Things I need to do:

  • eat something
  • talk to someone
  • pay bills
  • write papers
  • work on my grad school application

Things I am not doing:

  • see list above

Damon Young

I was in D.C. around this time last year for a screening of our TV pilot. We (my now wife and I) drove down from Pittsburgh that day, and made it to town at around five. Since the screening was at 7:30, we had a couple hours to spare, so we stopped somewhere on U Street to grab something to eat, and eventually met up with our homegirl to walk to Busboys and Poets (where the screening was held) together.

It was a 15-20 minute walk from where we were to Busboys. During the trip, I received a text I needed to reply to, so I slowed my stride and stopped for a few moments. They slowed too, but I told them to keep going and I’d just catch up.

I was done replying a minute or so later. By this time, they were 50 feet ahead of me, totally engrossed in their own conversation. Instead of trying to catch up, I kept my pace and stayed behind them, figuring we were all going to the same place anyway.

So I watched as these two close friends — one Black, one Afro-Latina; both dressed like women who’d gone to work that day and were attending a screening that evening — walked while talking to each other; laughing and enjoying the weather.

And I watched as they had their conversation interrupted at least three or four times by guys attempting to talk to them.

“Hey sexy ladies” I heard one say.

“Where y’all going? I want to come” said another.

One even started following them. It wasn’t a close follow — he was maybe 25 feet behind them, and they probably didn’t even know he was there — but he definitely got up from where he was sitting and started walking in their direction when they walked past him.

And this is when I decided to catch back up to them.

This is just one story about a mundane fall day in D.C. In a vacuum, each of those actions were (relatively) innocuous. Harmless, even. My wife has other stories. One about a time several years ago when a guy spit at her and called her a bitch after she politely declined to give him her number. Another about a time a couple weeks ago when she was in Chicago on a business trip. She was supposed to meet someone at some location, but needed to walk up and down the block a couple times because she had some trouble finding the building. While doing this, a guy followed her around for 10 minutes — turning every time she turned, circling back every time she circled back — until she got scared, walked back to her car, locked the doors, and drove away.

The term microaggression was created in 1970 by Harvard professor Chester Pierce to describe “social exchanges in which a member of a dominant culture says or does something, often accidentally, and without intended malice, that belittles and alienates a member of a marginalized group.” We have no trouble understanding how this is applied in a racial context. Most Black Americans can name instances where a non-Black person did or said something that, in a vacuum, might have been harmless. A woman on the train touching your hair. A coworker asking where the best fried chicken in the city is. A sales clerk asking to see your ID after you hand them a debit card. A cop car following you for a block. Again, in a vacuum, these are not particularly bothersome acts. But a lifetime full of them can be exhausting, demoralizing, even. You also don’t know when the microaggression turns major. It’s rare. Very rare. But it’s happened before. You remember the time the sales clerk asked to see ID on the day you left your driver’s license at home, and you had to spend an hour convincing mall security the card you just used to buy a $8 pack of socks is actually yours. You remember the time you were followed for a block…and then stopped…and then forced to get out of your car at gunpoint…and then had your car ransacked…and then found out you fit a description of someone they’re looking for…and then watched them leave without as much as an apology. So, you’re understandably sensitive to these “innocent” acts.

I’ve been following the discussion prompted by the video Hollaback! and Rob Bliss Creative created cataloging the 100+ times a woman was harassed while walking through Manhattan. I’m also aware that,as many have pointed out, the video itself has some problematic flaws. Quoting Roxane Gay, “…the racial politics of the video are fucked up. Like, she didn’t walk through any white neighborhoods?”

As fucked up as that was, focusing on the racial politics of the tape instead of what happens on the tape obscures what has been the most disappointing takeaway from all this. It’s not the harassment. Although startling to watch on film — especially the guy who follows her for several minutes — I’ve heard and read enough testimony to know it exists. I already knew it was a real thing. What has surprised and disappointed me are the men who’ve seen this tape, who’ve heard women express how unsafe this can make them feel, who are aware of stories like the murder of Mary “Unique” Spears — who was shot and killed by a man after refusing to give him her number — and still say things like “What? We can’t holla at chicks anymore?” and “It’s a man’s nature to approach women. You can’t stop nature.” and “I bet if it was Idris Elba following her she wouldn’t be saying that harassment shit.” Basically, women feeling safe and protected —  people who could very well be a friend, a girlfriend, a daughter, a mother, or a sister to one of these men — is less important than the right to say “Hey sexy” every time one walks past.

It’s even more disappointing — and mind-boggling — that some of these men, who are very aware of how a barrage of innocent racial microaggressions can affect your entire being, don’t see the connection between those and how a daily avalanche of “Hey beautiful. Lemme talk to you.” and “Why don’t you smile for me?” can add up and create a general sense of danger. There are few analogies more perfect than that one — this is seriously some Fisher-Price, My First Analogy type shit — but they’re still unable or unwilling to see it.

If you are one of those people, and you’re reading this equipped with the “So, you’re saying I should just never approach a woman?” rebuttal, let me answer that question for you: Yes. I can’t speak for everyone, but that’s exactly what I’m saying. If you’re not trolling — you are, but I’ll play along — and you honestly don’t know how and when to approach a woman without making her feel unsafe, you shouldn’t approach any women until you figure that out. The world will be fine with your (hopefully temporary) removal from the dating game.

And, while you’re sitting at home, I suggest you listen to some stories. My wife has some. As does my cousin. You can find others on Twitter and Facebook and Tumblr and the comments section here. If that doesn’t work, ask a friend or family member. Maybe a coworker you’re cool with. And, if so inclined, ask me, and I’ll tell you about the time I walked behind my wife and our friend for three minutes and became so disturbed by all of the unsolicited attention they received that I jogged to catch up to them because I didn’t want to have to fight someone.

*wades out to the deep end of the trash pile*

OK, so I’ve seen discussions/fics about the whole concept of sub!Kara and dom!Cat. But what I haven’t seen, and what I think could use some consideration, is dom!Cat giving aftercare.

Cat insisting on making sure Kara has a glass of water and something to eat, even though really Kara is fine, this didn’t even count as a workout. But Cat won’t hear a word of that. She’s going to dote on Kara and pamper her and make sure she’s feeling safe and loved and secure. 

Imagine Cat drawing up a bubble bath for Kara, and then offering one of her ridiculously soft bathrobes after. And then she makes Kara a mug of hot chocolate (with the little marshmallows) and they cuddle on the couch with Kara having unilateral control of the remote. And Cat is just..there. For whatever Kara needs. Cuddles or talking or to fetch things or whatever. Just so that Kara knows that Cat is there, and she’s not leaving.

bonkbatter asked:

The small feline splice felt a bat at her tail. "U-uh? H-hi.." she pats the fox like animals head.

Rind had mistaken the tail for a mouse. She was practically starving and desperate to eat something. Until she realized… It was somebody’s tail.

“Hmm? Wait- oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

I’m at the gas station and this dude kept looking at me and when he was done with his gas he stayed there for a minute trying to see when I was getting done, but then he left. I left a few seconds after that and didn’t realize he was in front me, so when the light turned green he got on the side of me and did the lil head thing saying what’s up. Then he said, “I'mma follow you”. I’m like 😳 what?? I’m just trying to get something to eat. I really didn’t think he was going to follow me, but he did. So I pulled into the Wendy’s parking lot and he then drives up and parks next to me and tells me to come here. HELL NO!!! I don’t know you. So then he talks out of his window and asks me where I live. I said, “You don’t need to know that.” Then he says, “Oh I thought you were somebody else,” and proceeds to drive off. Hella suspect. Thank Goodness I was around some people, just in case he tried something.

anonymous asked:

What would being Soda's best friend include (platonic, no romance)?

  • Free coke’s and junk food from the DX
  • Sitting in the DX with him and Steve when they’re working, probably distracting them…but oh well!
  • Group outings and bff outings to the drive in.
  • Helping him with Sandy when it hits a rough spot or two or three…or four
  • Being another member of the Curtis clan essentially and spending more time at their house then anywhere else
  • Making sure Soda and his brothers eat something other than cake.
  • Swing sets. 
  • Getting walked home because BFFs don’t let you walk home alone at night. 
  • Watching cartoons
  • Eating contests
  • Races
  • Piggy Backs

Just gauging interest, but if we were to do some sort of meet-up at either Fanime or Anime Expo (or both) where we can just hang or go out to eat or something would anyone be interested? :)

You could message us or send in an ask since tumblr won’t let me make this post reply-able ; u ;

anonymous asked:

*meows against leg* MOOOM~Phee

Hi Phoenix. *picks you up and scratches you behind the ears* How much longer are you a cat? You’re precious but I don’t imagine it’s fun to be stuck like that… Would you like something to eat?

remember to eat today, okay? 

I know it’s hard and you might just not have the spoons to but you deserve to have food in your tummy. Even if you haven’t exercised or moved at all today. You don’t have to ‘earn’ food. Just eat something. Even if it’s not much, I’m proud of you for trying <3

“Not gonna lie — the jet lag hit me pretty hard,” Niall explained with a small sigh as he sat himself down on the first chair-like object he saw, feeling utterly exhausted. “And now I’m not sure whether to just sleep it off or grab something to eat first since I haven’t eaten anything proper for the last 15 hours. Not to mention that I still gotta unpack my stuff and give my mum a ring to let her know I’m alive. Wasn’t this place supposed to be stress-free and all?”

As a skinny black girl, I’ve always been the odd ball out. I was never really able to connect with other black women because most of them were thing or bigger women. Not even in my own family. There would always be comments about my side. “You ain’t nothing but a buck o five.” In school I was bullied for being too small. “You need to eat something” or “Do you not eat at all?” were the most common questions. No matter what I did I would never gain weight. This started my own going low self esteem. I have no problems with big girls or thick girls but they always seem to find a way to try and belittle me. I just want skinny black girls to get some love

anonymous asked:

What was your favourite moment from either of the boys that you always remember

My favourite moment? Hmmmm…..when we all went to a Japanese Restaurant in San Francisco in August of 2014. Larry tried to feed me some of his sushi that he had ordered (about 4 plates of sushi… 0_0  ), but I declined. I told him that I couldn’t eat something that had my name in it….Larry & Laurent both asked me at the same time, “What your name?”….I told them it was “Ushi” & that “eating sushi would be ridicule for life”. They both laughed & started to say that “You can’t buy Gucci” & other things that rhymed w/ my name 0_0…LOLOLOL!!! This moment is how they will remember my name… :P

“I had to get out of bed so I could eat something.”

Her stomach growls ominously. Obviously, she’s been in bed all day, and the only thing that could motivate her to change that is her stomach.

My kids wrestle tomorrow and we have to be there early. I’m in bed, not sleeping obviously, but as a hint that everyone else needs to consider going to bed, too. Because in the morning I’ll be the bitch barking at them to get up, get dressed, eat something, GET YOUR DAMN SHOES ON DO YOU WANT TO BE LATE?! Because no matter what time I go to sleep I’ll be the first one up, dressed, and ready to go.

But obviously those video games need played.

Whatever, y'all. There will be no napping until after your matches. Gonna be a long-ass day for you.

tfw ur dad watches you buy ingredients, cook food for yourself, and put it away so you would have something to eat for later and then eats all of it when you’re not looking *kill bill sirens*

Bitter End: Pt.4

Originally posted by got7

Pt.1 / Pt.2 / Pt.3 / Pt.4

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1,572

A/N: Plot change. 


You were both laid on your bed, tongues intertwined with your hands fisted in his hair slightly pulling it each time he rubbed you right. “Jackson” you continue your stance, “You should really get that” his phone has been ringing for the past five minutes but he refuses to pick it up, “Screw it” his lips falls back onto yours.

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