if i look back, i am lost
Not today Justin
we're not kids anymore.
Game of Thrones Daily
$LAYYYTER
ellievsbear
cherry valley forever
Discoholic 🪩
todays bird
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Kiana Khansmith
Sade Olutola
Acquired Stardust
PR's Tumblrdome
Sweet Seals For You, Always
trying on a metaphor
Love Begins
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
i don't do bad sauce passes
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@texpistol
Taylor Kitsch | GQ Photoshoot
All I can say about this is:
1) Are you fucking kidding me.
2) He is a pretty good cowboy [for a Canadian. srsly, listen to him say "tacos" and "señoritas" in the "Riggins and Street go to Mexico" story arc. Los LOLos.].
Geeks who drink. Beeramid!! (Taken with instagram)
Attn: Derby Wife.
You need to get some of this stuff from your homeland so we can do this.
I AM ON IT. And Shiner? Basic bitches drink that shit so I don't even bother. National Beer of Texas, pal.
My coworker who told me I was lucky I'm not white because I'd never have to experience reverse racism.
Haha. You’re like, OH WORD, I HEARD THAT SHIT IS MUCH WORSE THAN “REGULAR” RACISM, HOW DO YOU EVEN COPE.
I think I've already expressed my compunctions about overly prescriptive diets (not to mention that following the RDWC diet to a tee makes for some illogical shopping -- I'm sorry, the derby monster ate my budget too, I can't buy half a peach...). I do the workouts, I try to maintain the suggested proportions and combinations of protein/complex carbs/fats, but I don't sweat the exact meals.
Here, a molecular nutritionist examines the diet with tasty science and finds it coming up short on calories and shockingly high in sodium.
Looks like this essay was needed, so I went ahead and did it. Not sure I said everything I wanted to say, but I tried.
So, there’s this girl. She’s tragically orphaned and richer than anyone on the planet. Every guy she meets falls in love with her, but in between torrid romances she rejects...
filed under "shit I totally should have realized."
you thought I didn’t really notice. But I did. I wanted to high-five you. Yesterday I had a pair of brothers in my store. One was maybe between 15-17. He was a wrestler at the local high school. Kind of tall, stocky and handsome. He had a younger brother, who was maybe about 10-12 years old. The...
Tears...
The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire!
Today I took a double decker bus tour just because I had never done so before. I could not stop being annoyed at the guy behind me who kept yammering about the boring DC administrative offices he works at, landmarks, food trucks, yadda yadda to his female companion. She mentioned coming from San Diego, and seemed interested in a way that felt a little inauthentic, like she was surprised at everything. I was rolling my eyes about the fact that Oh My God Now He's Talking to Strangers when he told the person behind him: "You want to hear something? She and I dated in college back in San Diego, 46 years ago, and we found each other three days ago on Facebook. The last time I saw her, I was leaving for Vietnam." I couldn't be annoyed anymore, and maybe I blinked back tears on the top of a double decker tour bus.
The ignominy of having my pants split embarrassingly and publicly open at a turnpike rest stop was tempered somewhat by buttermilk biscuits and hashbrown casserole. The two were, surprisingly, unrelated.
Little known fact...
The day following Boxing Day is known as Douchensday, the feast of St. Doucheous. St. Doucheous was an adviser to King Henry VIII who insisted upon making passive-aggressive "points of fact" and continually began sentences with the word "clearly" (e.g., "Clearly, your Highness meant 'continually,' because, in point of fact, 'continuous' means 'going on without pause or interruption.' And I needn't point out the difference between 'i.e.' and 'e.g.' But I will in any event..." ). He was rent asunder by the King's hounds, who were unpersuaded by his impassioned entreaties that "Welsh Rabbit" was neither.
Douchensday is celebrated by being disregarding sense and civility to be as aggressively pedantic as possible. St. Doucheous is the patron of political commentators, attorneys, and the Oxford Comma.
Nathan Fillion circa 1995. Crush wrecked.
CAN’T BREATHE LAUGHING TOO HARD OMG WHAT IS AIRRR
HAHAHA
You have all failed to mention the Canadian sticker on his inlines to this point.
Bby, you KNOW it was the first thing I noticed.
What does it say about me that this is my favorite Christmas song? I fully recognize the myriad ways in which it is problematic, and could do a point-by-point take down of the lyrics and spirit of the whole thing. But I can also appreciate how much I want to hug Boy George for how hard he works the tiny role he has. And the catty look Sting shoots Simon Le Bon as he sings his lyric which, conveniently, includes his own name, which he enunciates like he's brandishing it... (more like branding I guess). And Bono's earnestness, made all the more pronounced by the fact that he's, like, 20. It's rife with post-colonial douchebaggery, but I can't help loving it.
YES.
Get a jump on 2012 by kicking 2011's ass! Join me on Fleetly for an Old Year's Revolution Roller Derby Workout Challenge. Winners get goodies, everyone gets awesome!
Christmas in Dyker Heights: tacky is the international language.
Say what you will about inlines, Kozmic Bruise is ah-mazing.
New Zealand's World Cup roller derby team performs a Maori warrior Haka, a form of dance used to express courage and intimidate adversaries. Totally amazing, and an awesome way to bring something of New Zealand to the Cup and pay tribute to the nation's heritage.
