The dissent is coming from inside the spell-check.

orbooks:

We’re going to the dress rehearsal of How I Learned To Drive tonight, but if we weren’t, we would definitely be there. Reblog to enter!

#humblebrag?

(Source: flavorpill)

New Twitter TMI

JK, you guys.

Has anyone heard anything about this? Is it supposed to be any good?

“ Not everyone wants you to save them. Or be in your hypothetical band. ”

h8 myself

"(“O.M.G.” said Kat Dennings at this point—seriously—apparently hoping she could diffuse the tension entirely by being Kat Dennings.)" →

“ I must admit I was initially put off by the book’s marketing juggernaut, which suggested it was simply a memoir of “grief and loss” penned by “America’s most resilient writer.” Really, it was this last phrase “America’s most resilient writer” that bothered me the most. What a horrible thing to say about someone like her, I thought. Resilient, like she’s waterproof? I wondered to myself what she thought about this preposterous claim. Still, I also know “resilient” is something old people are supposed to be. Old people who do anything late in life other than go to doctor’s appointments and talk about Medicare Part B are “resilient. ”

youngmegadethite:

Will these pictures of people with Ivyland never end.

hey look, it’s the title of your memoir

photojojo:

The Burning House is a unique Tumblr that asks its readers to submit a photo of what they would want to save if their house burned down. 

Hey look, it’s your ex-boyfriend!

(via flavorpill)

elisabethdonnelly:

heygirlobama:

Subject: I want to meet you

I’m excited for the chance to meet you and whoever you decide to bring to dinner.

I really hope you give this a shot.

Give $3 or whatever you can to be automatically entered for you and a guest to have dinner with Barack and me:

https://donate.barackobama.com/Dinner-With-Us

Hope to see you soon,

Michelle

Oh, this is good.

“ From that point onward I never worked a regular office job again, solely writing for a living, something that would have been impossible if New York hadn’t been a city of low rents and crappy expectations that didn’t require a trust fund or a six figure income for the privilege of watching everything fall apart before your eyes…At that age apartments were just places to stay, temporary launchpads or secluded cubbyholes, not outward constructs of your identity that required Hamlet-style agonizing for fear that at the root of your being, you might not be an “uptown person. ”