That’s why you should never accept the excuse “Well it was a different time.” They knew it was wrong. They always knew.
^^^^^ THIS
Just like RIGHT NOW, we know what is happening right now is wrong… STAND UP!!!!!
I have this tiktok saved n thought.. Others might like it too..
is there an alternative where you don't have to use alarms though?
ive seen people use counting down from a certain number or for a duration of a song on their playlists too!!
[video description: a white person with short light brown hair and some stubble. they are wearing a black shirt and a fiery looking mask around their neck. as they speak, some captions appear on screen reiterating the points they are making.
“ADHD tip! i use this one more than any other one by far. (except, for white board of course)” [smiles and there is a heart emoji on the screen]
“if there’s something you have to do but you’ve avoided starting doing it, think of the smallest amount of time that you know you can force yourself to do, and set a timer for that amount, and do it for that amount of time. and then once the timer’s up, you can stop.”
“now you might be thinking, [higher-pitched voice] hey eric i have ADHD i’m supposed to be wanting to complete stuff and stuff, why would i want to quit in the middle of a task?! well i would say not starting a task at all is a much bigger problem than not completing it. and, once you’ve started it it’s much easier to keep going.”
“for example, i needed to clean my kitchen yesterday, and i could not get myself to start doing it. but i thought, i can definitely clean my kitchen for three minutes. so i started a timer for three minutes and started doing the stuff. and when the timer was up, i thought well, i... i can do another three minutes. and so i did. and then when that was up, i was like, goin’. and if you stop after the initial timer goes off, you succeeded in your goal of doing the thing for that amount of time!”
[yelling] “use those timers!!!”
[username @heygude appears on screen.]
/end video description]
I do this all the time.
Just five minutes. Just clean for 5 minutes. Just do work for 5 minutes. Just 5 minutes. Honestly with executive dysfunction (a huge part of adhd) it’s so hard to START DOING. It’s easier to KEEP DOING. Plus, 5 minutes now, means less time later when I am in a panic trying to get the Thing Done. It saves so much time in the end. As well as my mental health lol
NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE (9/23/20): Breonna Taylor’s life mattered. There is no justice to be found under this neocolonial system. We must bring it to its knees.
Roomba literally just sitting in a tub of water while Pepe holds down her towel.
You… called a cat Roomba?????
Yeah my boss forgot that I’m banned from naming cats. Roomba is blind and beeps a lot so she just kinda moves along until she hits a wall. She also grooms any cat she bumps into.
Op why are you banned from naming cats? Cuz naming that sweet little baby Roomba is fucking accurate af and hella cute
I have been banned SEVERAL times.
1. i named a cat Potato.
i don’t see a reason to explain why i named him that.
2. i named my three-footed kitten Yardstick
3. i named this kitten Kickstand. His leg was permanently stuck in that position, like a bike’s kickstand. i mean, it was until it got amputated.
4. I named a kitten with many toes Terry Toetopolis. also featuring Kickstand again.
5. i called a kitten ‘bastard’ so many times that it was the only one he’d respond to. in my defense, he was 100% bastard.
6. a coworker and i had a game going to see how many kittens and cats we could name after harry potter characters before we were caught. (7. the answer is 7. ‘Hedwig’ is the name that got us caught)
i think that’s it, but i might be forgetting a few incidences.
Good story op
You shall be the one to name my future cats
The naming of cats is a difficult matter
It isn’t just one of your holiday games…
straight men really are on something else
Does this guy think that…women don’t have knees?
Ah, the excruciating male-only pain of… scraped knees 😢
I saw a similar one about rolled ankles
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By Anonymous
In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.
In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.
In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.
In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.
In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”
In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”
Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.
Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window. I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.
The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.
On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.
Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.
Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.
Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.
Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.
I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.
I don’t have any money, I said.
I really need your help, I said.
I will do it for free, he said.
Sit in the front, he said.
I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.
I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.
He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.
The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.
The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella. Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.
Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.
I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”
Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many. There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.
I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.
- Anonymous, age 25
TL;DR this mom lashed out on a man after he took a photo of her breastfeeding her child and posted it on various social media sites shaming her. He messed with the WRONG mother.
Your server is a human!
Your server is a human!
Your server is a human!
I thought this was about like a computer server and I was understandably frightened for a moment
Amazing
“stop whining about rape culture” “it doesn’t exist” “quit complaining”
“Welcome to the 21st century, where being smart is a bigger crime than raping a human being”
laser-free diet.
y'all need to hear about gerb.
gerb was my high school physics teacher. (gerb is short for mr. gerber.) when we were learning about radiation and whatnot, and we touched on radiation poisoning, gerb decided to tell us a story.
when gerb was in high school, he worked in a supermarket. a cashier. there was this one little old lady, mrs. cassopolis, who was a regular. mrs. cassopolis firmly believed that the lasers used to scan her food items would give her radiation poisoning. they tried to explain that’s not a thing. but old cass wouldn’t hear a word of it.
the employees had to punch in every. last. grocery. item. MANUALLY.
and this woman would buy cartfulls of food every week, like any good grandma trying to feed her five children and eighteen grandchildren every time they come for a Sunday visit. so pretty soon, the employees figured out a strategy to get her on her way and get on with their lives.
one or more employees would distract old cass while the cashier would scan all the items he could as fast as humanly possible while she wasn’t paying attention.
now this supermarket had a rewards program for its most efficient workers. the computer would track how quickly the cashiers scanned items, and how many total they scanned in one day, that kind of thing. so one day, gerb’s boss came to him and said “uh,”
“you scanned three hundred items in six minutes last Tuesday during your shift”
and gerb says “i recall”
“that’s about four times faster than anything i’ve ever seen”
and gerb says “yea ok”
“jeremy what happened?”
and gerb says
“i had to save a little old woman from placebo radiation”
stubbierodin