When I accidentally hit my pet.
lolsofunny: First, I’m like: And then, I run after him like:
When you sneeze on your period.
xkillofjoyx: lolsofunny: *sigh* True story. Lol! Fuuuu
I grabbed my book and opened it up. I wanted to smell it. Heck, I wanted to kiss...– Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian (via bookoasis)
In order to correctly define art, it is necessary, first of all, to cease to...– Leo Tolstoy, in What is Art? (1896). (via adsertoris)
Ted: This isn’t hopeless; you’re gonna find someone for me. Matchmaker: No. I won’t. You’re gonna die alone! :( Ted: Ha, I’m NOT gonna die alone! Look at me: I’m bright, and I’m attractive—you just gotta get back out there and keep lookin’! Matchmaker: Noo! You’re never gonna find anybody, and every year you’re just getting...
So, Brokeback Mountain
somehow came up in post-Thanksgiving-lunch table conversation, and upon hearing her “aspiring” religious sister voice her liking towards the core storyline of the movie, my mother (who’s quite religious) made no effort to conceal her disgust. I wanted to toss in my opinion without calling attention to myself, but I kept quiet instead. In retrospect though, I feel that my...
For Beatrice—My love for you shall live forever. You, however, did not.– Lemony Snicket, The Reptile Room (via libraryland)
… I’m so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything.– Jonathan Safran Foer (via salttequila)
The only time my mom let me stay up late was to watch Stand & Deliver.
That awkward moment when you witness a young one “diddling” after you’ve tried to not diddle.
Bald bartender: “Is it me or is it freakin’ hot in here?” (cut to image of bartender’s unnecessarily sweaty scalp)
I don’t like Rick Perry at all, but I love him for his idea to “uproot” Washington; this puts national revolt on the table for discussion. It’s a step in a healthy direction. This is the chance to grab the ball and run with it. Every thing will converge soon, and we’re going to have to know what to do. I dunno. I feel it. Don’t you? I’ve been planning to...
Maybe I shouldn't
cling on to the opinions of a man who killed himself with a sawed-off shotgun, but Hemingway suggested that one should write drunk and edit sober. If (and since) it’s hard to isolate the ghosts that are my thoughts because there are so many and because each of them starve for my attention, following his advice makes this dilemma easier. Sift, sift, sift. There are clumps. Knots in a...
I kinda dgaf.
Dear Guy-I-Had-Sex-With-Some-Time-Back, Stop calling me. Stop texting me. I don’t like you. You suck. And like, you suck at IT. Leave me alone. You sure you’re not ghey? I liked you better when we’d chill with other people. Sans coitus. But alone, you’re typical. And sad. I guess that makes me a little sad. I appreciate the free substances you willingly gave me,...
A degree is virtually a certificate now. Like, Oh, here’s your written record for completing our program, some of which may have been redundant but most of which will ultimately prove to be information game show contestants could benefit from. And you’re lodged in this abysmal post-undergraduate life where you must wisely choose between student loan debt or being a number—where...