more-of-a-book-girl
owenhqrper:

Someone very nicely pointed out to me that I should have included sensual attraction in this graphic I made earlier. I’ve copy-pasta’d some of the more important text from that graphic although you should still read the other text too cause it’s still relevant! 

Firstly, the definitions on the graphic above are very very very very bare-bones, and it’s important to say that different people experience the different kinds of attraction in different ways, and also there are probably more kinds of attraction, but I believe these are the main ones and the most important to differentiate between.
Secondly, it’s also important to note that each person has their own limits and lines drawn between the different kinds of attraction. To some people, touching would be a reaction to aesthetic attraction; to others, it may be a romantic act; to others, sexual. Some people view kissing as sexual and others view it as romantic. Everyone, ace or allo, has their own borders and their own fences in between these different kinds of attraction and some don’t have any fences in between them at all, and just let them run around wild together. 
The first reaction I usually get when I explain the difference between sexual, romantic, and aesthetic attraction is something along the lines of “but no one looks at someone and just wants to have sex with them right away! everyone needs to get to know them first!” This argument is also a big part of demisexual erasure. Which is why I think it’s important to really differentiate between these types of attraction. And just because these three types of attraction go together for some doesn’t mean they go together for all. 

Again, and especially with the inclusion of sensual attraction, it’s important for me to point out that not everyone has the same standards for each type of attraction. What is included in sensual for some may be included in sexual for others. Asexual people can be sensually attracted to people and desire physical intimacy that doesn’t include sexual intercourse, in fact, many do. And I feel the need to point this out often and firmly because there are people in the asexual community invalidating EACH OTHER because few people seem to understand that not only is asexuality a spectrum, everyone exists on their own individual spectrum. 

owenhqrper:

Someone very nicely pointed out to me that I should have included sensual attraction in this graphic I made earlier. I’ve copy-pasta’d some of the more important text from that graphic although you should still read the other text too cause it’s still relevant! 

Firstly, the definitions on the graphic above are very very very very bare-bones, and it’s important to say that different people experience the different kinds of attraction in different ways, and also there are probably more kinds of attraction, but I believe these are the main ones and the most important to differentiate between.

Secondly, it’s also important to note that each person has their own limits and lines drawn between the different kinds of attraction. To some people, touching would be a reaction to aesthetic attraction; to others, it may be a romantic act; to others, sexual. Some people view kissing as sexual and others view it as romantic. Everyone, ace or allo, has their own borders and their own fences in between these different kinds of attraction and some don’t have any fences in between them at all, and just let them run around wild together. 

The first reaction I usually get when I explain the difference between sexual, romantic, and aesthetic attraction is something along the lines of “but no one looks at someone and just wants to have sex with them right away! everyone needs to get to know them first!” This argument is also a big part of demisexual erasure. Which is why I think it’s important to really differentiate between these types of attraction. And just because these three types of attraction go together for some doesn’t mean they go together for all. 

Again, and especially with the inclusion of sensual attraction, it’s important for me to point out that not everyone has the same standards for each type of attraction. What is included in sensual for some may be included in sexual for others. Asexual people can be sensually attracted to people and desire physical intimacy that doesn’t include sexual intercourse, in fact, many do. And I feel the need to point this out often and firmly because there are people in the asexual community invalidating EACH OTHER because few people seem to understand that not only is asexuality a spectrum, everyone exists on their own individual spectrum. 

more-of-a-book-girl

itseasytoremember:

demonizedhumanity:

missxdelaney:

itseasytoremember:

there are people on this website with children

there are people on this website who have their life together

there are people on this website who are award winning novelists

today i tried to smile at someone with water in my mouth and almost died

image

I’m on my phone so idk what that gif is but i have feeling it’s either spn related or it’s the gif of harry smiling at cho

GOD DAMN IT

awkwardlylovly

Anonymous asked:

please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious.

mamalovebone answered:

all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 

Max. 

We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Sit."

Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.

mysticmoonhigh:

FUCKING READ IT IT’S WORTH IT