—ended up making my very own blackout poem. Excuse me if the content is a bit awkward. Blackout poems tend to bring up what’s on your mind, and that’s where my head’s at. There are some incredibly beautiful collaged and painted poems for sale on the Make Black Out Poetry website, and at their festival booth. I’m thinking one of these would make a nice gift for a friend. 

katherinestasaph:

Inspired by this, of course. (Read that.) I’ve been freelancing for a little over a year, full-time for about half that, and I’ve at the very least collected some things to learn from.

DISCLAIMER: I’m still figuring all this out, as the rest of this post should make…

Solid, solid, solid gold here. 

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Between the bushes with Samm Severin & Travis Broyles

On a casual Sunday, I met up with two friends and funny bone ticklers, Samm Severin and Travis Broyles. Samm is a stand-up comedian, and Travis is more of the sit-down type, writing uproarious Facebook statuses and scripts for Thank You For Stopping By. I lured them to the park with champagne and cheeses, and they made me giggle aplenty.  

We chatted about body hair, unemployment, and why Aziz Ansari should ask me out. Follow along after the jump. 

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30 LOOKS GOOD ON YOU 
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Celebs, They’re Just Like Veggies! 
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MANY JOYS AND CRAZY GOOD FEELINGS BESTOWED UPON YOU, AS WELL AS A CASK OF FINE WINE, TWO SWEET FIGS, AND A BUSHEL OF FRESH WILDFLOWERS. A BICYCLE PARADE, MERRY, MERRY GENTLEMEN FLYING KITES [+ WEARING BOWLER HATS], A TANGO FOR MORE THAN TWO, TEN HORSES GALLOP, MUFASA IS SAFE, GOSPEL CHOIR SINGING, FLAGS WAVED & MERCY FLOWING LIKE GOO FROM A CHERRY CORDIAL. NAME A KITTY KAT LORALEI & LET KIND WITCHES GATHER. KALE ME CRAZY, BUT I SAY IT IS GOOD IF WE CELEBRATE & COLLECT MOONSHELLS, WRITE OUR INITIALS ON THEM, TAPE PHOTOS TO BATHROOM MIRRORS. BE QUITE CANDID.
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Being a grown woman is damn fine.
-Molly Crabapple, “On Turning 30”
                                               <><><><><><>
1) page 77 of “Love Me Now,” a tawdry ol’ bodice ripper I secured along with many old fashioned girlie mags last summer.
2) a chicken from my Monofonus Press journal. 
3) a hat + PARTY PEOPLE snipped from a page of W Magazine, when I got all those free subscriptions signing up for my Mediabistro membership last year.
4) kale from a Whole Foods shopping bag
5) Tilda Swinton background from W Magazine March 2013 issue, photographed by Tim Walker // “Stranger Than Paradise.”
6) fancy, genteel lady from GALA pin-up mag from the 50’s.
7) just some number stickers from ye olde craft box
8) veggie/celeb mashup from Modern Farmer // September 2013 issue
9) LOOKS GOOD ON YOU from the same Whole Foods bag as #4
//
The occasion : we orchestrated a surprise birthday bicycle ride, complete with glow in the dark silly string, sparklers, gold body paint, and glitter. The surprisee was then outfitted in a spandex Spiderman costume & presented with a new two wheel-ed steed by her beau. The surprisee was further surprised when we “happened” upon a Salsa Chest disco rave party in the woods. There was cake, pizza, beer, and a rolling orb for guests to roly poly in. A karaoke nightcap. A successful surprise, a card for a sweet.
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30 LOOKS GOOD ON YOU 

//

Celebs, They’re Just Like Veggies! 

//

MANY JOYS AND CRAZY GOOD FEELINGS BESTOWED UPON YOU, AS WELL AS A CASK OF FINE WINE, TWO SWEET FIGS, AND A BUSHEL OF FRESH WILDFLOWERS. A BICYCLE PARADE, MERRY, MERRY GENTLEMEN FLYING KITES [+ WEARING BOWLER HATS], A TANGO FOR MORE THAN TWO, TEN HORSES GALLOP, MUFASA IS SAFE, GOSPEL CHOIR SINGING, FLAGS WAVED & MERCY FLOWING LIKE GOO FROM A CHERRY CORDIAL. NAME A KITTY KAT LORALEI & LET KIND WITCHES GATHER. KALE ME CRAZY, BUT I SAY IT IS GOOD IF WE CELEBRATE & COLLECT MOONSHELLS, WRITE OUR INITIALS ON THEM, TAPE PHOTOS TO BATHROOM MIRRORS. BE QUITE CANDID.

//

Being a grown woman is damn fine.

-Molly Crabapple, “On Turning 30

                                               <><><><><><>

1) page 77 of “Love Me Now,” a tawdry ol’ bodice ripper I secured along with many old fashioned girlie mags last summer.

2) a chicken from my Monofonus Press journal. 

3) a hat + PARTY PEOPLE snipped from a page of W Magazine, when I got all those free subscriptions signing up for my Mediabistro membership last year.

4) kale from a Whole Foods shopping bag

5) Tilda Swinton background from W Magazine March 2013 issue, photographed by Tim Walker // “Stranger Than Paradise.”

6) fancy, genteel lady from GALA pin-up mag from the 50’s.

7) just some number stickers from ye olde craft box

8) veggie/celeb mashup from Modern Farmer // September 2013 issue

9) LOOKS GOOD ON YOU from the same Whole Foods bag as #4

//

The occasion : we orchestrated a surprise birthday bicycle ride, complete with glow in the dark silly string, sparklers, gold body paint, and glitter. The surprisee was then outfitted in a spandex Spiderman costume & presented with a new two wheel-ed steed by her beau. The surprisee was further surprised when we “happened” upon a Salsa Chest disco rave party in the woods. There was cake, pizza, beer, and a rolling orb for guests to roly poly in. A karaoke nightcap. A successful surprise, a card for a sweet.

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Coop parties I have attended

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the all denim Christmas one
I wore my denim overalls with my cropped denim jacket, and I didn’t stay very long, because I wanted to get to Grant Park for a potluck dinner with too cool boys and a girl who I don’t even speak to now. I awkwardly stood around the fire holding a plate of various dips, and Erika talked about having sausage fingers. 

the one with a lot of dips, but most of them were eaten when I got there, because I went to a Father Daughter dance with my dad and was late
This was probably my favorite Coop party to date, because I met so many great people. I didn’t know a single person at the party, besides the hostesses, who had their hands full with a fabulous soiree to attend to. But I had at least seven deep, complex, wonderful conversations with different people. I talked for a long time to a guy with red hair, and he asked for my number. I liked that. But I don’t think it meant what I thought it meant, because he did not call me.  

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the disco one
This is the one where I dressed up like a kind of hippie (I definitely half assed my costume. It was basically my normal street clothes) and danced to disco and that one song with that title I can’t bring myself to say. It was popular back then. This one boy with black hair seemed really impressed with my hardcore disco dance moves and he started getting into the groove with me. I was like, “Yeah, cool,” cause I really like dancing. Then he kept offering me beers from his backpack, and I pretty much declined those for a while. But eventually I took one on the back porch, because I felt it was the nice thing to do.

He was a barista from Chicago, and I enjoyed hearing his stories because he had just up and moved to the South after college, and I was gearing up to do the same thing in a few weeks— I was on the cusp of my Berlin chapter. I had some other very inspiring conversations with folks about Berlin that night between disco dancing and chatting with the Chicago kid.

Then he asked if I wanted to go for a walk, and I was like, “Yeah, sure,” because I love walking. And I am really dense. Cause we didn’t make it very far before it became pretty obvious that I’m a dope and he’d really meant, “DO YOU WANT TO MAKE OUT?”

We walked to my favorite mural in Cabbagetown, the tribal fox by Trek Matthews, and we were standing there admiring it, and I was telling him all about it when he shoved me up against the wall, and for a few minutes I was pretty scared because there was no one around to hear me scream and it was after 1 am, and I was suddenly convinced this boy was a vampire. Why do I always end up going for walks in the dark with strange boys?

Still not entirely convinced he wasn’t a vampire. He tried to turn me into one, and there were moments when I thought it might be game over— I was gonna lose my v-card (and my human card!) to a skinny vampire pushed up against a wall in Cabbagetown. Thankfully he relented when I pleaded to go back to the party, but my neck was all bruised up the next day. 

I went into my friend’s bedroom to tell her goodnight, but I was really just waiting around hoping he’d leave without me, because at this time I lacked gumption and the confidence it takes to bust balls. He texted me at midnight that week and asked if I wanted to hang out. I declined.  

Photos via Sarah Dodge, Trek Matthews

Lately I&#8217;ve been getting into my brother and sisters&#8217; baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I&#8217;ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 
Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven&#8217;t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.
My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman&#8217;s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I&#8217;ll call you back. 
Dear pen pals, if you hate what I&#8217;m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.
ZoomInfo
Lately I&#8217;ve been getting into my brother and sisters&#8217; baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I&#8217;ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 
Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven&#8217;t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.
My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman&#8217;s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I&#8217;ll call you back. 
Dear pen pals, if you hate what I&#8217;m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.
ZoomInfo
Lately I&#8217;ve been getting into my brother and sisters&#8217; baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I&#8217;ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 
Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven&#8217;t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.
My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman&#8217;s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I&#8217;ll call you back. 
Dear pen pals, if you hate what I&#8217;m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.
ZoomInfo
Lately I&#8217;ve been getting into my brother and sisters&#8217; baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I&#8217;ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 
Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven&#8217;t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.
My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman&#8217;s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I&#8217;ll call you back. 
Dear pen pals, if you hate what I&#8217;m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.
ZoomInfo
Lately I&#8217;ve been getting into my brother and sisters&#8217; baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I&#8217;ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 
Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven&#8217;t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.
My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman&#8217;s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I&#8217;ll call you back. 
Dear pen pals, if you hate what I&#8217;m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.
ZoomInfo
Lately I&#8217;ve been getting into my brother and sisters&#8217; baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I&#8217;ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 
Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven&#8217;t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.
My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman&#8217;s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I&#8217;ll call you back. 
Dear pen pals, if you hate what I&#8217;m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.
ZoomInfo
Lately I&#8217;ve been getting into my brother and sisters&#8217; baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I&#8217;ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 
Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven&#8217;t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.
My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman&#8217;s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I&#8217;ll call you back. 
Dear pen pals, if you hate what I&#8217;m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.
ZoomInfo

Lately I’ve been getting into my brother and sisters’ baby photos and have been edging away slightly from the pin-up images, though I still adore them. I’ve taken to the crumpling of the paper with liquid glue. Rather than worry about smoothing it out, I like the school childish way it bumps the landscape of my letters. 

Lately, I enjoy using whatever is in close proximity. Be it a straw wrapper I wrote on at brunch, reminding myself to research the Hells Angels (I still haven’t, but I am still fascinated), the back of a receipt, or instructions from my doctor for treating my dog bite wound.

My writing has been in this style as well. Scattered and nonsensical, the way I think it. Incomplete sentences, ramblings. Stray words and phrases with no link or causation. I often feel guilty and self conscious for throwing caution to the wind in this way, because it lacks any true effort or skill, but a part of me hopes and wishes that it becomes something, means something by osmosis. That because I thought it, because I wrote it, that is enough. But I know that is a lazy woman’s world. That I am walking in a spiderweb. So leave a message and I’ll call you back. 

Dear pen pals, if you hate what I’m doing to you, please speak up. I hate to see you suffer.

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An ode to butts | Let’s hear it for derrières

A short, original piece I wrote and performed at my first reading last month—the VIDA VOCE series at MINT Gallery. It’s a bit tongue in CHEEK. 

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The dimples on your butt gave me the freedom to exalt the dimples in mine. Derriere smooth and rounded just right— two plump apples to provide seat cushioning, love leveraging, and picturesque views.

 

“I can see it from the front,” he giggled, and then he turned me around for a better look. Prior to college, I hadn’t been ogled so intensely. The people pleaser in me thought, “you should be flattered,” but the truth was, I felt like a pig at the meat market with an apple precariously perched inside my jaw; making me look imbecilic…and perhaps greedy.

 

//

 

The rumpus.

 

A feature so brash yet so exquisite. How could two protruding bumps be the culprits of such fits and tantrums amongst us? There are other fun bumps; namely the breasts. But they are another topic entirely. The donk can PROPEL. It is a muscle; mighty to assist athletes in their time of need, to charge a hill, to sprint and pedal home. If you have never ached for a butt massage, have you ever truly worked out?

 

It is a tenuous line— the concept of big vs. good. The insinuations I would draw from the peanut gallery— as they commented on how vast, how gigantic, ginormous my backside seemed to them. It infuriated me, because cultured a middle class white suburbanite, “big” was the most derogatory word I could fathom. It is why I fasted on month long smoothie diets, ran twice a day, and did core workouts religiously.

 

//

 

But a donk is a donk is a donk is a donk.

 

It was stage left at Psych Fest this spring when I surveyed the crowd and realized I was butt-watching; a new thing for me. I, the ogled, was ogling. I turned to my friend and whispered, “I have never been what you would call… a butt person, but I think I’m becoming one.” As we grow older, our tastes refine. We go from downing McCormick’s straight from the bottle to infusing our cocktails with lavender and honeysuckles. Likewise, I’ve gone from the mysterious unknown world of non-butts, to full fledged bootay acknowledgment.

 

//

 

Located between the lower back and the perineum, the glutes allow primates to sit upright without having to rest their weight on their feet. The caboose is the physical party starter. How could we “back that thang up” without a posterior with which to back up?

 

Old me sighed in the Wet Seal changing room, head uncomfortably turnt as far over my shoulder as possible, trying to glimpse my rear in full. I learnt to hide it, but honey, don’t fight it.

 

We all have butts, we’ve all got rears. Whether yours is big or small, wide or obtuse, we’ve all got to learn to love our caboose! So let it out, let it play. Your butt deserves to seize the day!

 

ladypoints:



Halle Deneen in NAKIMULI CURVY’S SPARRO SWIMSUIT TOP CURVY


Ooh we love Tennille’s nakimuli swimwear line and these photos are amazing. Watch Tennille’s ladypoints episode here!

Last year, I transcribed the audio for this interview with Tenille McMillan, creator of Nakimuli. A very inspiring lady&#8212;a true #Girlboss.  
ZoomInfo
ladypoints:



Halle Deneen in NAKIMULI CURVY’S SPARRO SWIMSUIT TOP CURVY


Ooh we love Tennille’s nakimuli swimwear line and these photos are amazing. Watch Tennille’s ladypoints episode here!

Last year, I transcribed the audio for this interview with Tenille McMillan, creator of Nakimuli. A very inspiring lady&#8212;a true #Girlboss.  
ZoomInfo

ladypoints:

Halle Deneen in NAKIMULI CURVY’S SPARRO SWIMSUIT TOP CURVY

Ooh we love Tennille’s nakimuli swimwear line and these photos are amazing. Watch Tennille’s ladypoints episode here!

Last year, I transcribed the audio for this interview with Tenille McMillan, creator of Nakimuli. A very inspiring lady—a true #Girlboss.  

(Source: plussizeebony)