Saturday night...

My husband keeps trying to look at my Tumblr. My Tumblr! MINE! MINE! 

When the twins learn how to scream “mine” I am pretty sure that we will know where they got it from.

He also asked me if I would be mad if he pooped in our front yard. I wasn’t exactly sure where he was going with the conversation so I said, “not if it is someone else’s front yard”.

Today we had visitors and my girlfriend took 6 month photos of the twins. I can’t wait till she drop boxes them to me so I can share them with you all…

So. It is Saturday night.

Final thoughts

So I was wondering about that Lorde tweet and retweet and here’s what I just don’t get.

The power of Taylor tweeting out her support for an artist and song has been documented. When she says she likes something is sky rockets so why the shadiness, avoidance and ambiguity of the tweet? Why stay silent on your supposed partners music and then DROWN the retweet in clips about your music video (which was hilarious to do btw)? Why is it so hard for taytay to tweet, “new song from ch is my current jam!” Truth or not she could boost his numbers instantly so…why….isn’t…she??

“Steve has no reason to dislike Becky. Wtf is wrong with him???” He’s overheard Becky talking shit about him, he’s WALKED IN on her talking shit about him and she talks down to him all. the. time. but you’re right. He has no reason to dislike her.

I’m often misunderstood by a lot of people, particularly those of a more traditional mindset. I listen to weird music, read weird books, watch weird movies, wear weird things. A large majority of ppl I meet come to the conclusion that I’m “weird”. “youre so weird Ian. Lol” Sometimes its meant in a good way, sometimes its meant to do damage. I don’t mean to make my blog “the Ian show”. I just think, a lot. And as I progress and grow I like to discuss said growth. Most ppl don’t listen. It’s “weird”. It’s rambling. Like kids refusing vegetables, I find so many people whose attention cringes at the sight of anything meaningful. So like sending messages in bottles I ramble, writing to some pen pal I’m not sure exists, yet in that faith, that possibility that someone knows what I’m “tawkin bout”, I find solidarity. Back to my point, I’m happy to be that “weird” person, happy to fill that place in society. Just had a convo w/someone about how, in all art forms, there is a commercial side, that makes money off of watering down their art so its palettable for the masses, then there’s the higher, or more appropriately described, deeper side, who doesn’t value commercial success or appeal from the masses. They work for their work’s sake. This post is all because I realized most people find me weird. Yet I am me, for my own sake. The me that would be palettable to the masses does not interest me. When I’m 80, I don’t want to be a “Transformers” or a bruno mars song or a logo infested Gucci bag. I don’t want to be commercial. I want to be a Dalí painting or the “400 coupes” film or a yamamoto garment. I want the version of me that exists to be the pure, deeper, truer, albeit less palettable me, that has been the true me. I would hate to look back and realize I lived my life as the commercial me.

marie-xtina asked:

{text} But what if he tries to get frisky with me? Not that he hasn't already felt my amazing curves but what if he tries. Will you go all Papa Bear on him?!

[text] He has already coveted the delicacies of your female form? This is outrageous news indeed! Scandalous, one might say. I shall have to challenge him to a duel. Bring him forth to me so that I may strike his face with my finest leather glove.