Saving 20 odd dollars a week by not going to Dunkin Donuts for coffee isn’t going to help when the working poor’s real problem is worrying about being able to still make rent if they miss work due to the flu, so let’s stop pretending like this “junior piggybank savers/guilt the poor out of simple comforts” technique is a viable solution to the problem of stagnating wages and skyrocketing living costs.
me when i see a cat: CAT! cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat
Fun fact: when I see cute animals, I forget English and automatically revert to my native Hungarian. I don’t know what bystanders make of me, reciting guttural gibberish to rabbits.
But the real question is, what are you SAYING to the rabbits? Is it ‘RABBIT! rabbit rabbit rabbit rabbit rabbit rabbit bunny bunny bunny awww cute bunnyyyyy’?
Well, I usually say the Hungarian equivalent of ‘bun bun bun lil bun look at your tiny spoon-shaped ears awww bun brave little lawnmower bun’, but sometimes I say ‘hey rabbits, my sister’s gonna go to med school’ because I think everyone should know.
I live in Japan, and I always revert to English to talk to small animals, and I was cooing at this tiny little fluff machine of a puppy in baby english like “hello you’re so cute such a cute hello hello yess you’re good” and the 70 year old Japanese lady that was walking him started to *translate the baby talk english into Japanese* for her pup. She wanted to be sure he understood it too.
Friendly reminder that “doing your best” does not mean pushing yourself to the limits of endurance, but only doing the best you can without hurting yourself.
Further, even friendlier reminder that it’s completely fine if that means you don’t do as much as someone else.
They’re not you, and your contribution is just as valid as theirs.
“But I didn’t,” he shrugs, reaching the bottom of the stairs and continues to slowly cross the floor to where Stiles is pacing. “Besides, it’s not the first time.”
Stiles scoffs. “And it won’t be the last, right?”
Derek frowns, steps slowing down as he approaches. Stiles steps backwards in sync, maintaining a certain distance between them. Derek stops, confused, watching Stiles move around the loft with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. First then does Derek catch the stench of distress and anger filling the air.
“What—” He begins, but is cut off.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Do you possess some level of self-worth at all?” Stiles stares at him from across the room, chest heaving, eyes glazed with emotion but his voice spits venom. “How many times will you run head first into danger, like you’re the pack’s human shield or some shit?”
“Not human,” is Derek’s automatic reply, which apparently is the wrong thing to say because the next second Stiles is stalking towards him with fire in his eyes.
“I’m sick of your furry excuses!” He exclaims. “I’m sick of hearing you and Scott talk as if you got every reason to sacrifice yourselves because of your damn healing.” Derek doesn’t realizes he’s taken a step back until his back hits the pillar behind him. Stiles walks right up to his face, close enough to feel the heat of his breath as he keeps yelling. “Like it’s a reason for you to take bullets that were meant for me.”
His breath is ragged once he stops, his chest heaving. Derek’s gaze darts between Stiles’ eyes, wide and so close. Stiles ducks his head down, swallowing as if he’s trying to calm himself. Derek doesn’t move, too overwhelmed by Stiles’ outburst. Because it means something; it means so much, and his chest tightens when trying to figure out what.
When Stiles lifts his head back up, the anger has been replaced by pure concern, and it hits all of Derek’s senses so hard his breath hitches, nostrils flaring.
“You’re not monsters,” Stiles says lowly. “You’re people. The claws don’t change that.”
i was on the train and 3 drunk girls saw me and said i had nice brown eyes so they sang “brown eyed girl” to me
I threw up at a frat party and I was crying in the bathroom and a drunk girl went upstairs to get me a shirt and came back with a sweater and a kitten.
At the last party I went to three drunk girls fishtail braided my hair by committee
a drunk girl drew an eye on the back of my hand and then patted it with satisfaction and whispered “count olaf”
once at a barbecue a drunk girl gave the surgical scar on my shoulder a butterfly kiss and said “you’re cured”
A drunk girl at a bar I was at became worried that I wasn’t getting enough nutrition and proceeded to hold peanuts to my lips and just keep saying “peanut peanut” until I would eat it. And after I allowed her to feed me a peanut she pet my hair and said “Thank you”.
Drunk girls, saving your life one wtf at a time.
Girls are a fucking gift don’t let anyone tell you otherwise
At age 23, Oprah was fired from her first reporting job.
At age 24, Stephen King was working as a janitor and living in a trailer.
At age 27, Vincent Van Gogh failed as a missionary and decided to go to art school.
At age 28, J.K. Rowling was a suicidal single parent living on welfare.
At age 28, Wayne Coyne ( from The Flaming Lips) was a fry cook.
At age 30, Harrison Ford was a carpenter.
At age 30, Martha Stewart was a stockbroker.
At age 37, Ang Lee was a stay-at-home-dad working odd jobs.
Julia Child released her first cookbook at age 39, and got her own cooking show at age 51.
Vera Wang failed to make the Olympic figure skating team, didn’t get the Editor-in-Chief position at Vogue, and designed her first dress at age 40.
Stan Lee didn’t release his first big comic book until he was 40.
Alan Rickman gave up his graphic design career and landed his first movie role at age 42.
Samuel L. Jackson didn’t get his first major movie role until he was 46.
Morgan Freeman landed his first major movie role at age 52.
Kathryn Bigelow won the Academy Award for Best Director when she made The Hurt Locker at age 57.
Grandma Moses didn’t begin her painting career until age 76.
Louise Bourgeois didn’t become a famous artist until she was 78.
Whatever your dream is, it is not too late to achieve it. You aren’t a failure because you haven’t found fame and fortune by the age of 21. Hell, it’s okay if you don’t even know what your dream is yet. Even if you’re flipping burgers, waiting tables or answering phones today, you never know where you’ll end up tomorrow.
Never tell yourself you’re too old to make it.
Never tell yourself you missed your chance.
Never tell yourself that you aren’t good enough.
You can do it. Whatever it is.
The next time a man takes four hours to return your text when you can see that piece of shit sharing articles about Bernie Sanders on Facebook, don’t just complain about it to a friend on Gchat–text him again. If a man constantly cancels on you, don’t be the Cool Girl who has fallback plans anyway–tell him you think it’s rude and you would prefer to wait and reschedule for a time he knows he can keep. Fave his subtweets. Start reclaiming little bits of your power, no matter how small. They add up.
These actions, when explicated, sound silly and obvious. Of course it should be okay to show irritation when someone is thoughtless. Nonetheless, plenty of women shy away from putting the tiniest screws to the men in their lives for fear of driving them away. That’s not an empty fear; men who are otherwise reasonable humans often turn into giant babies when a woman puts even the most gentle pressure on them, and women have learned to avoid these behaviors for a reason. If you’re ever going to date a guy who treats you like someone worthy of respect, though, you’re going to have to set about the unpleasant job of alienating the men who don’t.
shealwaysreads 