we are young and stupid and raised by wolves

(this is not real life. these are not pictures of me. I am 20-something years old and a woman and passionate about politics and fanfiction and, as far as you are concerned, I only exist online.)

 

8bitbowtie:

I was so nervous talking to a man that I have admired for twelve years of my life. The man who let me know as a child that miserable things happen and that’s perfectly normal. The same man who helped me overcome my fear of reading after being screamed at by my teacher that I would never be able to read anything my grade level, only to have a college level reading skill by the end of sixth grade. My motivation to write and keep doing whatever I want because no matter who tries to bring me down, I know that I can overcome it just like I did those years ago.
I blushed and stuttered, barely getting out a ‘this may sound dorky, but thank you for everything you’ve done for me’. I hadn’t told him the tragedies that had gone on in my life in specifics. I thanked him for giving me a chance when so many adults did not and how I found it ironic that I still love a series about miserable children when I practically went through the same thing. And even though I’ve heard ‘I’m sorry’ so many times about every death, every terrible thing that has happened, I have never heard one so sincere.
Here I was beating myself up about failing to convey myself in front of this wonderful man. How I missed my chance. Putting my things away, I grabbed my book and peeked inside to see this. And I began to cry.
This is a man who I have never met before. A man I have only dreamt of meeting since I was very small. But yet in one small sentence he has managed to move me entirely. A sentence that has needed to be said for a long time now.
‘To Bridget, who has suffered enough.’

8bitbowtie:

I was so nervous talking to a man that I have admired for twelve years of my life. The man who let me know as a child that miserable things happen and that’s perfectly normal. The same man who helped me overcome my fear of reading after being screamed at by my teacher that I would never be able to read anything my grade level, only to have a college level reading skill by the end of sixth grade. My motivation to write and keep doing whatever I want because no matter who tries to bring me down, I know that I can overcome it just like I did those years ago.

I blushed and stuttered, barely getting out a ‘this may sound dorky, but thank you for everything you’ve done for me’. I hadn’t told him the tragedies that had gone on in my life in specifics. I thanked him for giving me a chance when so many adults did not and how I found it ironic that I still love a series about miserable children when I practically went through the same thing. And even though I’ve heard ‘I’m sorry’ so many times about every death, every terrible thing that has happened, I have never heard one so sincere.

Here I was beating myself up about failing to convey myself in front of this wonderful man. How I missed my chance. Putting my things away, I grabbed my book and peeked inside to see this. And I began to cry.

This is a man who I have never met before. A man I have only dreamt of meeting since I was very small. But yet in one small sentence he has managed to move me entirely. A sentence that has needed to be said for a long time now.

‘To Bridget, who has suffered enough.’

cute-overload:

My boyfriend Cliff works from home, but our kitten Simon insists on being held multiple times throughout the day. This was impacting Cliff’s ability to get work done so we had to fashion a kitten sling so that Simon could get his snuggles in and Cliff coulhttp://cute-overload.tumblr.com

cute-overload:

My boyfriend Cliff works from home, but our kitten Simon insists on being held multiple times throughout the day. This was impacting Cliff’s ability to get work done so we had to fashion a kitten sling so that Simon could get his snuggles in and Cliff coul
http://cute-overload.tumblr.com

sixpenceee:

Lake View Cemetery: The Haserot Angel 

It’s called the Angel of Death Victorious. Due to an effect of weathering and erosion on the bronze, the statue appears to be weeping black tears at all times. 

collababortion:

kittydoom:

salon:

We dare you to say we don’t live in a rape culture.

Amazingly, not The Onion:

“[W]e now have young men telling Bloomberg News that they basically view their female peers as rape bombs just waiting to explode and ruin their lives.”

I REPEAT: THIS IS NOT THE ONION

I took a cab and entered a single-story brick building where a few dozen people were crowded together in a scene that evoked Kafka; weariness, frustration and anger were palpable. Some stood in line, some paced and some sat hunched on the floor. A family huddled in a corner, an infant asleep on the father’s shoulder. A woman on a pay phone wept as she begged whomever was on the line to find money so she could get her car back–she said she needed $875. “I’m gonna lose my job if I’m not there at 5.”

Clerks sat on stools behind Plexiglas. At a window, a man pleaded with an agent, “I have to pick up my kids in less than an hour. What am I supposed to do?” At the next window, another man railed loudly and furiously, yelling, “How the hell am I supposed to get my goddam money if I can’t get to goddam work?” The clerk said, “If you can’t get cash, you can pay by credit card or cashier’s check.” The man shouted, “And if I had a goddam limousine, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

…Some cases of injustice in America are reported far and wide, such as the horrific shooting of Michael Brown, the unarmed man in Ferguson, Missouri, targeted by police in what many view as an egregious case of racial profiling. However, we don’t often hear about the countless quieter injustices suffered by tens of millions of Americans on a daily basis. They experience inequities of access to opportunities, quality medical and dental care, quality education, healthful food, affordable and safe housing, childcare, credit, psychological counseling, legal representation, insurance and more. For them, events that others weather unhappily but routinely—a towed car, for example—can lead to a crippling spiral of stress, debt, joblessness, illness and, in many cases, incarceration.

What I feel about fiction is that it’s removed from life, that nothing in it is real, the characters can die or have wings. For me it’s a great release. I’m the kind of person who thinks about the consequences of his actions. Especially as the youngest son of two Holocaust survivors. One of the first things I knew about my mother was that her mother and her brother were murdered in front of her eyes and that a year after that her father was murdered too. She was in the Warsaw ghetto. So from very early on I realized that if my mother were to ask me if I wanted to eat another cucumber, regardless of what I might or might not want, if I said yes, then this woman, whom I loved more than life itself and who had suffered so much, would be happy. And if I said no, then she would not be happy. So the idea was that whatever I felt or did resonated in life, caused people pain or happiness. This gave me a feeling of huge responsibility even as a child – to the extent that sometimes I had to block my own feelings or wishes. When I started writing fiction, suddenly I was allowed to do what I wanted.

As Arnold points out, there is an otherwise inexplicable shift in direction in the Piccadilly line passing east out of South Kensington. “In fact,” she writes, “the tunnel curves between Knightsbridge and South Kensington stations because it was impossible to drill through the mass of skeletal remains buried in Hyde Park.” I will admit that I think she means “between Knightsbridge and Hyde Park Corner”—although there is apparently a “small plague pit dating from around 1664” beneath Knightsbridge Green—but I will defer to Arnold’s research.

But to put that another way, the ground was so solidly packed with the interlocked skeletons of 17th-century victims of the Great Plague that the Tube’s 19th-century excavation teams couldn’t even hack their way through them all. The Tube thus had to swerve to the side along a subterranean detour in order to avoid this huge congested knot of skulls, ribs, legs, and arms tangled in the soil—an artificial geology made of people, caught in the throat of greater London.

London and Its Dead

i read shit like this and think what could my imagination possibly have to add

like how do i write something about london that’s weirder than london already is?

(via weunderstandthelights)

What a city. WHAT a city. (hugs it)

(Source: saxifraga-x-urbium)

In Redesigned Room, Hospital Patients May Feel Better Already

Written by architecture critic Michael Kimmelman, but as Virginia Postrel observes from his research:

When the University Medical Center of Princeton tested a mock-up room with nice views, a sofa for guests and no roommates, it found that patients asked for 30 percent less pain medication.

copperbadge:

ellidfics:

copperbadge:

Uh. Grubhub? Are you doing okay? Are you like, feeling all right? Getting enough sleep?
I’m worried about you, Grubhub. 

What is a “Grubhub,” and should I be worried about it attacking my house?

If Grubhub ever comes to you, lay flowers before it, and welcome it with kisses on the mouth. Like, their marketing is weird, but their existence is amazing.
Grubhub is the best thing to happen to the socially anxious since the advent of email. It’s a website that works with local delivery services to provide you with online ordering access to restaurants which deliver but don’t have the means or skills to put up an online ordering widget themselves.
If you live in most major cities, and many suburbs, in the United States, you can go to GrubHub, enter your address, and view a list of restaurants that deliver to you. If like me you live in the deep urbs and have 400 restaurants that deliver to you, you can filter them by type of food, whether they offer coupons, rating, distance, and several other factors. You can also search for specific food items if you’re craving, IDK, soy gyros or whatever. You can add notes to every item you order, and notes for the delivery driver. You can pay by credit card, paypal, or cash.
I have literally not had to use a telephone to order food delivery in almost a decade, thanks to GrubHub.

copperbadge:

ellidfics:

copperbadge:

Uh. Grubhub? Are you doing okay? Are you like, feeling all right? Getting enough sleep?

I’m worried about you, Grubhub. 

What is a “Grubhub,” and should I be worried about it attacking my house?

If Grubhub ever comes to you, lay flowers before it, and welcome it with kisses on the mouth. Like, their marketing is weird, but their existence is amazing.

Grubhub is the best thing to happen to the socially anxious since the advent of email. It’s a website that works with local delivery services to provide you with online ordering access to restaurants which deliver but don’t have the means or skills to put up an online ordering widget themselves.

If you live in most major cities, and many suburbs, in the United States, you can go to GrubHub, enter your address, and view a list of restaurants that deliver to you. If like me you live in the deep urbs and have 400 restaurants that deliver to you, you can filter them by type of food, whether they offer coupons, rating, distance, and several other factors. You can also search for specific food items if you’re craving, IDK, soy gyros or whatever. You can add notes to every item you order, and notes for the delivery driver. You can pay by credit card, paypal, or cash.

I have literally not had to use a telephone to order food delivery in almost a decade, thanks to GrubHub.

ericcrossbones:

allthebeautifulthings9828:

luciferissatan:

elkindragon:

:)

This makes me very happy.

I’m very emotionally compromised right now.

We can only hope that Kevin is having a cold one at Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

ericcrossbones:

allthebeautifulthings9828:

luciferissatan:

elkindragon:

:)

This makes me very happy.

I’m very emotionally compromised right now.

We can only hope that Kevin is having a cold one at Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

ichinitsuite:

Furisode (振袖) is a style of kimono distinguishable by its long sleeves, which range in length from 85 centimeters for a kofurisode (小振袖) to 114 centimeters for an ōfurisode (大振袖).

Furisode are the most formal style of kimono worn by unmarried women in Japan.

Many parents buy the Furisode for their daughters to celebrate this significant point in a young woman’s life. Furisode is a formal kimono for single women, it is brightly colored and made of very fine quality silk. In the very modest Japanese society wearing a Furisode is a very obvious statement. It is a very loud and clear advertisement that the single woman is available for marriage. (x)

images source: (x) (x) (x)

timelordandsaviour:

The Nightvale podcast twitter really makes you question your life choices.

FUCK, that second one

(Source: damnitbarnes)