last year a big group of girls in my class were all talking and this one girl was like “im bisexual” and all the girls like stared at her and then the girl goes “dont worry im only attracted to pretty girls” and i was like did she just burn every girl in here i think she did
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Dream girl:
Yellow with black stripes
Six legs
Antenna
Compound eyes
Collects pollen and nectar from flowers
im not gonna fuck a zebra please leave me alone
What kind of zebra…
this girl I know posted on facebook that she wanted donuts and more than one guy brought donuts to her house. That’s my dream.
Seen at The Women’s March Chicago.
The woman holding it was there alone, and when I asked to take the photo, she told me that her seven year-old daughter helped her pick her signs and was so excited that One Direction could be a part of it and for people to see her mom’s cool sign. Talk about a girl almighty!
ok but ??? women are the best thing on earth. i saw a girl today and i loved her hair colour sm that i asked her how she got it and she showed me all of the products she used but one was on sale and she had the last two ones and smiled at me and said “here, so u can have one and me too so we can both look pretty” and i just.. want to thank every woman for being so kind and not seeing other girls as rivals u all are the real mvps out and deserve so much more attention
omg i was at starbucks and there was this girl and she had her hair in a bun and had a crop top with flowers on it and i hissed “hipster blog” and she turned around and snarled “fandom blog” and then we shook hands and exchanged urls her tumblr is pretty nice i dont see why there’s a rivalry we’re all wasting our lives on the same goddamn website
Favorite story of the morning
This has to be the fakest thing I’ve ever read
This is true I was the other girl
This is 100% true i was the barista
and i was the janitor sitting in the corner on my 10 minute break playing a fully orchestrated song composed with the different pitches of jars filled with my own piss.
I can 100% confirm this actually happened.
I was the bus
I was the crop top
This, this is about my own some-day daughter. When you approach me, already stung-stayed with insecurity, begging, “Mom, will I be pretty? Will I be pretty?” I will wipe that question from your mouth like cheap lipstick and answer, “No! The word pretty is unworthy of everything you will be, and no child of mine will be contained in five letters.
“You will be pretty intelligent, pretty creative, pretty amazing. But you, will never be merely ‘pretty’.
People say, ‘I’m going to sleep now,’ as if it were nothing. But it’s really a bizarre activity. ‘For the next several hours, while the sun is gone, I’m going to become unconscious, temporarily losing command over everything I know and understand. When the sun returns, I will…
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithlessand therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.


