Things in His House That Make Me Sad: The Lack of a Window in His Bathroom -
We’ve reached that point where it’s acceptable for me to engage in activities in his bathroom and maybe, maybe even leave a few items in there. I’m not gonna go all How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days on him and cram Costco-sized boxes of tampons everywhere, but I’m pretty sure a toothbrush and a razor are acceptable. This interesting turn of events leads to me occasionally getting ready at his place, which in turn, has led me to VERY MUCH notice his lack of a bathroom window.
My kind of party.
You had me at “chips”
(Source: abrieftasteoflove, via heisenbergsays)
(Source: sexandanothercity, via shrugging)
(Source: meme4u, via humortrain)
(Source: diamondillium, via fivegum)
It is okay to want your own happiness. It’s okay to care about yourself the most. You are not obligated to sit there and smile and swallow every bit of shit everyone heaps on you. You are more than furniture, you’re more than window dressing, you’re not their shiny toy. You’re human, and you have the right to say “That was shitty of you”. You have a right to protest your own mistreatment and set boundaries for respectful interactions. The rest of the world doesn’t realize you have this right, and they will act offended and appalled when you exercise it, but it is yours. — Unknown (via creatingaquietmind)
(Source: sonneillonv, via creatingaquietmind)
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Bonerkiller: Obsessive Facebook Checkers -
Full Disclosure: I have a Facebook account. But I kind of hate it.
Look, I freely admit that there are moments — early moments, long before a crush has developed into a date and is still gestating in the filthy gutter-puddle of fantasy that is my brain — when I think to myself, “Man, if only he was on Facebook.” His absence from that wretched cesspool of cyberstalking seriously diminishes my ability to ruminate on which of his features I hope our hypothetical children will inherit, and totally iCockblocks any chance I have of finding his most recent ex’s unflattering selfies.
But that’s where it ends, gang. Once we’ve actually interacted in the flesh, there’s nothing worse than his watching him obsessively check Facebook account.
Walking into a guy’s apartment after a giddy second date and finding his laptop open to Facebook is like winning the lottery and getting paid in Monopoly money; it’s a total bummer.
What are we, 17? Is his life, as a functional-enough adult that I was willing to spend time with him in public, so exhaustively boring that he maintains a second one online, bobby-trapped with infantile emojis and increasingly asinine acronyms? He’s all, “LOL, look at this cat vid my HS BFF posted!” or ”Ermagerd I can’t believe she checked in at Joshua Tree three nights in a row!”
And I’m all, “GMMFPBCIOH: Give Me My Fucking Panties Back, ‘Cause I’m Outta Here.”
I’m of the “Be Where You Are” school of thought: while the Internets occasionally amuse me, there’s nothing worse than being out with someone who would rather check in online that check out my ass (c’mon, guy, I wore this skirt for a reason.) So finding out that he’s so tied to his Facebook account that it’s open on his laptop at all times is more than enough to make me sad.
When we walk through that door, he has a major choice to make: immediately slam the laptop shut, conversation threads and notification icons be damned, and throw down with me (I promise to make it worth his while!), or take a quick peek at his friend requests — while I turn on my heel and march out the door to the nearest bar to request a drink…and find a real man.