lameasmyname reblogged
lameasmyname reblogged
Source: just-flowers
lameasmyname reblogged
lameasmyname reblogged
Story time kids:
9 months, 9 beautifully horrible months of waiting with a swollen belly and inflamed ankles. Tonight was finally the first night at home with baby girl mendes. It was all going so well until the clock read three am and she was crying. Both you and your husband jumped out of bed as if there was a bomb under it and ran into the room with bubblegum pink walls. You saw Shawn look a little hesitant to touch I your daughter being that she was so fragile. If anything he was terrified to hurt her. “Shhhhh…it’s ok Mommy’s here.” You cooed. She quieted down but continued to whimper. It hurt you to see your baby girl upset and not know why. “Here let me try something.” Shawn whispered and gently took his little princes Into his arms. He sang quietly, “You are my one and only you can wrap your fingers ‘round my thumb and hold me tight…” She stopped whimpering and slowly drifted back off and you could see his confidence build a little bit. “Go back to bed Ill stay for a bit and keep an eye on her.” He said to you and you did as he said. When you returned back to bed you could hear your husband talking to his baby girl through the monitor. “Alright princess we need to be super quiet so mommy can sleep because mommy gets cranky when she’s tired…but don’t tell her I told you that.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his remark. When he came back to bed you pretended to be asleep. When he crawled next to you, you smirked and said, “I don’t get cranky, I get sassy.” And went back to sleep.
lameasmyname reblogged
lameasmyname reblogged
Five Friendships
Meredith Grey-Shepherd & Alex Karev
« I like you but I love Alex. »
lameasmyname reblogged
get to know me meme: favorite female characters [2/10]
↳ Arizona Robbins: Most people think that I was named for the state, but it’s not true, I was named for a battle ship. The U.S.S. Arizona. My grandfather was serving on the Arizona when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, and he saved nineteen men before he drowned. Pretty much everything my father did his whole life was about honoring that sacrifice. I was raised to be a good man in a storm. Raised to love my country. Love my family. Protect the things I love. When my father, Colonel Daniel Robinson of the United States Marine Corps, heard that I was a lesbian he said he only had one question. I was prepared for “How fast can you get the hell out of my house?” But instead, it was “Are you still who I raised you to be?” My father believes in country the way that you believe in God. And my father is not a man who bends, but he bent for me because I am his daughter. I’m a good man in a storm.
lameasmyname reblogged
being a greys anatomy fan:
season 1: “this is such a great show!! who ever created this just brilliant!!”
season 11: “ I HATE GREYS ANATOMY I HATE SHONDA RHIMES!!! FUCK SHONDA!! IM NOW EMOTIONALLY RUINED FROM THIS SHOW, FOREVER!!!”
lameasmyname reblogged
1. She thinks she talks too long. I promise you, she doesn’t. Listen to her talk for hours on end, because you’re going to want to die missing it one day.
2. She thinks she’s too fat. I promise you, she’s not. Kiss her arms and her stomach and her thighs and tell her honestly how beautiful she is to you, because look at her, you’ll never get someone with skin that glows like that again.
3. She thinks she’s too opinionated. I promise you, she’s not. Allow her to argue about why tomatoes are, in fact, a fruit, because even if you don’t believe it now, you will later.
4. She thinks she’s too loud. I promise you, she’s not. She gets excited about seeing you; there will never be a time you’re annoyed with that.
5. She thinks she’s too mean. My god, I promise you, she’s not. She’ll tell you about that one time she didn’t say hello back to the boy who ended up breaking her heart for the first time, because he used that against her a lot. That girl will do absolutely anything for you. So just fucking kiss her and turn on her favorite movie.
6. She thinks she’s too ugly for you.
Don’t be a fucking idiot.
Interrupt her by kissing her beautiful lips and tell her everything you love about her.
“Maybe you’ll be able to keep her longer than I did”// 06.22 (via theproblemswithmissingyou)
lameasmyname reblogged
sequel to this post, as requested!! I usually fall asleep between midnight and 1am, and wake up naturally between 6 and 7. getting up early is way easier when you’ve gotten enough sleep the night before, so hopefully these tips will be helpful as school gets back in session:) these are vaguely listed in most-to-least-effective order, but ymmv!
HOW TO GET YOUR ASS INTO BED AND KNOCK OUT IN UNDER 1 HOUR
- turn off your phone. or, like, put it across the room (esp. useful if you use it as your morning alarm; you’ll have to get out of bed to turn it off). this is so hard, okay, it’s the one I never manage to do because tumblr!! the entire internet!! just waiting for my glazed-over 4am eyeballs! don’t do it. delete the app and reinstall it in the morning if you have to.
- shower at night. you will feel like a clean, toasty cinnamon roll when you get into bed and the warm water will help your muscles relax. bonus points if you drink a glass of water or a mug of decaf tea and use a nice body lotion right after.
- get some mood lighting. this is a little absurd but I promise it helps, particuarly if you’re living in dorms with overhead fluorescent lights. a little while before you start getting ready for bed, switch your lighting to something dimmer and warmer - christmas lights, a candle (if your res hall allows it), a small bedside lamp.
- asmr. here’s the wikipedia page if you don’t know what this is; here’s my favorite channel. even if you don’t experience tingles, the videos can still be insanely relaxing. they’re like knockout drugs. WARNING: this is a dangerous one bc it means your phone’s in bed with you the whole time!! dim the screen all the way, fullscreen the video, and use headphones; occasionally I’ll actually put it face-down and just listen to the audio.
- bedtime yoga. also very relaxing! if you’ve ever fallen asleep during shavasana you’ll know how easy it is to go from gentle yoga to total unconsciousness. here are some videos to get you started.
- if you’re going to read in bed, read something boring. no murder mysteries. find a hardcopy book that you like but that doesn’t necessarily get your heart racing. i’m working on the aeneid right now. giving your brain something to focus on that isn’t worrying about the next day or reliving the one you just had can help it switch off a little easier.
okay that’s it! final piece of advice: don’t get too hung up on this. sometimes I get so stressed about needing to get to sleep early that I keep myself awake. it’ll be ok!! once you get into the habit your sleep cycle will naturally shift, and you’ll get sleepy earlier at night and be more awake in the mornings. good luck sunflowers!!
lameasmyname reblogged
when i can feel myself being really annoying but i can’t stop
lameasmyname reblogged
melisandre
Leo and I just hung on to each other for dear life. We had cigarettes hidden in the pockets of our costumes and the two of us literally were having conversations like ‘What would happen if we died?’ and I’d say things like ‘Leo, I love you, I really do love you so much. You are a very important person to me and I’d have your babies. I would, I’d have your babies, really, it’s fine.
lameasmyname reblogged
THE LITTLE KID NEXT DOOR JSUT OPENED HIS WINDOW AND YELLED “WHAT IS 27 PLUS 4” AND I YELLED “IT’S 31” AND HE SAID “THANK YOU GOD LADY” IM LAUGIHNG
lameasmyname reblogged
5fifth-deactivated20190711
so-personal
everything personal
Source: 5fifth
lameasmyname reblogged
hallucinogenxz-deactivated20220
so for my art project we had to fake a death/murder. for mine I did someone who had jumped off a building. when I was laying down while the picture was being taken, 7 people came running up to me asking if I was okay and if I needed an ambulance etc. I’ve been suicidal for a very long time, and the thoughts of jumping off buildings and ending my life have gone through my mind a thousand times. But the fact that people actually stopped and came running over to see if I was alright made me see that people do care, strangers care. so many people looked and walked past, but these 7 people some how took these suicidal feelings away… weird huh? But the moral of this story is that people do care about you, even people who don’t know who you are.
acnemint
if you don’t reblog this, fuck you
oh my god this is amazing
lameasmyname reblogged
I saw someone fly backwards off a treadmill today and I was laughing so hard I fell off the crosstrainer which made the girl next to me laugh so hard that she slipped off hers and it was 7:30 in the morning and there were just 3 of us sitting on the floor of the gym crying with laughter and in varying degrees of pain
lameasmyname reblogged
fawnbabe-deactivated20190422
When I was 5, I sat on the edge of my chair with my legs spread. I felt an itch between them, so I reached down to scratch, but my grandma grabbed my wrist to stop me and hissed: “Girls don’t do that!” I asked her why, because I had seen my father doing it, I had seen all the boys in primary school doing it, too. And it itched and I wanted to scratch it. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Girls don’t do that. Also, don’t sit there with your legs spread like that. Girls don’t do that, either.”
When I was 6, I spent a day on the beach with my family. I was excited about the new bikini my mum got me, but confused as to why she asked me to keep the top on when I went for a swim. She hadn’t made me wear it the years before, but suddenly, she was very fussy about it. “Look, I’ve got one on, too.”, she said to me. And I thought I understood: Women had to cover their breasts, because they were bigger than mens’. But I wasn’t a woman. I was a child. Later, I overheard a talk she had with my dad. “I don’t want old men to stare at her.”, she whispered. I interrupted them and asked her why she thought old men would look at me. Her answer was: “It’s just how it is. It’s because you’re a girl. And men do that.”
When I was 9, I got in a fight with my best friend. I went home and complained about it to my grandma, who lived with us. She told me I should have seen it coming. “That’s how girls are.”, she said. “A friendship between girls is always also a competition. Girls are jealous, manipulative and backstabbing. You can’t trust them.” But I had never fought with my best friend before and I knew we’d forgive and forget the next day, anyway. So, I asked my grandma why, and her answer was: “It’s just how it is. Catfights will happen. It’s normal. That’s how girls are.”
When I was 13, I fell in love with a boy from the neighbourhood. I couldn’t hide my excitement. He was on my mind all the time and I caught myself wishing we were together, so I could hold his hand and kiss him, too. I wanted to meet him, get to know him better, and I told my dad about my plan of asking him out. “Don’t do that.”, my dad said. “It’s not appropriate for a girl to ask a boy out.” Though I partly agreed, since I had never seen a woman proposing to the man in a movie, or read about a girl kissing her crush first, I still didn’t understand what would be so bad about being an exception, so I asked my dad why I had to wait for a boy to show interest in me in order to be allowed to openly requite it. His answer was: “It’s just how it is, darling. The man makes the first move. It’s always been this way. Boys like to conquer, and girls love being chased.”
When I was 17, I was part of a large group of friends. There was a boy who fancied me. I didn’t like him back, but I wasn’t used to anyone crushing on me, so I enjoyed the attention. He’d always tell me I was special. One of a kind. Different. “You’re not like other girls.”, he said. “You’re not a bitch. You’re funny, laid back, intelligent. You don’t just care about your nails or your hair. You get my sense of humour. You’re not like most girls. You’re my best guy friend. But with tits.” I was flattered in the beginning, but soon, I started to wonder if his compliments were any at all. I began to feel disgusted with him. I didn’t want to be his best guy friend with tits. So I asked him what’s so good about a girl like me, a girl unlike what he called a typical one, and his answer was: “That’s easy to explain. A pretty model type of girl is good enough to jack off to, but in the end, a guy wants some drama free pussy. You’re an exception. The majority of girls is superficial and slutty. The kind of girl you fuck, but dump when you’re ready to settle down. Or they’re just plain boring and prude. This sounds harsh, but it’s just how it is.”
When I was 19, there was a boy I regularly had sex with. It was nice. Not the breathtaking kind of passionate, ecstatic fucking I had dreamed of; maybe we lacked chemistry, maybe it would have been nicer if we had been in love; but I was alright with it. I adapted, obeyed and swallowed. Of course I did. In the beginning, he really put an effort in giving me what I gave him. He really tried. But his attempts at putting his tongue to good work quickly faded into halfheartedly rubbing me dry and at some point, he said: “I’m giving up.” I asked him why. His answer was: “It’s so hard to get a girl off. You women need ages to cum. It’s so exhausting.” I laughed and told him I needed about two minutes when I did it on my own. “Then stick to that.”, he said. “I’ve got a cramp in my wrist. Women are so complicated. It’s just how it is. I’m sorry.”
I am 20 now, and I’ve come to realize that my female identity has been shaped by a biased, hypocritical excuse based on ridiculous gender roles: “It’s just how it is.” All my life, I have asked them why, and all they said was “It’s just how it is.” And it didn’t matter whether I’ve asked men or women. Internalized misogyny is just as harmful. There were as many women as men who said: “It’s just how it is.” But that is not the answer I wanted. Not the answer I needed. These few words don’t fucking answer the countless questions concerning my gender identity.
Why can’t I sit with my legs spread? What’s so shameful about what I keep between them? Why must I cover my breasts? Why am I being sexualized long before I’m even told when sex is? Why am I being taught to mistrust other girls? Why do I have to compete with other girls? Why am I only a good girl when I’m not like most girls? Why do I have to keep quiet about the way I feel? Why am I not allowed to show affection like men do? Can’t I conquer a boy’s heart, too? Why must love be about conquering, anyway? What if I don’t like being chased? What if it scares me? Why do boys scare me, anyway? Why do you make me feel inferior to them? And why do I have to like a boy in order to be liked? Why am I being shamed for being a “slut”, them shamed for being “prude”? Why am I expected to adapt, obey and swallow without praise when boys who return the favour are considered grateful, dedicated lovers, heroes, almost ,because to the majority of them, it’s not fucking understood that if I make them cum, they should make me cum, too? Why am I exhausting to be with? Why am I complicated?
Is it because I’m a bitch? Because I’m an oversensitive little baby? Is it because I’m a slut? A prude virgin? Is it because I’m on my period? Cause women are just crazy? Cause I am jealous, manipulative, backstabbing, competitive or any of the other countless negative traits that are immediately connected with the female identity? All summed up, is it because I’m a girl?
I’ve asked them. And they said yes.
And when I asked “But why?”, they said it again: “It’s just how it is.”
“It” is that context, is a never ending circle of resigning acceptance of the circumstance that girls are being raised to disrespect their own gender from their childhood on. I was, and am, expected to accept the fact that being female automatically makes me inferior, and that I should be thankful for being treated equally, because that’s not the standard. I was, and am, expected to appreciate and take it as a compliment when people tell me that I’m not like other women. Because I was, and am, expected to look down on women even though I am a woman myself. But I refuse. I refuse to adapt, obey and swallow. I refuse to accept that “it’s just how it is”. I refuse to take this as an answer, and I will not stop asking why. I won’t ever stop asking why. Not because I want people to give me a proper response, but because I want them to question themselves, too. I want them to start wondering. Want them to start doubting the concept of the role I’ve learned to stick to before I knew how to spell my “typically female” name. I want them to think about it, lose their sleep about it, until they ask, too: “Why?”
In order to eliminate misogynic stereotypes, we must unlearn to understand them. We must refuse to accept “It’s just how it is” as an answer, until we forget what “it” stands for. Keep asking why, until nobody knows an answer anymore. “It’s just how it is” is not an answer. Neither is “It’s cause you’re a girl”. Or “That’s how girls are”. Because girls can be everything and anything they want to be. That’s how it really is.
I REFUSE!, a rant on how my female identity has been shaped by excuses and lies (via niallslittle)
this just really hit home with me
(via teenyturner)
lameasmyname reblogged
lameasmyname reblogged
