hi my name is jey i like mangoes and hair bows

mizoguchi:

“Americans love Mexican food. We consume nachos, tacos, burritos, tortas, enchiladas, tamales and anything resembling Mexican in enormous quantities. We love Mexican beverages, happily knocking back huge amounts of tequila, mezcal and Mexican beer every year. We love Mexican people — as we sure employ a lot of them. Despite our ridiculously hypocritical attitudes towards immigration, we demand that Mexicans cook a large percentage of the food we eat, grow the ingredients we need to make that food, clean our houses, mow our lawns, wash our dishes, look after our children. As any chef will tell you, our entire service economy — the restaurant business as we know it — in most American cities, would collapse overnight without Mexican workers. Some, of course, like to claim that Mexicans are “stealing American jobs.” But in two decades as a chef and employer, I never had ONE American kid walk in my door and apply for a dishwashing job, a porter’s position — or even a job as prep cook. Mexicans do much of the work in this country that Americans, provably, simply won’t do. We love Mexican drugs. Maybe not you personally, but “we,” as a nation, certainly consume titanic amounts of them — and go to extraordinary lengths and expense to acquire them. We love Mexican music, Mexican beaches, Mexican architecture, interior design, Mexican films. So, why don’t we love Mexico? We throw up our hands and shrug at what happens and what is happening just across the border. Maybe we are embarrassed. Mexico, after all, has always been there for us, to service our darkest needs and desires. Whether it’s dress up like fools and get pass-out drunk and sun burned on Spring break in Cancun, throw pesos at strippers in Tijuana, or get toasted on Mexican drugs, we are seldom on our best behavior in Mexico. They have seen many of us at our worst. They know our darkest desires. In the service of our appetites, we spend billions and billions of dollars each year on Mexican drugs — while at the same time spending billions and billions more trying to prevent those drugs from reaching us. The effect on our society is everywhere to be seen. Whether it’s kids nodding off and overdosing in small town Vermont, gang violence in LA, burned out neighborhoods in Detroit — it’s there to see. What we don’t see, however, haven’t really noticed, and don’t seem to much care about, is the 80,000 dead — mostly innocent victims in Mexico, just in the past few years. 80,000 dead. 80,000 families who’ve been touched directly by the so-called ‘War On Drugs.’”

— Anthony Bourdain: Under the Volcano (via mizoguchi)

tomatomagica:

shitmygaywifesays:

shitmygaywifesays:

I want to tell y’all a story about supporting and loving your partner, starring my amazing wife.

I’ve mentioned before that I had an eating disorder for many years, and though I consider myself “recovered” there are aspects of my disorder that I still struggle with today — being quite a bit heavier than my wife is one of them.

When my wife and I moved in together back when we were still girlfriends, I was at my skinniest. She used to pick me up all the time and lift me off the ground, and I’d laugh and kick out my legs ‘cause I was just delighted to have her holding me.

But I started gaining weight as I went through recovery, and where once we were pretty close in size, I began to get bigger. And bigger. And bigger. And she remained her naturally petite self. I began to almost dread when she’d try to pick me up, sure that this time she wouldn’t be able to get me off the ground.

But every time, even if I protested, she’d lift me up and say something like: “See, you’re not so big that I can’t lift you!”

And one time I just blurted out: “But someday I’m going to be so fat you won’t be able to.”

She looked me dead in the eye and said: “No you won’t. Because if that ever happens, I’ll start working out.”

It was the best possible thing she could have said to me, because she wasn’t saying I wasn’t going to get fat — neither of us knew that for sure. She was just saying that I was never going to be “too fat” for her.

And every time I worry about getting bigger, I remember that I’ll never be so big that she can’t lift me, because baby knows how much I love being held, and she’ll change her own habits to ensure that I never feel “too big” or “too heavy” because in her eyes I’ll never be “too” anything.

Anyway, there’s a moral to this story: Find yourself a partner who will never consider you an excess. You should never be “too much” to someone who loves you — too big, too loud, too passionate, too awkward, whatever your “too” happens to be. And even as you change and grow (in my case, literally), the right person will be there through the changes, to tell you that you’re always just right for them.

My strongwoman, the wind beneath my wings, the arms under my ass.   😍😍 😍

sheabutterbitch:

A long time ago I took a course on the sociology of marriage and my professor said “With compromise, you both lose. As a couple, you must collaborate on the best possible outcome.” Ever since, I never prioritize compromise in a relationship, only collaboration.

maevemiliay:

anne hathaway PLEASE unlock your mind’s potential… do a lesbian movie… PLEASE

yaoi-smasher6969:

Tbh???? I don’t have the fuckn time to pick and choose who can come to pride or use the acronym lgbt+. I got like, actual problems. Like bigots who wanna kill me and stuff. And money. Anyway happy pride, if you say you’re LGBT+, you don’t wanna hurt anyone, and you ID as lgbt+ in some way, I believe you because who has the fuckn time to examine everyone’s identity? I’m busy. I have a cat to feed.