6:00 Woke 6:10 20oz coffee with 1 tsp turbinado sugar 6:55 20oz coffee with 1 tsp turbinado sugar 7:30 Say goodbye to parents 8:00 Cook breakfast - Tofurkey Chorizo and eggs 8:45 2 scoops Vegan Smart nutritional shake mix with 16oz almond milk; vit D3; vit B12; multivitamin 9:20 Epom salt and baking soda bath 10:00 Put away laundry 10:45 20oz green tea with 1 tbsp clover honey; read Sunday paper 11:15 1 1/3 Tofurkey chorizo and egg burritos (husband’s leftovers) 11:30 Consumed documentary; 2 coats of paint over mistakes in living room walls 12:30 Bike ride to the park with Adam; 1L water 13:30 Sand down drywall around hole in the wall from door; reapply plaster; allow to dry 14:30 That Sugar Film; Bowl of leftover chili; naan; 12oz almond milk 16:00 20oz green tea with 1 tbsp clover honey; green grapes 16:45 Digestion & Nutrition 17:10 Work on hole in wall from door handle; allow to dry again 18:15 Inside the Garbage of the World; Curry tofu and rice with raw cucmber and green pepper; slice of carrot cake with butter cream frosting 18:45 20oz Valerian tea 19:30 Read Blockopedia with Adam 20:30 Sleep
Rafael getting annoyed with Sonny for acting childish about something
Omg, but what if it’s because Rafael wants to get up and like, read the Sunday paper or something, but Sonny won’t let him get out of their bed because he wants to cuddle??
And Sonny is actually a lot stronger than he looks, so Rafael literally cannot escape his child-of-a-boyfriend’s hold??
Rafael gets all huffy, too, trying to pry Sonny’s skinny arms from around his middle and hissing, “Sonny, if you don’t let go of me in two seconds, I swear to god I will drink the entire pot of coffee on my own - “.
But then Sonny’s grumbling and pushing his face into Rafael’s belly, squeezing him tighter, intertwining their legs together tighter, kissing just below Rafael’s ribs so softly, asking, “Just cuddle me for five more minutes, Rafi, pleaseeee?”
And god dammit, when Sonny holds onto him like that, his stupid chest gets so warm!!
So he gives in - not even a smidge reluctantly - and kisses Sonny’s hair before wrapping his arms tightly around Sonny’s waist.
This has to work.
I can’t afford to be reading the
Sunday paper twenty years from now,
only to look down at my cup of
coffee and be upset because
I put in too much cream.
Now it’s no longer the same dark
brown as you’re beautiful eyes,
That’s the closest I’ve ever gotten.
A shot of whiskey and a kiss you’ll regret in the morning
The Arizona Republic has never endorsed a Democratic presidential candidate. In September, the paper’s editorial board endorsed Hillary Clinton — and in came the death threats. In an must-read op-ed published Sunday by the paper’s president, Mi-Ai Parrish, the Republictook a stand against the violence and fear of this election cycle.
“When I was a little girl, my dad would read the paper every Sunday, and my mom would read a book nearby. And I would sit at the top of our stairs and just watch them. Watch them be still together. And when I think of being in love, that’s what I picture – days like that. And nights like this.”
↳8.22 This Is My House, This Is My Home ♔ “When I was a little girl, my dad used to read the paper every Sunday. And my mom would read a book nearby. And I would sit at the top of our stairs and just watch them. Watch them be still together. When I think of being in love, that’s what I picture. Days like that. And nights like this.”
Claire is secretly a lie in person, when she’s not having to haul her butt out of bed at 5am to make breakfast meetings she loves waking up to Owen wrapped around her. If she pouts enough she can usually persuade him to grab coffee and muffins from the coffee place next to their building.
They of course eat their breakfast in bed before reading the Sunday papers. Claire for the sake of her job has to peruse the business section but it’s the fashion and lifestyle pages that she really loves. That leaves Owen to pretend he’s reading sports and current events when in actual fact he’s trying his best not to chuckle at the funny pages.
You were my white picket fence and my Sunday paper. You were my Monday blues and Friday nights in. I can’t put a new face to the pictures on my desk, and I can’t erase the future you painted for us from my canvas.
So I don’t want to settle down with someone else, I don’t want a white picket fence with someone else. I don’t want to read the Sunday paper in bed with someone else. I don’t want someone else to kiss away my Monday blues. I don’t want to curl up on the sofa on Friday night without you.
If I can’t have it with you, I don’t want any of it.
You prefer to read the newspaper over the hottest new young
adult novel. Not that there is anything wrong with young adult novels because even
you know how addicting they are, but you just like to keep up with the news and
laugh at the Sunday comics. Reading the paper is part of your morning ritual;
you wash your face, put your hair up, get a nice cup of coffee, and read the Sunday
paper as you sit in the kitchen. Usually Ashton isn’t up that early as you on
Sundays since it’s his off day, but today he happened to be bored as you felt
him put his arms around your waist. “I’m reading Ash.” You tell him lightly
pushing him off with no avail. “Come on babe, pay attention to me.” He says
with a pout as you take a step away from him and he pulls you back in as you
laugh, “Ash!” you say as he twists you around to throw your paper in the air
and kiss you. “You’re worthless without me.” You tell him. “You complete me
baby.” He winks as he gives you another kiss, so much for reading, but there is
always next Sunday.
Dancing has always been something you love to do, but your
love for teaching overtook that dream. Just because you were a teacher didn’t
mean you had to stop dancing, you had sometimes conducted Zumba classes on the
weekends. Recently you went to one of Luke’s shows and ended up twisting your ankle
when you tripped off the bus, “Come one babe, you can’t still be mad.” Luke
says, “Luke the only reason why I tripped off the bus was because you and the
other guys got too excited and ended up pushing me.” You say reminding him as
you pouted in bed Sunday morning because you had to cancel your class. “Here
why don’t you teach me?” Luke says standing up. You give Luke a deadpan look, “Luke
you’re a walking noodle, you can’t dance.” You say but he picks you up and
starts making you slow dance with him and you can’t help but laugh, “Luke I
think you have a wrong impression of what Zumba is.” You say but you keep
dancing appreciating that he was trying.
Cleaning the house was not a chore to you, but more of a
hobby because it helped you clear your mind of everything that was going on. You
would usually wait though until Calum left the house to go to the studio
because he would usually either bother you or distract you. This week was
different because you came down with an awful cold, but you refused to let the
house stay a mess. Even though your body hurt you still got up and got the mop,
“Come on.” You say sweating trying to push the mop. Calum walked in the house
shock, “Y/N why aren’t you in bed!” he says immediately picking you up before
you fell, “I need to clean, you know it helps me.” You say. Calum nods and
starts thinking, “Ok I have an idea.” That’s when he puts you on his back and
grabs the mop, “Tell me what to do ma’am.” You laugh as he starts, “You’re not
scared I might get you sick?” you ask, “Are you kidding? A day in bed with you,
haaa I won’t mind at all.” He says as you kiss his cheek.
To be honest writing was more of Michael’s thing, but you
still liked to dabble in it none the less. Writing was how you and Michael met
after all, because you both took a writing class in high school. Michael’s
writing was mostly for his songs, while yours were mostly poems and shirt
stories of romance. Even though Michael did song writing you didn’t mind him
reading over your stiff and making some edits, because he was good with his
words. You were laying down when he walked in after his shower, “Mike, will you
read this for me?” you ask as he lays down next to you, “Sure love, let me see.”
He says and starts reading it over line by line. When you saw his concentrated
expression you couldn’t help but remember when you guys first met, and you then
smile and lay on his back making him fall, “Do you want me to help you?” he
asked you and you kissed him cheek, “Yes teacher.” You say and he laughs at
Rand Paul announced he is running for president in 2016 today. I woke up to what felt like endless coverage of nepotism and white supremacy.
Just last Thursday, Garissa University in Kenya was stormed by Al-Shabaab extremists from nearby Somalia. The gunmen killed 147 people because they were Christians. #AfricanLivesMatter on Twitter was where I found the most information about the attacks, and the only news sources that kept up with breaking news on the massacre were international (the BBC, Al-Jazeera, and the Guardian, to my knowledge).
I order the New York Times to my doorstep every Sunday because it was a requirement for my ‘Magazine Writing’ course last semester. I grew used to getting excited on Sunday mornings: Eager to consume the most important of that previous week’s news.
I also enjoy(ed) reading the Times Magazine (which accompanies the Sunday paper), but following recent changes it’s become less engaging for me as a reader. I’m not sure “pessimistic 22-year-old anti-capitalist who knows socialism and communism are problematic but also knows our current economic system is the root of all of society’s current evils and thus must be fixed immediately” is really the Times’ target audience.
Back to my point: Every news station in the U.S. is covering Rand Paul’s (unsurprising) bid for presidency as if it’s important enough to garner 24/7 coverage. It’s instances like this where I wish I was in a newsroom to say, “Hey assholes, let’s talk about something other than the son of a previous presidential candidate using his dad’s political prowess to announce a yawn-inducing bid for presidency.”
I can’t decide if I’m more upset that the media is covering him so intensely because I hate his politics, or if I’m upset because his presidential announcement is just so meaningless in comparison to what else is going on in the world.
I told a friend yesterday, who is a news-savvy journalism major like myself, about how disappointed I was when I picked up my Sunday Times this past weekend to find only a small square discussing Kenya on the bottom left corner of the front page. I tried to brush it off as I flipped to the page the cover said the Kenya story would be on, assuming it would at least get the front page of the International Times section.
It did not. It was two pages into the International Times section. The Kenyan story didn’t even get a whole page to itself.
My friend, the one who reads news just like me and majors in journalism just like me, didn’t know the extent of the Kenyan killings. My offhand complaint about the Times is when she first heard about how bad it was.
If journalism majors can’t find (or sometimes, be bothered to find) accessible and credible news sources that cover important issues, how can we expect anyone who isn’t a journalism major to?
One hundred and forty-seven innocent people were shot while at school.
That leaves at least 294 parents in mourning; not to mention the countless friends and family members who are devastated and shocked by the murder of their innocent loved ones.
If gunmen or terrorists (interchangeable terms, in my opinion) were to shoot even one student in the U.S., there would be coverage for days. People would be outraged and heartbroken—especially if the event went ignored by gatekeepers in charge of spreading messages (also known as the American news media).
I don’t understand why Rand Paul’s presidential announcement is more important than the mass killings of innocent people. I don’t understand why the countries in Africa don’t matter to news organizations in the U.S. I don’t understand how the Times can spend weeksbeatingthedeadhorsethatisCharlieHebdocoverage, but forget about the murders of 147 people in fewer than five days.
My journalism degree feels tainted with the muted cries of those who expected their messages to be delivered. How can I be proud of my field when Rand Paul gets hours of facetime on C.N.N., but people whose job it is to read the news can’t even find credible sources on an incredibly devastating terrorist attack in Kenya?
Who is the news actually produced for?
I thought it was for the people like my grandma who doesn’t yet quite trust the internet and believes the 10 p.m. newscasters more than is reasonable; my journalism professors who have hope in what many call a dying industry; my mom who framed my first article published in my local newspaper because she was so proud that I’d “made it” in the journalism world.
I was taught in my journalism courses that the news is for anyone who wants to take part in an active democracy. In theory, that’s pretty much damn near everyone.
But I’m starting to worry the news is becoming just another form of propaganda. Where does that leave me as someone who is only trained to work in the media?
I feel naive and betrayed for having so much faith in an industry that seems to be headed in a direction completely opposite of what I am prepared for.
I don’t care what Chris Carter says, on Sundays Mulder and Scully spend most of the day in bed reading the Sunday papers with Daggoo snoring gently at their feet. Mulder makes them breakfast in bed (bought from the farmers’ market the day before) which they eat while they muddle their way through crosswords and suduko. Sometime if it’s a nice day, they might be enticed outside for a walk - but more often than not, they don’t leave the bedroom.
“my grandad used to read the paper every sunday morning, he would take the rubber band that held it in a roll and he would make a rubber band ball out of it. that thing got so big that it fell off the pedestal that he had it displayed on and it broke five toes on his right too. cause that’s how many toes he had on his right foot, five.”
“i would remember this if it were true, it’s not true.” | GMM #909 [x]