The ambiguity surrounding the break-up (semi? sort of? ish?) of LMFAO now puts the international political dynamic completely in a state of flux. World powers now question whether or not they’re actually sexy. Obviously, the pressing issue won’t be resolved until we see what comes, or not, of LMFAO’s separate (and utterly promising) projects.
Feminism, being very concerned with the state of ice cream flavors, smiles on flavor names like Imagine Whirled Peace, because any product genuinely promoting peace, whirled or otherwise, is probably also promoting gender equality. You can’t actually have real peace without that. Now can someone go inform NATO and Hamid Karzai of this?
Thanks, Ned. I appreciate the chance to take a crack at the ice cream situation.
You may of noticed a slight slump in posts on here, which is down to a lack of internet and 3G signal in my new pad. But fear not, this should be fixed in the next week or so, so to keep in going until then, here’s a list the list of Tumblr’s I’ve been enjoying the most recently.
This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate each other at the end. And you might walk away from each other one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date. She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady. She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.
Meetings are strange. Two adults sitting and talking about a thing. One thing. For a while. That isn’t how people actually talk in real life. People bubble and veer off in real life and go all over the place. Having a sit-down talk about something deathly serious – people could potentially lose their fucking jobs over this – lives could be changed here – is an acquired skill. Its a difficult thing. Some people are born to meet. To others, it will forever be like rollerblading verbally.