You know what the Midwest is? Young and restless.
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Homeless shelter is transformed into 5-star restaurant, hot food and warm hearts all around.  See the full video here. 

(via vivaciousvarlot)


The best of “Mad Men”. Part 1.
part 2.

(via peggyolson)

(via maaahryuh)

(via maaahryuh)

Ooookay, time for some emotional/personal blogging.

There are so many things I want to do that I’m not doing and I don’t know why.  I have this bad habit of living aspirationally, always in the future, wasting time in the in-between.

I am in love with someone who lives 800 miles away.  I didn’t think I was before I saw him again, but now, I know and I don’t know what to do about it. Do I tell him?  There’s no way we could be together.  He’s going to graduate school in San Diego. I could pick up, move there, live on a beach.  California has elected officials. I could work for them, too.  I can do anything I want. It’s like he always knew.  

He texted me even when I was distant.  He called even when I was hung up on other dudes.  He hasn’t changed and I feel like I’ve fallen even more for him, that I care more now, and I hate being the person that cares more.

He’s black. I’m white. I don’t know how much it matters.  He goes to an HBCU.  I picture him marrying a black woman, having beautiful children with a black woman.  I don’t know if I measure up.  I sometimes feel like I’m not good enough for him, but he’s the only person I’ve known in a long time that I think is good enough for me, is on my level, who works as hard as I do and dreams as big as I do.  

This shit is hard.  I need to get out more.  I need to get my house in order.  I need to make more friends.  I hang out with about three people. Other than that, I’m alone.  I don’t date and I don’t know why.  I’ve got 50 dudes sitting here on my Tinder feed and even when they talk to me first, I don’t respond.  I am closed off and afraid of letting somebody in because then I might have to change, adapt, get my fat ass out of bed and start living my life again.  Loving someone far away, as real as I feel it is, fixes that dilemma.  They are an aspiration.  He’s always on my mind, but he’s never in my way.

I have a job that I love, but it has become the new normal.  As much as I’d love for my 9-5 to be my life, that’s not what a life is.  I can work late.  I can work weekends.  I can avoid my empty bed, but I still have to lie in it.

I want to travel.  I’m going to Chicago in June and Brooklyn in July and again, here I am, living in the future.  I want to go to any city he’s in.  I’ve got to make it back to Atlanta before he leaves in October because I fell in love with his city, too.  I’m married to KC, but I find a mistress every beautiful place I go.

Every day is an exercise.  Every day has to involve conscious love. No more lying in my fucking bed watching shows that I’ve seen before. Sometimes I forget that I’m a rockstar. Sometimes I forget that I deserve all good things. No more.


And Liz Lemon did in real life.

(via nottoojazzy)

But confusingly, misogynists are sometimes men who speak softly and eat vegan and say “a woman’s sexual freedom is an essential component to her liberation. So come here.” It’s a tricky world out there. And while I’d prefer a critical approach to gender from men I elect, read and even bed, in my experience, the so-called feminist men I’ve met deep down have not been less antagonistic or bigoted toward women. What I see over and over again is misogyny in sheep’s clothing, and at this point, I would rather see wolves as wolves.



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