honestly i feel so bad for my future husband bc i would ask “do u think im pretty” like 29 times a day and nudge him awake at 3am to ask if he thinks snails have feet
honestly fuck those photos where someone’s room has like one white blanket on the ground next to a plant with like two pastel sweaters on a clothes rack. welcome to my cluttered hellscape of a bedroom. there are no clean walls. clothes are erupting from every crevice. my bed has 14 pillows and none of the pillowcases match. where the hell is my representation on this damn website.
It just occurred to me, as I’m going through the Harry Potter books again, that whenever Harry has visions through Voldemorts eyes that he always, every single time, distinguishes between himself and Voldemort with the mention of “a white hand held a wand which was not his own”, or something to the effect of describing Voldemorts whiteness. While I’ve always taken this as a comment on how Voldemort is inhumanly, disgustingly pale, It occurred to me that a dark-skinned Harry Potter WOULD notice the stark, shocking difference in hands every single time without fail.
If you are the 10th largest company in the world, why is it that your only mission is to be the 9th largest company in the world? Why isn’t it about the value for your customers and making sure your workers are getting paid fair wages so they don’t have to be on welfare? Why aren’t you looking at the quality of life that you’re creating? There’s only so much you need to have and you’re not taking it with you when you’re gone. You’re passing down values to your children and the values shouldn’t be more, more, more, more; it should be about what we’re getting together and our collective humanity. I’m a humanitarian, so this is why I’m speaking out for Bernie. Because he’s a humanitarian.
“Teenage years are the time you make your mistakes. It’s what shapes you into being a good adult. It’s very difficult to make those honest mistakes that every teenager makes when you’re in a position that you can’t make mistakes.”
Once I worked as an intern in the state capital. One of the representatives I worked for was this middle-aged guy. And he hated the tampon and napkin machines in the women’s bathrooms. Hated them. He insisted that they weren’t necessary.
I found out why after I’d been working there, oh, about a month. My period started suddenly, as it sometimes does, and I asked to excuse myself to go to the ladies’ room. He wanted to know why. I told him.
He started ranting about how lazy women were. How we wasted time. How we were so careless and unhygenic, and that there was no call for that. He finished by telling me that I certainly was NOT going to the ladies’ room and that I was just going to sit there and work. He finished this off with a decisive nod, as if I’d just been told and there could be no possible argument.
“If I don’t go,” I said in an overly patient tone, “the blood is going to soak through my pants, stain my new skirt that I just bought, and possibly get on this chair I’m sitting in. I need something to soak up the blood. That’s why I need to go to the bathroom.”
His face turned oatmeal-gray; an expression of pure horror spread across his face. He leaned forward and whispered, “Wait, you mean that if you don’t go, you’ll just keep on bleeding? I thought that women could turn it off any time that they wanted!”
I thought, You have got to be kidding.
Several horrified whispers later, I learned that he wasn’t. He actually thought a) that women could shut down the menstrual cycle at will, b) that we essentially picked a week per month to spend more time in the bathroom, i.e. to goof off, and c) that napkins and tampons were sex toys paid for by Health and Human Services. I didn’t know the term then, but he believed that tampons were dildos. Which was why he and a good number of his friends considered them luxuries.
And that’s how, at twenty, I had to give a talk on menstruation to a middle-aged married state representative who was one of my bosses. American politics, ladies and gentlemen.
