Oops. Somehow went from watching Nurse Jackie and deciding a kimono would significantly improve my life and looking for one to post on Pinterest to buying one from China in the space of about five minutes. Ebay Checkout is not my friend.
Over the weekend there, myself and Claire did our (now almost) traditional hungover film watching from my bed. It was the first time she’d seen Heathers and rather unsurprisingly we were both sitting there like a pair of swooning teenagers making noises over Christian Slater.
For our next joint hangover, I predict a screening of Pump Up the Volume.
Gawd he’s so very.
(Source: lobsterqueen)
(Source: patron-saint-of-the-denial)
Now you’re just some bobby I used to know
Since I’ve been loling to myself ever since seeing it for the first time, it’s only fair that I repost.
(Source: beccalovespuddin, via summerlovingtortureparty)
“I just want someone who wants to hang out all the time and thinks I’m the best person in the world and wants to have sex with only me. And it makes me feel very stupid to tell you this, because it makes me sound like a girl who wants to, like, go to brunch, and I really don’t wanna go to brunch and I don’t want you to, like, sit on the couch while I shop, or, like, even meet my friends. I don’t even want that, okay? But I also don’t want to share a sex partner with a girl who seems to have asked for a picture of your dick. And also, I don’t want a picture of your dick because I live very near you, so if you wanted me to look at your dick, I could just come over and look at your dick. And I don’t really see you hearing me and I don’t really see you changing, so. I just summed it up for you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t figure it out sooner. And you must think I am even stupider than you already thought I was. But consider it a testament to your charms, because you might not know this, but you are very, very charming. And I really care about you. And I don’t want to anymore, because it feels too shitty for me. So I’m gonna leave.”
So yeah, I’m admitting defeat. I love Girls. I just wish it had a more search-engine-friendly title.
(Source: actionjacksonlovesbbq)
One of my (many) favourite words in German. Far from how I’m feeling right now, but have known it all too well in the past.
Tracey Emin
HOMAGE TO EDVARD MUNCH AND ALL MY DEAD CHILDREN (detail), 1998
(Source: roslynoxley9.com.au)
Barbara Kruger
Untitled (Thinking of You), 1999-2000
Oh yeah, and seeing as it’s been a while, any recommendations on who or what to follow?
(Source: thisishangingrockcomics, via jeflew)
HEY TUMBLR. Our time together was short but pretty sweet. I’m not really sure why it ended. Try again?
Chocolate spread advertising ability: Germany - 1, England - 0.
Man. So excited/nervous/taking this all far too seriously.
"Eliot says that even the most progressive parents subconsciously treat their sons and daughters differently. In her book, she describes an experiment where newborns are dressed in gender-neutral clothes: “People are very disconcerted if they don’t know if a baby is a boy or a girl, and they don’t know how to interact with the baby, which is telling in itself.” When adults were misled into thinking they knew the sex of a baby, by calling a baby girl Jonathan or dressing a baby boy in pink, they would interpret identical behaviour through a gender-tinted lens. Adults would describe the “boys” (actually girls) as angry or distressed more often than those adults who knew their true sex. And they would describe the “girls” (actually boys) as joyful and engaged more often than adults who knew the babies were boys."
Lise Eliot - Pink Brain, Blue Brain: How Small Differences Grow into Troublesome Gaps – and What We Can Do About It, taken from Times Online, The Secret Lives of Boys an Girls by Helena de Bertodano
Surely the fact the paper has decided the article should be listed under the life & style > women category counts as irony. Interesting read though.
I’ll tell you he’s my least favourite Beatle, but I’m going to see him next Sunday, and couldn’t be more excited. This is probably one of my favourite Beatles songs, which in in turn, probably means it’s one of my favourite songs in the world. Since I was younger, I was always fascinated by the story behind the vocals. I first became properly obsessed with it in the car in the car park of the Royal Infirmary, where my grandad was dying. But I loved it before then. I don’t associate the song with then. It was a different entity completely, and since then it has never had any real time, place or feeling explicitly associated with it. I can put it on repeat like I am ten, like I am twenty, and the grooves of it still don’t wear thin. I still want to breakdown every time I hear it. I think maybe the best thing about it is that I can’t put my finger on why I love it so much.
Then after the grinning and bearing of Octopus’s Garden, we get onto I Want You (She’s So Heavy). That’s another drunken rant completely.
