- More Facebook Cunts
- You should never speak of tumblr outside of Tumblr.
I wouldn’t follow them either.
UGH Honestly, these are kids a grade lower than me
That means born year 2000
2. You can’t add someone on Tumblr, that’s what idiots do on Facebook.
I won’t bother changing their URLs anymore.
Hah. just plank in the traffic and die lol.
They don’t follow me anyway.
just wtf. I’m done with you people at my school.
Wait, there are kids who were born in 2000 who have Facebooks? Ohdeargod, please help me and my apparently old soul. As an adult born “ages” ago, this scares me.
(Source: rainbow-llama)
Cried so hard, you go Beaste. <3 <3 No one should ever put up with domestic abuse, ever.
(Source: quinniesmythe)
My weight loss blog is up, I’ll start posting on it in a bit, but first I’m going to go get ready for the day and most likely take a walk with my dogs.
http://droppingweightlikeimeanit.tumblr.com/
http://droppingweightlikeimeanit.tumblr.com/
http://droppingweightlikeimeanit.tumblr.com/
I have been trying to lose weight I gained due to my injury, and now that I’m home from school for the summer I want to lose enough weight to look good in a bikini. When I was finally old enough to wear one my body had already gotten too big. However, I’ve lost 9 pounds since getting home I am determined to get my body to finally look beautiful. I’ll post a link to the blog when I’m done with it. If you guys could follow it and just all around support me, that would be awesome. :)
To be a good sister. A good daughter. But I just can’t be. I’m jaded, biased. I was punished for every little thing I ever did wrong. My sisters have gotten the short end of the stick. My parents have stopped punishing them because it’s just “too stressful.” So now my sisters aren’t the best behaved, at all. Sometimes they’re downright horrendous with their attitudes and their rude comments. And even though I’m 19, I still defend myself when they start. But my mom just gets mad at me. “You’re the adult, leave them alone.” I’m sorry, you’re their mother. Stop them from treating me like shit and then I can finally stop defending myself. They are going to evolve into bad people if you let them continue this way, and I warned you. I’ve warned everyone for long enough, I’m done with my voice falling on deaf ears. I don’t want to stand there and take their crap but I don’t want to give my mom the stress induced heart attack we all know is coming. Life’s rough, I know, and they say that family is perfect either. But can’t it at least be decent?
First Dog: Masters, I do not like where this is headed.
Second Dog: SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT DADDY NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
STORY OF MY FINALS.
Photo Courtesy: jaclynnicolee
Oh Morgan Freeman, you always know who to speak to my soul. Especially when I need it. Thank you.
They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.
But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.
See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.
Maybe we were too much alike.
I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
____________ _________ _________ _________
To Whomever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.
So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.
Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —-“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”
He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.
Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.
Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.
And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.
I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with .. and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.
Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he
loved me.
If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.
Thank you,
Paul Mallory
____________ _________ _________ _______
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver
Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.
The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
“C’mere boy.”
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.
His tail swished.
I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my
face into his scruff and hugged him.
“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.
“So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.
“Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”
Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.”
(Source: stephaniekilbury)
And I’m having the hardest time with my grandfather’s. Pop-Pop, as I used to call him. My father rang me around 10 in the morning on Monday and asked me how I was. I nervously said I was fine because my father never calls from work, so I knew it had to be important. Before I could ask what was wrong he told me “Grandpa slipped away early this morning.”
Instantly, I started sobbing. I just couldn’t handle it, my pop-pop, the man who: enlisted at 17 for WWII, was the original definition of hobo and train hopped from Kansas to Sacramento, California, the one who made a name for himself after being born on a farm in 1919 and coming all that way just to be in Cali. He was strong, tough as nails, but he was also a sweetheart. He’d play mean but deep down he was such a lover. He was, and still is, amazing.
Next week for me is finals, and an education for me was so important to him. He saw it as something I needed to do. So trying to stay head held high for him is hard, but I know based on everything else that’s occurred in my life that the least I can do is pull it off for him. Life can’t cease, and that’s what he used to preach. ”You got yerself a new day, now go an’ use it.” I just am suffering in silence.
I’m 8 hours from home and people related to him that would understand. Crying in my room alone is so hard, I just want to be out of school. But when that happens, it’ll be his service. And I just don’t know what to say. Tell the story of how he took me to go see my first in theater HP movie? How he used to be an amazing wood worker that was strongly dedicated to his love for the craft? His 30+ years with the electric company in Sacramento that he helped string up? His love for our family? I just don’t know what.
With how torn apart my family is, I want to use a poignant speech about him to bring us all back. I know I can’t bring him back and it’s killed me how our family had to fall apart like it has, but nowhere near as much as it killed him, and that’s what hurts the most. Nothing is harder than a death you see, and I hope that from his ashes will stem a new beginning in my family, a way to bring us together again.
Rest in Peace Pop-Pop, may your 93 years here on Earth serve as an inspiration to all those who ache and wonder. I’ll forever love and miss you.
But what’s new right? 9 days left, just 9 more days…
END SCHOOL NOOOOOOOOOOOW. Blergh.
Tweet at me, @littlenichols.
