21-year-old aspiring writer. Soon to leave the Pittsburgh college world behind. Broke, hopeful, naïve—you know the drill.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
Kiana Hayeri: Your Veil is a Battleground
Sometimes you come across something online that makes you stop and think, I need to do something that meaningful, too. I recently came across Kiana Hayeri’s work, posted in the New York Times today, and admire her so much for all that she has accomplished. She was born only two years before me and makes me feel like it’s possible to use your passions and beliefs to create something good.
I love Margaret Cho more and more each day.
“I don’t know why we care what you have to say. We don’t have the luxury to starve for fashion. We have to work for a living. We have double shifts. We carry groceries we can barely buy with our meager salaries up many flights of stairs and feed our children and deal with our children being molested and woefully sometimes bury our children and find a way to live through this, being merely children ourselves. We worry through vocal surgery and survive the silence and still go to gigs and keep from getting hit and if we do, successfully cover the bruises with concealer so we can go to school and to the DMV and SXSW and keep our heads up high while being unloved or loved by the wrong ones and hang in the friend zone as we hang our laundry out to dry and run for the bus and fight for the right to marriage while finalizing painful divorces and try amidst all this to keep going and get by.”
Postcards From Gambia: Inesperadas invitadas de honor
annia, es increible tu historia.. wow!! siempre me sorprende que tan acogedoras pueden ser la gente hacia extranjeros
El otro dia mi grupo de muchachas y yo queriamos ir a explorar un lugar que se llama Senegambia. Senegambia aparentemente es un lugar muy turístico pero sin embargo queríamos ir a chequear que tal estaba. Nunca pudimos llegar porque caminamos en la dirección opuesta y terminamos perdidas. Cuando…
In 23 minutes.
This is that moment in social media where the president does something before you’ve done it. Used to be he’d join Tumblr, or Twitter, well after we had used the toolsets. Now? 10 bucks says you haven’t done a “Hangout.”
Happening right now. Pretty awesome!
the fireside chat for the 21st century.
you went there. i love it.
You know something that sucks about education in this country?
I predict this girl will get far more likes on her TFA status than I will when I update my status about a teaching position for next year. I hope I’m wrong, but judging from the past—I won’t be.
I studied to teach for 4 years. She passed an interview and has an impressive transcript.
Who is more qualified to receive a teaching job? Who is more rewarded by society and her peers?
Shameful, America.
“We check out your cervix as-is, then we brush some vinegar on it like the most interesting salad and look…”
A fun, informative article. Check it out! (Also, check out the youtube video she links to on slut shaming.. can’t believe a 13-year-old would make that).
(via A Scenic Guide to Your Abnormal Pap Smear | The Hairpin)
There was something about his laughs
I could never figure out. When we first started making out in his senior-year dorm apartment, he would chuckle lowly, to himself. My skinny legs folded between his ex-rugby legs, hips pressed against his pelvis, I’d smile down at him. “What?” I’d ask, placing my pointer finger on the bottom right corner of his lips. “What are you laughing about?” We’d look at each other for a moment and start kissing again. And he would chuckle some more.
My small lips were used to kissing slowly, gently. His giant lips could barely feel their caresses. And so he laughed, but never said a word.
Sometimes we’d just walk down the street, any street, really, because that’s what we used to do: meet up in random cities and just walk around. Eat. Drink. Hold hands. It all started in Pittsburgh, but after he graduated it moved to New York, to Montreal, Madison, Wisconsin, even Santiago and Lima. And at some point during our walk I’d always hear that little chuckle. “What?” I’d ask, a coy smile on my face. He’d smush his lips together, raise his eyebrows, and shake his head. “Nothing. Just nothing.” He’d beam down at me, and we’d continue walking.
One time, during the long distance ending of our longterm dysfunctional relationship, we Skyped for the first time in a week. He was super mad at me until then. We had gotten in an argument the weekend before, and he was sick of the fights. And I don’t know. We got on Skype, I had this new, thick straght-banged haircut, and no makeup on. I looked like a straightup nerd. Like Zooey Dechanel when she wears glasses and doesn’t apply her super volumizing mascara. “I look so nerdy,” I said into the camera. There came his chuckle again. “Stop laughing at me because I look nerdy!” His chuckle came a little harder. “It’s just because I have no makeup on!” His chuckle was uncontrollable. It came from deep, deep in his gut. It reverberated from his MacBook to mine, and it was unstoppable. He squeezed his eyes shut and laughed, mouth wide and round, for minutes straight. Well. That’s a way to end a fight, I thought to myself.
It was one of the little games we played, for about two years. I was the little, cute, innocent one. All I had to do was talk in a high-pitched voice, spin around in circles, shake my butt around. He was the tough guy who couldn’t have emotions, who couldn’t be broken. He just had to chuckle at my act, let me in step by step by step.
