I can’t surf and can barely swim, but I grew up in California and my uncle is moderately well-known in the surfer community and my mom grew up on Oahu, and I really love the Beach Boys, and I’m super into surfer bros, so a lot of the time I forget that I can’t surf and start thinking that I totally actually can surf and thinking of myself as actually TOTALLY a beach bum surfer bro so just like if I ever starting talking about the waves off Zuma or whatever, slap me and shout HEY BRIAN WILSON YOU’RE AFRAID OF DEEP WATER.
I don’t have ‘discipline’ I have ‘a history of eating disorders’ please stop attaching morality to food and exercise.
- Ellen dressed for a vegas production of Les Mis can get it
- Emma Watson can get it
- Jared Leto’s mom can get it
- Jonah Hill’s teeth in Wolf of Wall Street can get it
- Michael Fassbender cannot get it because he is a terrible person IRL but i wish he could get it
- Jim Carrey in Warby Parker glasses can get it
- Kerry Washington can get it
- Meryl Streep and Pharrell can get it
- Bono cannot get it
- Channing Tatum’s melon skull can get it
- Judy Greer in that Tropicana commercial can get it
- Kim Novak can get it
- Matthew McConaugheyheyhey can get it I guess
- Zac Efron you cute but you can’t get it
- Karen O can get it
- Ezra Koenig can get it
- Whoever is named Anders can get it
- The brief shot to Mads Mikkelsen can get it
- John Stamos clapping can get it
- Darlene Love can get it
- Angela Lansbury can get it hashtag the harvey girls forever
- dang Ewan McGregor can always get it
- Viola Davis especially in that color can get it
- to be clear Bono cannot get it
- blue streak Liza can get it
- Veronica Mars can get it
- Michael B. Jordan can get whatever he likes, like really even the stuff I said I wasn’t into
- Chris Hemsworth and Charlize Theron cannot get it because the amount of therapy I’d need to feel better about myself afterwards isn’t worth it
- Ellen as Tom Jones can get it
- oh jesus Christoph Waltz can always get it
- Lupita Nyong’o can get it
- Amy Adams can get it
- Filler free Bill Murray can get it
- Ronan Farrow on twitter can get it
- Lucille Ostero can get it
- Benedict Cumberbatch cannot get it
- Glenn Close can get it
- Bette Midler can definitely get it
- my husband cannot get it due to his comments about Wind Beneath My Wings so if you think you can be the wind beneath my wings and like to get it, let me know
- Jamie Foxx can get it
- Jessica Biel can get it I mean like if there’s nothing else to do
- Lupita’s lip balm can get it
- this sexy black man can get it
- those typewriters can get it haha jk i’m not Ezra from Pretty Little Liars
- Spike Jonze can get it sorry Sofia doesn’t want to get it anymore
- Sofia Coppola can always get it except in Godfather 3
- Cate Blanchett can’t get it anymore, sorry boo
- Matthew McConaughey can’t get it when he talks about god
- Matthew McConaughey can get it when he says ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT ALL RIGHT
- Steve McQueen can get it
- To be clear, Benedict Cumberbatch can never get it
I’M RIGHT HERE
The afternoon just kept getting more beautiful, and I kept taking pictures. I think I got a sunburn on the east side of my river run. I beat the stranger I was racing with. He didn’t know we were racing. He did. He did and I beat him. There was a rainbow over the freeway bridge on my way to the train, I thought of The Pretender
I’m going to rent myself a house
In the shade of the freeway
I’m going to pack my lunch in the morning
And go to work each day
And when the evening rolls around
I’ll go on home and lay my body down
And when the morning light comes streaming in
I’ll get up and do it again
Say it again
I listened to it through Oldtown and over the river, my face settled into a contented smile. My whole body smiled. I was sweaty and sweet and my hair curled wildly and I could feel myself being looked at and for once I didn’t mind. In the sun on the bridge I didn’t mind.
After the grocery store, the sun was setting for real, I could see it from the overpass, silver and orange behind blue clouds. I stared and stared out the window, tried to stare even harder, at the pine silhouettes and the houses of my youth on a ridge over the train tracks, and the reflection of my eyelashes in the window. The bus transfer wasn’t coming for ten minutes, ten cool minutes in pink air that tasted good, I sat and almost-shivered on a bench at the bus stop in sweatpants handed down from my mom and a coat handed down from Emma and an old Portland Running Company t-shirt from when I worked there and texted Marie to make sure she saw the evening before it ended.
I haven’t been able to find the right words lately. These aren’t the right ones, I’m not telling it right. I’m sorry. The boy texts me, “Hey, how was your weekend,” and I want to say, “I had a cold. I’m better now. Did you see the sunset tonight? Do you want to go out tomorrow? Will you buy me a beer and kiss me at the bus stop?”
I’ve been taking better care of myself this week. Just little things: not eating to the point of nausea every day, consuming fruits and vegetables, taking it easy on the coffee, running when I can, walking on my lunch break, using gentler products on my stupid gross face, sleeping reasonable amounts, teaching myself to like lentils. So I haven’t lost weight and my stupid face still looks gross, but it feels REALLY GOOD to live inside my body right now and I can’t stop smiling about it.
Gonna drink a Red Bull, about to feel disgusting probs.
— I think I’m kind of flirting with the offsite IT guy I’ve never met, and my computer hasn’t been working for 2.5 hours this morning. It’s almost lunch, though!
March playlist is fun and dancey and for when you’re feeling so good about life that Monday morning is a really good time of day for you because you’ve got the whole week ahead and it looks gorgeous. It’s for walking in the rain and skipping next to the river and getting good at your new job and remembering that everything is going to be ok and still thinking basketball is really fucking boring.
Oh, also I pre-ground the last of the Intelligentsia coffee to French Press after I get done running and showering tomorrow. BOOM YOU WANNA DANCE WITH ME, MONDAY?
Finished everything that I needed to today, including cleaning my room, the most painless and immediately gratifying task that I put off for weeks at a time, and I’m sleeping in my running clothes to get up early and run before work and I’m drinking a small glass of red wine leftover from a dinner made months ago by a dude who was trying to wife me up and touching up my silver nail polish it’s 7:57 pm on a Sunday I have clean sheets and a clean room and I’m listening to Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros. I’m about to sleep so good that it’s almost obscene.
Like here’s the thing I think a lot of guys on dating apps/websites/in bars don’t understand, and I don’t say this in an UGH DUDES kind of way I mean I actually think they really don’t understand it: there is a difference between casual sex and transactional sex. Neither is necessarily bad or necessarily good, but they ARE fundamentally different.
In that NY mag article about the “4 Most Desirable People” on social media or whatever, the straight woman says, “Seventy percent of the messages are straight-up blunt, vulgar shit. Even if I would just have fun with you … you need to not approach it that way.” And I immediately knew where she was coming from. I have had sex with men who I cared nothing about and expected nothing from (Christine Friar says end all sentences with prepositions dismantle the patriarchy who am I to disagree?). I would have some interest in doing that again. So why do I find it so unappealing—physically, I recoil from my phone screen—when men send messages that, without small talk, offer sex or unspecified casual hookups?
Because, as she says, you’re approaching it wrong. What you say you’re offering is casual sex, but what you’re actually offering is a transaction. The terms vary, though not much. Will there be a drink or two first, will it be at your place or mine, do you say you’ll go down on me first. As I see it, casual sex is sex between two people who are attracted to each other but don’t have strong feelings about each other. Transactional sex is sex between two people who want sex with SOMEBODY and have found, or are trying to find, a willing somebody attached to the preferred sexual organs.
Again, neither is necessarily bad, as long as they’re consensual, and I’ve done both, but I think it’s an important distinction to make especially where you have things like OKCupid where you have people saying they’re interested in casual sex and then guys wondering why it doesn’t work if they simply message an offer. It doesn’t work because that’s just what it is: an opening offer, negotiation to follow, receipt upon delivery of promised services. It’s not. the. same. thing.
I can only speak anecdotally, about this as all things, but in terms of ways to get asked on a second date, a thing I have found works is talking on the first date about how you would, theoretically, totally bang the dudes who were cooler than you in high school just to prove you could now and you recognize that in this way they still win, and then when the first-dater gives you a ride home and tells you, while you basically ignore him and scroll through his iTunes, “You’re pretty awesome,” respond, “I think so, too.”
This has gotten unfathomably good results. Being obnoxious has really great returns on first dates, for whatever reason. Also order whiskey because it’s right up there with beer as far as drinks dudes inexplicably equate with you being the sort of girl who wants to bring them a Coors and then watch sports and suck their dick, possibly at the same time, without requiring any sort of emotional or sexual reciprocation.
I made choices this week to stay. These do not come naturally. We’re a flighty bunch, my clan. Mom moved again last week. Apartments, jobs, cities, lifestyles, states, careers, hobbies, diets. My old room in Brooklyn is opening up again. Oh, that room, with Eleanor right next door an anxious shout away, with the living room filled with books and the sounds of trucks driving down Franklin Ave and the crazy old man shouting and singing on his porch across the street in the middle of the night. With Caroline a forty minute walk away through my favorite part of Brooklyn, sunset orange behind Atlantic Station leaving my house now meet you at Mission Dolores. Williamsburg and Greenpoint a 20 minute Subway ride away on the old silver G trains, and a walk down to the waterfront. Oh Manhattan my beautiful Chrysler building, my bartenders who know me, my beautiful anonymous 24 hour diners where they don’t know me at all. My bodegas and our landlady and oh oh oh my young adulthood my little baby grownup self so close oh just giving up here I could get on a plane in a month and a half.
I don’t miss New York because it’s New York, New York the city so nice they named it twice the Big Apple. I miss it because it was my home, the city I lived in, unglamourously, for the first part of my adulthood, because it’s the place whose grime and noise and particular dirty sad sweetness I soaked up for three and a half years. Because it’s a place that contains so many people I love. It’s a place that for three and a half years defied my impulse to move always move on.
I decided to stay in Portland. I am staying. I am here. For now, I am here.
- Top 10 Favorite(/Best) Episodes of "Veronica Mars"
it’s very frustrating being a girl and trying to flirt with other girls like. you tell them, ur cute. ‘Aw thank...
Lissie—Story of My Life
LISSIE RELEASED A ONE DIRECTION COVER AND IT IS MAGICAL. MAGICAL, MAGICAL, MAGICAL.
- Why I Wear Makeup
-In this reality, I’m past puberty and still get pimples so I’m gonna make like Prez Nixon and try to cover that shit up