Andrae, you really embarrassed me tonight at Red Lobster. There’s already a big age difference, Andrae, and you acting like a big baby and throwing a plate of lobster in my lap at dinner is not appropriate.

Andrae, you really embarrassed me tonight at Red Lobster. There’s already a big age difference, Andrae, and you acting like a big baby and throwing a plate of lobster in my lap at dinner is not appropriate.

A message from mentalextensions
just wanted to say it's been nice seeing you around these parts more often lately :)

I like being here for the most part! I really like being able to abandon this thing and then come back to scribble sad girl scribes and still be wholeheartedly acknowledged by the people I refuse to delete for! I’ve been on tumblr for legit 8 years now, this appears to be a cycle! :*

snarkydiscolizard:

"i’m sad and idk how to feel better"

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"i don’t know what to draw"

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"i always mess up"

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"BUT I SUCK"

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HE IS THE GREATEST! Has he written anything new?? I

Ok so I Like Junot Diaz on FB and in his info section it says that he likes to update that page in between writing his new book. The page was created after This Is How You Lose Her so I’m just gonna try to not spontaneously combust until he puts out a new book.

Man, I love Junot Diaz. His writing reminds me a lot of Vonnegut in that it’s profoundly sincere and extremely immature. Only Junot Diaz can end a love story with “And I’ll never taste her chocha again” and get me to split into two laughing instead of bursting into flames or something.

"

Part of what drives Yunior in the novel Oscar Wao—and it’s never really stated, but it’s at the margins of the book throughout—is that Yunior has a fascination with Oscar because Oscar permits himself, despite the fact that he has no hope in succeeding, to be utterly vulnerable to the possibility of love. Oscar consistently thrusts himself, places himself, openly, in the hands of other people. In the hands of the women that he thinks he loves and who always reject him. Yunior is fascinated by this because he himself is never able to take off any of the armor, or any of the masks, that a person has to completely take off to expose themselves to the vulnerability of love…There’s a point when you’re with somebody in a relationship where the decision comes down to their love or your mask. And by “the mask,” we mean your terror in exposing yourself, your terror in making yourself vulnerable to this other person. I think Yunior’s tragedy in a number of places in this book is that he keeps choosing his mask. Sometimes he does it compulsively, sometimes he’s unaware. But it grows on him that he plays at relationships.

Being in love means you actually have to be in the game. And to be in the game means that you have to actually risk losing, right? It’s not a game if you can’t lose. It’s something else. And I think Yunior likes to pretend that he’s in the game. But really he’s not. Really, he can’t lose. He’s always got some other girls up the way. He’s always got something going on.

"
I cried reading an old Junot Diaz interview, I really will cry about anything these days.

you nerds are the best, you’re beyonces in a sea of rita oras :’)))

On the Sea
Beach House

bestsongss:

On The Sea | Beach House

justcallmeemilyv:

charmcore:

This is how we give Praise to a Witch who is really Nailing an Outfitte.

I have a mighty need to expand the knowledge that this gif is from the ballet Giselle, and these are spirits of women who died from broken hearts called wilis - in the ballet, men who get lost in the forest at night are trapped by the wilis and danced to death for doing wrong to women. It’s all quite badass. (with Myrtha, Queen of the Willis in the middle - she’s one cold hearted bitch and I love her.)

justcallmeemilyv:

charmcore:

This is how we give Praise to a Witch who is really Nailing an Outfitte.

I have a mighty need to expand the knowledge that this gif is from the ballet Giselle, and these are spirits of women who died from broken hearts called wilis - in the ballet, men who get lost in the forest at night are trapped by the wilis and danced to death for doing wrong to women. It’s all quite badass. (with Myrtha, Queen of the Willis in the middle - she’s one cold hearted bitch and I love her.)

That reply you just sent me is so completely reciprocated, you’re really wonderful and I feel like I connect so much with the things you talk about, I really do wish I could know you better

:’D I would gladly hop the fence into Canada and become an illegal immigrant again just so I could be your IRL friend!!

ugh but anyway, you know those days when you’re just not bothering w/ intricate EYEBALL LOOKS bc you know you’re going to cry it off and can’t fix it later in the day. I’m not even a crying PERSON, I never have been but the last two years-ish have been one long cry w/ brief dry intervals in between.

After spending the last nine years being unreachable, I think I’m making the first, true honest attempt at lifting the veil. It’s so scary, you never want to have confirmed what you already believe to be true (you’re damaged, no one will love you, etc.), much less by someone you want to love. I always think about how it’s been nearly ten years since that day and it makes me unbelievably sad that I couldn’t reach to that person then and be able to tell them that it got better. It really didn’t. A man in his haste had failed to kill me but I live every single day as if he had. If it’s not sad, it’s mostly pathetic.

In The Gold Dust Rush
Cocteau Twins

omeomy:

Cocteau Twins - In The Gold Dust Rush

"And in my dreams I’m slapping the heroine to her senses, because I want them to be women who make things happen, not women who things happen to. Not loves that are tormentosos. Not men powerful and passionate versus women either volatile and evil, or sweet and resigned. But women. Real women. The ones I’ve loved all my life. ‘If you don’t like it lárgate, honey.’ Those women. The ones I’ve known everywhere except on TV, in books and magazines. Las girlfriends. Las comadres. Our mamas and tías. Passionate and powerful, tender and volatile, brave. And, above all, fierce."
Sandra Cisneros, Woman Hollering Creek (via subduedintellectual)