I like fashion, makeup, cars, architecture, music, and all things creative. I share what I find, and vent occasionally. Also, Delena. Forever. Just in case you were going to ask.

 

pmon3y69:

drdawg:

my friend Pete literally makes me cry with his snap stories

this is me, i am pete, love me 

A boy sprawled next to me on the bus, elbows out, knee pointing sharp into my thigh.
He frowned at me when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my hands
and splayed out like boys are taught to: all big, loose limbs.
I made sure to jab him in the side with my pretty little sharp purse.
At first he opened his mouth like I expected him to, but instead of speaking up he sat there, quiet, and took it for the whole bus ride.
Like a girl.

Once, a boy said my anger was cute, and he laughed,
and I remember thinking that I should sit there and take it,
because it isn’t ladylike to cause a scene and girls aren’t supposed to raise their voices.
But then he laughed again and all I saw
was my pretty little sharp nails digging into his cheek
before drawing back and making a horribly unladylike fist.
(my teacher informed me later that there is no ladylike way of making a fist.)

When we were both in the principal’s office twenty minutes later
him with a bloody mouth and cheek, me with skinned knuckles,
I tried to explain in words that I didn’t have yet
that I was tired of having my emotions not taken seriously
just because I’m a girl.

Girls are taught: be small, so boys can be big.
Don’t take up any more space than absolutely necessary.
Be small and smooth with soft edges
and hold in the howling when they touch you and it hurts:
the sandpaper scrape of their body hair that we would be shamed for having,
the greedy hands that press too hard and too often take without asking permission.

Girls are taught: be quiet and unimposing and oh so small
when they heckle you with their big voices from the window of a car,
because it’s rude to scream curse words back at them, and they’d just laugh anyway.
We’re taught to pin on smiles for the boys who jeer at us on the street
who see us as convenient bodies instead of people.

Girls are taught: hush, be hairless and small and soft,
so we sit there and take it and hold in the howling,
pretend to be obedient lapdogs instead of the wolves we are.
We pin pretty little sharp smiles on our faces instead of opening our mouths,
because if we do we get accused of silly women emotions
blowing everything out of proportion with our PMS, we get
condescending pet names and not-so-discreet eyerolls.

Once, I got told I punched like a girl.
I told him, Good. I hope my pretty little sharp rings leave scars.

'My Perfume Doubles As Mace,' theappleppielifestyle. (via albinwonderland)

Preach.

(via emilykatheryn)

(Source: theappleppielifestyle)

Well, that was a fucking bust.

Thanks, useless recruiter who lied about the position to fill your quota, effectively wasting everyone’s time and getting my hopes up for nothing.

I hope you get in a car accident with no injuries, but your car is totaled and insurance won’t cover it.

Asshole.

Job interview tomorrow .

I’mma crush this.

Popped: the story of a lonely kernel.

Popped: the story of a lonely kernel.

ringostarring:

ok, new theory. maybe we should play so quietly, no one can hear us

image

well maybe we would sound so bad if some people didn’t try to play with big meaty claws

image

what did you say, punk?

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bIG

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MEATY

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CLAWS

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WELL THESE CLAWS AIN’T JUST FOR ATTRACTING MATES

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BRING IT ON OLD MAN, BRING IT ON

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no people let’s be smart and bring it OFF

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OH SO NOW THE TALKING CHEESE IS GONNA PREACH TO US

image

(Source: ranells)

ofcrosseddaggers:

sing-thebodyelectric:

today a customer asked me for a “medium whatever” and then got frustrated with me when i asked him what he meant

this is it 

this is the post that 100% accurately describes working with the public

Zombie #dog. #derp #dogsofinstagram #petsofinstagram #shegottabigsnout

Zombie #dog. #derp #dogsofinstagram #petsofinstagram #shegottabigsnout

Teaching Consent to Small Children

mysalivaismygifttotheworld:

afrafemme:

A friend and I were out with our kids when another family’s two-year-old came up. She began hugging my friend’s 18-month-old, following her around and smiling at her. My friend’s little girl looked like she wasn’t so sure she liked this, and at that moment the other little girl’s mom came up and got down on her little girl’s level to talk to her.

“Honey, can you listen to me for a moment? I’m glad you’ve found a new friend, but you need to make sure to look at her face to see if she likes it when you hug her. And if she doesn’t like it, you need to give her space. Okay?”

Two years old, and already her mother was teaching her about consent.

My daughter Sally likes to color on herself with markers. I tell her it’s her body, so it’s her choice. Sometimes she writes her name, sometimes she draws flowers or patterns. The other day I heard her talking to her brother, a marker in her hand.

“Bobby, do you mind if I color on your leg?”

Bobby smiled and moved himself closer to his sister. She began drawing a pattern on his leg with a marker while he watched, fascinated. Later, she began coloring on the sole of his foot. After each stoke, he pulled his foot back, laughing. I looked over to see what was causing the commotion, and Sally turned to me.

“He doesn’t mind if I do this,” she explained, “he is only moving his foot because it tickles. He thinks its funny.” And she was right. Already Bobby had extended his foot to her again, smiling as he did so.

What I find really fascinating about these two anecdotes is that they both deal with the consent of children not yet old enough to communicate verbally. In both stories, the older child must read the consent of the younger child through nonverbal cues. And even then, consent is not this ambiguous thing that is difficult to understand.

Teaching consent is ongoing, but it starts when children are very young. It involves both teaching children to pay attention to and respect others’ consent (or lack thereof) and teaching children that they should expect their own bodies and their own space to be respected—even by their parents and other relatives.

And if children of two or four can be expected to read the nonverbal cues and expressions of children not yet old enough to talk in order to assess whether there is consent, what excuse do full grown adults have?

I try to do this every day I go to nursery and gosh it makes me so happy to see it done elsewhere.