so sick of seeing so called poor people buying iPhones. Ever thought that might be a contributing factor to you being poor. perhaps next time you think spending $800 on a fancy new phone every year is a good idea you buy a house with that money. a thin sliver of a house. a house part. A door. A stack of 8 bathroom tiles. a curtain. Within like 90 years you would have a complete house idiots
“If someone called me chubby, it would no longer be something that kept me up late at night. Being called fat is not like being called stupid or unfunny, which is the worst thing you could ever say to me. Do I envy Jennifer Hudson for being able to lose all that weight and look smokin’ hot? Of course, yes. Do I sometimes look at Gisele Bundchen and wonder how awesome life would be if I never had to wear Spanx? Duh, of course. That’s kind of the point of Gisele Bundchen. And maybe I will, once or twice, for a very short period of time. But on the list of things I want to do in my lifetime, that’s not near the top. I mean, it’s not near the bottom either. I’d say it’s right above “learn to drive a vespa,” but several notches below “film a chase scene for a movie.”—Mindy Kaling (via mindythings)
kids today google, not giggle. they play angry birds instead of getting angry AT birds. they all have an ipad but no iq. not even one. they playstation but they never play station. i.e. one pretending to be a train and the others pretending to be different trains or low paid maintenance workers. they’re obsessed with one direction, rather than enjoying all eight directions equally. facebook… but unable to face… a book. or a hoop with a stick. a lost generation. the tv show.
“There’s no point to a guy yelling, “Hey sexy baby” at me out of the passenger window of a car as it speeds past. Even if I was into creepy misogynists and wanted to give him my number, I couldn’t. The car didn’t even slow down. But that’s okay, because he wasn’t actually hitting on me. The point wasn’t to proposition me or chat me up. The only point was to remind me, and all women, that our bodies are his to stare at, assess, comment on, even touch. “Hey sexy baby” is the first part of a sentence that finishes, “this is your daily message from the patriarchy, reminding you that your body is public property”.”—My First Name Ain’t Baby: ‘Hey Baby’ and Street Harassment (via official-mens-frights-activist)
“I had a boyfriend not so long ago who, whenever we got into an argument, would accuse me of “going soap opera.” “Here comes Telemundo!” he would shout. His (clearly gendered and vaguely racist) insult was supposed to make me feel like my anger wasn’t valid—that it was frivolous and silly, that I was being overly dramatic. This was his not-so-subtle way of trying to shut me up—by accusing me of being emotional. (Unlike men, whose anger is always logical, of course.) Unfortunately, calling me out like this often worked. It felt immobilizing to be called dramatic. Even if you know you’re being reasonable, we’ve internalized sexism so much, sometimes we even begin to doubt ourselves.”—
from Jessica Valenti’s He’s a Stud, She’s a Slut and 49 Other Double Standards Every Woman Should Know.