Today was one of those days where I broke up with a habit because I know in the long run it’s doing more harm than help, and not just because I have an immediate problem with it.

Closing what should have been a small and insignificant door.

Sam’s making glass on Minecraft. The most peaceful game ever made.

I don’t know what is happening to my brain, but I think I’m supposed to stop smoking weed and I’m not actually that excited about giving up another vice I love.

cigarettes, GLUTEN for fucks sake, caffeine, now weed?

My body demands a lifestyle, and so I follow.





Nobody gives the black girl mob credit for being smart as fuck. They clown but at the end of the day they are really intelligent.

And it’s not subtle at all.
Taystee is a math prodigy in addition to being well-read, Poussey is multilingual, Cindy just knows shit, Suzanne studies Shakespeare, Watson was a good student in addition to being a track star, Vee is basically an evil genius. Piper often learns the most from them; they taught her how to fight and helped translate Pennsatucky’s biblical threat.
The show flat out acknowledges the (academic) intelligence of the black inmates time and time again, but the audience collectively ignores it.


Yeah but I wonder why these qualities were represented only within the context of incarceration. There really haven’t been too many shows that represent minorities as intellectuals and it’s kinda offensive that it’s taken this long to see intellectual representation and worse it’s when minorities are in jail.

But isn’t that commentary on the social aspect of life, possibly boundaries and decision making skills, while leaving intact and unquestioned ones relative intelligence.

Pointing out that bad choices are not always a product of intellect, but guidance and circumstance.

I have never watched this show. Sounds a little typical though, like the wise old black man kind of deal, but instead of one man its a group of women. Bam! Have fun with that angsty feminists!

(Source: ageofdesiderata)

I love reading things written about nice guys. I think its such an interesting psychological peak into a group of people who is having a lot of trouble, but obviously isn’t sure why.

I have never been a nice guy, and I don’t know what it feels like to be one, but what nice guys do, and what everyone hates about everyone that does this not just nice guys, is they play the victim.

"You broke up with me because you didn’t understand what a nice guy I was and all the things I was going to do for you in the future." said everyone whining self identified nice guy.

I know there are a lot of crazy people out there, a lot of people who want drama and passion and they want to be a mess, they crave a bit of violence, or turbulence. So maybe you ended up with a crazy girl who just can’t deal with peace. My Nana is like this, she neeeeds drama. And if that’s the case in the end, you nice guy, didn’t wanna be with her in the first place, because what you want is a nice girl.

But what the nice guy seems to fail to consider is that maybe their all encompassing “I’ve got you, no matter what you’ve been through” can be a little smothering. But maybe not in the way they typically consider.

Most people who have been through something that’s made them a bit unbalanced need to deal with it themselves. As much as you want to talk about it with them, they need to be allowed to do so at their own rate, and they need to feel empowered about their feelings.

As Dale Carnegie says, most of the worst offending criminals in all of history do not see themselves as criminals, they rationalize their behavior to themselves so that what they did, what they do, makes sense and how could anyone else not get it. Nice guys rationalize that because they are so nice, its obviously the girls’ they date’s fault that it didn’t work out. But maybe most of these girls that are up and running away from those guys who are so nice and would do anything to help their girls, are just running away from a man who’s put himself in the rescuer role..

Check out this graphic for a good understanding of the “Dreaded Drama Triangle”

When somebody plays the rescuer role, “I can help you if you’d only let me” and somebody else is resisting, what they are resisting is allowing someone else to “rob them of the ability to help themselves” (my mom says this line all the time, sorry if it sounds dramatic, but its accurate). Maybe nice guys would have more luck if they didn’t go around trying to help anyone. Because that’s what they’re upset about right? That they’re there and willing, but being pushed away. You’re trying to rescue girls who do not want to be victims. When you frame your mindset in this way, it is obvious to the other person. No matter how many times you tell yourself, I’m just trying to help, what you’re really doing is just trying to take control.

And when you can’t have control, you get hurt, and play the victim and make your girlfriend into the prosecutor, she did it to you. And then you ask her to rescue you, by allowing you to rescue her.

Sounds like a lot of game playing. Here’s the kicker, you can’t leave this triangle of dysfunction that someone else is asking you to be a part of, from anywhere but the position of the bad guy, which we see in men who write stories about how nice they are and how dumb the girls they date are.

And then there’s the other ever present fact to consider, most of the time, it just doesn’t work out between anyone, no matter what your self proclaimed status of human is. Maybe she’s just telling you whatever you want to hear, or maybe she doesn’t know why she doesn’t want to be with you, but plain and simple, you just aren’t doing it for her.

And that my friends, just makes you fucking normal.

I feel like a lot of bitching on the internet right now is people saying “You say something, and I know its going to have a lot of weight with people I think are too stupid to take care of themselves, and I’m sad because most humans don’t have that much influence over their own lives.”

And some people say “fuck you, all those humans have a choice”

And some people say “No! They’re not really smart enough to figure out the right way.”

And one time somebody said “YEAH, I’M NOT SMART ENOUGH” and took advantage of someone’s sympathy and then we found out in what way this group of people is smart.

But people who fight for these people from the perspective of pity for them because they’re too stupid, are often incredibly indignant about everything.

Which probably puts them onto somebody’s list of people too dysfunctional to achieve task X.

And so it goes.

I dreamed I was part of another family last night, and I ended up on a porch that is a recurring location in my dreams, and there were shooting stars that were really close and nobody noticed them or saw one a single time but me.

They were so bright and so close. Why didn’t anyone else see them?

I added some new work I haven’t posted anywhere yet, to my Etsy account today.

Check it out:


Thirty one seemed so old when I was twenty,
sneaking into Max’s Tavern where you knew
all the bartenders and we nightly got shitty
on whatever beer was cheapest. Back when
your need seemed romantic and I thought
your calluses might mean something
beyond history- the seventh-place 500-meter
hurdler in the nation for high-schoolers,
a junior Olympian. I saw you leap all the way
over the hood of some Honda in the parking lot
once on a bet. I saw you drink more whiskey than anyone
would ever believe and do a backflip off the second
story balcony to fuck up your left foot royally.
You were limping for weeks, lost the fifth job you’d had
since I met you- security guard, baker, aquarium salesman
Volkswagen mechanic, fishmonger (you were in love
with every one of them)- and still you wouldn’t see
a doctor. My chest tightens now to look at you
in the picture at the river, your long man’s body tensed,
t-shirt rippling, your tribal-tattooed ankle, even then,
dated. The stone you were skipping had not yet left
your hand. I remember the smell of your Wolverine
muttonchops, the taste of your inner elbow
and Seagram’s 7, the hot, wet violence of your hands
in my hair. And then I remember you dragging me
out of our room at The Palms Motel by the fistful of it,
after I’d dumped a gram of your coke in the carpet
followed by my glass of whiskey and still wouldn’t leave.
Old men with leather faces in bent fedoras just sat
smoking in the parking lot with neutral expressions
under the half-burnt-out neon. I was not the first girl
to scream here. I crossed the dark tarmac towards the light
of a McDonald’s, bought you a McRib sandwich
and left it on the doorstep because you would not let me in."

— Rebecca Bornstein: Brian  (via swingingaxes)

Sometimes I think about how tangled my life used to feel. We never did coke and nobody ever dragged me out by my hair, but I think it’s safe to say someone wanted to, and would have if I’d stuck around longer. I think we, the desperate and depressed people of the world hide from ourselves in situations like these.

And now that, as it stands, I’m settling down with Sam, I am faced with the demons I carry with me, instead of the ones I used to create and surround myself with. The difference is that sometimes the demons you create, can create fun for you. My own bring only pain. Though there is joy in a break through.

(via hobartpulp)


7th Street Residence by Pulltab Design

This is amazing. These people are friends of my parents, the designers of Pulltab, and I came across this sweet ass interior design by them in the featured sections.

I just realized that I was sitting in my little art studio in my house listening to my boyfriend tell our room mate he has to move out. I told the other room mate she had to move out.

Anyway, I’ve been listening to this while I try to decide what to do with my schooling, and I noticed it was making me feel like I did when I was a little kid and I’d strain to hear what my parents were talking about at night after I went to bed. But I could never make out quite what they were saying, or I’d be able to figure out what they were talking about, but not how either one felt about it.

Anyways, I realized that is WAY too intense a feeling to be holding about my roommate and boyfriend arguing, because he needs to move the fuck out and we’re not his parents.


Trying to stop myself from feeling childlike anxiety about adult things that need to be done, and remind myself that these things are happening to me or around me anymore, and I have control over most, if not all of the things in some way or another.


All I want are succulents, good grades, and my boy’s love


Me too.