Mitt Romney’s new iPhone app, misspelling America. (via @thischoi)
Alright people. Take a moment. Savor it. This is as good as it gets.
(via apsies)
Today, I made some calming manatees, but most of them are the wrong size to go on the site.
Oh well. Would you like them?
Oh my god this is BEAUTIFUL
hold me manatee. hold me tight and never let go
Aw, I love Calming Manatee.
This is my kind of meme.
Reblogging because YES. TRUE. YOU HAVE A POINT, MANATEE.
I have a new history crush. Excuse me while I go build a time machine to find her and bear her children.
Julie D’Aubigny was a 17th-century bisexual French opera singer and fencing master who killed or wounded at least ten men in life-or-death duels, performed nightly shows on the biggest and most highly-respected opera stage in the world, and once took the Holy Orders just so that she could sneak into a convent and bang a nun. If nothing in that sentence at least marginally interests you, I have no idea why you’re visiting this website. (via Badass of the Week: Julie D’Aubigny, La Maupin) (thank you, Rachel!)
(via fuckyeahhistorycrushes)
A Spared Thought
I missed Mr. Rochester today. Out of the blue. It’s been more than a year. But I don’t know or have anyone like that in my life right now. Anyone sarcastic and clever and doting and male and at least somewhere on the spectrum of available. I miss that, I suppose more than I miss him for himself, though there are things I miss that I don’t know if I can even describe here. They are so petty, really, and shouldn’t slow me down even for a momentary reverie, but the heat exchange between our hands. When you’ve gone so long without being physical with others, without engaging in anyone’s physical space or letting them into yours, how you fetishize things that do not even matter, things that were not indicative of anything.
You can still feel the aura of things that never were, save they were believed in. These holy relics of a disbelieved faith. I would love for him to give me a book. I would love to be able to give him gossip. To not feel petty or small or weak for the flaws in my character, but instead, to lionize them under his steady gaze. To be part of this army of walking wounded, broken but sincere and looking for super glue. Not this isolated case.
These are all metaphors and never did a metaphor return a man from the distant shores that I hope offered him succor instead of exile.
It’s not Romeo and Juliet. But I watch it staged in my Globe when the world gets quiet. He hasn’t gotten around to returning so I’m glad I haven’t gotten around to the knife.
(Source: mega00antthony, via shenkokoro)
(Source: puttingmannersonafeminist, via straaahlekind)
Ellen Muthor Andrew Lee Potts - requested by Anonymous
(Source: somereallygreathair, via imyouraziraphale)
Helen and Olly and Martin the Soundman: making writing my university report more difficult.
If you’re at all clever or at all an Anglophile, you’re listening to Answer Me This.
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