This is my face, in case you wanted to see it. Men In Tight, Silly Costumes, That I Like (And Other Sexy Beasts)
Ask me anything
I’m exhausted, and fucking tired, yet I won’t take this little break I have in the day to nap because I am RAGING.
Let me first copy something I just posted to Facebook (a.k.a. the watered-down version of what I feel because I don’t want to start a shitfest because I am Politics major and shitthreads tend to happen on Facebook over that):
“What kills me is when my American Politics professor (the only other American in the class) incorrectly teaches American political history to a group of people who know nothing of my country’s history and will therefore absorb any and all information they hear from someone who should be knowledgable in this topic. For example, he gave an inspiring speech as to how America was the first country to grant all white males the right to vote, even if they didn’t own any land. I sat there thinking, I’m pretty sure in sixth grade social studies we learned that originally only land-owning white males could vote. So to be sure, I went home and googled it. And lo and behold, I’m fucking right. “Unpropertied white men, women, and all other people of color were denied the franchise.” This was the biggest fallacy among many other minor fallacies, and it bothers me so much because I have to keep my mouth shut and let incorrect facts be taught in order to have a chance at a good grade. He’s a really nice guy and I respect that he is older and has achieved more than I have, but he was wrong.
I wish I was a science or math major or some shit.”
(Note: I was lame and used the “feeling” button to write “frustrated.”)
Let me expand upon this.
On the first day of class, the professor told us he was born in Texas. As a minority from Brooklyn, New York, my heart sank. I mean there are some progressive thinking major cities in Texas, nor do I disrespect the opinion of every single conservative I meet [if you can give me an opinion beyond “I hate big government,” “Obama is a terrorist born in Kenya affiliated with Al-Qaeda” (much less spell Al-Qaeda), or the ever-present, seemingly less controversial but actually most terrifying argument that all the big government spending is Obama’s fault (note that the president only proposes a budget; Congress sets the budget and are we forgetting who was president when the fucking economy collapsed? OK.)]. But I remember making a joke about white-knuckling the chair I was in when watching the election results, waiting for the West Coast results to come in (if you don’t know much about American politics, the Electoral College results were saying Mitt Romney was in the lead because once you hit middle America, which get their results in the middle of election night, the Republican candidate is ALWAYS in the lead), I could kind of tell he didn’t quite agree with my fear. This is why I am assuming he is most likely a conservative Texan, not just because he is from Texas.
I know every professor makes mistakes, and every human has their biases. I’ve probably taken courses where the professor has said facts that were incorrect, probably by accident. However, there is a tendency among Americans, especially those of the right-wing, tend to be exceedingly pro-American (something he actually noted in class). So when I hear a guy from Texas telling all these foreign (well, foreign to us, we’re in their country) students how America is so fucking great and we allowed all white males to vote irrespective of privileges from the beginning of time, I have to bite my lip till it nearly fucking bleeds to stop myself from screaming out, “THAT’S FUCKING WRONG.”
And honestly, I like my professor. He’s a nice guy. He makes jokes that are kind of awkward and stupid, but he’s personable. And I’ve been in politics courses before where I wanted to punch the professor’s (and most of the students’) teeth in because I disagreed with their opinions, but obviously withheld myself from doing so. But incorrect facts, not just opposite (or dare I say fucking stupid) opinions, kill me. Especially when these incorrect facts are being taught to people who probably have no fucking idea about American voting rights in the 18th century.
A nearby alien planet six times the size of the Earth is covered with a water-rich atmosphere that includes a strange “plasma form” of water, scientists say.
Image: An artist’s rendition of Gliese 1214 b traveling in front of its star, shown in blue light. Credit: NAO
Astronomers have determined that the atmosphere of super-Earth Gliese 1214 b is likely water-rich. However, this exoplanet is no Earth twin. The high temperature and density of the planet give it an atmosphere that differs dramatically from Earth.
"As the temperature and pressure are so high, water is not in a usual form (vapor, liquid, or solid), but in an ionic or plasma form at the bottom the atmosphere — namely the interior — of Gliese 1214 b," principle investigator Norio Narita of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan told SPACE.com by email.
i felt the flood,
its trembling lips
warm and violent,
exchanges of air
currents and waves
in other words, orgasm.
James McAvoy as Bruce Robertson in “Filth”
It kills me because of the perfect timing of the release of this movie, at least for my life. I’m living in Scotland, my depression is worsening, and so is my drug abuse. I got so fucked up last night at a party that I got uninvited to the party all of my flatmates are going to tomorrow. And my biggest concern? That my bottle of vodka is somewhere in some asshole’s flat downstairs and I had to face today sober after the worst fucking hangover ever. And I don’t want to sound like some sort of douchebag, comparing myself to a character written by the amazing Irvine Welsh (though at least once a day I ask someone if they’ve seen Trainspotting because Renton is my anti-hero), but it fucking terrifies me how much I relate to both Renton and Bruce. At least Renton made it out in the end, I think that is why it’s my favorite movie. He escaped his douchebag friends and the drug addiction and made it out. But in the movie theatre, when I was watching Filth (apparently in the same theatre it premiered at, and I drank at the same fucking bar as Irvine Welsh omgIcandiehappynow), I don’t think any of my friends understood why I was on the edge of my seat for the last three seconds of that movie, praying to a God I haven’t believed in for years that a fucking movie character wouldn’t off himself, that he would make it out. Because in my narcissistic drunken mind (of course I was drunk it’s cold in Scotland don’t judge) he represented me in that moment in my head. All the drinking and drugs and fucked up sex stories. The one thing I can say for myself is I don’t intentionally try to fuck people over, though I often do when I’m exceedingly intoxicated, which is more often than not.
When my flatmate came in today to tell me I was uninvited from tomorrow’s party by the flat downstairs because of my erratic behavior, I happened to be in my room listening to “Creep.” I had been listening to it on repeat. (It wasn’t the movie version, as my soundtrack CD hasn’t arrived from Amazon yet. And yes, I bought the soundtrack, because of that last scene in the movie.) Even so, on an obviously lesser level, I felt the isolation and, moreover, exclusion that Bruce felt. Fucking alone in a country with people that are just fed up with you and your insanity.
I don’t know if I’ll make it out of here alive. I don’t know if I want to.
because i guarantee there isn’t enough martin freeman on your dash, because there never can be enough martin freeman.