lprnyc:

nprmusic:

Words cannot express how perfect. —Lars

You know who is amazing? Prince is amazing.

HE’LL no.

usatodaysports:

Examples of overwhelming kindness following the Boston Marathon explosions.

(via scout)

bindersfullofwomen:

Binders full of women? Mckayla’s not impressed.

slaughterhouse90210:

“And still, I loathed being a child. Plainly stated, being a child was not—as used to be said around the time I was a child—my bag. Childhood was a foreign country to me. Everyone has an internal age. A time in life when one is of not one’s best, then at the very least one’s most authentic self. When your outside and inside are in sync, and soma and psyche mesh as perfectly as they’re going to. I always felt that my internal clock was calibrated somewhere between 47 and 53 years old.”

—David Rakoff, Half Empty

Rakoff FTW

Jamie Anne Royce 

So very very true. 

(via thatkindofwoman)

I think this is complete bullshit. It’s interesting, though, because what if that were true? When I stop writing about someone, I stop loving them?

(via scout)

uproxx:

Bryan Cranston Deserves A Gold Medal In Tweeting At Olympic Athletes

(via scout)

slaughterhouse90210:

“The happiest she’d ever been was with him, and the saddest. Was that the true test of love?”
― Stewart O’Nan, The Odds: A Love Story

scout:

UGH MARRY ME

Me too. Ughhhh.

slaughterhouse90210:

“It is so easy for a woman to become what the man she loves believes her to be.”
― Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth

Ah, such great memories from my last few days in NYC. Thanks, Mama!

mama411:

A few months ago, I was at the restaurant La Palapa because a dear friend was fleeing NYC for LA permanently. It was kind of a big group because she’s a popular gal about town. At some point during the festivities, some lovely person that none of us actually saw dropped this card on our table that night:

YOU ARE SO LOUD! Please stop talking. 

This photo and the card itself have become kind of a joke amongst our friends because it seemed so ridiculous. La Palapa is a fun, loud place on a Saturday night, AND it was almost midnight. Most people in the restaurant were already doing a backstroke through their fifth pitcher of margaritas. It seemed highly unlikely that our cackling could be singled out from the cacophony of this particular crowd. Clearly, some geriatric buzz-kill had their panties in a bunch over nothing.

Except um….I was eating lunch with my friend Jenn on Tuesday at this macrobiotic place on 13th Street - and a waitress was summoned by another patron to reprimand us for being too loud. We apologized profusely, and then the woman who complained said, “I mean, I can hardly hear myself THINK.”

Maybe we should conduct a decible test during our next get-together. Are we louder than the roar of a car? A NYC subway train? Discuss. Has anything like this ever happened to you?

And thus begins Palm Springs Ladies’ (+Ron) Weekend. No place on earth I’d rather be right now! (Taken with Instagram at El Mirador)

American Idol again. This time, the finale. (Taken with instagram)

My building does not allow dogs, but can I have a pet baby goat? (Taken with Instagram at Hollywood Farmer’s Market)

Finally organized my closet. It is officially bigger than my first bedroom in manhattan. #grownup (Taken with instagram)

Just working from home today. (Taken with Instagram at Sutton Place Rooftop Pool and Spa)