One of the best jokes from Ratatouille - wine too expensive to spit out in disgust.
*sudden realization that next year is like 3 weeks away*
Hey macklemore can we go thrift shopping
that time for like 2 years where you had to watch the polar express trailer before any dvd would play
there is no “but”
Damn son our uterus stretches like 5x the size and then contracts and pushes a 7 pound baby out of a small tube into life if you think that isn’t metal as fuck get out of my face
YOUR ORGANS THOUGH IM SO SORRY LADIES
How the hell do woman survive this?
Seriously it surprises me how many people don’t know a couple things about pregnancy and babies:
women would not survive 10 months of pregnancy they would die
A baby is nowhere near as developed as it should be to be out in the world at 9 months, but the human body has not evolved to push anything past the size of the head out, everything else the baby is can stretch and squash but the head
the vagina can’t handle anything bigger than the head at 9 months of development so we have to give birth.
But babies actually need longer than that, really, it’s why they’re such a mess when they’re born and why they’re completely dependent on care, can’t walk, can’t do anything. Note most other animals can when they are born. Babies are born too early, it’s kind of a huge and secret flaw in human evolution. I found it really interesting, so thought I’d share.
Sex is not a goddamn performance.
Sex should feel as natural as drinking water.
It should not require confidence.
Sex should happen, because the moment is ripe.
Ripening lips, ripening labia, ripening cock, ripening pupils, ripening state of being. Ripe and augmented and brimming. Your energy goes to your pumping heart, then to every external nerve, then to theirs, on fire.
You bask, roll, play in it. You sigh, moan, laugh.
It’s not about being “good in bed.”
It’s about being happy.
One should never worry if they’re doing it “correctly.” Sex is not factual. I don’t want your cookie-cutter sex, I don’t want your meticulously crafted, calculated, fool-proof fuck. I don’t want a show. I want you. Let your instincts, urges and whims define that. It’s enough.
What do most girls like? Forget about it. Statistics are meaningless when there’s only one. Hello, here’s me. Here’s you.
Don’t worry about taking it too slow. We got time. We got infinite rhythms, combinations, possibilities. Explore each fuck. Take our time. We can do a different one later.
Don’t worry about making me come. I’m here. Right where I want to be.
I am overwhelmed by wanting; you don’t have to convince me. I want you because I like you. So don’t put on a front. Don’t taint this.
I’m frustrated—it’s just authenticity I want.
Don’t say that something I like is ugly. Don’t compare yourself to the rest. You will live and die with and within your experiences like everyone else. If someone thinks you are amazing, they are not wrong. Their universe is as real as any other; it is forged through perception.
I don’t care if you accidentally slammed my head into the wall, if you slipped out, if my arm cracked, if the delightful pressure of your wet lips on my anything made a silly sound. There is no right way and no wrong way.
“Good in bed,” what.
You’re good in my bed. I’m pleased you’re there. I feel it suits you.
Shove your technique. Let your memory swallow it. Fuck me like you’d fuck me, fuck me like you feel.
This isn’t a test." -(via grrrlstudies)
"I wonder if you know yet that you’ll leave me. That you are a child playing with matches and I have a paper body. You will meet a girl with a softer voice and stronger arms and she will not have violent secrets or an affection for red wine or eyes that never stay dry. You will fall into her bed and I’ll go back to spending Friday nights with boys who never learn my last name. I have chased off every fool who has tried to sleep beside me You think it’s romantic to fuck the girl who writes poems about you. You think I’ll understand your sadness because I live inside my own. But I will show up at your door at 2 am, wild-eyed and sleepless. and try and find some semblance of peace in your breastbone and you will not let me in. You will tell me to go home."-(via straberrie)