3811
02 Aug 14 at 1 am

humansofnewyork:

“I didn’t get married until I was 55. But boy was it worth the wait. He looked just like Peter O’Toole!”

humansofnewyork:

“I didn’t get married until I was 55. But boy was it worth the wait. He looked just like Peter O’Toole!”
 50891
01 Aug 14 at 11 pm

sherlock-awa-holmes:

Just to clarify 

(via niceak)

sherlock-awa-holmes:

Just to clarify 
 442
01 Aug 14 at 11 pm

(Source: androsetyler, via so-do-it)

abbygubler:

kazekagays:

metaphoricalanchor:

Reasons to dye your hair bright and unnatural colors

  • Because you wanna
  • Being punk rock
  • Looking hella cute
  • Small children’s reactions

MY FAV PART 

(Source: nonchalantcroissant, via theannieplanet)

 14400
01 Aug 14 at 11 pm

(Source: hawtornes, via so-do-it)

1000drawings:

Stella im hultbe
 6
01 Aug 14 at 11 pm

(Source: tulipecomix)

 279758
01 Aug 14 at 11 pm

(Source: nightseoul, via niceak)

 1871
01 Aug 14 at 10 pm

vicemag:

There Is Nothing Pretentious About Being a Vegan

A couple of days ago, I received a very angry email from someone in reference to an article I wrote about a restaurant. In the article, I mentioned that I wasn’t a huge fan of eating in pretentious restaurants. I also mentioned that I am a vegan. This did not sit well with the young man who emailed me. “You’re going to make fun of people for being pretentious when you’re a fucking vegan?” he wrote. “Fuck off.”

I went back and looked at the comments on the post in question. He was not alone in his sentiment. 

One commenter, a man named Dante Thompson, told me that I was a “dick” for ordering vegan food. He also called me a “fucking hipster.” 

Another guy named Riley Ulrich wrote, “You are a fucking piece if [sic] shit and you should be fired. Everybody hates you.”

The implication that I am a pretentious eater is odd to me. Above is an image of what I had for lunch today. A slightly miserable-looking faux-meatball sub. For breakfast, I had Doritos. For dinner, I intend to go to Taco Bell. Animal products aside, I eat like a particularly fussy child (or, at the very least, an adult skateboarder).

When I hit my 20s, I started trying to eat a salad or some other such healthy bullshit for at least one meal a day, because that feels like something a grown-up should do. But my heart isn’t in it. In an ideal world, I would eat pretty much nothing but meat and cheese served in or on some kind of gray carbohydrate. 

But we don’t live in an ideal world. We live in a world where the best-tasting kind of foods are literally made from death and suffering. 

This is why I don’t eat meat or animal products. Because meat and animal products are a giant fucking bummer. I don’t need to tell you where your meat and dairy come from, because you’ve already seen it. And you know it looks like a fucking miserable nightmare of seared-off beaks, bolts through brains, and twitching corpses on dirty floors.

And we can all agree it’s miserable, right? Regardless of whether or not you consume the end products of the meat and dairy industries, surely we can all admit that mass, industrialized death is not all that nice? There’s a bunch of other stuff I could go into here about greenhouse gases caused by the meat industry, or contaminated water run-off, or meat causing colon cancer. But that would be dishonest, because I didn’t consider any of that stuff when deciding to become a vegan.

I’m not saying that, because I try to avoid hurting animals, I’m somehow more ethical than you. Nobody is ethical. Humans are cancer. Everything would be better off if we were all dead. I’m typing this on a fossil-fuel-powered laptop that contains conflict minerals and was, I assume, manufactured in conditions that look vastly different from the conditions that I am working in right now.

I’m also wearing a shirt that cost $6. I’m not totally sure how it was manufactured, shipped to the US, and sold to me, but I’d imagine someone is getting shit on pretty heavily somewhere along the chain if the whole thing cost $6. And how awful is that? I’m wearing a shirt that probably made multiple humans miserable as it was being created, and almost certainly harmed the planet in a fairly major way, and I don’t even know where it came from or how it was made. There is no way of living in the modern world without doing morally reprehensible things on a daily basis. 

What I’m trying to say is that I am a piece of shit. And so are you. And I don’t care what you eat. You can eat whatever, whenever, and however the fuck you want. As previously discussed, beyond the whole murder thing, I barely even give a shit what I eat. I definitely don’t have time to worry about what you put in your mouth. 

Continue

(via niceak)

vicemag:

There Is Nothing Pretentious About Being a Vegan
A couple of days ago, I received a very angry email from someone in reference to an article I wrote about a restaurant. In the article, I mentioned that I wasn’t a huge fan of eating in pretentious restaurants. I also mentioned that I am a vegan. This did not sit well with the young man who emailed me. “You’re going to make fun of people for being pretentious when you’re a fucking vegan?” he wrote. “Fuck off.”
I went back and looked at the comments on the post in question. He was not alone in his sentiment. 
One commenter, a man named Dante Thompson, told me that I was a “dick” for ordering vegan food. He also called me a “fucking hipster.” 
Another guy named Riley Ulrich wrote, “You are a fucking piece if [sic] shit and you should be fired. Everybody hates you.”

The implication that I am a pretentious eater is odd to me. Above is an image of what I had for lunch today. A slightly miserable-looking faux-meatball sub. For breakfast, I had Doritos. For dinner, I intend to go to Taco Bell. Animal products aside, I eat like a particularly fussy child (or, at the very least, an adult skateboarder).
When I hit my 20s, I started trying to eat a salad or some other such healthy bullshit for at least one meal a day, because that feels like something a grown-up should do. But my heart isn’t in it. In an ideal world, I would eat pretty much nothing but meat and cheese served in or on some kind of gray carbohydrate. 
But we don’t live in an ideal world. We live in a world where the best-tasting kind of foods are literally made from death and suffering. 
This is why I don’t eat meat or animal products. Because meat and animal products are a giant fucking bummer. I don’t need to tell you where your meat and dairy come from, because you’ve already seen it. And you know it looks like a fucking miserable nightmare of seared-off beaks, bolts through brains, and twitching corpses on dirty floors.
And we can all agree it’s miserable, right? Regardless of whether or not you consume the end products of the meat and dairy industries, surely we can all admit that mass, industrialized death is not all that nice? There’s a bunch of other stuff I could go into here about greenhouse gases caused by the meat industry, or contaminated water run-off, or meat causing colon cancer. But that would be dishonest, because I didn’t consider any of that stuff when deciding to become a vegan.
I’m not saying that, because I try to avoid hurting animals, I’m somehow more ethical than you. Nobody is ethical. Humans are cancer. Everything would be better off if we were all dead. I’m typing this on a fossil-fuel-powered laptop that contains conflict minerals and was, I assume, manufactured in conditions that look vastly different from the conditions that I am working in right now.
I’m also wearing a shirt that cost $6. I’m not totally sure how it was manufactured, shipped to the US, and sold to me, but I’d imagine someone is getting shit on pretty heavily somewhere along the chain if the whole thing cost $6. And how awful is that? I’m wearing a shirt that probably made multiple humans miserable as it was being created, and almost certainly harmed the planet in a fairly major way, and I don’t even know where it came from or how it was made. There is no way of living in the modern world without doing morally reprehensible things on a daily basis. 
What I’m trying to say is that I am a piece of shit. And so are you. And I don’t care what you eat. You can eat whatever, whenever, and however the fuck you want. As previously discussed, beyond the whole murder thing, I barely even give a shit what I eat. I definitely don’t have time to worry about what you put in your mouth. 
Continue
 4646
01 Aug 14 at 10 pm

internetgurls:

Asher Penn

Untitled (Institutional Critique), 2012

Young Art

(via girlpanties)

eucharistie:

"tu as déboulé dans ma vie comme un missile israélien dans une école palestinienne"

J’y pense tous les jours

 192173
01 Aug 14 at 3 am

kate-wisehart:

idontlikeyourcat:

In which Darcy never learned how to pronounce ‘Mjolnir’, but really doesn’t give two shits.

My headcanon is that Mjolnir is at least semi-sentient and thinks Darcy’s nickname is awesome and adorable.

(Source: 5ummit, via czouz)

 587
01 Aug 14 at 3 am

dannielle:

parentsproject:

by Dannielle Owens-Reid, co-founder of The Parents Project

In August of last year I decided to grow my hair out to what I like to call “lady length.” I told everyone it was because I’d wanted to for a while, but in the past, once it hit an awkward length I’d always give up and cut it again. This time, I was going to stick with it! Plus, it didn’t hurt that the girl I was halfway dating thought I looked pretty with long hair. And I wanted to wear more hats because I love the way hats look with long hair. Annnnd it’s easier to work out if I can just put my hair in a ponytail and call it a day. These are all the excuses I gave everyone (and myself, to some extent). 

If you want to know the truth, I was tired of being called ‘sir’ at the airport. Every time I hit that TSA checkpoint someone calls me sir. There was a specific time at LaGuardia in New York where I had to go through the weird body-scan-radiation-machine twice because the gender they chose was ‘male.’ Since I was wearing a bra, the little screen had a red box right around my chest which obviously confused the person in charge of the machine. Eventually, another TSA employee said, “I think he’s a girl” and then winked at me. As if we were all in on a joke. As if saying “he’s a girl” is funny or comforting or cute in some way. 

We were not in on a joke. At all.

I fly a lot for work, and feeling uncomfortable and on the verge of tears at least once per month is not an ideal situation. 

This is why I decided, last August, to grow out my hair. I told everyone on earth that I liked it because the fact of the matter is, I liked that people weren’t confused about my gender. I liked that I could dress in clothes from the men’s section without being referred to as a man. I don’t know why this gender-confusion bothers me so much, but it does. It bothers me so much that I gave up having a haircut that actually feels more ‘me,’ because I wanted my outward appearance to let people know they should call me “ma’am” instead of “sir.”

I already spend countless hours feeling completely uncomfortable in clothing stores because I think women’s clothes look stupid on me, and men’s clothes never fit me. I feel just as uncomfortable in heels and a dress as I do in a men’s suit. I’ve managed to find a few things that sort of fit me the way I want, but how am I even supposed to figure out what I want? There are so few options for anyone who wants to dress in something that is not one of those two extremes. You have to choose between MEN and WOMEN, that’s it. Those are the options. You can wear lace or you can wear a jersey.  

So, there I was. And, here I am.

A few weeks ago I chopped all of my hair off again.

I’m still at a weird juncture with my appearance nearly every day because I don’t feel right in any of the clothes I can buy in stores or online, and because while I don’t want my appearance to match “ma’am,” I also don’t want to be referred to as “sir.” The length of my hair is a part of that confusion – and I am at a loss, even living in Los Angeles in 2014. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for anyone in a similar situation who didn’t have even the few options that we do today.

There’s a cashier at Trader Joe’s who always calls me “buddy.” I’m 90% sure it’s because he has no clue what my gender is, and I really like that he doesn’t try to figure out whether my gender matches my face or my clothes. He’s just like “Hey, here’s a person I like. ‘What’s up, buddy?’” 

I really, really appreciate that

***

I wrote this thing.

On Short Hair: A Frustrated Essay
 580
01 Aug 14 at 3 am

sassfawn:

Natalia Vodianova

(via girlpanties)

sassfawn:

Natalia Vodianova

thefutureauthor:

*whispers* Mulan, Merida, and Rapunzel didn’t have men saving them

*regular voice* Lilo and Nani’s sisterly love for each other was a big point in their movie

*slightly aggravated voice* Enchanted questioned marrying a man you hardly know

*shouting* FROZEN ISN’T THE FIRST MOVIE TO HAVE THESE POINTS

(via girlpanties)