up up and away

the thing that separates girls from women and boys from men is not letting everyone know our inner monologue and keeping ourselves from oversharing.

The Internet also makes it extraordinarily difficult for me to focus. One small break to look up exactly how almond milk is made, and four hours later I’m reading about the Donner Party and texting all my friends: DID YOU GUYS KNOW ABOUT THE DONNER PARTY AND HOW MESSED UP THAT WAS? TEXT ME BACK SO WE CAN TALK ABOUT IT!

—Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns), Mindy Kaling

fuck yeah, hard femme!: fuckyeahcracker: Effects Of Thinking White People Are “All Like...

fuckyeahcracker:

Effects Of Thinking White People Are “All Like That”:

  • Literally nothing other than white people having their feelings hurt on the internet
  • I’m not joking there is no real world consequence of this

Effects Of Thinking People of Color Are “All Like That”:

But yeah, white people’s feelings :*(

(via upwardlooking)

thenoobyorker:

I love going on first dates. I like a lot of things about dates. The nerves, the crippling anxiety, playing it cool, the pep talks, the monologues, the details, that first look, the smiles, the topics of conversation, the locations, the mating rituals, the raptorial legs, the thoraxes, the first bite into your head, the minute or so of sexual cannibalism, good byes and the good night kiss.

But maybe I’m just a romantic. I love dating.

Who decides which deaths are tragic and which are not? Who decides what is big and what is little? Is it a matter of numbers or physical mass or intelligence? If you are a little creature or a little person dying alone and in pain, you may not remember or know that you are little. If you are in enough pain you may not remember who or what you are; you may know only your suffering, which is immense. Who decides? What decides? Common sense? Can common sense dictate such things? Common sense is an excellent guide to social structures – but does it ever have anything to do with what moves you?

—Lost cat

remembering

The problem with grief is that you tell everyone such that each person takes a little piece of your burden away. The more people you tell, the less you have to carry. Then, when you’ve told enough people, you’re left with nothing.

And when you think of that nothing after time passes, you realize you want it all back. You are guilty that you pretended to live a different life, which was only possible because everyone who loved you so generously took away your burden. You owe it to yourself to feel all that pain and all that burden yourself. You need to just feel it, let it rampage through your system, and let it go. 

training a new assistant

  • A: Another question.. how do you feel about me wearing a hat?
  • M: Are you going to wear it backwards?
  • A: ... yes.
  • M: Ask Dr. Zane
thenoobyorker:

Hey look I live in San Francisco, I am important. I have 2 startups. One startup is a combination of Square and Foursquare but it uses Vine to sync with the social network. The other startup lets you add pre-selected images of sloths to your photos. I dropped out of Stanford.

thenoobyorker:

Hey look I live in San Francisco, I am important. I have 2 startups. One startup is a combination of Square and Foursquare but it uses Vine to sync with the social network. The other startup lets you add pre-selected images of sloths to your photos. I dropped out of Stanford.

“You want the truth and you want the truth and when you get it you can’t take it and have to turn away. So is telling a person the truth a good or malignant act?”

my animal days

I watch my sick dog nearly throw himself off an examining table out of fear of the unknown. He has no idea what is going on and is in pain. When the exam is over, he hides behind my legs, like a child.

I clear out a cooler full of thick spiderwebs and carefully transport the three fat living spiders onto the grass, shuddering at their fat abdomens.

A lady bug lands on our raft, the perfect red freckle against the bright yellow. 

Two cats lay still as statues and half immersed in the bright green of a front lawn. Their heads move in unison while I walk past. 

Hens and roosters cluck and coo as I feed them clovers I’ve wrenched from nearby lawns. 

A stunning white stork glides over us on the river. Its wings are in perfect half-circle hemispheres. I am reminded of a woman’s eyebrows or the happy-closed eyes of a baby. Silently, I am flooded with elegant metaphors. My partner sums it up perfectly: “Ain’t that purty”