January 2012
December 2011
Downton Abbey
A marathon? Of the classiest TV show I watch? ON NEW YEARS? WHEN I’M WALLOWING?
yes. perfect. yes.
Tag, you’re it! Here are the rules: Each tagged person must post ten things about themselves. You have to choose and tag ten people. Go to their blogs and tell them you tagged them. No tag backs.
Hmmm… I’m truly not all that interesting, but I’ll give it a go:
1. I’m 21 years old, which I only recently am starting to realize is a bit old for tumblr?
2. I have 4 brothers, making me the only girl in my family. My dad STILL has no idea how to handle me and all of my feminine-ness haha
3. I absolutely love to cook, but I don’t usually have the time or the money for it. My family is incredibly picky (unlike me), so I rarely cook for them because I want to cook what I WANT TO EAT and that’s not often what they want…
4. I read each and every Harry Potter book out loud to my little brother complete with accents and different character voices and all. It was fucking awesome. And I’m planning on doing that to my children, you know… when I have them.
5. I always make my chocolate chip cookies from scratch.
6. My biggest grammatical pet peeve is when people use “Your” and “You’re” incorrectly.
7. I hate the sounds people make when they’re eating. Honestly, they’re disgusting, the chewing, smacking, cracking, slurping, sounds that people make ugh….
8. I’m Puerto Rican, Argentinian, and Basque. But I wish I had been less Americanized throughout my life because I only know watered down versions of my culture.
9. My favorite time of the day is twilight, just after the sun has set and the sky is still glowing.
10. I was, and always will be, a little bit horse-obsessed.
Meh. not that interesting, I think. Not too deep, not too clever. But you asked!! <3
New Years: On A Scale of One to Get a Life...
how bad would it be if I abandoned all of my tentative New Year’s plans to go into NYC and simply stayed at home, wrapped in a blanket with some kind of hot beverage and my laptop?
I truly dislike New Year’s. It’s the most anticlimactic holiday that exists. I mean really, I don’t have a special somebody whose tongue is going to be down my throat at midnight, and most of my closest friends are scattered around the country at the moment. I guess I just never understood the massive sentimentality attached to new years, either. The best I can hope for is really sticking to some set of resolutions that I have yet to come up with…
ugh. fuck new years. it always makes me feel disappointed in myself that I didn’t accomplish more, see more, do more in the past year. I always end up the same, at home, contemplating going into the city, with nobody to truly spend the stupid holiday with.
AND I don’t know if I feel like hauling my ass into Brooklyn to get drunk and wake up tomorrow with a hangover when I have to do laundry and pack and figure my life out and how I am going to cope with not being at school for the next three months…
agh whatever. this has been a rant on New Years.
Gifts tra la la
Got a world architecture book AND 101 Things to Learn in Architecture School as late Christmas Gifts today. SO EXCITED.
Especially because I was literally 12 seconds away from buying the 101 book at a store in Brooklyn a couple weeks ago. Yay yay yay! (I sound so inane but I don’t caaaaaaaaare)
Here, have a Ryan Gosling gif!
“Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”
—G.K. Chesterton (via julie911)
lucky?
Don’t tell me i’m lucky. Don’t tell me I took a chance. Don’t tell me its great. Don’t tell me I MADE IT. DON’T TELL ME EVERYTHINGS OKAY NOW. cuz its not. you didn’t experience it. you weren’t there. you weren’t the one who had your arms pinned to the bed, and you are definetly aren’t the one who tried your hardest to get him off you. you weren’t there. so don’t tell me i’m lucky to have minor scars. whats left in my mind is a big great scar. so don’t tell me.
Triggers
I keep telling myself NOT TO READ fics with possible trigger warnings, especially those about sexual abuse.
and I do it anyway, because what if they’re wonderful, and well-written, and even though they can be scarily similar to my own experiences, they usually end happily, with the hope that abuse can be gotten past, that we’re not broken, that people will love us anyway.
But fuck. Sometimes the resemblance is too much. Sometimes it just reinforces the poisonous thought process I have in my own head, and sometimes just reading about somebody’s wrists being held above their head can make it hard for me to breathe. And it’s all so fucking cliche.
why do I do this to myself?!
