-
So this has been going around a lot but I don’t care it’s so perfect it has to be on my tumblr.
-
Harry Belafonte and Martin Luther King Jr.
-
-
Step 128: Do not engage with crazy*
(Seriously, do not give this skeleton the time of day)
* By ‘crazy,’ I don’t mean people who are...
“Hey Miss America. You are beautiful. Just hypnotic.”
~
“*unintelligible mumbling* That’s Yiddish.”
“…Huh?”
“It’s Yiddish slang.”
“Sure.”
~
“Well, I won’t have to pay for these if you just handed them to me.”
~
A 6-year-old: “How much is it?”
“Are you paying for it?”
“No, but Daddy is and we need to go to ice cream. *pause.* You’re pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“I like your earrings.”
“I like them, too.”
“They go great with your necklace.”
His dad: “He’s a flirt.”
“I noticed.”
Because it’s like The NeverEnding Story. I hated that movie when I was little. When you’re scared of dogs, the last thing you want to see a giant friggin’ dog taking up your TV screen that is supposed to be reserved for fun things, like Batman and Matlock reruns.
When I’m running errands and I call my mom because there’s a mysterious crack in my windshield, and she says, “Question…” in that cautious way she never uses, that means that I’m supposed to give some sort of assent for a question that she will ask, no matter what I say. I know what this is about. I straightened my hair for graduation, even as my brother yelled from the phone, “Don’t conform! Don’t conform!”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“How is the hair doing?” (Never ‘your’ hair, or even, ‘my’ hair, but the hair. As if it’s a living breathing thing with a mind of its own, with a job and a car and a proper title, like The General or The Judge or The Stripper.)
“It’s good.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“What are you asking?” I giggle, because this part is fun for me.
“The last time I saw you, the hair was different, that’s all I’m saying.”
“And then I washed it, and it’s back to normal.”
“Normal being?”
“My straightener is back in the closet, collecting dust, where it belongs.”
“Ok, ok. Just checking.”
So now it’s a compulsion. I feel as if I have to spend every spare minute writing stories about my hair to try to explain that I really do like it this way. My hair was straight for 3 days and oh man, was I pissed. I’m not making a statement about anything, I’m not becoming some sort of militant, I haven’t joined any new groups. My hair is super thick and super curly and now that I’m not trying to numb it into submission every day, it’s super healthy. I don’t have the time or the money or the patience to battle with the hair anymore. There’s too much fun stuff to do.
3 writers. 1 apartment. Zero chocolate.
Donna Summer.
Well this is just perfection.
I forget where I found this, but it was in my folder with the rest of my pictures, and is my new attitude on life.
I love stuff like this. I had a band jacket exactly like that in high school. Also, I wonder how LMFAO must feel about these videos. “Our dad/granddad hung out with Michael Jackson AND Sinatra…Party rock is in the house tonight…”
awesomepeoplehangingouttogether:
Michael Jackson meeting Frank Sinatra
“Oh, well I pray that you feel better soon.”
“Yeah Dad, it’s just a cough, sore throat. Fever’s gone, so I’ll be fine.”
“That’s really too bad though.”
“What is?”
“Well, pharmacists never get sick.”
“Really.”
“All that time around medicines. They never catch cold. Hmm.”
“Are you saying that if I was a pharmacist, I wouldn’t be sick right now?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, thanks Dad. And what do you recommend?”
“I have a secret medicine, but I only tell people when they are very ill. You said you are feeling better.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Sure Dad.”
“…she now finds herself struggling…to admit at long last what she’s always believed: that she’s not only the first, but the best. That she belongs as much with Faulkner and Joyce and Roth…That she will pass the test that begins only after Chloe Wofford is gone, and Toni Morrison is all that’s left.”
