(Source: shittyteenblog, via take1xtie1xday)
Don’t toy with the copy editor.
“Those guys were literally packing.” -coworker
“So they each had suitcases?” -me
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(Source: elenamarijalisa)
2| me: | we've got optimal bonding time |
|---|---|
| alison: | how much more bonding do we need |
| alison: | haven't we done enough |
4
holy shit.
I’ve spent the past hour googling my high school classmates with the word “arrest” next to their names. Breaking and entering. Assault and battery. Possession of class A and B substances. Prostitution. Larceny. Endangering a minor. Drunk driving (resulting in a car wreck that lost the driver half of her hand. I can’t find details on who/what she hit.)
The girl on the top and the bottom right? She (along with four other people) was arrested for beating a mentally handicapped man bloody. She was a personal friend of mine in high school. Definitely a little bit wild with some behavioral problems, but I thought she was a good kid.
The girl on the left, well, she posted that as her public facebook photo, so I figure it’s okay to share it. I was -almost- obsessed with her in high school—she half-shaved her head, dyed her hair purple and wore crazy clothes. She listened to Marilyn Manson and seemed tough, but funny. I hung out with her once. I probably talked about it afterwards all the time like I was cool for a day.
I’m pretty shocked at the percentage of names I can google that will return newspaper articles about their arrests. I wish I had a yearbook so I could do this properly.
I guess maybe, -maybe- it’s a good thing my parents yanked me out of Boston when they did. I always see it as them ruining my television career and forcing me to NOT apply at Emerson, but…maybe I wouldn’t have turned out so hot if I stayed. Maybe I didn’t really have any decent role models. Not sure that I had any here either, but at least I can’t rattle off all the people in my graduating class who are junkies/etc.
Yikes.
1Do me a favor this morning. Draw the curtain and come back to bed.
Forget the coffee. We’ll pretend
we’re in a foreign country, and in love.
“The Road” by Raymond Carver, from Where Water Comes Together With Other Water (via rainydaysandblankets)
(Source: marikoyama, via take1xtie1xday)
