a pint sounds way bigger than it is

it’s not actually that much ice cream

but i’m invested in crosby and jabar, so i have to keep watching

i feel like i should get out all my shit blogging at 3 in the morning so no one will see it

(Source: pottyandweasel)

That’s, um, yeah. Can’t tell if trolling. But the chair thing is interesting because of your URL? Do you even know this guy?

no, he’s friends with the kid who posted the original offensive meme thing. but god, even if he’s joking or trolling or whatever, my heart is pounding and i want to punch him.

lookattheprettythings:

The kiss of death.

This astonishing sculpture forms part of Barcelona’s Poblenou Cemetery.  The Kiss of Death (El Petó de la Mort in Catalan and El beso de la muerte in Spanish) dates back to 1930. A winged skeleton bestows a kiss on the lips of a handsome young man: is it ecstasy on his face or resignation? Little wonder the sculpture elicits strong and varying responses from whoever gazes upon it.

When I was small, we would visit Grandma in Florida.

Even then, my grandmother drank too much

And criticized everything, including her daughter.

But I liked the beach.

My dad taught me how to find sharks’ teeth,

He plucked them out of the sand like some amateur dentist.

I’d try, too, presenting him with rock after tiny, black rock.

He’d show me why I was wrong-

See, it’s not the right shape; we’re looking for the triangle

With the nice, rounded edges.

I don’t know if I ever found one,

But I always showed them to my mother-

Look what we found!

She preferred to lie in the sun with a Nora Roberts novel;

My dad and I were the explorers, the fearless conquerors of Miami Beach.

Child in a small purple hand-me-down swimsuit,

Father in ancient khaki shorts and a ridiculously wide-brimmed hat

Trimmed with brightly colored fishing lures.

(Isn’t it strange, the things we remember.)

I still like to look for sharks’ teeth. I’ve gotten pretty good at it.

At that sweet convergence of water and earth,

I sit, in a black bikini I bought myself.

Sometimes I call for my mom to join me,

Although she still prefers prose.

She’ll make some flimsy excuse-

I’m tired, honey, my eyes are no good-

But she’ll eventually join me.

There’s no one else.

My mother mostly picks up rocks,

But I add them to the collection in my tightly grasped fist,

And with the other hand I hold her shoulder, her rounded edge.

We are all getting older, and it’s an easy gift to give.

i’m currently uploading all 1351 of the photos on my phone to my computer

and my usb plug thing is very finnicky and tends to disconnect

so i’m scared to move lest i force the download to cancel and start over

#ultimate first world problem

daisyfairy:

googling lyrics even if you know them before you use them in a text post so you don’t embarrass yourself in front of the internet