OKAY SO I’M GONNA DROP A STORY ON Y’ALL
MY FOLLOWERS KNOW THAT I’M PRETTY UNIQUE LOOKING
I HAVE A GNARLY UNDERCUT, A SHORT HAIRCUT, AND AS OF YESTERDAY MY HAIR IS BRIGHT PURPLE, AND I TEND TO WEAR CLOTHES OF THE ALL-BLACK-SHORT-SKIRTS-THIGH-HIGHS-INTIMIDATING-HEAD-BITCH-IN-CHARGE VARIETY
MY FOLLOWERS ALSO KNOW THAT I HAVE A RAD LITTLE THREE-YEAR-OLD SON NAMED OLIVER WHO IS MY WORLD
ONE DAY, OLIVER AND I WERE AT THE STORE, AND WE WERE WALKING PAST THE CEREAL, SINGING A SONG TOGETHER AND OVERALL JUST BEING CUTE BECAUSE WE’RE FUCKING ADORABLE, AND THIS MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN WAS WALKING THE OTHER WAY WITH HER HUSBAND AND DAUGHTER. I’M USED TO PEOPLE STARING AT ME, ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING I WAS ROCKING BLUE HAIR AND A OUIJA BOARD SHIRT AND A HELLA CUTE VELVET MINISKIRT THIS SPECIFIC DAY, SO I IGNORED HER GLARING AT ME AND CONTINUED ON LOOKING AT THE PANDA PUFFS
THEN I STARTED HEARING HER MUTTER UNDER HER BREATH ABOUT ME, SAYING STUFF LIKE, “Irresponsible teen mom couldn’t keep her legs closed” AND, “Her son is going to be so messed up because she has absolutely no self-respect”
NORMALLY I JUST LET IT GO, BUT THAT DAY OLIVER AND I WERE SINGING THE SHINS SO I WAS IN A REALLY GOOD MOOD AND FELT CONFIDENT, SO I STOPPED MY CART AND SAID, “Excuse me, did you say something?”. SHE KINDA STARTED BLUSHING AND SAID NO, TO WHICH I REPLIED, “Well, it seems you kinda did say something. Something about me being irresponsible and not having respect for myself?” AND THIS WOMAN WAS BRIGHT RED AT THIS AND HER HUSBAND WAS JUST TRYNA HURRY HER ALONG AT THAT POINT BUT I HELLA WAS NOT GONNA LET HER GET AWAY WITH SHIT TALKING ME SO I SAID, “You know, I do respect myself. I have my hair like this because I respect myself enough to do it and have the confidence to pull it off, and I dress like this because I respect the fact that I have killer legs that I don’t want to hide just because some old crows glare at me over it. My self-respect has nothing to do with my parenting ability, but if it did, I’d say it’s been a positive correlation because my son is respectful of everyone and doesn’t judge people based on their appearances. He knows that people look how they do because that’s just how they want to look, and that’s how all three-year-olds are until they get to the age where they see the fact that their parents are scowling at a girl who has bright hair, or a boy who wears a skirt, and that’s the age where they become insufferable assholes like you.” AND LET ME JUST SAY THIS WOMAN’S JAW DROPPED FASTER THAN THE TRIX BOX SHE WAS HOLDING AS I FUCKIN SASHAYED OUT WITH MY PANDA PUFFS AND CARRIED ON SINGING~*~*~
//you’re my hero
THIS WAS A CHILDRENS MOVIE
A CHILDRENS BIBLE MOVIE
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Amen
FUN FACT: in hebrew, “feet” is a euphemism for genitals.
so if you ever see “washing feet” in the bible, it, uh. yeah.
(source is my old bible class textbook which i don’t have on me anymore :( )
HOLY SHIT WHAT
I MEAN CORRECT ME IF IM WRONG BUT I SWEAR TO GOD I REMEMBER READING A STORY IN THE BIBLE WHERE JESUS CLEANED THE ‘FEET’ OF A LADY PROSTITUTE INFRONT OF HIS TWELVE DISCIPLES WHO GOT SERIOUSLY GROSSED OUT. THEM GETTING REALLY SUPER GROSSED OUT BY THAT NEVER MADE SENSE TO ME UNTIL NOW.
JESUS CHRIST JESUS.
THAT HASHTAG I”m—-—
#DONT FUCKING TOUCH ME IM NOT OVER THIs
friendly reminder that when the actor who played khal drogo met the actress who plays daenerys he shouted “WIFEY!” and tackled her
Also reminder that during one of the sex scenes they were supposed to film, he came on with a sock puppet on his dick and Emilia Clarke was laughing so hard they had to take a ten minute break.My life isINFINITELY better knowing those tidbits of information
at the Q&A panel I went to with him he said before every sex scene with her he would go “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY” before getting into character and going at it
these two are everything
He waited until the train was in motion to make his move—a true sign of someone who knows how to make the environment work to their advantage. Then he leaned forward. “Hi.” “How you doing?” “What are you reading?” “What’s your name?” “I really like your hair.” “That’s a really nice skirt.” “You must work out.”
It was painful to watch. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him, and he clearly wasn’t going to take the hint. Her rebukes got firmer. “I’d like to read my book.” And he pulled out the social pressure. “Hey, I’m just asking you a question. You don’t have to be so rude.” She started to look around for outs. Her head swiveled from one exit to another.
The thing was, I had already heard this story, many many times. I knew how it would play out. I knew all the tropes. I probably could have quoted the lines before they said them. I wanted a new narrative. Time to mix it up.
So I moved seats until I was sitting behind him. I leaned forward with my head on the back of his seat.
"Hi," I said with a little smile.
He looked at me like I was a little crazy—which isn’t exactly untrue—and turned back to her.
"How are you doing?" I asked.
"I’m fine," he said flatly without ever looking back.
"I really like your hair," I said. “It looks soft."
That’s about when it got…..weird.
He sort of half turned and glared back me, and I could tell I was pissing him off. His eyes told me to back the hell away, and his lips were pressed together tightly enough to drain the color from them completely.
But no good story ever ends with the conflict just defusing. He started to turn back to her.
"Wait, don’t be like that," I said. “Lemmie just ask you one question…"
"What!" he said in that you-have-clearly-gone-too-far voice that is part of the freshmen year finals at the school of machismo.
And I’m not exactly a hundred percent sure why I didn’t call it a day at that point, but…..maybe I just love turning the screw to see what happens. I gave him the bedroomy-est eyes I could muster. “What’s your name?”
Right now I’m sitting here typing out this story, and I’m still not entirely sure why I’m not nursing a fat lip or a black eye. Because that obviously made him so mad that I still am not sure why it didn’t come to blows. There are cliches about eyes flaring and rage behind someones eyes and shit like that that are so overdone. But it really does look like that. When someone gets violent, their eyes just kind of “pop” with intention—pupils dilate, eyelids widen. And his did. Even sitting down he was clearly bigger than me and I was pretty sure he was kind of muscular too, so at that moment I was figuring I was probably going to need an ice pack and sympathy sex from my girlfriend by day’s end.
"DUDE," he shouted. “I’M NOT GAY."
That’s when I dropped the bedroom eyes and switched to a normal voice. “Oh well I could see not being interested didn’t matter to you when you were hitting on her, so I just thought that’s how you rolled.”
my year 8 students had to do a budgeting activity pretending they were living out of home on $2000 a month and I find this written on there help I can’t fucking breathe
We had to do this and I was partnered with a boy whose parents are a scientist and a doctor. My family spawned the book: Top Drawer Villain - autobiography of a London criminal.
First of all, we had to choose where we would shop. He wanted to buy from Booths. “We are not buying from Booths," I snapped. "Get on Asda’s website right now." His face froze.
“A-Asda?" he whispered. "But that’s where… The Lower Classes shop.”
This was a good start.
We then had to decide on a menu. We started on breakfast. “Toast," he said.
“Toast," I said. "Great. Look, Asda has its own wholemeal—”
“Warburton’s thick-slice white bread. Nothing else. With olive oil.”
“You WHAT?" I choked. "You have olive oil, on your toast, in the morning?”
He frowned. “Who doesn’t?”
“Okay," I said, "but what will the children eat?”
He gaped at me. “The children? We have children?”
We continued. All was well until it came to what we would have on our sandwiches. We even sorted out the children’s lunch - they, of course, would get free school meals. “Yes," he agreed; "if we can’t even afford Bertolli then they can get school meals on the government.”
He asked what dressing we should have on our ham. “Nuh-uh," I said. "Can’t have ham. I’m vegetarian.”
“But I’m not.”
“Yes, but we’re married and we can only afford one sandwich filler so it has to be vege—”
“Of course we’re married! You’re devout Christian - how do you think I convinced you to have children?”
He shook his head, frowning. “Well I want ham. You’ll have to put back the washing powder - I need ham on my sandwiches.”
We continued. Finally, it was dinner. “Okay," he said, clearly thinking hard; "for dinner, we can have… Chicken nuggets and… Beans?”
“Vegetarian nuggets then. And beans.”
“We need vegetables. The children have to have a balanced diet.”
“You and your children!" he yelled, and the whole class looked around.
“They’re your children too!" I screamed back.
He leapt to his feet, shaking his head and looking distraught. “I don’t believe it - I don’t believe you! I wouldn’t have your children!”
“Please," I cried, standing up also. "Don’t—”
“I want a divorce!”
And he walked out of the classroom.
The teacher stood up and stared between me and the door through which he had vanished. “I’m sorry," I whispered, "but we couldn’t do it any more. There were just too many differences - I can’t live with someone who thinks champagne is a budget.”
I can’t wait to see this guy when he gets to university.
holy shit that’s glorious