Number 86

everything is happening in roanoke this year and just ugh ugh ugh

why did i have to graduate



and i’m not





I’m not too late for the cute lil ghosts, right?

Of course you have to drag it and be amazed


If you’re on mobile then you need to click it don’t ask questions

(via closer-to-nowhere)



Mike Herrera - Olympia WA (Rancid Cover)

Punks covering beloved songs written by other punks. There’s nothing better.

And I was there, too

‎’Slut’ is attacking women for their right to say yes. ‘Friend Zone’ is attacking women for their right to say no.
And “bitch” is attacking women for their right to call you on it.  (via madgay)

(Source: emilys-nostalgia, via just-an-average-girl-here)

Interview swag. Told you I was switching it up today. I don’t even look like myself.

Until I started taking my antidepressants, though, I didn’t actually know that I was depressed. I thought the dark staticky corners were part of who I was. It was the same way I felt before I put on my first pair of glasses at age 14 and suddenly realized that trees weren’t green blobs but intricate filigrees of thousands of individual leaves; I hadn’t known, before, that I couldn’t see the leaves, because I didn’t realize that seeing leaves was a possibility at all. And it wasn’t until I started using tools to counterbalance my depression that I even realized there was depression there to need counterbalancing. I had no idea that not everyone felt the gravitational pull of nothingness, the ongoing, slow-as-molasses feeling of melting down into a lump of clay. I had no way of knowing that what I thought were just my ingrained bad habits — not being able to deposit checks on time, not replying to totally pleasant emails for long enough that friendships were ruined, having silent meltdowns over getting dressed in the morning, even not going to the bathroom despite really, really, really having to pee — weren’t actually my habits at all. They were the habits of depression, which whoa, holy shit, it turns out I had a raging case of.

Not Everyone Feels This Way — The Archipelago — Medium (via brutereason)

so accurate

(via danabros)

(via just-an-average-girl-here)

interview with a library recruitment place tomorrow

trying some new strategies including

but i’m still leaving my piercing in 




Whites riot over pumpkins in NH and Twitter turns it into epic lesson about Ferguson, aka The Best of #PumpkinFest, PT 1. #staywoke

in this week’s episode of shit black folks would get murdered or jailed with no trial for

(via closer-to-nowhere)




Krikor Jabotian SS14 (via *Lovely Clusters)

Oh man.. That last one.


(via watchtheclock)

well i can’t sleep so i guess i’ll just pull an all-nighter

why not

(via liamdryden)




What Should We Call Girl Pain?

The starlets who posed for the July 2003 Vanity Fair “It’s Totally Raining Teens!” cover symbolized femininity, success, beauty, talent, youth and perfection. Average girls in the aughts didn’t have the accoutrements to be them, but they could watch them. Even better than watching them, average girls could read their books. The books based on their shows and movies heightened the fantasy. Average girls could be any of these starlets for $3.99 or $4.99. Average girls could be like them while they waited to grow up, not knowing they are already like them.

Five out of nine of the starlets featured on the July 2003 Vanity Fair cover have admitted to struggling with mental illness, making them more than Mary Sues. For Mary-Kate, her pain was called anorexia. For Mandy Moore and Evan Rachel Wood, depression. For Lindsay Lohan, addiction. For Amanda Bynes, “an eating disorder.”

Lindsay Lohan and Amanda Bynes, in particular, labored in Hollywood, as young, vulnerable girls, at the cost of self-love and self-awareness. Money and success couldn’t save them, ultimately, from the reality of illness and suffering. They both represent hurt and injury, and are mocked for it. When people are not cheaply waxing political about them, they are fetishized by gay white men and straight white men alike, mocked in the new lowest form of white male humor: White Girl Jokes.

Men never ask what they should call women’s pain, so they call us crazy. They call us crazy and they laugh at us. The same men who say women aren’t funny obviously do find women funny. They find women funny at the most inappropriate time: when we’re hurting. There is no sympathy, no empathy, for young women under the influence, on the verge of, or currently breaking down. Girl pain is titillating and amusing disaster porn. In Lindsay Lohan and Amanda Bynes’ case, their celebrity eclipses their humanity; they become the “willing victims” of the public abuse of men. Their inner turmoil, a spectacle, is a living punchline reaction gif, making us ask, “Where are their people?”

Lindsay and Amanda, we know, have no people. Amanda Bynes, in a recent tweet, stated, “I don’t speak to my parents anymore.” Lindsay has always been people-less. We learned this, when Lindsay released “Confessions of a Broken Heart (Daughter To Father).” Amy Poehler and Tina Fey tried to be Lindsay’s people, when they staged an intervention in 2005. Their efforts failed.

We watched Britney Spears struggle in the spotlight from 2006-2008, until her parents intervened, like good people should, rescuing their daughter from her very public nightmare, a nightmare exacerbated by men like Sam Lutfi and Perez Hilton. We watched Demi Lovato, during her tour with the Jonas Brothers, punch a back-up dancer. Like Britney, Demi’s support system— her people— intervened. Demi began her treatment at Timberline Knolls. It was there, at Timberline Knolls, that Demi learned what to call her hurt and injury and girl pain: bipolar disorder, bulimia, self-medication, cutting, etc. Her girl pain inspired her last album, Unbroken, the most Lohan-esque song from the album being “For the Love a Daughter.” Britney is older than the girls on the July 2003 Vanity Fair cover, Demi is younger, but their girl pain is the same.

The girls on the Vanity Fair cover all seem to express a vulnerability and winking stoicism. They seem aware of the fact that they were corseted and boxed in— as the clothes, the color and the cover suggest— but not weak. Amanda and Lindsay, both on the sides, are not holding onto any of the other girls. Instead, they grasp the white structure.

What should we call girl pain?


Thank you

(via spoonful-of-mustard)

i was going to do something REALLY IMPORTANT and now i can’t remember what it was and i’m frEAKING OUT




At the self-checkout desk.

Oh my god, this is awesome!

This is genius.  Library for the win!

(via mylifeinthelibrary)

(Source: ianthe, via dukeofbookingham)