deal with it. @freshcupoftae - Tumblr Blog

Don’t tell your daughter that when a boy is mean or rude to her it’s because he has a crush on her. Don’t teach her that abuse is a sign of love.

comic-canary

My mom always taught me yell or fight back. Boys would be mean and I would yell back. I would get my ass pinched and I would smack them as hard as I could.

Who alway got in trouble? Me.

They would call my mother and she always came in and lectures my teachers and threatened to sue for making her miss work and treating me poorly.

She always taught my brothers to respect women. The only fights my brothers ever got in was defending women from someone else.

The school tried to call my father once instead of my mother on us. He came in in his full preacher outfit (being a preacher and all) and gave them an entire sermon on what would Jesus day of he was called in. They decided dealing with my mom was better.

edmundo-noches-buckley

I think my favorite story of this is when some kid snapped my bra and I turned around, didn’t even think about it, and punched that little motherfucker right in the nose.

So naturally, I end up in the principal’s office, refusing to apologize.

“He shouldn’t have put his hands on me and I wouldn’t have hit him!” That’s the only thing I was saying.

These people had the unfortunate luck of catching my dad at home, instead of my mom. So he comes fucking sauntering in there, like he’s Clint fucking Eastwood in some western movie and looks at me.

“Melissa, did you punch him?”

“Yes.” I said.

“Why?”

“Because he snapped my bra strap.”

And he turns his squinty eyed glare to the principal and says, “You’re telling me my daughter is in trouble because that squirrely looking kid put his hands on her and she chose to defend herself? That’s what you are saying to me.”

“Well, sir-” The man kind of stuttered because my dad is kind of intimidating in the quiet sort of way that kind of whispers in the back of your mind that this person could be dangerous. “Melissa did make it physical.”

“No. That kid put his hands on my daughter. Are you saying my daughter cannot defend herself when some boy decides to put hands on her? Is that what you are teaching my girl?”

I didn’t get suspended that day.

lotrlocked

*slow clap for excellent parenting*

ive-got-a-dark-side

This is the parent I want to be omg

fyeahbangtaned

#I'm still so proud of them #like omg #the nerds

sorryimzoe

They only ask how you’re doing to hear you say fine, I learned I was supposed to feel fine.

One color (Neil Hilborn)

astoryworthtelling

The first time I saw her… Everything in my head went quiet. All the tics, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared. When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quiet moments. Even in bed, I’m thinking: Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. Did I lock the doors? Yes. Did I wash my hands? Yes. But when I saw her, the only thing I could think about was the hairpin curve of her lips.. Or the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek— the eyelash on her cheek. I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her out six times in thirty seconds. She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going. On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it, or fucking talking to her… But she loved it. She loved that I had to kiss her goodbye sixteen times or twenty-four times if it was Wednesday. She loved that it took me forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk. When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times. I’d always watch her mouth when she talked— when she talked— when she talked— when she talked when she talked; when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges. At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off. She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her. Some mornings I’d start kissing her goodbye but she’d just leave cause I was just making her late for work… When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking… When she said she loved me her mouth was a straight line. She told me that I was taking up too much of her time. Last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place. She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her; that this whole thing was a mistake, but… How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touched her? Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t. I can’t – I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her. Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin. I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars… And she was the first beautiful thing I ever got stuck on. I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds her steering wheel.. How she turns shower knobs like she’s opening a safe. How she blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out candles— blows out… Now, I just think about who else is kissing her. I can’t breathe because he only kisses her once — he doesn’t care if it’s perfect! I want her back so bad… I leave the door unlocked. I leave the lights on.

OCD - Neil Hilborn (via astoryworthtelling)

#that hit me like a ton of bricks