Reblogged from mau-loa-
new undies: cute
stretchmarks: also cute
No no no and NO stretch marks are never cute!! wtf too lazy to go get some cocoa butter and use it daily? We all have stretch marks but we can get rid of it.. People should take care of themselves and if cocoa butter didnt work for you make an appointment for a laser stretch mark removal dont be a lazy ass
hey quick question: what’s your fuckin damage
all stretch marks are beautiful no exceptions
- stretch marks are perfectly fine and natural and beautiful, free lightning bolt tattoos yo
- cocoa butter is a preventative that does not always work, and smells and stains clothes and oh yeah, since a lot of people get stretch marks just from growing NOT from weight, theyd have to slather their whole body and no one really wants to do that or smell like that so strongly.
- laser treatment? really? you want people to pay $1000+/appt (usually takes a few treatments) to get rid of something perfectly natural because you’ve named yourself standard of the fucking world and think we all live to please you? most people dont have that money and if they do thats not what they want to spend it on.
- also fuck you.
I usually don’t reblog ladies in undies, but for real. Don’t fuckin’ knock people over stretchmarks, or anything on their bodies for that matter. I’ve been underweight all my life and have them from growing. They happen. The just do.
those thighs and the stretch marks unffffff
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost."
Reblogged from writtenwordsl
Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)
When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.
I’m really glad I read that.