1. LA is sickening sometimes. Literally sat and watched Justin Bieber’s entourage pick girls and deny girls to go back to his apartment after the club last night. Girls were literally told they weren’t pretty enough or not good enough. Some were crying and some ditched their friends who weren’t selected. So disgusting. I had to go to his stupid ass apartment and get my keys from MY friend and his scrawny ass bodyguard had the nerve to tell me “You don’t live here” and I said “BITCH, you don’t either. You couldn’t afford this fucking rent. Get out of my face.” Being from Missouri, I have never in my LIFE seen women treated so blatantly like a piece of fucking meat or pussy ass men who THINK they are the celebrity they are “protecting” waiting in the bushes for Justin’s leftovers. I wanted to sock his bodyguard in the fucking face. There is nothing worse than reading about shit and hoping it’s fake and then seeing with your own eyes how fucked up shit actually is. Girls: Do NOT ever sacrifice your dignity and pride for some random ass person who does not give two shits about you beyond your vagina. It is not that serious and you are worth MORE. If any girl from last night is reading this: you are BEAUTIFUL, you looked BOMB AS SHIT and no little midget fuck in a suit that looks like he just auditioned for Men In Black 4 has the RIGHT to tell you otherwise. Have a blessed fucking Saturday!
    Kingsley’s tweet about Justin’s entourage turning girls away at a club last night (Oct 17)
    Reblogged from: persipanprinzessin
  2. ink-splotch:

    There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling

    Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.

    I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern. 

    Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for. 

    She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.

    I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body. 

    Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What it must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save. 

    Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home. 

    Maybe she doesn’t. 

    Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?”  and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh. 

    She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.

    Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better. 

    Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”

    Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns. 

    Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers. 

    When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just the brutal wars of one life, but two. 

    Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand. 

    A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own. 

    Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it. 

    -

    Companion to this piece

    Reblogged from: persipanprinzessin
  3. Pulling a depressed one today. Sigh.

  4. nowitallbegins:

    So I decided to watch Stalker primarily because of Maggie Q, but I don’t know if it’s worth watching. For one thing the violence is pretty excessive, and the characters are kind of boring and unmemorable. I know that Selfie, Manhattan Love Story, and Bad Judge haven’t been geting stellar reviews either, but at least I find that shows have more interesting characters and storylines that don’t make me want to jump in the shower immediately after I’ve watched an episode. Sorry Maggie Q, but I think I may be done.

    image

    Yeah, two episodes in I’m still not impressed. I really don’t care about PrettyBoy’s manpain, and that seems to be a focal point. I’d love to find out more about Beth’s backstory, though. And the whole thing with Perry is beginning to get creepy. I think I’ll give it one more go at least.

    Reblogged from: nowitallbegins
    • Ich: Hey, Hirn.
    • Hirn: Ja?
    • Ich: Ich sollte schlafen.
    • Hirn: Und?
    • Ich: Na mach mal.
    • Hirn: Weisst du noch, wie du deiner Lehrerin in der 2. Klasse mal Mama gesagt hast?
    • Ich: FICK DICH! Das ist über 25 Jahre her?!
    • Hirn: Trotzdem. Peinlich, nicht?
    • Ich: Ja, extrem! Bist ne grosse Hilfe, danke!
    • Hirn: Keine Ursache! - Steuererklärung!
    • Ich: Was?
    • Hirn: Steuererklärung.
    • Ich: Was ist damit?
    • Hirn: Noch nicht eingereicht.
    • Ich: Ja, vielen Dank! Ich weiss!
    • Hirn: Könnte Probleme geben.
    • Ich: Gehts noch? Ich frag dich, ob ich schlafen kann und du bringst so ne Scheisse??
    • Hirn: Sorry! Hey, dich stichts in der Herzregion.
    • Ich: Ja, ein wenig. Irgendwas halt. Gibts manchmal. Warum?
    • Hirn: Aidskrebs!
    • Ich: GEHTS NOCH?!
    • Hirn: Google mal.
    • Ich: Stirb!!!!!
    • Hirn: Haha okay. Du hast morgen übrigens wichtige Termine. Und es ist schon drei Uhr früh!
    • Ich: JA, ARSCHLOCH! ICH WEISS!
    • Hirn: Sorry, ich tu hier nur meine Arbeit! Was machst du eigentlich mit deinem Leben?
    • Ich: Weiss nicht. Leben?
    • Hirn: Ja, eben. Bist du zufrieden, so im Grossen und Ganzen?
    • Ich: Alter, was ist dein Problem?
    • Hirn: Nix...... Man darf ja mal fragen. Hey, die Heizung ist mega laut, nicht? Sie macht so: WUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
    • Ich: Ich höre es selber, danke!
    • Hirn: Und die Küchenuhr..... Tick.... Tack..... Motherfucking tick..... Motherfucking tack.....
    • Ich: FRESSE, du elendes Oberarschloch!
    • Hirn: Haha! Hirn sein ist sooooo geil! Nein, Spass bei Seite! Jetzt hast du es dir langsam verdient! Echt, hast du! Jetzt fühlst du dich schön warm und wohlig.
    • Ich: Danke, wurde auch langsam Zeit.
    • Hirn: Wär doof, wenn du jetzt auf Toilette müsstest, was?
    Reblogged from: persipanprinzessin
  5. rhyse:

taylorswift:

imnotsomefloozy:

taylorswift we need a recipe for these please! 🍪🍪🍪

MMMKAY— there are two ways you can go about this. The quick and easy way is to make sugar cookies from a sugar cookie mix and just cut open a packet of chai tea and pour it into the batter as you make it. Cause you’re busy and you want making cookies to be a chill part of your day.Pow. Done.
OR
If you want to make the cookies from scratch (that’s what I did for the 1989 Secret Sessions), you can use this recipe I found on a baking blog I like, joythebaker.com and I believe it was originally from a book called The Pastry Queen. If you want another great baking blog, I get a lot of great ideas from smittenkitchen.com too. This is a recipe for basic insanely good sugar cookies. I added the chai element to the recipe because I thought it would infuse cozy holiday vibez into the cookie and it really did. So I’ll star the part that I added in the recipe.
http://joythebaker.com/2009/06/giant-vanilla-sugar-cookies/
***after you add the egg and vanilla, cut one chai tea packet open and empty the crushed up tea leaves into the batter CAUSE CHAI COOKIES ARE ABOUT TO HAPPEN UP IN HERE***
I made an icing for the cookies, but they’re fine on their own. If you want to make icing for them, just mix 1 cup powdered sugar with 1/4 T-spoon of nutmeg, 1/4 T-spoon of cinnamon and 3 TAYblespoons <—-(I’m so annoying, it astounds me sometimes) of milk or eggnog if you can find it this time of year. The more milk/eggnog you add, the more your icing will become a glaze. But glazes are legit too so basically just LIVE YOUR LIFE.
I lightly sprinkled cinnamon over the icing once the cookies were baked and iced, but there are so many icing options you can pair with these cookies—I mean it’s out of control. If you’re really feeling like living on the edge, you can go ahead and add a few drops of food coloring to the icing to make it festive. No one is going to stop you.
Why?
Cause the bakers gonna bake bake bake bake bake.
Bye.

did taylor swift really just show up out of the blue on tumblr only to drop some betty crocker shit on us what the fuck

    rhyse:

    taylorswift:

    imnotsomefloozy:

    taylorswift we need a recipe for these please! 🍪🍪🍪

    MMMKAY— there are two ways you can go about this.
    The quick and easy way is to make sugar cookies from a sugar cookie mix and just cut open a packet of chai tea and pour it into the batter as you make it. Cause you’re busy and you want making cookies to be a chill part of your day.
    Pow. Done.

    OR

    If you want to make the cookies from scratch (that’s what I did for the 1989 Secret Sessions), you can use this recipe I found on a baking blog I like, joythebaker.com and I believe it was originally from a book called The Pastry Queen. If you want another great baking blog, I get a lot of great ideas from smittenkitchen.com too. This is a recipe for basic insanely good sugar cookies. I added the chai element to the recipe because I thought it would infuse cozy holiday vibez into the cookie and it really did. So I’ll star the part that I added in the recipe.

    http://joythebaker.com/2009/06/giant-vanilla-sugar-cookies/

    ***after you add the egg and vanilla, cut one chai tea packet open and empty the crushed up tea leaves into the batter CAUSE CHAI COOKIES ARE ABOUT TO HAPPEN UP IN HERE***

    I made an icing for the cookies, but they’re fine on their own. If you want to make icing for them, just mix 1 cup powdered sugar with 1/4 T-spoon of nutmeg, 1/4 T-spoon of cinnamon and 3 TAYblespoons <—-(I’m so annoying, it astounds me sometimes) of milk or eggnog if you can find it this time of year. The more milk/eggnog you add, the more your icing will become a glaze. But glazes are legit too so basically just LIVE YOUR LIFE.

    I lightly sprinkled cinnamon over the icing once the cookies were baked and iced, but there are so many icing options you can pair with these cookies—I mean it’s out of control.
    If you’re really feeling like living on the edge, you can go ahead and add a few drops of food coloring to the icing to make it festive. No one is going to stop you.

    Why?

    Cause the bakers gonna bake bake bake bake bake.

    Bye.

    did taylor swift really just show up out of the blue on tumblr only to drop some betty crocker shit on us what the fuck

    Reblogged from: amayonce
  6. till-the-end-of-the-bucky:

these fuck me up man

    till-the-end-of-the-bucky:

    these fuck me up man

    Reblogged from: 50flightsofstrong
  7. mia-redworth:

    How can people see Emma Watson being verbally attacked online and threatened with hacked nudes being released by men because of her speech on gender equality and still think we don’t need feminism. It’s not women who make men out to be some evil creatures, you guys do that well enough on your own.

    Reblogged from: persipanprinzessin
  8. vanhomme:

    When the financial bubble burst and a lot of people lost their investments with their banks, I didn’t hear anyone say, “Oh well, you shouldn’t have trusted a bank with your money if you didn’t want it stolen.”
    They said, “These people trusted the banks with their money and they stole it! What a despicable bunch of assholes!”
    You trust someone with your money and you expect them to handle it with care. You expect them not to steal it and not to give it away.

    But when nude pictures of girls are made public, all people can say is, “Well, they shouldn’t have taken nude pictures of themselves in the first place.”
    Instead of saying it like it is: “Some asshole stole something that was clearly meant to be private and made it public. What a despicable human being!”
    You trust someone with naked pictures of yourself and you expect them to handle them with care.

    That’s the deal.

    Reblogged from: vanhomme
  9. theloneranger:

    Emma Watson’s speech to the UN is trending and for a GOOD REASON.

    "If not me, who?  If not now, when?"

    LETS GET TO IT!

    Reblogged from: persipanprinzessin
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