lazy mediocre bum rule number one: be best friends with your teachers, when you fuck up big time they’ll low key help you out more than they should
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life hack: get a tattoo. if the people at the job interview notice it and look concerned, laugh a little and explain “it’s just temporary.” months later if your boss asks why you lied and said it was a temporary tattoo, stare off into the distance and whisper with a tremulous voice the poor excuse for truth your subconscious has been fighting for its entire insignificant existence: “everything is temporary.”
i’m a strong believer that not everything you do needs an explanation. if you want a tattoo, get one. if you rather stay home that night, it’s okay to miss that party. don’t forget that you’re living for yourself. you don’t owe anyone an explanation for your choices or preferences.
"what will your kids think of that tattoo?"
my kids aren’t going to give 2 shits because i’m not going to raise them to be a judgmental asshole like your parents did
i’m just going to reblog this over and over again until i give myself carpal tunnel
To suggest that one’s belly, body hair or tattoo is ‘distasteful’ and should therefore be covered in the name of etiquette is the very worst sort of body fascism. If your children are traumatised by the sight of a fat person in a bikini, a bit of cellulite or a caesarean scar, then may I tentatively suggest that you aren’t raising them correctly. If seeing someone hairy wearing something skimpy renders you ‘unable to eat your lunch’ then I’m afraid my diagnosis is the problem is with your brain, not their body.
Those lyrics that just hit you so hard you want to write them on the walls and tattoo them on yourself and scream them to the world.
I didn’t name a song, but you just thought of one
