Jetta Rae DoubleCakes

When you openly deride poor/sick/incarcerated people who have access to nutritious and delicious food, you set us all up for failure.

The apron was a birthday gift—to both of us, really. She was the first woman to ever call me 'Mommy.'

Being a polyamorist has yet to afford me that “communal pride.” It’s not an identity that I associate with good politics. Yet.

As a trans woman, I dress for solidarity. I dress to be identified. And now, I have received my "dress blues."

Every Friday, our very DoubleCakes scours the videosphere for the best cringe-inducing documentaries, found footage and TV specials of yore.

We deserve to be safe. We deserve to live—even at the cost of your flawed, incomplete grasp of lesbian identity.

I have an intense, irrational fear of amputation. I threw up trying to read Geek Love. I get light-headed, piss-pantsy in Halloween stores.

Every now and then a “Mommy” would escape her lips and I would wipe it from my face, like mud or mosquitos on an otherwise idyllic summer’s drive.

A tale as old as rhyme: boy meets girl, gets his feelings hurt, and spreads her personal information on the internet. Here's my take on Zoe Quinn.

Nail polish and straws put rape prevention squarely on the shoulders of women, a responsbility we've always borne.