I told my mom that my roommate has a girlfriend, because it is true. My mom asks “why is it so hip to be in a homosexual relationship?”
How should I have responded?
Pretty much. Maybe make it sound a bit better. “Hey, I think you’re cool and I like your Tumblr. Maybe we can be friends outside of tumblr? Do you have Facebook,etc?”
I’m gonna need to text you about this as I think.
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Fan mail them and ask them if they’d like to do that.
Just be like, “Hey, would you like to be like facebook friends or something?” ?
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Just talk? Offer to talk outside of tumblr, perhaps?
hmm, yeah, but how?
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So, I follow a person on Tumblr, and I’ve messaged her, and we talk occasionally, but I’d kinda like to get to know her a little better. You know, determine if I like her, like, like-like, or not. But, I’m not sure how or if I should. I’m now accepting advice.
No, bitch…..you are NOT HARD!!!
YOU JUST SPENT 13 GOTDAMN MONTHS IN FUCKING HARDIN COUNTY DETENTION CENTER! YOU CANT EVEN CALL IT HCDC BECAUSE YOU THINK YOU’RE HARD OR THAT THE DETENTION CENTER IS FUCKING HARD! ITS MUTHAFUCKIN HARDIN COUNTY, BITCH! I USED TO VISIT SOMEONE I LIVED WITH THERE. THE BITCHES IN THE BACKGROUND WERE FUCKING HAVING FUN WHILE IN THERE! THE STORIES NICKI WOULD TELL ME WERE HILARIOUS!!!
YOU ARE NOT HARD. YOU PROBABLY SPENT 13 MONTHS FOR POSSESSION OR TRAFFICING OR SOME STUPID BULLSHIT. QUIT TRYIN TO ACT LIKE YOU’RE FUCKING HARD, OKAY! YOU GRADUATED FROM THE SAME HIGH SCHOOL THAT I DID, AND LIVE IN THE SAME TOWN I GREW UP IN! THAT TOWN IS FULL OF NOTHING BUT WANNABES!!! BITCH, YOU AIN’T SHIT!!! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP, STUPID CUM-GUZZLING, GUTTER-SLUTS!!!
Oh, dear God. I needed this reminder to show me how pathetic the people are that I used to aspire to be.
In high school, I was the band geek that wished I was more like the “cool kids”. Seeing what/who hey are now, I’m SO happy I’m NOTHING like them.
1. I haven’t been to jail yet.
2. I’m WAY more hard/thug then they think they could ever be (if they think HCDC is “harddddd”)
3. I have a job that pays pretty decently, a position in management, working with people that love me, surrounded by people that love and support me, and have the backuo of all of my authorities from my past if I ever need them for anything.
4. I dont sound so fucking lame, tryna act like I’m big and bad bc I got thrown in jail for a year.
5. I (hopefully) don’t get screencapped and made fun of on other websites for the things I say on social medias.
6. I’m not a fucking dumbass tryna make stupid saying that I just made up something that a celebraity said, tryna be cool….again.
7. I’m MUCH happier than you could ever be!
8. A list that could go on for infinity, that I don’t have time for, to prove why I’m MUCH better off being who I am and not who I stupidly aspired to be in high school.
Anger is a legitimate political emotion. And if your life is marked by injustices big and small each and every day, then rage, too, is a legitimate political emotion. I made the choice, though, to let my rage be generative, productive rage, the kind of rage that emboldens me to build the world I want to see rather than take a sledgehammer to all the things I hate. I stay mad. But there is a method to my madness.
Goldberg dishonestly characterizes this demand to be heard as both censorial and anti-democratic, even though if truth be told, it is the very expansion of the number of voices that has white liberals so shook. Like those on the right, she decries the rise of this new brand of political correctness, which demands that we speak of issues like transgender identity, sexual orientation, and ability with sensitivity and care.
She equates these calls from young activists on the radical left with more ludicrous calls for professors to put trigger warnings on their syllabi, when discussing difficult and uncomfortable material. To be clear, I’m an academic. So I have absolutely heard of these kinds of ridiculous demands from students. I’m a big black woman who teaches about all kinds of uncomfortable things like race, gender and sexuality, so for sheltered students who have never even had to think about how race or class or gender plays a role in their lives, I’m a walking trigger warning. Academic freedom is integral to my ability to do my job.
If white liberals were playing offense rather than defense here, they might do the serious work of translating some of these concerns into policy solutions that actually improve the lives of people of color, queer people, people with disabilities, cis and trans women and all the intersections among these groups.
Instead Goldberg lobs thinly veiled threats.
We better accept the inchoate and limited politics of those on the liberal left. Or else. Conservatives will take over the government. (Aren’t they already running shit, though?) She continues:
Anti-liberalism is, after all, supremely useful to the right. Some day president Paul Ryan or Ted Cruz or Rand Paul is going to be sworn in, and an ascendant, empowered conservatism will once again try to curtail dissent in pop culture and academia, just as it always does. Public art won’t be taken down because it’s considered triggering—it will be taken down (or covered up) because it’s considered indecent. There might be another #CancelColbert campaign, but it won’t come from the left. Maybe people will be ashamed, then, that this one did.
The problem, as Goldberg sees it, is radical disenchantment, rather than the puny, spineless, directionless mass that passes for a liberal agenda these days. And it is this lack of intestinal fortitude and courage, not radical anti-liberalism, that will make left politics vulnerable to co-optation on the right.
things i haven’t learned in school:
-how to pay bills
-how to buy a house
-what to say in an interview
-how to apply for bank loans
but it’s all fine because i know that enzymes are biological catalysts that will denature if the pH or temperature they are in is too high so i’m set for life with that really
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I was worried about moving away from Lexington for a long time, but now I am almost looking forward to it.
I really have worn myself out working three jobs, just to make ends meet, for 17 months now.
And I’m sick of feeling run down, and hopeless, and taken advantage of.
I can’t wait for May, when this whole thing kinda becomes a bad dream for a while. I have a better chance at getting a stable job, and I may actually be able to afford a house before too long. And let’s be real, my dating prospects suck in both places, so I’m not really losing there, either.
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Somewhere out there, there is a woman sitting in front of her computer wearing thick rimmed glasses, surfing the internet, paying bills and checking the BBC, stopping occasionally to put her pet ferret, who climbed up onto her desk, back onto the floor. It’s mid-afternoon in May, and she’s sitting by an open window, breeze gently blowing her hair to the side as she tilts her head reading a piece of upsetting, but not overly troubling news. The weasel runs around by her feet, so she picks him up and pets him softly, sighing just a little to herself. She glances at the clock and thinks of a person, just like me, who she’s never met. Wondering when they’ll come home, walking through that door and sitting in that place on the other side of the couch. What I’d pay to see that.
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