Joni Edelman

“I don’t even know what to say, Joni. Your baby isn’t alive.”

Body politics activist. Photographer. Chronic quoter of Monty Python. Unapologetic fat chick.

I want my kids to have an understanding of the truth of sex, the ins, the outs, the details no one wants to ask anyone—least of all their mom.

You should know that she is a really awesome human.

My cocktail is wrong. It’s a gin and tonic with only gin. It’s a martini with 10 olives. And I can’t stand the sun. Not today. Not this month.

91% of women report dissatisfaction with their body. Ninety-one. I know you know math—that’s 9/10 of women.

And what’s better than eggs? Eggs direct from the cloaca of your own chicken.

Actually, no, I'm not a gluttonous moron.

Good god, where will I ever find someone who will love me in such a pitiful condition?

Is that incense I smell? A drum circle in the distance perhaps? Chanting? Herbal potions? Perhaps a cauldron? Could it be homebirth?