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November 03 2016

1449 1203

September 10 2015

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Reposted fromohmylife ohmylife viaekelias ekelias

September 06 2015


July 26 2015

Photobombing, Kitten style.
Reposted fromwakna wakna viaekelias ekelias
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it does D:

Reposted fromcylonapplepie cylonapplepie viaekelias ekelias
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much dig
such bed
very comfortable
Reposted fromcontroversial controversial viaflauschig flauschig
Reposted frommondomg mondomg viaflauschig flauschig

Weimar, im Bus.

Zwei ca. 8 Jahre alte Jungs sitzen im Bus nebeneinander und unterhalten sich. Plötzlich merkt der eine, dass er aussteigen muß. Er verabschiedet sich und rennt zur Tür. Der zweite Junge bleibt zurück, schaut etwas unschlüssig und rennt auf einmal an die Bustür und schreit seinem Kumpel hinterher:

“Hans, ich hab dich lieb!!!!”

Dann geht er zurück an seinen Platz im Bus und murmelt, für alle noch hörbar: “Das wollt ich dir schon lange mal sagen, so.”

belauscht von Gunnar

Reposted fromhubi hubi vialordminx lordminx

just shut up.

First, a story. 

So, my first semester of my freshman year of college, I took this Intro to Women’s Studies class. The class met for five hours a week, one two hour session and one three hour session, and the breakdown of students was what I eventually discovered to be the typical sampling in any Women’s Studies class with no pre-recs at my mid-sized, southern Ohio state school. There were a number of girls who would become, or were already part of, the feminist advocacy groups on campus; there were a number of girls who would prove themselves to be opposed to feminism in both concept and practice, one of whom I distinctly recall giving a presentation on the merits of the “Mrs. Degree,” while my professor’s eye twitched in muted horror; there were a handful of girls and at least one guy I’d come to know later through assorted campus queer groups; and there were, of course, the three to six dudebros, self-admittedly there to “meet chicks,” all but one or two of whom would drop the class after the first midterm. At eighteen, I was myself a feminist in name but not in practice—I believed in the idea behind feminism (which is, for the record, that people should be on equal footing regardless of gender, not that we should CRUSH ALL MEN BENEATH THE VICIOUS HEELS OF OUR DOC MARTENS GLORY HALLELUJAH), but I didn’t actually know anything about it. I could not identify the waves of feminism. Intersectionality and how the movement is crap at it were not things of which I was aware. Never had I ever encountered the writings of bell hooks. In a lucky break, you do not need to know about the waves of feminism, or know what intersectionality is, or have read bell hooks to read this essay! (But you should read bell hooks. Everyone should read bell hooks. bell hooks is FUCKING AWESOME.) 

The first couple of weeks of this class were about what you’d expect. The professor was fun and engaging, but she was not exactly pulling out the eye-opening stops on our wide-eyed freshman asses. There were handouts. There were selections of the textbook for reading. There was a very depressing class about domestic violence, abuse, and rape that was the typical rattling off of terms and horrific statistics that everyone winced at, but that nobody really internalized. The dudebros snickered in the back corner, grouped together like they would be infested by cooties if they spread out, occasionally chiming in with helpful comments like, “Dude, the lady on the back of this book is smoking,” and getting turned down by each girl in the class, on whom they were hitting in what I can only assume was a pre-determined descending order of hotness. The queer kids, myself included, huddled in the other corner making pithy comments. The up-and-coming active feminists glared at the bros, who leered back, and the Mrs. Degree-friendly crowd mostly texted under their desks and made it very clear that they were only there for humanities credit. Again, it was a fairly typical southern Ohio state school class full of fairly typical southern Ohio state school freshmen. Nobody was super engaged, is what I am saying here. Nobody, myself included, was really eating it up with a spoon. 

And then one day, my professor opened the class with, “So, who here has seen Beauty and the Beast?”


via http://gyzym.tumblr.com/post/39004853136/just-shut-up

Reposted fromquicquid quicquid vialordminx lordminx
...Maybe We All Need To Use The Sleep...
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Whenever my parrot flips out and gets angry, I say, “Hey,” in this soft, comforting voice and then talk to him gently. He calms down within seconds.

I just got frustrated enough at something that I went, “ARGH.” My parrot said, “Hey,” all softly and sweetly like a dozen times over the next minute. It made me feel better instantly.

My parrot is better at conflict de-escalation than most people.

Reposted fromhairinmy hairinmy vialordminx lordminx
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“a writer’s character’s viewpoints don’t reflect the writer’s viewpoints!!!” actually, they do.

that doesnt mean having a, for instance, homophobic character means the author is homophobic. but how is the homophobia treated? is it criticized? is it excused, idealized? is it framed so that the homophobia is clearly wrong? does the inclusion of homophobia in the narrative serve a point?  

writers, especially professional published writers, know that their writing has an impact, and the morals they put forward in their work reflect deeply on themselves. they know how they frame and present their work can completely change the result and effect it has. 

so maybe the character’s viewpoints don’t say much about the writer, but how the writer presents this character and its viewpoints says a hell of a fuckin lot about the writer.

Reposted frommynnia mynnia vialordminx lordminx
“What this article is saying, as are the roughly 9 million other helicopter parent stories, is that overly involved parenting is harmful. We all agree that it is. But they all place the blame on parents, especially mothers, while the larger story goes unremarked upon: Sure, children with anxious parents are harmed. But the source of the anxiety is living in a culture in which there is very little room for meandering exploration, for experimentation, for failure. We wake them up for tests because for high school students, one bad grade affects college acceptance—and when college is the key to a middle-class life, you can bet parents are going to do anything they can to bolster their kid’s chances. The question is not “Why are parents so pushy and egotistical,” the question is “Why is success reserved for so few people in this country?”
Parents are anxious for good reason: Jobs are hard to come by, housing is expensive, schools vary wildly in quality, and student loans can be predatory. Instead of blaming parents for being anxious, perhaps we could work toward eliminating the sources of anxiety! Instead of saying, “Parents, don’t be so high-strung! Let your children fail,” perhaps we should be saying, “What can we be doing, as a society, to make sure that failure is not so catastrophic for individuals?” What if a cheap community college meant job prospects as promising as those for Ivy Leaguers? What if state schools were free, jobs were plentiful, and lousy health insurance policies didn’t mean bankruptcy?” — 

Enough With the Articles About Helicopter Parents Already - The Mid (via anotherwordformyth)

Reposted frommynnia mynnia vialordminx lordminx

anonymous asked:

My boyfriend just told me that he wouldn't want to be with me if I got a nose piercing, he thinks they're ugly so he told me to choose between him and getting piercings, and that if I loved him I'd choose him, but if he loved me he wouldn't beat me down like this?

extrasad answered:

So when u get ur nose pierced make sure to clean it with non iodized sea salt and distilled water

Reposted frommynnia mynnia vialordminx lordminx


Yes. That is me on the far left. 

This was such a powerful and poignant shoot for the Diva Kurves Malibu Collection. I go to work with an amazing confident group of ladies. And Francie Maupin is the sweetest, most down to earth models i’ve met. This was a big opportunity for me. And we look AMAZING.

via (be·lov·ed)
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My brain told me to draw another mermaid this morning.

via Pinup Arena
Reposted fromlordminx lordminx


  • me:   *has terrible thought*
  • friend:   *says terrible thought out loud*
  • me:   OH THANK GOD
Tree of Color — Friendship
Reposted fromlordminx lordminx
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