Running On Granola

Environmentalist, musician, feminist, and vegetarian in Seattle.

happyhagfish:

Meth: not even once

(Source: mad-decent-taco, via tastefullyoffensive)

superlockedhogwartianinthetardis:

keepcalm-andpartyyon:

A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.

A question mark walks into a bar?

Two quotation marks “Walk into” a bar.

A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to drink.

The bar was walked into by a passive voice.

Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They drink. They leave.

THANKS FOR TEACHING ME THINGS THAT ENGLISH CLASS HAS FAILED TO ACKNOWLEDGE

I really only learned these things in Spanish class.

(Source: totheend-oftheuniverse, via atramentouschthonic)

awwww-cute:

A friend was travelling through Laos and Vietnam and met this little fella

awwww-cute:

A friend was travelling through Laos and Vietnam and met this little fella

(via kalimagination)

sassyabrahamlincoln:

do you ever get your period and just think about your recent behavior like wow that explains a lot

You mean sobbing over cereal isn’t normal?

(via mrs-ostrich)

tastefullyoffensive:

[mrlovenstein]
atramentouschthonic:

bossbitching:

ronaldkn0x:

johnnypsychopath:

thatfunnyblog:

when will it end

he is neither of those

so i thought this was fake but then i googled it and

somebody stop him

"i was born black"

What even is this kid.

Jesus fucking Christ.

atramentouschthonic:

bossbitching:

ronaldkn0x:

johnnypsychopath:

thatfunnyblog:

when will it end

he is neither of those

so i thought this was fake but then i googled it and

somebody stop him

"i was born black"

What even is this kid.

Jesus fucking Christ.

(Source: cakejam)

tastefullyoffensive:

"I took my cat on his first walk yesterday." -GarbageCanHands

tastefullyoffensive:

"I took my cat on his first walk yesterday." -GarbageCanHands

(Source: worldofthecutestcuties)

(I work the floor at an independently-owned menswear store. The owner, my boss, spends a lot of time at the shop, and tries to keep prices as low as possible to help our city’s large homeless population get good job interview clothes. A clearly homeless man is wandering around the store. The other patrons are giving him looks.)

Customer:

“Excuse me, sir?”

Me:

“Yes, ma’am?”

Customer:

“I think you may want to call security. That… bum over there, he keeps feeling the suits and muttering to himself. I’m just sure he’s planning to steal one.”

Me:

“Well, ma’am, I think that’s quite unlikely.”

Customer:

“Oh, come on, you know how they are! I mean, I’d keep an eye on him even if he wasn’t homeless!”

(The homeless man in question happens to be Hispanic.)

Me:

“We don’t discriminate here, ma’am.”

Customer:

“Well, I’m sure the owner would want to hear about this!”

(I give in and call him over. The customer explains her concerns. As a black man, my boss isn’t happy with her racism, but agrees to talk to the homeless man.)

Owner:

“Excuse me, sir, are you finding what you need?”

Homeless Man:

“Well, not really. I’m hoping for something versatile in a dark or navy wool, but most of the options in my size are cut American style instead of European, which fits me a little better. Not to mention they’re all pinstriped, which I really don’t have the build for, you know?”

Owner:

“I… yes, I understand. I think we may have some options over here, if you’ll follow me. How did you know all that?”

Homeless Man:

“Back before I lost my job, I used to be really into this stuff. I’m not looking for anything fancy, just something I can use to look good for a job interview later today.”

(My boss helps him find something he likes, and comes to the counter with him. The suit is priced at $87.)

Homeless Man:

*digging in his pockets* “Hang on, I think I’ve got enough.”

Owner:

*to me* “Take my card. I’m buying it for him.” *to the homeless man* “Here. The suit’s yours, on one condition. After your interview today, you come back and apply for a job here too. Got it?”

Homeless Man:

“I… oh my God, thank you. Thank you so much.”

(Two years later, that formerly-homeless man is my manager, and has a little girl with his new wife—the owner’s sister.)

kiinney:

gaywrites:

We went to the party, and, as I figured, some of the guests laughed and made comments. One said to me, “Do you think this is funny? There are kids here. You want them to see this?” Another said, “You want him to be gay?”  

And I stayed calm. And I explained to them the best I could that there is no correlation between kids cross-dressing and being gay. And if he is gay, it’s not because of anything I did. It’s because he’s gay. And maybe it’s a stage. And maybe it’s not. But either way, I don’t want him to ever feel like he wasn’t able to express himself because his parents didn’t support him. And some understood. And some, trapped by religion or ignorance, gave us the stank face. 

Plenty of people are supportive. They’ll see my kids — Sydney with her long dirty blonde hair, and Asher with his short dark hair, and say, “I love your daughter’s pixie cut.” When I tell them he’s my son, they smile and say, “I love it.” They also apologize for confusing his gender, but I tell them, “Don’t apologize. He’s in a purple dress with sparkly shoes. How would you know?” I know there are parents who get worked up when you confuse their kids’ gender, but I’m not one of them.

I get home before my wife most nights, so I was taking the kids out to walk our dog. They were dressing up in different outfits, my daughter treating Asher like her doll, as she tried various dresses, shoes, and headbands on him. And then Sydney told me she wanted me to wear a dress, too — “Oh my god, it will be so funny.”

I said, “No,” but she kept begging. I said, “People will laugh at me.” She said, “If they do, I’ll tell them to go away.” And I couldn’t argue with that, as I squeezed myself into Carrie’s most flexible dress. We walked the dog on our block, and the pleasure my kids took in seeing their dad go out of his comfort zone trumped the humiliation I felt.

Carrie pulled up to the house, and I saw her slacked jaw from the end of the street. She laughed. She took a picture. And she told me I better not rip her dress. And then we all went for a pizza.


(My Son Wears Dresses And That’s OK With Me | Seth Menachem for xoJane)

kiinney:

gaywrites:

We went to the party, and, as I figured, some of the guests laughed and made comments. One said to me, “Do you think this is funny? There are kids here. You want them to see this?” Another said, “You want him to be gay?”  
And I stayed calm. And I explained to them the best I could that there is no correlation between kids cross-dressing and being gay. And if he is gay, it’s not because of anything I did. It’s because he’s gay. And maybe it’s a stage. And maybe it’s not. But either way, I don’t want him to ever feel like he wasn’t able to express himself because his parents didn’t support him. And some understood. And some, trapped by religion or ignorance, gave us the stank face. 
Plenty of people are supportive. They’ll see my kids — Sydney with her long dirty blonde hair, and Asher with his short dark hair, and say, “I love your daughter’s pixie cut.” When I tell them he’s my son, they smile and say, “I love it.” They also apologize for confusing his gender, but I tell them, “Don’t apologize. He’s in a purple dress with sparkly shoes. How would you know?” I know there are parents who get worked up when you confuse their kids’ gender, but I’m not one of them.
I get home before my wife most nights, so I was taking the kids out to walk our dog. They were dressing up in different outfits, my daughter treating Asher like her doll, as she tried various dresses, shoes, and headbands on him. And then Sydney told me she wanted me to wear a dress, too — “Oh my god, it will be so funny.”
I said, “No,” but she kept begging. I said, “People will laugh at me.” She said, “If they do, I’ll tell them to go away.” And I couldn’t argue with that, as I squeezed myself into Carrie’s most flexible dress. We walked the dog on our block, and the pleasure my kids took in seeing their dad go out of his comfort zone trumped the humiliation I felt.
Carrie pulled up to the house, and I saw her slacked jaw from the end of the street. She laughed. She took a picture. And she told me I better not rip her dress. And then we all went for a pizza.

(via atramentouschthonic)

sassysinglelady:

Explored a ravine today. Results:

-Three stinging nettle rashes
- Attacked by a horde of spiders

NOT returning.

You guys…the neighbor’s house has a mannequin head in their front garden. I swear, every time I walk back to the house I think there is a lady either hiding really low or buried in the ground.