i woke up and checked my facebook

Outfit for the day with my new size 0 jeans! Sorry for the body check spam lately.

I went to bed at almost midnight last night and I thought I’d be super dragging this morning but I woke up at like 545 feeling like I had overslept. So I laid in bed catching up on Facebook and Tumblr for about 45 minutes then got a jump start on my day. On the treadmill now and have time to do this for about an hour before I have to get my stuff together to go to work.

anonymous asked:

jesus sorry i have to tell someone about my dream,,, so i remember that it was 17.08.2017 and dan posted on his facebook a 16 second video and he kissed a boy in this video (i think his name was Patryk) and it was so weird, it felt so real i was so confused??? + the description to this video was something like "this is the man of my dreams, he has been suffering from cancer for 10 years" and i woke up crying?? i had to check his fb page if it was dream or not im still shook

sdgfjsgjdgsHFJSHFKDJHD wow

Shitty day so extra cute selfie.

If you read last night, I came out to my parents last night via Facebook messenger at 3 in the morning.

I woke up this morning around 10 and checked my phone. They had read the message and not responded. I called them and they basically acted like nothing happened. When I pushed it, they didn’t want to talk about it.

Then I went to get my corset. The store didn’t have it in the size that I wanted, but the guy there said that the one size would definitely work - and it absolutely didn’t.

Came home and tried to wax my chest. I have so much chest hair and I’m in so much pain. Was unable to finish it all. Think I’m only like a third of the way through my chest. Then I still have the arms and the legs.

So now I’m a little drunk and a lot of sad.

BTS reaction to you crying over racist comments involving you and your relationship with them

I did mini-scenarios for this; hope that’s okay!


Originally posted by synthbin

You were sitting on the couch on your phone as Jin clinked around in the kitchen trying to make breakfast. Your phone had been blowing up with a lot of messages on Kik and Twitter, but you hadn’t gotten time to read them yet. Opening Twitter, you decided to see what all the fuss was about, but soon you were to realize what a big mistake that was.

All you could see were comments saying how unworthy you are, and how Jin shouldn’t be dating someone of your race. Tears formed at the back of your eyes as you locked your phone and threw it to the other side of the couch. You sniffled, and tried to keep the tears at bay, but they rolled down your cheeks none-the-less. A sniffle left your nose as you curled into a little ball on the couch. After a little bit, Jin had heard your quiet sniffles, and as soon as he saw his s/o curled into a ball on the couch he knew something was wrong.

“Yaaa sweetheart what’s wrong?” He asked as he sat next to you; rubbing your back and looking at your face.

“Look at what people are saying on twitter.” You choked out.

He pulled his phone from his pocked and opened up he app. Once he had started to read all the racist and hateful comments he gasped, and his eyebrows furrowed together in both anger and worry.

“Don’t listen to them, my love. They’re just trying to make you feel bad so they can feel happier about themselves, but you’re not going to let them do that, okay? You shouldn’t waste your time on bigoted people’s opinions.”

Rap Monster:

Originally posted by ayoyoongi

It was a lazy day in your apartment with our boyfriend, Namjoon. You were lying on your bed on your laptop while Namjoon was grabbing something from the living room, and you decided to watch an old BTS practice video. You giggled as Namjoonie stumbled through the harder parts of the song; finding his clumsiness endearing. Once the video was over you decided to look at the comments, and you were immediately met with harsh, racist, and threatening comments about you and the relationship you had with Namjoon. The tears immediately started to fall as you pulled your hood over your head, and curled into a ball in the white sheets. Namjoon came back in with his phone, but suddenly froze as soon as he saw you curled into a ball crying.

“Woah woah, jagi, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He questioned as he jumped onto the bed and pulled you into his warm chest. You snuggled into his embrace, and pointed to your laptop screen. His eyes skimed over the words, and you feel his hands tighten around your arms.

“What the fuck …?” You hear him say; his tone hinting rage. He reaches over and slams the screen down before turning you around in his arms so the two of you are face to face.

“Don’t listen to those assholes, baby. They’re irrelevant. All that matters is if we’re happy, and we are, so don’t give those people any more thought, okay?”


Originally posted by yoo-ngie

You and your boyfriend, Yoongi, had just gotten home from a late night date. You plopped down on the couch with Yoongi following close behind; entangling your fingers in his once both of you were seated. You pulled your phone out from your purse and realized that you had gotten a text from your sister. You opened your messages and saw that she had also sent you a few pictures as well. The pictures consisted of screen shots from various websites, along with a ‘What’s going on?’ from your sister. You opened the pictures and saw what you least expected; death threats, racist remarks, and painful words directed at you.

You locked your phone and looked at the wall; trying to keep the tears from leaving your eyes. You took a deep breath, but the tears fell against your will. You sniffled and wiped at your nose; catching Yoongi’s attention.

“Are you crying?” He asked with shock hinted in his tone. You gave him a small nod as a response, and turned away from him slightly.

“Wait what’s wrong?” He questioned; turning you back around to face him.  You grabbed your phone, unlocked it, and gave it to him. You watched as his expression changed with every picture, and as more tears began to fall you clung to his side, praying that he would still love you through this endeavor. He turned and wrapped his arms around you; shushing you as his chin rested on your head. It was a while before he spoke.

“You know I don’t think those things right? You mean the world to me.”

(This bean isn’t too good at expressing his emotions so ya know, but he would watch you for the next couple days, just to make sure you were okay.)


Originally posted by tbhobi

You had just woken up with the sun in your eyes and your boyfriend snuggled into your chest. You nuzzled into his soft hair, and closed your eyes for a brief moment before your phone dinged. You opened your phone to find an abundance of notifications, so you clicked on one. It sent you to Facebook; where hundreds of people had commented on a picture you posted with Hoseok. You scrolled through the comments for a while before a couple caught your eye. Your breath caught in your throat as the words processed in your head, and you quickly locked your phone before it could get any worse.

The hateful, racist, and frightening comments lingered in your head until tears trailed down your cheeks. Your body began to shake as you tried to control yourself; you didn’t want to wake him up. However, he started to stir in his sleep before being woken up by your quivering body. His eyes cracked open and he looked up at you. Upon noticing your tears and shaking body he immediately woke up.

“Jagi? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He questioned as he began to wipe your tears away with his thumb.

“Check the comments on my last Facebook post.” You answered quietly as you snuggled into his chest. He reached over to his phone and pulled up the app; tightening his grip around you as his eyes dug deeper and deeper into the harsh words.

“I can’t believe they would say something like this!” He yelled as his voice slightly quivered.

“Jagi it’s going to be okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you. We’ll get through this together.”


Originally posted by hoseokijn

You slouched in the corner of the boys’ dance room; living in your spacious hoodie while on your phone. The boys were practicing a dance, and paying you no mind, so you were bored to say the least. You opened the V app and started to watch the most recent video that BTS had uploaded, and once the video was over you decided to skim through the comments. You soon realized that that was a big mistake.

One person mentioned your name, and that’s all it took for hundreds of people to insult you, call you racist slurs, and threaten you viciously. They boys were in the middle of a dance, but that didn’t stop you from racing out of the room; leaving your phone. You slid down the wall of the hallway and put your head in your hands; crying and hiccupping. Soon you heard the door open, the music spilling out of the room and into the hall, before the door closed again.

“Jagiya!” You heard Jimin yell before he ran over to you and crouched down beside you.

“Are you okay?” Jimin questioned; putting his hand on your shoulder and looking at you worriedly. You just sniffled and shook your head.

“Did you see the comments?” He asked in a quieter tone. You looked at him with your red and puffy eyes and nodded your head, to which he sighed a response. He pulled you into his chest and began stroking your hair.

“Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. I hate seeing you upset, so please don’t let those people get you down. I love you, and that’s all that matters, right?”


Originally posted by bangtannoonas

It was about one in the morning, and you were waiting for your boyfriend, Taehyung, to come home. The white light of the tv kept you awake a long with the soft blare of whatever show happened to be on. You snuggled into his hoodie, which you had stolen, and pulled your phone out of your pocket. Opening Twitter you saw pictures in your boyfriend’s post, and you were in them. You liked the picture before scrolling through the comments, and that’s when you came across them; horribly racist and threatening remarks directed at you.

You put your hand over your mouth as tears spilled over the rim of your eyes. You continued to read until you couldn’t take it anymore, and you threw your phone to the ground before curling up in the corner of the couch. You cried and hiccupped and prayed for Tae to be home soon. Thankfully, you soon heard the click of the door closing, along with the drop of Tae’s bag.

“Jagi?” He asked curiously. As he got closer he realized that you were shaking and crying, which sent him into a dead sprint to the couch.

“Jagi, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He worriedly questioned as he kneeled down in front of you.

“Look at the comments on your Twitter post, Tae.” You barely spoke. He looked at you questioningly before pulling up the post. Once he started reading his mouth dropped open, and his eyebrows knitted together in a form of hurt and anger. He was furious.

“I can’t believe that they said that. You don’t deserve this. Why would they do this?!” He threw his hands up in frustration before joining you on the couch and cuddling you.

“I love you so much, jagi. Don’t listen to those idiots.”


Originally posted by jengkook

You and your boyfriend, Jungkook, were trying to beat the summer heat while on a date, so you eventually decided to just head back to your apartment. Once the two of you had gotten back Jungkook had decided to take a cold shower, so you decided to change into summer pajamas and wait for him on the couch. You turned on the air conditioner and plopped down on the sofa; whipping out your phone. You had seen that you had a lot of notifications on Instagram, so you opened the app and went to your most recent photo. The smile quickly wiped off your face once you saw all the terrifying, racist, and upsetting comments left on your post.

You dropped your phone on the floor and covered your mouth, but to no avail, you began to sob. You sniffled and shook; sitting on the couch with your knees pulled into your chest.


You looked up and saw Jungkook looking at you with concern.

“I left something in here… but what’s wrong?” He asked as he came over and sat next to you on the couch; rubbing your back slowly. You picked up your phone and handed it to him; scrolling down to the comments so he could see. His hand suddenly stopped in the middle of your back as he got engrossed in the harsh words. He sucked in a breath of air before saying, “I can’t believe they’d say that…” in an upset voice.

“I can’t either.” You choked out. He looked at you with sympathy before kissing your temple.

“It’s going to be alright, jagi. We can fix this together. Don’t listen to them. I love you, okay?”

My first partner was an artist, he mostly painted. We dated for almost 3 years but like everyone else, he fell out of love with me.

I haven’t seen his art in years. I don’t check his Facebook to see how he’s doing. I’ve moved passed it.

But the other night I had a dream where his art was in a gallery. And it was his art, his real art. I woke up and checked his Facebook for the first time in maybe a year?

And none of those paintings were on there. I just remembered them from the early moments of our relationship where he would take out his portfolio and showed me his work.

It’s strange what our brains can hold onto, pulling out memories we didn’t know we still had.

I hope that yours stay hidden for a while, I can’t handle dreaming about you anymore.

and, just to keep y’all updated:

today was my 19th birthday. in the middle of pride month. and the day i chose to come out publicly on facebook.

and it was the best day of my entire life.

my birthday was perfect in just about every way. no one has been rude on facebook, i love getting attention on twitter or wherever because of my birthday, and my best friend is staying the night at my house tonight! 

my alarm was set for 10am today, but i woke up at 7 and decided that 7am was a good time to put up my coming out post. and then, instead of falling back asleep like i intended, i just continued to check facebook for three straight hours. and by the time it was time for me to get out of bed, i felt very peaceful about the ordeal. it went over much better than i expected.

i spent almost the entire day (not counting my shift at summer school) in a state of peace. i’m just really happy with who i am and i’m even more happy that i can be myself everywhere now.

Free Yourself from Digital Slavery

Chris Sacca is a Silicone Valley investor in companies like Twitter, Uber, Instagram.  In speaking about how people manage their life priorities he was quoted in the book Tools Of Titans (author Tim Ferriss) saying:

Which of those [tasks] did you assign yourself, and which of those are you doing to please someone else?  Your inbox is a to-do list to which anyone in the world can add an action item.

This statement speaks to my frustration with the way we all view our relationship with our devices, apps, and social media friends.  For years I woke up each morning and immediately grabbed the nearest device I could to look at e-mail, Facebook, and whatever other time consuming app I was currently using. I started working long before I arrived at the office because I thought it was helping me to check for policy updates or reports from the previous night. And I found myself spending my entire morning fixated on whatever information was pushed into my life instead of setting my own priorities to start my day.

Chris’ statement isn’t the first time I’ve heard something like this but it is one of the best.  The power that we give people when we make them online friends or provide our e-mail address opens each of us up to digital slavery.  They send it or post it and we spend all of our valuable time reading and responding to it. Each time the phone flashes a notification or sounds a text alert we drop what we are doing to see who it is and what they need.  It’s a constant distraction that turns into addictive behavior as we ignore our own needs to please others. 

Unlike many years ago I now spend the first couple hours of my morning working on tasks to improve my life - mind, body, and soul.  Whether that’s meditation, exercise, yoga, journaling, blogging, reading, or preparing nourishing food for the day it’s all meaningful to me.  For me that sometimes means getting up a bit earlier than I’d like in order to devote time to myself before attending to responsibilities in my life schedule (having kids necessitates flexibility and some sacrifices).  But it’s not about having the time!  It’s about making your life goals more important than pleasing everyone else first. 

I don’t know what drives each of you but I bet there is something about your life that you want to improve.  It could be health, relationships, finances, debt, or education.   So I challenge you to really read the statement and consider if you start your morning fulfilling your own agenda or the demands of someone else? Do yourself a favor and work on eliminating these habits and create your own morning ritual.  So much satisfaction can be found in starting your day by doing something positive for yourself no matter how small.  Concentrate your best energy on you.  There will be plenty of time to check e-mail and Facebook later.

I love the amethysts so much
they are great

The Fine Line Between Anger and Desire (Biadore) - Sadie and Artemis Charming

A/N (Artemis Charming): I cannot believe that Sadie and I came together to write and conceive this gem in a matter of hours. She is magical and I cannot love her enough! Cannot wait to hear what you guys think! We will for sure be doing more of this because now that I found her, I would be lost without my queen. Thank you to the people who made this happen, dream come true. xoxo

A/N (Sadie): I am so glad I had the chance to work with this amazing person! I don’t have words to describe the pleasure I had working with Artemis and how happy we both are because we had the chance to work together and deliver the best for you. There was a five hour difference between us but we managed to do our best with it. Thank you again for whoever that propose that collaboration, I would be literally lost without my queen. Don’t forget to let we know what you thought about it! And hopefully there will be much more coming! Xx Sadie

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A year ago I woke up and my phone was more chatty than usual. I saw headlines about a shooting in Orlando. A shooting at Pulse. Over the next hour the scale of what occured unfolded across my Facebook feed and through friends texting me.

I spent that day obsessively checking Facebook, making calls, texting to make sure my friends were alright. To make sure they were alive. And for the most part I was lucky. Some of my friends were not so lucky. I shared information about blood drives because it was the only thing I felt I could do from 800 miles away.

The massacre at Pulse was not just a defining moment for the LGBT community in our country, it was a pivotal point in my journey as a gay man. Until then I lived under the assumption that living life as an open gay man was activism enough. That marriage equality etc. had created some sort of insulation between us and the hate that was somehow in the past. On top of that the attack on Pulse was an attack on the Latinx LGBT community. As a first generation American, son of an immigrant, Hispanic man…that added an extra layer of vulnerability.

49 of my queer brothers and sisters are gone. Violently taken from us too soon. As a community we will never forget them. And as a gay man I will never stop being out, loud, and proud about who I am and the basic dignity I deserve.

#oneorlando #rememberpulse #recuerdapulse #wearestrong #weareproud #resist

Last Nights Dream

I found myself in labor and the doctors pulled out my baby girl and handed she’d to me. Then without washing her or checking if she was healthy they helped me sit up and they sent me home.
I waddled home with my content but naked and messy baby in arms.
When we got home my husband was freaking out because obviously I wasn’t supposed to be home so soon.
We took baby into the shower with us and she was so content. When she was clean she began to wail.
And then I woke up.

My sister on the other hand had a dream I painted my positive pregnancy sticks in rainbow colors and posted them on Facebook.


A Moder Fairytale - Part 2 (Cameron Dallas)

Part 1

(Y/N) P.O.V

I woke up at 10 am by my phone ringing. It was Sunday and all I wanted to do was lay in my bed and do nothing all day. I turned around and picked up my phone to see who was calling. It was (Y/F/N). 14 missed calls and 30 unread messages. “HAVE YOU SEEN IT?!” (Y/F/N) asked me. “Seen what?” I asked her. “Check your Facebook and look outside on the trees,” she said. “Okay, okay, I’m putting you on speaker,” I said. “What the hell?!” I nearly shouted in the phone. “I know!” (Y/F/N) said. “So what should I do, no one will believe it’s me he’s talking about,” I said referring to the post on Facebook. It was Cameron that had posted it. It read that he met this girl at the masquerade ball, he didn’t get her name or number, all he got was her bracelet with initials on, so he was looking for her. “You need to contact him. It’s a miracle that you made an impression on him, now you just need to show your real face” (Y/F/N) said. “Yeah, I know, but how. Allot of girls have seen this post and commented on it, he will never see it” I said. “Bullshit! you just need to find another way. Be creative, think outside of the box” (Y/F/N) said. “Yeah, you’re right,” I said.

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Creepypasta #981: A Different Kind Of Ghost

Length: Super long



It all started when we were kids. Charlie was five years younger than me, my kid brother that meant just about everything to me. I wasn’t afraid to admit it; that kid was my world. Ever since our dad passed him to me, ruffled my hair, said, “He’s yours now, Sammy,” I knew that I would do anything to protect him.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t a typical older brother. Yeah, I played my pranks and hid under his bed to scare the shit out of him, put itching powder in his underwear drawer, but nobody was allowed to mess with him but me. And nobody messed with me but him.

“Did you hear that?” he asked one night when he was eleven. He was sitting up straight in bed, staring at the window. I rubbed my eyes, annoyed. I wish I didn’t have to share a room with him, I was sixteen and so ready to live out on my own.

He got up and checked the window, looking around with wide eyes. “I see him. I see it.”

“Dude, there’s nothing out there,” I muttered, pulling the pillow over my head. It was just another prank. I would go to the window, look around, get spooked by our creepy backyard in the middle of the night, and Charlie would grab me from behind and make me piss myself. Not that that’s ever happened. Ever.

“No, I see him.”

“Your ghost? Again?” Charlie’s been claiming to see this ghost every since he was six and saw Poltergeist. He kept describing it has an old man. The description got more detailed as he got older. He was wearing robes, was all white except for black, black eyes. He had chains around his ankles, no now his wrists, wait now there were chains around his throat. He was bleeding, sometimes he wasn’t. 

I was the only one Charlie told this to. I felt kind of special, being the only one who knew, but not now in the middle of the night. “Dude, I am in no mood to see your ghost.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him. I believe in the paranormal, I always have. I’ve had little brushes here and there, creepy things that I didn’t quite understand, that there weren’t clear answers to. Our mom always said we had a lot of empathy; we could pick things out in the dark that others couldn’t.

Charlie looked out the window for a little bit longer, then went back to bed. “Think that ghost will ever talk to me?” he whispered.

“Maybe. He’ll just say that you’re a fag.”

“Goodnight, fat-ass.”

“Goodnight, you piece of shit.”

The internship was killing me. No, for real, it was killing me. I moved out on my own into a shitty little apartment, infested with roaches and a toilet that backs up at least twice a week, to make no money doing bitch work for a company that probably won’t even hire me after it’s all over.

My girlfriend was over and made some quick spaghetti, listening to me rant and rave about why the universe is clearly against me, when I got a phone call from Charlie.

“Hey, what’s up?” There was silence on the other line. “Hello? Charlie?”

There was a crackle. “Hey, Sammy.” He sounded tired.

“What’s up, dude? Something wrong?”

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Lindsay Lohan's Last Fan's Last Post

Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan


            “So….what’s new with Lindsay?”

             I looked directly at Allen, my best friend for maybe nine years, and realized that he had run out of things to talk about with me. I responded with a neutral head nod. 

            “A new nip slip? Rehab? Comeback? Freaky Friday sequel named Strange Saturday? So Daniel…?”

            I took another sip of my iced-chai and then replied in a monotone voice. “She’s going to star in a David Mamet play in London or something, right now she is wasting away on a yacht in Ibiza surrounded by handsome dudes who wear Rolexes.”


            I don’t know when I became this assumed scholar in all things Lindsay Lohan for all of my friends and family. Almost once a week, someone references Lindsay Lohan to me, either through interweaving a Mean Girls quote in a casual conversationor explicitly asking me for the latest update on the fallen starlet.

Nearly three years ago, on a random Freshman year night in a crowded dorm room, I told my pop culture savvy friend Monica about some half-baked conceptual Tumblr idea I had. Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan creates the fan blog to end all fan blogs: an aggressively pink aesthetic with bright yellow Arial font, content strictly consisting of photos and memes of Lindsay Lohan that would be interspersed with purposefully misspelled ramblings fearlessly defending the star. A few moments later, Monica pushed aside the cluttered mess of empty 40s bottles on her desk and whipped out her MacBook. The first photo uploaded was of a naked Lindsay clutching an acoustic guitar on a sandy beach, captioned with “If I coood be ther with her, if I coood touch her AURA.” Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan the character was officially created.

            When I started the blog in the fall of 2011, there was an odd sense of hope for Lindsay Lohan and her career. She was showing up to court-mandated community service. She had landed the cover of Playboy. Even the most scathing of gossip columnists were noting how “happy” and “healthy” she looked in recent photographs. In the early stages of this persona, a typical Tumblr session for me would consist of messaging other Lindsay Lohan fan blogs asking if they wanted to join forces, reblogging every image under the #LindsayLohan or #LiLo Tumblr tag and going on manically apologetic rants defending her latest misbehavior: “nooooo she’s $tumbling out of B00000tsy Belllows cuz of THE PRESSURE of the #FAME not cuz $HE WAS drunk”. I was the L’enfant terrible of the Lindsay Lohan fan community; overeager, overzealous and typing with a sense of entitlement that I and only I, Linday Lohan’s Last and only true Fan, truly understood the star. A series of questions from other “genuine” Lohan fan blogs started piling up in my Tumblr inbox: “Why are you so creepy? Why do you misspell everything? Why are you so OBSESSED with Lindsay Lohan? Who are you? Are you a boy or a girl?

            At first I was adamantly opposed to answering any of these questions, thinking that this persona of Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan, being so warped up in her obsession, wouldn’t feel any desire to assert any sense of selfhood. I randomly replied to a few questions with the 2007 “not my cocaine” in her pocket era Lindsay Lohan mug shot or a Freaky Friday GIF; my glossy pink mystique remained in tact. When I showed my friends the blog, they either would tell me it was funny, reply with a shrug or question if perhaps my liberal arts college had made me go manic: Daniel, do you even like Lindsay Lohan? Are you okay? The project was admittedly aimless; the same joke of an anonymous Lindsay Lohan jihadist repeated over and over again. In January 2012, I was about to quit and get a new hobby.

Then Lana Del Rey’s SNL performance happened.

 I was fascinated by her self-pitying lyrics, the permanent sadness in her eyes and her shameless embrace of being society’s victim. I spontaneously copied and pasted the chorus of “Video Games” to a photograph of a 2010 “I’m going to Cannes Film Festival to party on yachts” Lindsay gracelessly falling on her face: Heaven is a place on Earth with you. The Tumblr response was ecstatic: HAHAHA, GURL wtf is this! I transitioned to creating memes with my own cheesy musings of what Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan thought about her emotionally abusive parents, loneliness and her painful obscurity. Lindsay Lohan had alcohol and cocaine to escape the “painful misery of daddy and reality”. Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan had well, Lindsay Lohan. I stopped obnoxiously misspelling words and reblogging generic Lindsay Lohan GIFs and photos and embraced a new direction. I put on the guise of a crying teen girl in her bedroom, using this Tumblr persona to express some inner-darkness that could only be articulated through hyperbole: We both hate daddy, we both have fake friends and we both are on the edge of the abyss, forever isolated, forever shackled to this life! Over time, Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan became less about the idea of obsession and more about the idea of what it means to truly connect with a specific celebrity. Lindsay Lohan’s last truly culturally relevant movie was Herbie Fully Loaded. For years now her actual Blockbuster, enticing body of work was her fragile existence. Her life, filled with arrests, rehab visits and lesbian romances, was ripe and ready to be part of a grander tragic meta-narrative. There was nothing more to her than her latest fuck up; everything snowballing into the inevitable TMZ headline: Lindsay Lohan DEAD followed by the inevitable Dina Lohan or/and Michael Lohan “up close and PERSONAL” account of their daughter’s life. Nothing about Lindsay Lohan and the cult of her celebrity is necessarily unique. If anything, her life has become a self-actualization of a Valley of the Dolls-level of triteness.

As my Tumblr popularity increased, I noticed that the other blogs reblogging my memes had been sandwiching my content in between photos of the late Anna Nicole Smith dressed as a clown, Paris Hilton mug shots, Britney Spears scarfing down Taco Bell and a crack head Amy Winehouse. I was being embraced by the #Camp #2005 niche sub-culture of Tumblr, with blogs that had a flashier and glitterier design praising my work and calling me “BB”.  It was all too silly. I had to go back to the drawing board; I tapped deeper into the depths of this inner sad girl. I made Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan question her own obsession and write epic poems about the increasing sense of alienation she felt between herself and the star: When Lindsay cries, it’s BREAKING NEWS, when I cry, Daddy just laughs and suggests waterproof mascara. The more invested I got, the more Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan became about how one individual amongst a sea of internet trolls, journalists, gossip magazine readers and fans, had found a unique connection with someone who invoked such ubiquitous disdain. Dr. Drew Pinsky using Lindsay Lohan as an example of the dangers of alcoholism was no different than when Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan related the critically panned Liz and Dick to her own personal experience of stuttering during a Bat Mitzvah speech. She didn’t need the TMZ obituary; Lindsay Lohan had been up for grabs for a while now.

In the fall of 2012, I woke up from a nap to a Facebook message: “OMFG. Check BuzzFeed…”

A handful of my memes that I uploaded during my “Live-Meme viewing session” of Liz and Dick had been incorporated into a list of “21 People Who Genuinely Loved Liz and Dick”. My images were interspersed between Tweets from unassuming, “genuine” Lindsay Lohan fans that actually liked her critically panned Elizabeth Taylor Lifetime bio-epic. Immediately after the BuzzFeed post, my viewer stats hit records high, got a ton of new Tumblr followers and hundreds of more reblogs. If any of my friends and family didn’t know that I had this second Internet persona, they now knew and they now could count on me as their handy-dandy Lindsay Lohan expert. A few days after experiencing a manic rush from achieving a minor-level of notoriety, I revisited the BuzzFeed article. I had a painful epiphany: my blog was fucking evil.  

This persona I created of someone being whole-heartedly sincere had come under attack by a snarky blog, being lumped in with actual fans who were deemed naïve and stupid. The character was given exposure not on her terms, but on the fucked up power dynamics of irony and mockery perpetuated by some presumptuous arbiter of good taste. This project had become a monster. Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan had also started becoming all consuming: My MacBook Desktop was now completely covered in memes and photographs of Lindsay Lohan, I woke up everyday Googling Lindsay Lohan, Facebook had started trying to sell me Amazon discount DVDs starring none other than…. Lindsay Lohan.

After the BuzzFeed existential crisis, I started making darker, more tragic memes. I thought that there was no real point in ending the blog because Lindsay Lohan’s life had yet to reach a true moment of catharsis. Perhaps the #comeback was going to actually happen in two, three months or a year and what a fucking shame if Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan missed it. And so I continued. I even started making deeply disturbing Youtube videos in which I paired distorted recordings of the persona’s obsessive thoughts with glitched out, pixelated images of Lindsay: I woke up and thought about Lindsay Lohan, Lindsay Lohan also woke up and thought about Lindsay Lohan.

            I had come to discover that maybe the concept of “performance art” is rendered meaningless on the Internet. I was creating a specific artifice for myself, this crazed, manic-depressive fan and was being engaged directly on the aesthetic of my work. Without the confines of a gallery space, there was nothing to potentially differentiate this performance project from the other fans on the next “21 People Who Actually Like Lindsay Lohan” list. It didn’t matter when I submitted it to a Dis Magazine contest or when “Tumblr Teen Girl” artist/expert Kate Durbin reblogged my work for her Womans as Objects project. It never and still doesn’t matter because Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan the Tumblr page is out there waiting for people to stumble upon it and not even question it’s alleged inauthenticity: What’s wrong with you? Are you okay? Looking back at old memes, it’s hard to say whether the “I am so lonely” was real at the moment or not; the well-worn cliché of method acting is admittedly a lived experience for me. At this point, I want Lindsay Lohan to win an Oscar, I want Lindsay Lohan to get married, I want Lindsay Lohan to start her inevitable Long Island nuclear- family and finally be clean and sober for good. Not necessarily because I care about her as a person, but more because I want her to do anything that could liberate her from the creepy and firm grasp of Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan. She has now reached a point of nicotine-induced malaise, wasting away on a yacht in Ibiza surrounded by handsome dudes who wear Rolexes. Analogously, Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan floats along, feeling neither a sense of closure or the same captivating connection of yesteryear. Thousands of memes later, the superstar and fan have both reached a period of indefinite mediocrity.  It’s time for the blog to end.

 If I learned anything from this project, it’s honestly just the objective truths about Lindsay Lohan that can be verified by court records, IMDB, Wikipedia and photographs.  Yes, I am a Lindsay Lohan expert. And so, this January, I will teach a run-of-the-mill introductory course on Lindsay Lohan for my college’s experimental learning week. I won’t bring up Warhol or Koons, Baudrillard or Adorno. No, this will be a cut and dry course covering the facts of Lindsay Lohan’s life: She did star in The Parent Trap in 1998, she did date Wilmer Valderrama in 2005, she did get two DUIs in 2007. After the class, I will tell the students to discuss the content and collectively decide what to make of my boring PowerPoint presentation: What’s the narrative here, if there really is one? Then and only then, will Lindsay Lohan’s Last Fan would be allowed to finally die.  

            It’s you, it’s all for you, everything I do, I tell you all the time, heaven is a place on Earth with you

Happy birthday to Shannon! I hope it’s a good one!!!

There are mornings she contemplates the worth of arson charges. She’s even googled the jail time in California for it. It seems reasonable she could plea deal down to a year or two. Which doesn’t sound bad on those days when her manager is on her about everything and the sun still isn’t up. Then again that would mean he’d have to find a new coffee shop and she can’t do that to a man in uniform. Even if it’s a military academy uniform.

Piper hears the bell chime as the door opens and stops scrolling on her phone long enough to check the time. Six-fifteen on the dot so she pushes the cup forward with his name scrawled across it and waits for him to push the two dollars across the counter. The money appears and is pushed forward but when she grabs for it his hand keeps it pinned down.

“You know my order,” he says blankly.

Piper looks up and catches his eyes and feels the jolt that she’s become more dependent on in the mornings than most customers are to their caffeine.  

“Two sugars, the second one is a secret, a little cream and a sprinkle of chocolate. Nothing compared to some of the orders I get.” Piper becomes more and more aware of his stare the longer she speaks.

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Letter to My Mother

I woke up this morning and felt nothing different from my regular morning routine of turning off the alarms, sleeping in for another five minutes, then taking a quick shower before heading out the door for another day in front of the computer. While doing my round of social media checking, I stumbled upon my mother’s essay on Facebook entitled “Being So Far From Home, Do You Miss Vietnamese New Year?” She must have trouble sleeping last night because it was posted at 6:56 this morning. 

I read it again and again as I sat in front of the computer crying. It dawns on me that we are three days away from the Lunar New Year, yet nothing in me rings an ounce of excitement.

It has been eleven years since we moved to New York. Being so far from our family, my mother tried to replicate the atmosphere of Tết during our first few years in the States with home-cooked meals, webcam sessions though 8568 miles of cables, and lucky $2 bills inside red envelops. However, for the past nine years, this short-lived tradition was quietly phased out to make things easier for my mother, brother, and me to independently spend lunar new years apart.  

My mother’s essay immediately transported back to my seven-year-old self who was so excited at the prospect of wearing the traditional áo dài on New Year’s Eve, spending lì xì money on fire crackers with the other children in the neighborhood, and waiting impatiently for the family feast at my grandfather’s house. My aunts and mother would pull up the sleeves, squat on the kitchen floor to fold miles of spring rolls and cook countless holiday dishes. The cold morning air would be a mixture of the sweetness from the sticky rice, the fat from the boiled chicken, and the sourness of the sauté bamboo shoots. As children, we would be in the back of the house counting our red envelops – screaming for fairness if one kid got more money than the other.

New year now doesn’t mean much to me or I just try to not think about it. No one would ever ask if I miss new years in Vietnam. I seem to be too far removed from my own country to fully answer the question. I see now that my Vietnamese does not have the capacity to explain the sadness that comes over me each time I imagine my father lighting incense sticks to put on my aunt and grandfather’s alters. My Vietnamese escapes me when I try to talk about how much I miss being on the back of my mother’s scooter as she picks out the best candied fruit for Tết. My Vietnamese falls short when I think of what my mother has left behind in Ha Noi to come to a barren New York of no cherry blossoms, no kumquat trees, no family, no friends, and no children to celebrate the New Years with. My Vietnamese fails me today as I can only write this letter to my mother in English.

Being 8568 miles away from home, I wish to trade in all January 1st for the sporadic lunar new years.

Hello, I’m French. I live in a town 20 min away from Paris. My english isn’t perfect but I want the world to hear what I have to say. I need to talk. I need to feel alive. 

Yesterday I was out with my girl and then we ate at her place. We started to watch the football game (France vs Germany). We fell asleep so we turned off the TV. 
We woke up at 1:20 am. From this moment, I thought I didn’t woke up. I thought all of this was a nightmare. 
I turned on my phone. 32 calls missed from my dad, sister, messages from some of my friends… Also a Facebook notification asking if I was in a safe place. Surreal. We didn’t understand what happened. We turned on the TV. And we saw the news. I immediately called my dad, to tell him I wasn’t in Paris tonight. I was 20 min away from our house actually. I answered my friend’s messages to tell them I was safe.

This is the first time in my life I check if all my friends, family are alive. I have friends, teachers that live in Paris. That love going to concerts, football games, chilling in some bars, because TGIF you know. 
All of this made me realize something. How much I love being a human being. How much I love my family, my friends, my country, my world, my humanity. My hands are shaking while typing this message. I cry. People need to get that too. Wherever you are, take care, take care of your family, your friends, and everyone.

After that, me and my girl took each other’s hand. We hugged in silence full of pain. This is the second time we live a moment like this (as you may know, in 01.2015, Charlie Hebdo…). And we cried. She was so scared. I try to calm her down, even if I was so scared to. It feels like a war. I wasn’t in the Bataclan of Paris streets, but it feels like I was there. I feel like this is war. I feel attacked. 

All of the schools and universities are closed today. Our president declared the “emergency state” which involves that our frontiers are closed for 12 days minimum. We ignore if some last night’s terrorist are still out. We don’t even realized how many people lost their lives last night. 120 people are declared dead from the attacks. Maybe there are more. This is a horror without name

Take a look to the picture I put with this post. This is Marianne. The french symbol of democracy, republic and “Liberté, égalité, fraternité”. She is also the symbol of revolution. She means a lot to our history. 

Today I cry with Marianne. I cry with every french people. I cry with the world. I want to thank everyone in the world, in the name of all of us, who showed their support to us. Thank you. I feels good to know we’re not alone.

Thank you for reading this. Spread love. Take care. Today we cry. But we will rise again. And to all of this bastards who did that : we will rise again. And there are no place here for you. I don’t believe in god, but religion is not meant to kill people because they are not like you. 

Liberté, égalité, fraternité. Vive la République, vive la France.

I dated this guy in 2013 for a few months. We grew up a mile from each other, he was about five years older and we hadn’t ever met until then. We both ended up in the same town in a completely different state than where we grew up.

It was 2013, I walked into a bar and this guy was the first thing I saw regardless of the hundreds of other people surrounding him and I. He wasn’t my type and frankly, I thought nothing of it. An hour or so later, he approaches me and that’s where it all began. We talked, drunkenly, but it was sweet. He spoke nice things, told me I was kind and proper. But then he left. So what does anyone do? They make a Craigslist Missed Connections and forget about it. But then I woke up and checked my email and I had a response. It was him. But my messages weren’t going through and somehow I found him on Facebook by his first name. So I messaged him and that’s where it truly began. 

I took him to dinner and found we had a vast amount of weird coincidences that I could solely write a book about. Everything was completely genuine and within that moment, I kinda just knew he was my soulmate. Regardless of knowing him for five minutes. My life changed, my thoughts changed, everything about me transitioned into who I am in this very instance. 

We dated, slowly, for a few months while someone who raised me was dying from cancer. I was in and out of town and so was he for work. It grew harder and he grew distant and I fell harder. I put these ideas in my head that he had cancer and couldn’t deal with what I was going through as well as what he was. My grandmother soon died from cancer and after that I heard from him maybe once so I sent him a letter and he kindly responded that he would get back to me. He never did. 

An exact year passed and I saw him, standing in the same spot, on the same day, in the same bar. I lost it. We talked for hours. How he went missing because he had surgeries, that he had cancer. That he couldn’t deal and that he found a boyfriend three months later. 

It was hard. Things were hard, but I didn’t realize the closure I needed was standing right in front of me. The talk, the grasp, his scent and everything about the moment was beyond beautiful, even through I was sad beyond a level of comprehension.

We got lunch the following week. We laughed. We talked about little things. The CD’s I gave him and how he still listened to them. My tattoos, his work, how his best friend got married and the way he cried at the wedding. We parted ways and he said never to be a stranger, but I told him I never was and then I thanked him for letting me love someone else more than I loved myself.