Me: i have to tell you someting… im gender fluid and pansexual
Brother: Whats genderfluid
Me : It’s when sometimes I’m a guy and sometimes I’m a girl or some days I’m both.
Brother: What do we call you when your a guy? and what’s pansexual Does it mean you like pancakes?
Me: Call me jack and no it means I like boys and girls and everything really.
Brother: Wait you like boys. I like boys. Like Luke hammings (he said it like that) niall from one direction and that one guy with red hair from the band you like about love or somthing.
Me: Gerard way?
Brother: Yes gerard way is mine ok Were gonna get married when I get older . So Back off. . *walks way doing the ’ I’m watching you’ gesture*
In conclusion my homophobic mom has 2 gay kids
Author: misterjazzmaster
i'm destinee. I think i'm funny.
Reblog if you wouldn’t mind if your partner had self harm scars. I want to prove a point to myself that I’m not repulsive.
— I have self harm scars and my ex always treated me like shit about them
I hope everyone reblogs this!
It proves that you’re tough and you pulled yourself out of a tough, almost insurmountable place
My exes still dated me knowing about my self-harm scars. People won’t care about those things if they even remotely care about you.
Did you see what that Psycho Bitch did?
A 16 yr old boy screamed this at me after I pushed his desk (which he was sitting in) so hard that it almost hit the wall.
I warned this boy THREE TIMES to leave me alone. To leave my possessions alone. To stop putting his feet on my books which were under my chair. To stop putting his knees against the back of my chair and pushing, which rocked me back and forth.
I told this boy THREE TIMES to leave me alone and the last time I told him. “I’ve warned you three times now. Stop, or you are gonna regret it.”
To which he taunted. “Ooooh, Dunn, sooo scared.”
So he did it again.
And I lost it. The camels back didn’t have a chance, it snapped like a kit kat.
I turned around, put my hands on his desk and as I screamed every bit of profanity at him at volumes that I’m sure were heard down the hall, and I shoved. Every ounce of anger and frustration went into that push. I pushed that desk (he was still in it.) so hard that it parted the two empty desks behind him and he almost hit the wall.
Everyone around me was stunned, but then the boys sitting beside me JUMPED to their feet and started applauding, cause someone FINALLY DID IT! Someone FINALLY stood up to the bully.
As they start to clap the teacher jumps to her feet and points to the door. “HALLWAY NOW!”
And I’m just standing there, sobbing. “I just wanted him to leave me alone. I just wanted to be left alone.”
As I was walking around the desk (people are still applauding.) the bully snapped out of his daze and jumped to his feet. “DID YOU SEE WHAT THAT PSYCHO BITCH DID!?”
I turned on a dime. “YOU WANNA SEE PSYCHO BITCH! I’LL FUCKING SHOW YOU PSYCHO BITCH!” And I practically launched myself in his general direction. I say practically, because as my two besties scrambled to their feet to tackle me, my teacher grabbed the back of my shirt mid air and threw me into the hallway.
“YOU HALLWAY! AND YOU MISTER! OFFICE! NOW!”
“BUT I’M INNOCENT!” He tried to argue.
The boys that sat in the next aisle over stood and said ‘Ms Fye, she asked him to stop. She asked him to stop three times. We heard it.’”
She wrote him a hall pass. “You go to the office. I’ll be there in 5 minutes. And if you aren’t there sitting in a chair waiting for me, then we’re calling truente.”
The boy walked out the room gesturing like “you know you want it.” But the teacher shoved him down the hall.
After he turned the corner she turned to me and asked. “What the HELL happened?”
And all I could say (as I was crying) was “I just wanted to be left alone. I just wanted him to leave me and my stuff and my desk and my books alone. But he wouldn’t. He kept pushing my chair.He kept putting his feet on my books under the desk. He kept moving my gym bag. I just wanted to be left alone.”
She hugged me, promised me that she was going to move me, that I was never going to have to see him again. She sent me to the restroom and walked back into the classroom to inform the class that I was going to be sitting on the other side of the room. And the boys that sat next to me took it it upon themselves to save me the hassle of going back to the scene of the crime and forming a life chain, passing my things over from one kid to the next to the chair I was going to be sitting in.
I came back to the room and there was no jeering, no rude comments or gestures. Just a couple of boys pointing out that my stuff was in my new seat.
The teacher went to the office and the boy eventually got 3 day in-school suspension, and a serious tongue lashing from my teacher.
Looking back on it now, I realize how lucky I was I didn’t end up getting suspended or expelled. (Technically I never touched the boy… close… but I never touched him.) In fact, I don’t think my parents even got called. To this day they have no idea how close their daughter came to beating the shit out of a football player.
But the thing that stuck me the most was no one in the class ever treated me like I was crazy. In fact, it freak out this one boy so bad he left me pencils on my desk every day.
I like to think of myself as a non-violent person. But then I remember… that time I almost showed a boy what a psycho bitch really was.
(via castielcampbell)
I WILL STOP REBLOGGING THIS WHEN IT STOPS GETTING 300+ NOTES EVERY TIME I REBLOG IT
(via j-u-n-e-20th)
The Morning After I Killed Myself
The morning after I killed myself, I woke up.
I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.
The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.
The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother.
The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach.
The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.
I needed this tonight
If you’re looking for a sign not to then this is it. My inbox is open if you think talking to a stranger will help.
This is devastating and precious. Wow.
If anyone needs this, here you go. Just remember that somebody, somewhere always cares about you.
I needed this today.
!!!!!!!!PLEASE READ!!!!!!!!!
So I know the chances of this working out are very small, but every bit of help counts.
The woman in the pictures above is my beautiful mother on her wedding day 18 years ago.
Upon unboxing what we thought was her wedding dress, we realized that we’ve been holding onto the WRONG DRESS for 18 years.
The Cleaning place where my parents had gotten the dress professionally preserved MIXED UP THE ORDERS and gave my Mom the WRONG dress.
This dress was made in the Philippines, along with the shirt my Dad wore to their wedding. My Mom, who was born there, said that her dress was one of the last pieces of her home country that she held on to. And now it’s gone.
Today, on Thanksgiving, (November 26th, 2015) I watched my Mother break down in tears when she realized her wedding dress was lost.
The dress was preserved near Wauconda IL. If you have any idea where her dress may have ended up, or by a slim chance you are the person who has this dress, please contact me. Send me a message.
Even if you don’t live in the area, please help me and SIGNAL BOOST THIS. I want to do as much as I can for my mom, and possibly find it.
Thank you for your time.
Boost
Boost. Oh, this poor woman! Let’s find her dress!
When friends won’t believe they’re cute and perfect
when friends insist that you’re cute and perfect
shhhhhhhh you’re cute and perfect deal with it
My mom either knows too much or the joke is on her.
Everytime I see my OTP.
Warning:flashing lights. Be careful 😊
misterjazzmaster 