the-tricky-angel-gabriel:

I remember when I thought people in their 20’s were adults. Now all of my friends are in their 20’s and everybody is just kind of fumbling around bumping into each other, trying to figure out where the free food is…… 

so that’s pretty much what I’m expecting to experience for the next like 10 years.

the accuracy of this post is alarming.

(via irishyoga)

simplydalektable:

foxnewsofficial:

scuba-steve-damn-you:

foxnewsofficial:

SEND EVERYONE YOU KNOW A MORNING TEXT. WEAR A BOWTIE TODAY. HIGH FIVE STRANGERS. GIVE AWAY LOLLIPOPS. COMPLIMENT PEOPLE. STEAL A CHILD. 

i’ve already done one of those and now he won’t stop crying and it’s annoying

must have been an aggressive high five

Or a backhanded compliment

Those stupid carmel apple lollipops make me cry.

(via irishyoga)

fuckyeahpolicydebate:

geekitty:

fuckyeahpolicydebate:

If you haven’t heard yet the 2013-2014 CEDA/NDT Topic is going to be about restricting Presidential War Powers. The Resolution itself will come out mid-June

What the effete eft. POLITICS DISADS ALL OVER THE PLACE. Goddammit….

This is killing me.

Oh debate. :)

maddylouboo:

When you’re depressed, even the tiny things make your heart hurt.

Sometimes my mom says things like, “I like that other dress on you better, it’s so beautiful,” and even though that’s mostly a compliment and trying to help me, all I hear is, “That dress you’re wearing now looks terrible, you need…

I know this probably doesn’t help a lot, but I feel like that all the time. All of it. All the time. It’s awful.

“My dear,
Find what you love and let it kill you.
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness.
Let it kill you and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.
~ Falsely yours”
― Charles Bukowski

“Oh, what have I gotten myself into”.

It’s all I could think, as I let my head rest against his chest. He wrapped his arm around me, letting his hand—soft yet still calloused—sit atop mine.

Only two days ago, if that, I had been sitting beside him wondering, what it would feel like to be his girlfriend—the girl who could set her head against his chest, the girl he’d pull close to him, and run his fingers through her hair.

I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not even the only girl he has his arm around. It’s a “cuddle puddle” we joke. We are all so tired, and out of relationships for so long, we don’t care.  A little physical touch just sounds good—nothing more than a head on a shirted chest, or an arm around a covered shoulder. But something—anything—to remind us all that human contact actually exists, and that we can feel. I can feel…

His breath is slow and tired. My face digs into his t-shirt. And I let my eyes close. I let myself fall asleep, ignore the movie on, and just let myself doze off; in his arms, I rest my eyes, after wondering what his warmth feels like mixed with mine.

I ignore the fact that Megan is on his other side. I ignore the fact he’s leaning into her, as I lean my weight against him. I ignore the obvious—that we are still just friends, and try to let the memory slip away of telling him how I felt about him and hearing the words, “I’m flattered, but…”. I let the ache drift away to the count of his breaths. All I can do right now is ignore it, because for a few hours, my dream is real. It’s not quite to the standards that I had imagined, but it’s real nonetheless.

In about twenty-four hours, he will be gone—ten hours away—living another life, with different people. New friends. New girls… And maybe that one girl that might be able to stop him in his tracks, like he did to me. Maybe there will be that girl that legitimately makes him happy, and she can see the wonderful in him. Because I want him to have her I really do, but something I think it would just be so much nicer if that girl was me.

After the cuddling, he drops me off at my dorm. We meander to the font door, and awkwardly hug. Our first real one, and our last now.

As I unlock the door to the building, he walks back to his car. And like that, we are done.

My unrequited love is literally moving on now, instead of his figurative emotional status he’s held for the last few months.

Fuck.

And with a short hug and not much more, he was out of my life.

reasonsmysoniscrying:

We are making him wear shoes in the Happiest Place On Earth.

Why does he get to go to Trader Joes and I don’t!

And he sends me this text laughing because Futerama, according to him, decided to combine feminists with the green party, making ecofeminists. He told me this, thinking I’d find humor in it. Little does he know, I have a book all about ecofem sitting on my shelf right now. Still laughing. Oh, debate, what have you done to me?