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Anonymous asked:

If u dont mind an anon asking, whats it like with vitiligo?

Normal is the best answer I can come up with. I’ve had it since I was a baby so I don’t know what it’s like to not have Vitiligo. For someone who has it very prominently on her arms, legs, and stomach, my hair gets the most attention (the positive kind). I work in the hospitality industry and go to a large university so I see hundreds of people almost everyday and, everyday, at least one person will say something to me. It’s definitely effected my life and my perspective on certain things. I’ve had my bad days but I’ve definitely had more good ones.

Differences between your typical 20 year old college boy and a thirty year old man (who sometimes acts like he’s 5):

The thirty year old will text everyday— even if he has to be the one who sends the first text. And he responds immediately. There are no games.

He actually remembers when you are going through emotional turmoil, asks how you are, and reassures you.

He tells you that you’re special, and that you’re the best.

He plans trips: 2 hour drive to St. Augustine solely to watch the sun rise, 2 hour drive to Tampa to visit the zoo… an overnight trip to Disney World together. And he allows you to fall asleep with your hand in his lap and head on his shoulder while he drives.

He pays for things. Gas on our trips, entrance tickets, hotel rooms, etc. but also respects you enough to allow you to pay when you fight for the bill over dinner (which could either be at your typical Chili’s or the fanciest restaurant)

He spends every night that he can, in your bed despite the 45minute drive from his own home. Waits for you on the nights that you get off work at 4 or 5 in the morning. And doesn’t even try to hit first base. In fact, he pushes away when you hit his weak spot (the one that took you many nights to discover)

He will be awake for 2 full hours before you the next morning and stay laying beside you the whole time. And when you ask why he didn’t wake you up, his response goes something like: “I was cuddling.”

He hides nothing from his kid, spoils him, allows you to spoil him despite his disapproving looks, and disciplines when necessary. Spending time with the both of them is not weird. If anything, you feel strange because of how much of a family the three of you seem to be when out in public.

He (basically) allows you to physically harass him. Yes, he takes the kicks, punches, bites, wet willies, and fingers up his nose without any annoyance.

His eyes are on YOU. His hands want to touch YOU. And if more than a few minutes go by without some sort of physical contact, he will tuck your hair behind your ear, tug on your belt loops, deliver a poke to the rib cage or a surprise bite on the neck (a habit he’s picked up that I can only blame on myself).


Physically, he’s nothing close to your type and he is more than 10 years your senior. Certain things will always be put before you; like his son. And he smokes enough cigarettes to piss you off multiple times a day. Despite all that, personality seems to outshine all physical traits, as it should.

So how is it that you can see when you have something different than what you’ve ever been used to, someone who treats you correctly and yet, you continue to push away despite all of the awareness in the world?

thebrokenheartedthatstillsing:

maxkirin:

"This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together become monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety. Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lilt, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals—sounds that say listen to this, it is important.” - Gary Provost

Reading this was so satisfying woah

theladypipsqueak:

salparadisewasright:

theladypipsqueak:

MY MOM DECIDED THAT SINCE I FUCKING HATE CLEANING THE LITTERBOX FOR MY DUMB CATS SHE’S ACTUALLY MAKE ME A FUCKING LITTERBOX CAKE. THIS IS A FUCKING CAKE. THOSE ARE SLIGHTLY MELTED TOOTSIE ROLLS. THOSE ARE LOTS OF COOKIE CRUMBLES. BUT IT LOOKS FUCKING REAL. I ATE THIS IN A RESTAURANT. I RECIEVED WORRIED STARES FROM OTHER PATRONS AS I FEASTED UPON FUCKING CAT POOP. MY BABY SISTER REFUSED TO LET ME EAT THE TOOTSIE ROLLS BECAUSE SHE WAS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CONVINCED IT WAS POOP, SHE RIPPED IT OUT OF MY HANDS AND THREW IT BACK IT THE PAN.
"SISSY!" SOMEONE WAS LOOKING ON HORRIFIED AS SHE GRABBED THE DISTURBING LOOKING CANDY OUT OF MY HAND. "DONT EAT POOP SISSY!"
a li tter box cae k„

congratulations on turning 91

thanks
Zoom Info
theladypipsqueak:

salparadisewasright:

theladypipsqueak:

MY MOM DECIDED THAT SINCE I FUCKING HATE CLEANING THE LITTERBOX FOR MY DUMB CATS SHE’S ACTUALLY MAKE ME A FUCKING LITTERBOX CAKE. THIS IS A FUCKING CAKE. THOSE ARE SLIGHTLY MELTED TOOTSIE ROLLS. THOSE ARE LOTS OF COOKIE CRUMBLES. BUT IT LOOKS FUCKING REAL. I ATE THIS IN A RESTAURANT. I RECIEVED WORRIED STARES FROM OTHER PATRONS AS I FEASTED UPON FUCKING CAT POOP. MY BABY SISTER REFUSED TO LET ME EAT THE TOOTSIE ROLLS BECAUSE SHE WAS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CONVINCED IT WAS POOP, SHE RIPPED IT OUT OF MY HANDS AND THREW IT BACK IT THE PAN.
"SISSY!" SOMEONE WAS LOOKING ON HORRIFIED AS SHE GRABBED THE DISTURBING LOOKING CANDY OUT OF MY HAND. "DONT EAT POOP SISSY!"
a li tter box cae k„

congratulations on turning 91

thanks
Zoom Info
theladypipsqueak:

salparadisewasright:

theladypipsqueak:

MY MOM DECIDED THAT SINCE I FUCKING HATE CLEANING THE LITTERBOX FOR MY DUMB CATS SHE’S ACTUALLY MAKE ME A FUCKING LITTERBOX CAKE. THIS IS A FUCKING CAKE. THOSE ARE SLIGHTLY MELTED TOOTSIE ROLLS. THOSE ARE LOTS OF COOKIE CRUMBLES. BUT IT LOOKS FUCKING REAL. I ATE THIS IN A RESTAURANT. I RECIEVED WORRIED STARES FROM OTHER PATRONS AS I FEASTED UPON FUCKING CAT POOP. MY BABY SISTER REFUSED TO LET ME EAT THE TOOTSIE ROLLS BECAUSE SHE WAS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CONVINCED IT WAS POOP, SHE RIPPED IT OUT OF MY HANDS AND THREW IT BACK IT THE PAN.
"SISSY!" SOMEONE WAS LOOKING ON HORRIFIED AS SHE GRABBED THE DISTURBING LOOKING CANDY OUT OF MY HAND. "DONT EAT POOP SISSY!"
a li tter box cae k„

congratulations on turning 91

thanks
Zoom Info

theladypipsqueak:

salparadisewasright:

theladypipsqueak:

MY MOM DECIDED THAT SINCE I FUCKING HATE CLEANING THE LITTERBOX FOR MY DUMB CATS SHE’S ACTUALLY MAKE ME A FUCKING LITTERBOX CAKE. THIS IS A FUCKING CAKE. THOSE ARE SLIGHTLY MELTED TOOTSIE ROLLS. THOSE ARE LOTS OF COOKIE CRUMBLES. BUT IT LOOKS FUCKING REAL. I ATE THIS IN A RESTAURANT. I RECIEVED WORRIED STARES FROM OTHER PATRONS AS I FEASTED UPON FUCKING CAT POOP. MY BABY SISTER REFUSED TO LET ME EAT THE TOOTSIE ROLLS BECAUSE SHE WAS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CONVINCED IT WAS POOP, SHE RIPPED IT OUT OF MY HANDS AND THREW IT BACK IT THE PAN.

"SISSY!" SOMEONE WAS LOOKING ON HORRIFIED AS SHE GRABBED THE DISTURBING LOOKING CANDY OUT OF MY HAND. "DONT EAT POOP SISSY!"

a li tter box cae k„

congratulations on turning 91

thanks

(Source: thesmuttypirate)

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