…I’m expecting a reply back tomorrow morning from them stating one word,
…I’m expecting a reply back tomorrow morning from them stating one word,
I looooooooatheeeee when the male gender throw this line in their ‘how to bag a girl’ playbook. I don’t understand what pre-pubescent cave they lurked out of and decided today was the day their balls decided to drop a few levels, but females alike are not the same. Just because you dated a Puerto Rican or Dominican for a couple of weeks doesn’t entitle you with all knowing knowledge of taming a woman of the Spaniard decent. If you dated a Korean that doesn’t mean you have a cluster of a clue into the world of Asian women.
We are not the same, we may share the same traditions/lifestyles and a few minor similarities, but we are not identical. I don’t care if your last girlfriend ate the same tortillas as me and share the same love for whatever Mexican related habit I have, you have no fucking clue how to handle me.
Crawl back into your cave and learn how to woo a female the proper way that doesn’t insult her ethnicity, but also her ability to love freely without being domesticated by an incompetent male.
(via source if you don’t feel like reading through this blog.)
Dear President Obama,
Do you really want to be the new “war president”? If you go to West Point tomorrow night (Tuesday, 8pm) and announce that you are increasing, rather than withdrawing, the troops in Afghanistan, you are the new war president. Pure and simple. And with that you will do the worst possible thing you could do — destroy the hopes and dreams so many millions have placed in you. With just one speech tomorrow night you will turn a multitude of young people who were the backbone of your campaign into disillusioned cynics. You will teach them what they’ve always heard is true — that all politicians are alike. I simply can’t believe you’re about to do what they say you are going to do. Please say it isn’t so.
It is not your job to do what the generals tell you to do. We are a civilian-run government. WE tell the Joint Chiefs what to do, not the other way around. That’s the way General Washington insisted it must be. That’s what President Truman told General MacArthur when MacArthur wanted to invade China. “You’re fired!,” said Truman, and that was that. And you should have fired Gen. McChrystal when he went to the press to preempt you, telling the press what YOU had to do. Let me be blunt: We love our kids in the armed services, but we f*#&in’ hate these generals, from Westmoreland in Vietnam to, yes, even Colin Powell for lying to the UN with his made-up drawings of WMD (he has since sought redemption).
I understand that cooking Thanksgiving dinner was not only an enormous task, but also took amazing patience as well as multitasking abilities. I was beyond grateful when the plate of Stuffing, green beans & potatoes, macaroni & cheese (home cooked, no Kraft boxes in sight,) and juicy turkey that was sliced to perfection landed on my plate and served to me steamy hot.
The best part of thanksgiving dinner is the left overs that follow the day after. Still excited about the amount of food we had basking in the chilled surfaces of our refrigerator (since for the past 3 years I’ve been living off of spaghetti and cup-a-noodles, along with various fast food places, and cheap pizza parlors) I more than welcomed you telling me left overs were going to be dinner for the next couple of days.
Friday came, Saturday came, and Sunday came. Stuffing, Mac & cheese, green beans… turkey. I ate it. Over, and over and over and over again. Once Sunday came and you told put a plate of repeat Thursday dinner in front of me, I gulped, then sighed, and ate with no complaints. How can I complain about a once delectable meal that tantalized my taste buds? You slaved for days before to prepare such a feast, a mere moan and groan of eating left overs would just insult your time clocked in to feed me.
But once I saw the note left on the kitchen table reading the following:
KC - Still some left over thanksgiving dinner, warm it up and eat it for lunch! I’m going to to grocery store possibly tomorrow. Love, Mom.
POSSIBLY TOMORROW!? THANKSGIVING DINNER AGAIN?! You are pushing it, I will not go down without a fight. If this means I’ll be eating lucky charms throughout today and cheese crackers until the sun comes up the following day so be it. Thanksgiving has come and gone, and so has my sensational urge for stuffing. I demand to be fed a different meal………………………………………….Please.
Your new found Turkey of a Daughter.
Mine was from my dad, He gave me snow. I always wanted a white Christmas and of course in Okinawa I could never get one. I wrote Santa every single day for 3 months asking and asking and asking for just a slight flurry, even for 5 seconds.
My dad obviously knew he couldn’t summon the powers of a water bender (sorry for my Avatar reference) and I’m pretty sure he wasn’t Storm from X-men so he did the next best thing, He bought a snow machine. He made me stay over at my house mothers for Christmas eve, and just when it turned 5 am he picked me up and told me Santa left me an early Christmas present. I was so excited, I rushed into the house and there all in my living room, dining room, and kitchen were mountains of snow piles. My dad dropped the temperature down to freezing, covered the floors in tarp, moved all the furniture and gave me my white Christmas inside the house.
Best Christmas present I ever received.
Tumblr has been known for its various amounts of Drama. From level headed bloggers ignited with rage when negativity pours into their formspring, to people that don’t have a face or personal references that thrive off dishing the negativity.
I think of all of us on tumblr as a giant masked costume ball back in the 17th century. We can dress however we want, put on a mask and live our lives for that one night how we always wanted to. No judgments, no dismay, no consequences. Except with ours, it’s just not one night, it’s every time we log on and hit the “Create Post” button. For some they are no longer wearing the mask concealing their identity, they may still be wearing a costume, but we know who we’re dancing with. For others, they’re not only still wearing their mask, but they have collected a few others along the way.
The masked characters in our ball have turned from once fellow associates with the same purpose to now enemies with a hidden agenda. They heckle in corners picking out which unmasked boy or girl to sit and judge. It could be the way that they look, the way they dress, the way they present themselves, or even as ridiculous to the way that they sound. A masked ball that evolved from good fun to a spot light of prejudgments is what we have before us.
I took my mask off many moons ago, I have nothing to be ashamed of and I stand before anybody with the courage of my own convictions. You masked villains can giggle, heckle, point, laugh, and judge me with every last breath in your unidentified body. I may be most of the things you point out, but I am not weak. I at least had the strength to be unmasked and live life while showing my face, all while you’re still hiding yours.
I highly doubt I could ever be considered weak minded compared to you.