Jetta Rae DoubleCakes

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

There's a dresser in my drawer, and all it contains is a flannel shirt and a picture of me and Henrietta, from Christmas 2013.

Visibility and respect, held with tired arms in a dire double headlock—this is the struggle of women in sports.

I put the lotion on my skin for a week after they left, hoping that it would bring me stop-gap solace until they forgave me and came back.

Speaking out for the rights of all women doesn’t make me a misandrist or an infighter.

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.

Jane Lynch, Aubrey Plaza, Rosario Dawson, Laverne Cox . . . we're looking at you.

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.

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

Hailing from the bowels of hell, it's time to meet Pocahottie, Sexy Eskimo, Sexy China Doll . . . and more!