That Takes Ovaries! Read Online Free PDF

forward with them toward the stage. No one tried to stop us.
    Bea grabbed my arm and said, “God is taking care of us. We are invisible.”
    “What?” I said in disbelief. I didn’t know if it was true or not, but it certainly seemed no one was noticing us—two plainclothed women, one Black and one white, in a line of big, burly Irishmen in blue. As I marched, I experienced a fit of laughter, mostly out of fear.
Would they catch us? Arrest us? Shoot us?
I started to pray.
    We kept up with the police line and soon we made it onto the field where the symphony was playing and where all the important people sat, such as the cardinals and the rest of the Church hierarchy. When the cops sat down, we did, too. We ended up in a row with about a hundred elite police right in front of the Pope. I mean,
I got to shake his hand!
That night I called my mom to tell her about it and she said she already knew, she’d seen me on TV—live. The next day I saw I was in all the main photos of the event: one hundred policemen, Bea and me, and the Pope.
    cecelia maria wambach was a nun for ten years. Now she is a lesbian who never lies. At the start of the third millennium she still loves the Pope.

Fat Grrlz Kick Ass

beth mistretta
    You might remember me. I was the girl in your gym class that everyone described as “chubby.” I always came in last, heaving and beet-red, when we ran the mile. I hardly ever hit the ball. Iwore a shirt two sizes too big in an attempt to hide my body and my shorts, which rode up my inner thighs as I walked. Maybe you acknowledged this by calling me “Heifer,” “Bertha,” or “Trailer.” Until I was sixteen, that was all I encountered in gym class.
    Then in 1994, on the first day of my junior year in high school, Ms. L. walked through the door. Ms. L. was the new gym teacher. She was young, fit, and sported a shortish brown haircut that gave her a tomboyish look. She was a skilled camper and could survive in the wilderness for weeks. She preached teamwork, effort, and enthusiasm until we took these as gospel. Most important, she instilled confidence in all of us.
    By midsemester, our class was practicing rappelling off our gymnasium balcony. Ms. L. had taught us to handle her hightech equipment like experts. While we were in action, she paced around the balcony checking our technique and shouting directions as if we were on a real mountain. Once we got the hang of it, we found rappelling to be relatively easy.
    Then she taught us how to ascend.
    This was the setup: The climbing rope was secured to the balcony. Both the ascender and the belayer wore harnesses that attached them to each other. The climber used a combination of larger ropes and smaller looped ones, as well as metal clamps. Throw on your helmet, stick your foot into the first loop, grab the clamps and climb. Sounds easy, right? Well, when the first boy in our class tried ascending, he sure made it look that way.
    In two minutes this boy had climbed twenty feet with barely a drop of sweat on his brow. But when he climbed over the balcony, he exclaimed, “That kicked my ass. That was no joke, man.” His words threw all of our confidence out the window. This guy was one of the best in the class, and even he struggled. Despite this, Ms. L. still asked the dreaded question: “Who’s next?” We all stared off in different directions and stood in awkward silence, as if she wouldn’t notice us if we didn’t look at her.
    I would be lying if I told you this boy’s words brought back all of my lifelong gym-class horrors. Instead, all I could think ofwas that I was a star in the class, too. I was one of the best rappellers, I had gotten an A on the canoeing skills test, and I had mastered a compass.
    My hand darted up and I shouted, “I’ll go!”
    Some people appeared relieved, though all my girlfriends threw me questioning looks. I avoided eye contact with everyone and created an aura of purpose around me. I was too busy to think twice. I