#stale pepsi water

[dreamsy990]

i think we should pay more attention to the mental health of younger kids instead of telling them theyre just trying to be "cool" and are "faking it for attention" actually

#stale pepsi water #this topic means a lot to me as someone who has struggled with depression for as long as i can remember

[polaris2469]

2023 Goals

So quickly, the first month of 2023 has already come and gone! The good thing is that this still leaves me with eleven months to fulfill some of the goals I have for myself this year. Although these are pretty common goals, I hope writing them here will resonate with others, and help me manifest✨ them. 

Spend Wisely: I consider myself to be a wise spender in the sense that I don’t buy outlandish things. However, it turns out buying food and “experiences” - think nightlife, restaurants, movies, vacations etc - is still very expensive. I’m going to spend less money this year by being very intentional about what I buy. I’ve heard just keeping track of your expenses can help you lower your spending, so I will try to keep my spending about $20 a day (maybe $50 on special weekends). I’ll also do more no-spend days, especially when I work from home. 

Become a Better Writer & Read More: I put these together because they go hand in hand. My job requires me to read and write all day, every day and I already feel my writing and reading comprehension getting stale after having graduated from college a few years ago. However, this month I just finished Sharp Objects, so already there are some promising wins on this front. Now to think about what my next mini blog post should be on this site…

Drink Less Sugary Drinks: Ugh I will miss you dearly Pepsi. But I already see a possible solution on the horizon. I have fallen head over heels for seltzer water, which gives me that same buzz without the excess sugar and calories. 🙂

(Finally) Learn How to Drive: This is more a necessity than a goal I personally am eager to fulfill. I am starting to sense how difficult it will be to navigate the world as an adult without any driving skills. For this, the first step is to get my drivers permit again, and for that I need to study tomorrow to take the test next week (ideally). 

These are just some of the goals I originally had in mind for 2023, but the truth is I didn’t want to overwhelm myself and end up taking an "all or" nothing" approach to these, as I typically do when i feel underwater. Instead, I will focus on these and give a progress update in April 2023. I’ll track my progress and hopefully convert some of the above into life-long habits!

#goals #2023 #newyearnewme🤪 #letsgetthisbread🍞

[bugpiss]

assigning TMBG albums flavors and outfits cuz why not????

uhm this is kinda like the "what i think TMBG vinyls would taste like" post except i saw a poll with gender neutral outfits in it. if you disagree with my choices, the door's right there

pink album: cotton candy, pop rocks, smarties. most likely a very maximalist and clownish outfit

lincoln: cola, any cherry candy, popcorn. idk maybe a cowboy-businessman/weatherman-soldier hybrid outfit lmao

flood: coffee, pie, cookies. a turtleneck-flannel combo

apollo 18: oreos, pizza, rootbeer. a deadass space suit

john henry: weed, gasoline, strawberries. a tie-dye shirt with denim shorts and socks with sandals

factory showroom: cough syrup, mac and cheese, ice water. a firefighter suit (its the first thing that popped into my head)

long tall weekend: those tuna and pasta salads, popcorn, beer. a big ass suit jacket with a jumpsuit

mink car: coffee, bagels, cereal. a BBQ dad outfit

the spine: sushi, buttered noodles, pepsi. a yellow rubber raincoat with red rubber rainboots

the else: idk some shit like halloween candy. a business suit

join us: the hi-ci ecto cooler, saltines, bananas. a cool ass cryptid hunter outfit

nanobots: strawberry ice cream, altoids mints, toast. a big puffy dress

glean: flintstones vitamins, tomatoes, chicken pot pie. graphic T-shirt with stained sweatpants

phone power: pop rocks, sour candy, gatorade. those sleeping bags that have the holes for your face in them

i like fun: cookies and cream ice cream, stale bread, strawberry jam. head-to-toe duct tape fit

book: burritos, potato chips, lettuce. a college hoodie

[girlweepinginstairwell]

i like this kaveh akbar essay about ramadan a lot... i remember first reading it a few years ago and going oh! this is very good 🤍 (the paris review sometimes puts up a paywall, so you can also read it under the cut ↓)

Emerson said, “If you go expressly to look at the moon it becomes tinsel.” He preached self-reliance—the importance of being with yourself in nature—but he also lived with his mother, who cooked for him and cleaned his muddy boots.

The new moon at the start of May this year signaled the beginning of Ramazan, which the rest of the world calls Ramadan, which I call Ramadan when I speak with my friends, but which I grew up calling Ramazan because that’s how we say it in Farsi. In Farsi there are four different letters that all make the same z sound and maybe we figured if we didn’t use them enough they’d disappear.

This year, for the first time in my life, I have fasted for all of Ramazan. The Quran says during Ramazan you’re supposed to “eat and drink until the white thread of dawn appears to you distinct from the black thread of night.” And then fast until sunset—no food, no drink. The black thread/white thread part fascinates me, eating in the predawn morning until it’s light enough outside to tell the white thread from the black.

Nowadays there’s an app called Muslim Pro (a hilarious name) where you enter your location and it tells you exactly what time to stop eating. But I like to imagine a time when someone was sitting outside eating bread and cheese alone in the dark, checking and rechecking their two threads. They’d eat a bit more, yawn a bit, and then, suddenly, rubbing their eyes, they’d catch a gleam of light against the white thread and shout “Stop! Stop!” to their family inside.

That’s probably not how it ever worked.

I suppose I am looking for God, for a feeling of transformative belief. I am hoping that fasting might thin the membrane between me and a feeling of the divine. That it might open a channel between us, a tin-can telephone line. Prayer is a way of speaking to the divine. Meditation is a way of listening for it.  I’m not sure yet which one fasting is for me. Maybe both. But I figure, if I can talk to God, shouldn’t I?

Ramazan is based on the Islamic calendar, which every year moves backward about eleven days on the Gregorian calendar. When I was a kid, Ramazan was in the middle of winter, which meant fasting from dawn until sundown. My parents only ever let me “kiddy fast,” which is what they called waking up early for predawn breakfast, then drinking plenty of water and milk throughout the day, then eating a big dinner. And I could only do it on days off school, to ensure my elementary school academics wouldn’t suffer.

The short winter days in Wisconsin meant fasting was essentially a big brunch and then a big dinner around normal dinnertime, with plenty of Diet Pepsi and chocolate milk in between. And even then, I would cheat. I remember once sneaking stale chocolate chip cookies in the middle of the afternoon, then feeling so ashamed I went to the bathroom to vomit them back up. I remember the gold-black vomit in the toilet bowl looking almost beautiful, a mural of my penance.

I worry that fasting expressly to look for God will turn God into tinsel. I worry fasting is a piece of tinsel I am trying to pin to my spiritual lapel, a little kid showing off his participation ribbon. I worry I am already tinsel, flattened and ornamental, a cosmic nothing turning meaninglessly in the light.

Here in Marfa, Texas, fasting means not eating or drinking from about 5:45 A.M. each day to about 8:45 P.M. Most days I wake up around 5:20, snooze for ten minutes, then storm around the house, gulping down as much water as I can, eating spoonfuls of cereal and taking quick bites of banana, carrot, dry bread, nuts. I swig almond milk and grapefruit juice from their cartons, then brush my teeth. It all feels very animal, governed by bodily need.

Before I go back to sleep for a couple hours, though, I make my little ablutions and say a morning prayer. I pray in Arabic, a language I don’t speak or understand. It is a lifelong fascination of mine, the way parroting the sounds of devotion can become an incantatory act, the way the sonic textures of language itself, stripped of direct semantic meaning, can carry me to a place of communion with the divine.

Poetry works this way, too. Language organized mellifluously, delivered earnestly, can thin the partitions between worlds, whether or not we have a perfect denotative understanding of what is being spoken. Poets have invested themselves in this promise for millennia.

The prophet Muhammad said a full stomach was one that contained one-third food, one-third liquid, and one-third air. I am constantly messing this up.

Yesterday I went to the park to shoot hoops with my friend Natalie in the early afternoon. We took it easy, talking and laughing between baskets, dribbling slowly around, pausing to watch a roadrunner walk along the park fence with a lizard in its beak. But, even in our relative ease, the sun held hard above us and kept us dewy in hot light.

I read once that if outer space were filled with air, the sun, 93 million miles away, would be as loud to us on earth as a train whistle one foot away. I never think about sound in relation to the sun, but yesterday back home after playing basketball, my shirt drenched, my ears ringing with thirst, I thought about the volume of the sun, how loud its desiccation could be, how immutable. I could taste the furnace of it in my mouth.

Maybe this is meant to be a metaphor about hell, except I don’t really believe in hell, at least not in the eternal-lake-of-fire way. I believe in rehabilitation and reconciliation, spiritual and otherwise. I have trouble reconciling retributive, punitive justice with a rigorously compassionate faith.

Hell is a prison. Hell is separation from your divine, whether that divine is God or your children or your land. We’ve made enough of these hells on earth; our work now is to dismantle those, not to imagine more.

I spend a lot of my days fantasizing about how I’ll break my fast. I look in my fridge, imagine what sort of dishes I could make with what’s in there. I google the menus of local restaurants online—there are only a couple places here that stay open past nine—and I read each ingredient in each item: a citrus salad with toasted quinoa and rhubarb, roasted chili with red peppers and jalapeño cornbread. Even writing these words now, I can taste each sliver of fiery jalapeño, each crunch of quinoa against wet greens.

I wonder if part of the point of fasting is this: keeping the body enamored of the particular delights of nourishment. It is so wild, so unimaginably lucky, to live in a world where rhubarb grows, and in a world where I can eat it with ease. It could so easily be otherwise. For many people, it is. What responsibility does my luck, my ease, imply?

Or maybe the point of fasting is the way these wonders recede from my view the more I imagine them. The taste of the citrus is there, then it’s gone. It’s like a theological exercise. Take a second: picture a bladeless knife with no handle. Where’d it go? Now, with that same clumsy brain, imagine God.

The Muslim Pro app on my phone beeps when it’s time to eat at night. I build this moment up so much in my head, it’s hard for the reality to match. I immediately chug a giant 32-ounce Nalgene of water. Some nights I go out and reward myself with a fancy dinner planned out earlier in the day. Others I stay in and eat like a teenager—chicken tenders dipped in barbeque sauce and frozen mushroom pizza and cookie dough ice cream.

Now that Ramazan is almost over, I find myself surveying the month: lazy afternoons in bed slipping in and out of consciousness, trying to read and failing, counting down minutes until sunset. The long day hiking a national park with friends, desperately thirsty by nightfall but also deliriously happy.

One night my friend Carolina invited Natalie and me over for her homemade pozole. Embarrassed by my hunger and not wanting to show up ravenous, I surreptitiously ate a small dinner of fried potatoes and hot dogs before going over. Still, I remained hungry enough to eat two bowls of pozole on her porch. The three of us talked there and laughed. We spilled a bag of party mix onto the patio. We saw a fox lope slowly across the road. We watched the stars hang silent in the sky millions upon millions of miles away—like tinsel, or like little bits of white string.

#uploads #kaveh akbar #words #ref #to read #islam tag #islam

[universallywriting]

How about 19, 41, and 95? Those almost kisses are getting to me.

first kiss, summer camp, sleep intimacy

https://universallywriting.tumblr.com/post/641505013940846593/fanfiction-trope-mash-up

------------------

The first year that Steven goes to summer camp, he nearly drowns with his new best friend Connie Maheswaran. It's a little bit because their counselor Lapis, but only a little. She's having a mental breakdown, and she certainly doesn't ask to be followed.

But they do.

He knows from the moment they’re on the beach, coughing water out of their lungs side by side, that she’s going to be his best friend until the day he dies. It is a fact of his universe as surely as the sun rises in the east and the moon moves the tides - he and Connie will always be friends. You don't nearly drown with someone and go your separate ways.

Later, they end up going to the same school, and with their combined efforts they managed to convince their families to let them come back to Diamond Gems summer camp year after year, where considerably less drowning happens. At seventeen he even manages to end up as a counselor with Connie and Lapis.

Lapis brings them to the counselor’s cabin and says, “We only have one bed for the two of you. That okay?” And when they both start to blush and stammer and protest, Lapis scoffs. “I’m kiddng. Oh my god. Go choose your bunks, nerds.”

But she says nerds very lovingly, very kindly, because she really loves Steven. She ruffles his hair and they all get set up and though Steven and Connie don’t share a bed, they do take a top and bottom bunk together.

They chat with each other about how odd it all is to come back year after year, what their little selves would think about them dating. It’s all soft and saccharine, praising each other’s virtues as they spend their time helping kids do camp activities like kayaking, macaroni art, and identifying minerals and rocks.

Of course, things never go quite right at camp. This year, the counselor's cabin floods. The irony is thick enough to cut with a knife as Lapis clears her throat and awkwardly confesses, “We’re going to have to double up on beds.”

“You’re kidding,” Connie gasps.

“I’m not.” She held up her own soaked blanket with a sigh. “If don’t tell your families we asked you to share a bed, I’ll sneak you a twelve-pack of Pepsi.”

There is no soda at this camp, and there's no hesitation from either of them. They simultaneously take the very tempting offer and Lapis is relieved that she somehow will get to keep her job another year.

Steven and Connie haven’t shared a bed in years, not since the woman currently bribing them to share a bunk caught them at thirteen and fourteen, innocently cuddling, and threw them in separate cabins with a note home to their families.

“The beds are smaller than I remember,” Steven mumbles.

“I think we were smaller,” Connie mumbles back, and they giggle to each other in the cricket-filled dark.

They’re pressed up together but not for any cute, lovey reason. They barely fit in the same bunk and it's only the slightly raised walls of the bed that keeps them from rolling out. It’s comforting from head to toe, warm limbs tangling together in a forced hug - one that admittedly won't make it easy to sleep.

They can hear the other counselors snoring and bickering as everyone struggles to adjust to the moldy stale water-smelling cabin. Lapis and Peridot hissing at one another about who has the butt that's too big for the bed. Ruby and Sapphire flirting in the most painfully romantic way. The diffuser of peppermint oil only makes the place smell of old, stale tea.

After a little bit, they hear at least one couple kissing goodnight. Soon they hear snoring.

“Do you ever think that we’re going too slow?” Steven asks. “And that this kind of thing should be normal?”

He does not expect this to be what earns him his first kiss, nor does he ever expect his first kiss to smell of river water and essential oils. But that’s what’s happening, her mouth soft and warm on his, her fingers in his hair, and every curve of her body perfectly melting into his.

He doesn't question it, because it feels right. He cradles her chin as he kisses her back. There's no tongue, and no wandering hands - at least not yet - but just the wonderful feeling of being loved. Of being held. Of Connie protecting him against the water below.

“This place smells like drowning,” Connie whispers against his lips. "You remember drowning?"

They kiss to forget.

#Anonymous #steven universe #steven universe future #connie maheswaran #connverse #fic

[milfdollypartonarchive]

falafel warm Diet Pepsi stale rocky top toffee psych meds melatonin 5mg gas x and then some magnesium powder and sink water to wash it down. might as well drink gasoline at this point

#my stomach hurt before the falafel and everything just went downhill from there

[axoxtxhxh]

☕ PEPSI OR COCA COLA

Okay, so here's the deal. I don't drink soda haha I can't even remember what these taste like. I think I had like Sierra Mist a year ago and it tasted like stale white wine? Haha

I do remember tasting a difference and I think I had a preference for Coca Cola, but to be honest, I can't remember why. If I had to choose something, it would be water 😬

send me a ☕️ and a topic and i’ll talk about how i feel about it

#send me a ☕️ and a topic and i’ll talk about how i feel about it #flamingblinglove #Am I the only one that gave up soda at some point?

[this-house-is-self-aware]

darnold how you feelin bro? you got any super cool potions you wanna talk about? id love to listen -microwave

Well, I can try and make a Potion of Calming. For that I need Essence of Winter, Rejuvenation Pods, and Vines of Peace.

[Darnold pulls the fuzz off of a blue pipe cleaner, opens a packet of gladiolus seeds, and tips them into an empty Pepsi can along with some blades of grass. He mixes the ingredients with the stale water in his canteen.]

Ta-daa! Potion of Calming! Bubby, you should drink this! You’ll feel much better!

... I’ll pass.

#t h i self aware #anonymous #file: darnold #file: bubby #night four part two

[dreamsy990]

"i should draw" <- is playing tetris "i should play one of those four games i havent finished" <- is playing tetris "i should go outside" <- is playing tetris "i should take a shower" <- is playing tetris "i should do homework" <- is playing tetris

#im not even that good at tetris #im calling this lovely experience tetris paralysis #stale pepsi water

[toughloveselfcare]

Self care tip #3

/Drink 8 glass water for you it’s good OwO/

Or just drink something other than stale Pepsi

#mental health #self care #self care tips #self care tip 3 #drink some warer children #mental health tips

[scumfuckus]

this my new cocktail: 3 shots of caçhaca, like half a can of warm stale ginger pepsi, topped up with unflavoured kombucha. i call it "bad water"

#alcohol #//

[shadowami]

PEPSI TASTES LIKE SOMEONE BLED A LITTLE BIT IN SOME STALE WATER

#personal #fuck pepsi

[marbleheads]

me: uses perfect inflection and recites the exact words to a bit in the same john mulaney special i’m watching for the 50th time

me: eats stale popcorn and drinks flat, watered down pepsi in my dark bedroom at 3 AM

also me: where the fuck is my serotonin???? why am i depressed????

#like i’m in the school of thought that life is a goddamn joke #but damn i really love repetition so my brain kinda hates me #john mulaney #depression #self deprecation #funny #comedy #i’m just aching for this post to be popular but i know it’s not lmao

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 5 paragraph xi

The school bus didn't actually go all the way out to the edge of Canyon Shadows, where Boris lived. It was a twenty minute walk to his house from the last stop, in blazing heat, through streets awash with sand. Though there were plenty of Foreclosure and “For Sale” signs on my street (at night, the sound of a car radio travelled for miles)—still, I was not aware quite how eerie Canyon Shadows got at its farthest reaches: a toy town, dwindling out at desert’s edge, under menacing skies. Most of the houses looked as if they had never been lived in. Others—unfinished—had raw-edged windows without glass in them; they were covered with scaffolding and grayed with blown sand, with piles of concrete and yellowing construction material out front. The boarded-up windows gave them a blind, battered, uneven look, as of faces beaten and bandaged. As we walked, the air of abandonment grew more and more disturbing, as if we were roaming some planet depopulated by radiation or disease. “They built this shit way too far out,” said Boris. “Now the desert is taking it back. And the banks.” He laughed. “Fuck Thoreau, eh?” “This whole town is like a big Fuck You to Thoreau.” “I’ll tell you who’s fucked. People who own these houses. Can’t even get water out to a lot of them. They all get taken back because people can’t pay— that’s why my dad rents our place so bloody cheap.” “Huh,” I said, after a slight, startled pause. It had not occurred to me to wonder how my father had been able to afford quite such a big house as ours. “My dad digs mines,” said Boris unexpectedly. “Sorry?” He raked the sweaty dark hair out of his face. “People hate us, everywhere we go. Because they promise the mine won’t harm the environment, and then the mine harms the environment. But here—” he shrugged in a fatalistic, Russianate way—“my God, this fucking sand pit, who cares?” “Huh,” I said, struck by the way our voices carried down the deserted street, “it’s really empty down here, isn’t it?” “Yes. A graveyard. Only one other family living here—those people, down there. Big truck out front, see? Illegal immigrants, I think.” “You and your dad are legal, right?” It was a problem at school: some of the kids weren’t; there were posters about it in the hallways. He made a pfft, ridiculous sound. “Of course. The mine takes care of it. Or somebody. But those people down there? Maybe twenty, thirty of them, all men, all living in one house. Drug dealers maybe.” “You think?” “Something very funny going on,” said Boris darkly. “That’s all I know.” Boris’s house—flanked by two vacant lots overflowing with garbage— was much like Dad and Xandra’s: wall-to-wall carpet, spanking-new appliances, same floor plan, not much furniture. But indoors, it was much too warm for comfort; the pool was dry, with a few inches of sand at the bottom, and there was no pretense of a yard, not even cactuses. All the surfaces—the appliances, the counters, the kitchen floor—were lightly filmed with grit. “Something to drink?” said Boris, opening the refrigerator to a gleaming rank of German beer bottles. “Oh, wow, thanks.”

“In New Guinea,” said Boris, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, “when I lived there, yah? We had a bad flood. Snakes… very dangerous and scary… unexploded mine shells from Second World War floating up in the yard… many geese died. Anyway—” he said, cracking open a beer—“all our water went bad. Typhus. All we had was beer—Pepsi was all gone, Lucozade was all gone, iodine tablets gone, three whole weeks, my dad and me, even the Muslims, nothing to drink but beer! Lunch, breakfast, everything.” “That doesn’t sound so bad.” He made a face. “Had a headache the whole time. Local beer, in New Guinea—very bad tasting. This is the good stuff! There’s vodka in the freezer too.” I started to say yes, to impress him, but then I thought of the heat and the walk home and said, “No, thanks.” He clinked his bottle against mine. “I agree. Much too hot to drink it in the day. My dad drinks it so much the nerves are gone dead in his feet.” “Seriously?” “It’s called—” he screwed up his face, in an effort to get the words out —“peripheral neuropathy” (pronounced, by him, as “peripheral neuropathy”). “In Canada, in hospital, they had to teach him to walk again. He stood up—he fell on the floor—his nose is bleeding—hilarious.” “Sounds entertaining,” I said, thinking of the time I’d seen my own dad crawling on his hands and knees to get ice from the fridge. “Very. What does yours drink? Your dad?” “Scotch. When he drinks. Supposedly he’s quit now.” “Hah,” said Boris, as if he’d heard this one before. “My dad should switch —good Scotch is very cheap here. Say, want to see my room?” I was expecting something on the order of my own room, and I was surprised when he opened the door into a sort of ragtag tented space, reeking of stale Marlboros, books piled everywhere, old beer bottles and ashtrays and heaps of old towels and unwashed clothes spilling over on the carpet. The walls billowed with printed fabric—yellow, green, indigo, purple—and a red hammer-and-sickle flag hung over the batik-draped mattress. It was as if a Russian cosmonaut had crashed in the jungle and fashioned himself a shelter of his nation’s flag and whatever native sarongs and textiles he could find. “You did this?” I said. “I fold it up and put it in a suitcase,” said Boris, throwing himself down on the wildly-colored mattress. “Takes only ten minutes to put it up again. Do you want to watch S.O.S. Iceberg?” “Sure.” “Awesome movie. I’ve seen it six times. Like when she gets in her plane to rescue them on the ice?” But somehow we never got around to watching S.O.S. Iceberg that afternoon, maybe because we couldn’t stop talking long enough to go downstairs and turn on the television. Boris had had a more interesting life than any person of my own age I had ever met. It seemed that he had only infrequently attended school, and those of the very poorest sort; out in the desolate places where his dad worked, often there were no schools for him to go to. “There are tapes?” he said, swigging his beer with one eye on me. “And tests to take. Except you have to be in a place with Internet and sometimes like far up in Canada or Ukraine we don’t have that.” “So what do you do?” He shrugged. “Read a lot, I guess.” A teacher in Texas, he said, had pulled a syllabus off the Internet for him.

“They must have had a school in Alice Springs.” Boris laughed. “Sure they did,” he said, blowing a sweaty strand of hair out of his face. “But after my mum died, we lived in Northern Territory for a while—Arnhem Land—town called Karmeywallag? Town, so called. Miles in the middle of nowhere—trailers for the miners to live in and a petrol station with a bar in back, beer and whiskey and sandwiches. Anyway, wife of Mick that ran the bar, Judy her name was? All I did—” he took a messy slug of his beer—“all I did, every day, was watch soaps with Judy and stay behind the bar with her at night while my dad and his crew from the mine got thrashed. Couldn’t even get television during monsoon. Judy kept her tapes in the fridge so they wouldn’t get ruined.” “Ruined how?” “Mold growing in the wet. Mold on your shoes, on your books.” He shrugged. “Back then I didn’t talk so much as I do now, because I didn’t speak English so well. Very shy, sat alone, stayed always to myself. But Judy? She talked to me anyway, and was kind, even though I didn’t understand a lick of what she said. Every morning I would go to her, she would cook me my same nice fry. Rain rain rain. Sweeping, washing dishes, helping to clean the bar. Everywhere I followed like a baby goose. This is cup, this is broom, this is bar stool, this pencil. That was my school. Television—Duran Duran tapes and Boy George—everything in English. McLeod’s Daughters was her favorite programme. Always we watched together, and when I didn’t know something? She explained to me. And we talked about the sisters, and we cried when Claire died in the car wreck, and she said if she had a place like Drover’s? she would take me to live there and be happy together and we would have all women to work for us like the McLeods. She was very young and pretty. Curly blonde hair and blue stuff on her eyes. Her husband called her slut and horse’s arse but I thought she looked like Jodi on the show. All day long she talked to me and sang—taught me the words of all the jukebox songs. ‘Dark in the city, the night is alive…’ Soon I had developed quite proficiency. Speak English, Boris! I had a little English from school in Poland, hello excuse me thank you very much, but two months with her I was chatter chatter chatter! Never stopped talking since! She was very nice and kind to me always. Even though she went in the kitchen and cried every day because she hated Karmeywallag so much.” It was getting late, but still hot and bright out. “Say, I’m starving,” said Boris, standing up and stretching so that a band of stomach showed between his fatigues and ragged shirt: concave, dead white, like a starved saint’s. “What’s to eat?” “Bread and sugar.” “You’re kidding.” Boris yawned, wiped red eyes. “You never ate bread with sugar poured on it?” “Nothing else?” He gave a weary-looking shrug. “I have a coupon for pizza. Fat lot of good. They don’t deliver this far out.” “I thought you had a cook where you used to live.” “Yah, we did. In Indonesia. Saudi Arabia too.” He was smoking a cigarette —I’d refused the one he offered me; he seemed a little trashed, drifting and bopping around the room like there was music on, although there wasn’t. “Very cool guy named Abdul Fataah. That means ‘Servant of the Opener of the Gates of Sustenance.’ ” “Well, look. Let’s go to my house, then.” He flung himself down on the bed with his hands between his knees. “Don’t tell me the slag cooks.” “No, but she works in a bar with a buffet. Sometimes she brings home food and stuff.” “Brilliant,” said Boris, reeling slightly as he stood. He’d had three beers and was working on a fourth. At the door, he took an umbrella and handed me one. “Um, what’s this for?” He opened it and stepped outside. “Cooler to walk under,” he said, his face blue in the shade. “And no sunburn.”

#boreo #the goldfinch #the goldfinch donna tart #donna tart #boris pavlikovsky #theodore decker #theo decker #boris x theo #theo x boris #finn wolfhard #ansel elgort #oakes fegley #aneurin barnard #the goldfinch book #book #books #quote #quotes #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+ #lgbt #gay #gay ship #gay ships #otp #mlm #the goldfinch quotes #the goldfinch quote #boreo quotes

[dykes-n-thoughts]

I wish I was allowed to have boundaries as a kid. My parents could have boundaries, but I couldn't. they always claimed that if I needed to leave a situation to "scream into a pillow" I could, but then when I tried, I got ice water dumped on me because "I needed to cool down" and then was told to get out within 24 hours, and I had work in just a couple hours, which meant that had they followed through with that threat, I wouldn't actually have 24 hours.

I was 19. I still am 19. but I was 19, they didn't threaten to kick a literal child out of their house.

they threatened to pour stale Pepsi on my computer because they didn't like the sound of my hyperventilating. thank god I have practice bringing myself down enough to control my breathing.

I came home that night wondering if they would make me hand over my key right away.

before they were able to kick me out, they would just cause me to be late for work by taking away my car keys. "it's [my moms] car" so guess I only have 10 minutes to get to work when it's 15-20 minutes away 🤷‍♀️

I shouldn't have had suicidal thoughts at 11, I shouldn't have had been hitting myself for as long as I can remember, I shouldn't have had to wear a mask both at school and at home to hide the fact that I was in mental anguish, and to top it all off, getting grounded all the time doesn't exactly help. now my parents dont think I've ever struggled because I never let them in. I hate that. I wish I did, but I couldn't.

I told my mom I was depressed once and she focused on "debunking" me, claiming that she had watched out for the symptoms. lucky me, I never let her see the symptoms.

they'll never see me as my own person. forever bound to be a product of them, their inferior.

I told my mom that one of my boyfriends tried to make me suck his dick without my consent, pushing my head onto him, and I guess she laser-focused to the work "dick" and started yelling at me about how "[my dad] doesn't need to hear that." she pesters me with questions about my identity and then when I answer them in earnest she gets pissed, mad that I gave her the wrong answer.

I'm NOT going to fit into her "family aesthetic." this "butch lesbian dyke" will gladly fuck off before changing myself for your comfort for the rest of my damned life. when I cut my hair she legit said the phrase "why couldn't you wait until I was dead."

like, no?? I'm not waiting for your fucking funeral to live and express myself the way I want. fuck you, mom, for continuing to try to control me. lick ass.

[cutiecrates]

Cutie Reviews: TokyoTreat April 20

Hello, here I am :3 bringing you guys another review. I’ve got time to kill while I wait for my Switch remotes to finish charging so that I can get back to the new Harvest Moon game. I also had this review ready for almost a week now and really should have gotten it up sooner <_< 

For anyone new or unfamiliar with my blog, I wanted to mention that item I’ve already reviewed in the past I tend to skip as a result of not having much to say about it. Unless for some reason my opinion would have changed. If you really want to know what I think about an item I skipped, you can message me and I’ll give you the details.

“Sakura season is one of the most fun times in Japan! While enjoying the sakura and nature is great, hanging out with friends and enjoying picnics is the best part about spring! The weather is getting warmer and we’re heading to the park to party until late! Japanese parks light up the sakura at night to highlight their beautiful pink color, and people stay late eating, drinking, and having a great time! Wanna come too?“

Lucky Treat & Photo Prize

This month’s Lucky Treat and photo prize are full of adorable Pokemon goods!

Also, the last page of the booklet discusses some items Japanese like to bring with them to sakura viewing. In the past, they would normally pack bento or handmade snacks, but lately you would see things like sakura themed drinks and sweets, to the less-likely (but super-yummy) sushi, burgers, and pizza!

Frozen Coca-Cola Lemon

This is our drink this month, I was very excited. Not only because I love cola (I bought coke tic tacs if that’s any indication ;p), but because I was obsessed with lemon pepsi when I was younger, and it’s since long been discontinued. Lately, Wendy’s has been having lemon/lime cola though, and it’s amazing! I’d also recommend the strawberry Dr. Pepper if you see it. 

Anyhoozles, this is a drink meant to be put into the freezer. The back marks it as 15-20 minutes wait time, but I actually had mine in there for at least an hour and it wasn’t frozen at all. Just super cold. It could be my fault because it was nearly a year old, I’m not sure, I decided to drink it anyway. It was... it reminded me of the syrupy taste you might sometimes get while drinking a slushie. It wasn’t terrible or anything, but not exactly what I was hoping for either.

Sankaku Crackers Veg. Flavor & Ham and Potato Porickey

I’ve had the first one before, so we’ll be skipping to the Porickey, which are basically savory, un-coated pocky I like to think. These were okay, but there’s barely any flavor on them; for me that’s probably a good thing because I hate ham.

Sakura Mochi Chocolate & Apple Jelly

These chocolate’s I’m very familiar with, we’ve had them once or twice before. I really like them though, I wish we’d see more of this brand in the box.

Meanwhile, the apple jelly was very much new! I love little jellies like this x3 I buy a mixed pack from the store every now and then, and when I was younger my dad used to bring some home from work, so they’ve become fairly nostalgic for me now as an adult. This one was lightly sweet with a pleasant green apple flavor, it wasn’t sour or anything.

Sakura Matcha Collon & Matcha Coconut Cookies

Our next two items are pretty unique, both featuring matcha/green tea flavoring. Collon is a fairly common snack item, they usually remind me of Combo’s, little pretzel snacks filled with a flavored cheese.

I don’t believe I’ve seen this flavor before, but I don’t dislike it. The box has a label on it saying fragrant sakura, which I would agree with. These have a flowery-sort of taste with a hint of green tea. The taste has been lingering in my mouth when I eat a couple, but it’s a nice taste.

Also, I like how this box they come in is re-sealable. That’s always very appreciated.

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These cookies feature a sugary green tea glaze on top, giving them a lightly crunchy texture. They also come in a large pack composed of four smaller packs, each with so many cookies inside.

I really feel like green tea has been growing on me because as of late, I haven’t been completely repulsed by it like I used to be. However, I had no idea there was any coconut in them! They don’t taste like it at all, but that’s good for me again, because I also hate coconut! 

Sakura Sake Kit Kats & Choco-Taro

These kit kats I remember clearly, not only because of their pretty pale pink coloring, but their strong alcohol taste. There is 0.7 alcohol, which is extremely weak I assume, but you should be careful with anyone under drinking age or those who cannot have it at all.

I’m not really fond of alcohol, but it’s okay for special occasions. These are pretty good, so I would recommend giving them a try if you really want something unique, as long as you can have alcohol.

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The choco-taro, I feel like we’ve had before but I can’t entirely remember. It was a mildly sweet chocolate with a very soft, flaky inside that melts in the mouth a little. It wasn’t too remarkable, but it was good.

Chicken Ramen Snacks & Cabbage Chips

Nothing new here, moving on~

Taro Beans, Pollock Umaibo & Soy Sauce and Butter Popcorn

Umaibo isn’t new, and I can’t really recall if we’ve had the taro beans or not before. Kinda feel like we have, but basically they’re little crunchy, slightly salted crackers.

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The popcorn meanwhile, is a product of Fritolay under the Mike brand. They were pretty good, they tasted mostly like butter, with maybe a hint of soy sauce. They seemed to go stale a little quickly after opening though.

Ramune Candies, Burger Gummy, & Hello Kitty Sakura Candy

Sorry guys, this last pic is kinda mehhh. I accidentally deleted the original because I assumed it had been uploaded onto the computer like my others. For some reason it didn’t work. I don’t have the burger gummy in this picture now, but you’re not missing much. It was hard and unpleasant due to being so old, so after a few chews it pretty much got thrown away.

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Our next item is this cute little pack of ramune candies, which are pressed powdered tablets. When put in water or in the mouth they dissolve, and this specific brand includes a variety of flavors, each with a cute design on the front.

Before when I had these, I had melon, so I was very happy to get a new one, more or less my most favorite fruit x3 These are lightly sweet and delicious. The melon was good too, but I think I like this one a bit more. They also come in grape, lemon, and orange.

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Our final item is a pack of sakura-shaped hard candies, available in cherry, orange, and apple! The packaging features adorable hello kitty designs and pretty flowers. The candies are very yummy too, the orange one tasted like orange soda pop, and the cherry doesn’t taste medicinal. I haven’t tried apple yet, but I assume it’ll be really good.

♥ Cutie Ranking ♥

Content - 4 out of 5. I liked everything, and only one or two items suffered from aging I think, but only the one was actually inedible in my personal opinion. A bit repetitive, but not overwhelming. Two items in this box were present in their prior sakura-themed boxes if I recall right. 

Theme - 4 out of 5. Yeah I’d say they fit the snacking theme perfectly well, there’s nothing to really complain. But if I had to, I would say that they weren’t as on point as usual with this theme as they were in prior years.

Total Rank: 8 out of 10. I really don’t have too much to leave with this time around. It featured a pleasant mix of unique snacks with more common/basic flavors, so there was something for everyone. I kinda wish they included some more savory items, but I think they cut down because of how much they were featured in March’s box.

#tokyo treat #cutie reviews