there's only one place where this road ever ends up
and I don't want to die alone
let me down, let me down, let me down gently
when the police come to get me
everything's going to be okay soon
maybe tomorrow
maybe the next day
i will walk down to the end with you
if you will come all the way down with me
| me: | lets skype. im naked |
|---|---|
| melissa: | omg i was gonna go to bed fbngfj |
| me: | i mean |
| me: | when was the last time you saw these boobs |
| me: | its been awhile |
| melissa: | LIKE |
| melissa: | 2009 |
| melissa: | brb i have to take a shit |
my apologies to the guys on my tumblr if this grosses you out but M . T . E .
‘Later’ is ‘never’, in general, for creators.
“I’m just gonna go to his house,” I told a few people when they asked where I’d be interviewing James Deen. I tried to seem as casual as possible. The responses ranged from people thinking I was walking into a rape-trap, to wrinkled noses, to one friend who was convinced we were going to hook up.
His assumption wasn’t unfounded. For months I’d been telling people I knew of James Deen, the young Jewish porn ingenue, from a Heeb Magazine article I’d read about him. This was a bold-faced lie. I knew of James Deen because I’ve watched his movies. In college, my friend Lee (the same one convinced James and I were going to bang) realized I liked nerdy Jews and directed me to James’s filmography. He definitely has his niche audience, uh, nailed.
So I have a long-standing crush. Fine. I’m a journalist. I can be professional. Way in the beginning, I knew I wanted James for 100 Interviews because I think he represents a new kind of porn star, but I also worried about the personal aspect of the pieces I write here. I’d be lying if I wrote like I only knew of James from “reading the articles” to borrow a Playboy excuse. A few months ago, I decided to go for it anyway, tweeting at him, “What’s a girl got to do to get your email address?” I expected nothing. He’s got over 23,000 followers, most of them women. Within an hour, he direct messaged me. I told him I’d be in Los Angeles in June and we agreed to meet up and do the interview.Friday, I had my friend Charlie drive me to James’s house, where he was actually packing up to move. Charlie had concerns. “I’m just gonna drop you off?,” he asked in the car. The conversation occurred in various forms in the days leading up to the interview. Charlie didn’t want to come inside with me and play ‘big brother,’ but he grappled with the idea of leaving a female friend in the clutches of a porn actor. Eventually, I convinced him to let me go alone.
ohhhhhhmygod and the award for most perfect human being goes to
big dick baker wants me to come over on saturday
8)
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
— from The Velveteen Rabbit (or How Toys Become Real) by Margery Williams, 1922
(via bolinismyboyfriend)
i didnt want to get a bowl for my ice cream so i just put the 4L tub on the ground but then my cat started eating it and then my dog started eating it
Instead of saying “I don’t have time” try saying “it’s not a priority,” and see how that feels. Often, that’s a perfectly adequate explanation. I have time to iron my sheets, I just don’t want to. But other things are harder. Try it: “I’m not going to edit your résumé, sweetie, because it’s not a priority.” “I don’t go to the doctor because my health is not a priority.” If these phrases don’t sit well, that’s the point. Changing our language reminds us that time is a choice. If we don’t like how we’re spending an hour, we can choose differently.
(via homewrecked)
