Lemon is someone out theres favorite.
thats the most uplifting thing ive read all day
hey i heard u like bad girls, i dont mean to brag or anything but im really really bad. at everything.
the only domestic instinct my parents have managed to pass on to me is the tendency to hoard multiple plastic bags in another plastic bag despite the fact that I will probably never need this many plastic bags in my adult life
you’re really cute and its ruining my life because i think about kissing you all the time
i get so flustered whenever interviewers ask me ‘so why do you want to work here?’ because the first thing that pops into my head everytime is ‘i need your money to survive, you capitalist pig’ but thats not the appropriate answer
THEYRE STILL FRIENDS
A co-worker closed the door to the staff room behind him.
It locked automatically
and I started planning what I could use as a weapon:
smash the glass beside the fridge into his eye.
pick up the fork next to me and sink it into his leg.
claw him across the face if I couldn’t get to anything in time.
As I calculated how hard it would be to shove his body weight off of me,
he finished making his lunch, said, “Sup,” and left,
the door automatically locking behind him.
I expect if I told him I was prepared to stab him with the corner of my staff ID if I had to,
he would say what I’ve heard too often, the one we all know
but are getting wearily suspicious of:
Not all men are like That.
When I was eleven, all the girls in my class got sent to self-defence
because they assumed we’d need it one day.
When I was twelve, there was a prostitute’s body dumped in the river next to my house
because someone thought she was disposable.
When I was thirteen, it happened again and this time the man went to jail
and people stood outside the courtroom and held up signs that he did the right thing.
When I was fourteen, my friend showed up to a sleepover late, chest heaving from sobbing
and from running four blocks after getting chased by a man that followed her off the bus.
When I was fifteen, my mother accused me of being a Man Hater
and I said, “No, but god, would you blame me if I was?”
I got catcalled and then got laughed at when I flipped them off.
they pulled up beside me and I clutched my bag tighter,
my hand going in for my keys and my mind going over how their noses would look
if I smashed them in with my elbow.
“What’s the big deal,” the guy at the steering wheel asked. “We’re just complimenting you. We’re not like That.”
Sorry, but I’m not going to trust you in case I end up on a poster labelled ‘MISSING.’
Even if you seem like the nicest guy, I’ll still have one hand holding my keys
as the only knife I’m allowed, because I don’t know how far you’re going to take it:
if you won’t back off when I tell you I don’t want to date you
if you’ll shout BITCH at me when I don’t respond well to your catcall
if you’ll expect my body as a reward for treating me like a human being
if you’ll try to take what you think you’re owed by being a man
if you’ll turn me into another statistic that people shudder away from.
I have been trained to assume that it’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing
or face the consequences.
I don’t know if you’ll nod when I reject you
or pump me full of bullets.
Every single woman I’ve talked to has a story where they haven’t felt safe in their own body
because of what a man said or did.
Not all men are like That, but god, it’s enough."
found this gem in the 1996 Cornell Women’s Handbook. it’s what to say when a guy tries to get out of using a condom
welcome to womens clothing where the sizes are made up and the measurements don’t matter
*dumps entire bottle of foundation on face*
I’m gonna start wearing makeup in my fucking sleep.
dear god, let it be enough
Seeing people the same age as you doing awesome things with their life
LIFE HACK: disguise your nervous breakdown as a series of jokes
I hate that feeling you get in your stomach when you see him. No, not butterflies. I’m talking about that need for dick so much it actually hurts in your stomach