Figuring out the Quarterlife

Champion Re-blogger, tumblr is my new distraction from the real world. Passionate feminist, liberal liberal liberal. TV show fangirling is apparently my new favorite thing.
Recent Tweets @

callstheadventurescience:

Neil deGrasse Tyson is Tired of Your Shit - Imgur

(via themicrobiologist)

kimbor:

emedeme:

miss-love:

ohsummerrain:

byeproductivity:

omg you can’t just ask people why they’re ignorant


^THAT. THAT IS THE COMMENT OF THE YEAR.

ALL THE AWARDS. 


Look in the mirror.

kimbor:

emedeme:

miss-love:

ohsummerrain:

byeproductivity:

omg you can’t just ask people why they’re ignorant

^THAT. THAT IS THE COMMENT OF THE YEAR.

ALL THE AWARDS. 

Look in the mirror.

(via fanficwriterghc)

merkkultra:

do men have resting bitch faces as well or do they not have negative characteristics ascribed to them for putting on a neutral rather than a deliriously happy facial expression

(via cleverdistraction)

erictrautmann:

i-come-by-it-honestly:

John Scalzi gets it.

Yes. YES. 

Enough already, dudebros. Give it a fucking rest. We get it: you think vaginas are scary. PLEASE MOVE ALONG INTO THE DUSTBIN OF EMBARRASSING HISTORY WHERE YOU BELONG.

(via likeatleast3olives)

Look around your college classroom, spot the virgins.

See, this seems like a game until you skip over the girl with a short skirt and hair in front of her eyes because you heard last summer that she slept with like nineteen guys. You can’t see her hands, but they’re under the table, pulling a rosary through her fingers as she tries to wash the sin off her. She’s only ever kissed three people in her whole life and they’re all girls. She turned down the wrong guy and he told everyone she’s “a whore.” The label “slut” stuck to the bottom of her shoe and swallowed her up.

But that quiet girl who is always reading probably never touched someone else’s penis, you figure, because you don’t know that she goes home and strips down and pulls on tight black leather, you don’t know she’s got a set of whips that could make any set of knees quiver, you don’t know because she’s proud of what she does but she’s not stupid enough to let anyone know about it. She’s sexy, just not here, not where people judge.

See, the truth is: you have no idea who has lost their virginity, because it doesn’t change you. It doesn’t give you some kind of glow or superpower or stamp on your forehead. You know the feeling of waking up on your birthday and thinking “I don’t feel any older whatsoever”? That’s what maybe they’re all so afraid of you finding out: sex doesn’t change you. Sex doesn’t make you an animal, sex doesn’t suddenly make your relationship a million times more stable or intimate or romantic - it can’t fix what’s broken, although it can make the pain go away for a bit. Sex doesn’t really occur with eighty tea lights and a thick white rug. Sex is ugly and loud and frequently awkward, sex is excellent and breathtaking and when you wake up the next morning, you’re the exact same person. There’s not some magical connection with the person in bed beside you. Believe it or not, pregnancy isn’t some kind of punishment - but practice safe sex, get tested, don’t spread your germs around. They want to tell you, “Sex can ruin you” and I’ve heard that a lot as a little girl, that some boy would join me under my sheets and then dump me four days after, used, unhappy.

But I figured out that I’m not a fucking toy. Letting someone have sex with me is not letting them “use” me, because I’m not an object. My father said the issue lay in the fact “Men are insecure and need to know that they’re the best you ever had,” but I think that’s a steaming crock of absolute-wrong and if I didn’t tell the people I’m with how many others I’d slept beside, there would be literally no way for them to know my number, because I don’t rust, I don’t wear out, I don’t get bruised. I’m not a wilting fruit, I don’t go rotten.

But here’s the thing: some people connect sex and emotion. I don’t personally because I am probably secretly an ice storm in disguise, but I still respect my partner’s desires. If they’re the type to want love and sex to coincide, I let them. I don’t make fun, I don’t pull one-night-stands or friends-with-benefits, because it’s not their “reputation” I’m afraid for: it’s their heart I’m defending.

Here’s the thing: Instead of worrying about people’s “purity” and how it defines them as a person, worry instead about how you can protect other people’s emotions.

Because here’s the thing: look around your room and spot the virgins. Look harder. You can’t tell. Sex doesn’t alter people, it doesn’t make them act in a certain way nor dress in a certain manner. Sex and personality have nothing to do with each other. There’s a reason that virginity doesn’t show on someone’s face: because having sex doesn’t cause you to change.

"I lost my virginity to a boy I didn’t even love…" /// r.i.d (via i-blame-reagan)

(via rebel-bexxx)

artkat:

despairnaegami:

personasanta:

does anybody else think tired and sleepy mean two totally different things

sleepy is cute and dozing off and happy but tired is 10 cups of coffee and murder

image

(via eternalfermata)

championcoolbreeze:

obfuscatingdeity:

the thing to realize here is that conservatives find the idea of paying workers a livable wage so absurd that they make hyperbolic comparisons like this

because fifteen dollars and hour and a hundred thousand dollars an hour both mean the same thing to them; more than you deserve

^That commentary is very important.

(via fanficwriterghc)

eat-more-colors:

supahst0ner:

nappyedges:

queennubian:

image

Fine men naked and in suits. Have mercy.

Reblog every time

HELP

(via battlewhispers)