I am absolutely in love with my new job. #Greenpeace 🌎✌💚
Rory’s Easter outfit #1. Just a simple bow to meet the little cousins today.
Kurt Cobain - 19 years old - Arrested for spray painting “God is gay.”
Written in five different languages making it understood in approximately 120 countries. It’s to keep me safe while travelling but is also a tribute to my travels so far and to living with diabetes. When I was first diagnosed I was told they’d have a cure within ten years. As a kid I counted the years. When I got to ten I put my pen down. The tallies represent this. It’s been almost twenty years now.
This photo was taken a few hours after the text was done so it’s obviously a lot darker than it will be and still inflamed.
The caduceus was done by Aaron at Unique Tattoos, Subiaco, Western Australia in 2011. The lettering was done yesterday by Carlin at Unique Tattoos. The typography was designed by my brother Jake from Two Of Three (twoofthree.com Design, Mostly).
Forever reblogging EVERYTHING Fall Out Boy. So yes, that means even this.
P.S. Someone print this and send it to me for Valentine’s Day.
I think death is beautiful. Eternal rest. Constant peace.
The ultimate escape.
But I am afraid of life. And maybe I’m afraid of dying.
I’m afraid of the pain waiting for me. The pain I experience everyday. The pain I know is still to come.
Death is the terminal escape.
No, I’m not afraid of death.
But I am afraid of not having enough time.
I’m afraid that I am going to work my entire life, just to die and never really get to live.
I think death would be easy.
But no one will kill me.And no one will let me die.
They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.
But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.
But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.
See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.
Maybe we were too much alike.
I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
____________ _________ _________ _________
To Whomever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.
So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.
Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —-“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”
He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.
Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.
Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.
And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.
I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with .. and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.
Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he
If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.
All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.
____________ _________ _________ _______
I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver
Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.
“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.
The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.
His tail swished.
I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my
face into his scruff and hugged him.
“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.
“So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.
“Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”
Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.”
When I was little, I thought you met the person you were going to marry in high school. I thought that all of the “grown-ups” who were still alone didn’t find there person or lost them and would be alone forever. I vowed that wouldn’t be me. I promised myself that in high school, I would find a boy and I would hold onto him for the rest of my life.
Thank goodness I matured and realized how stupid that was!
Because none of you assholes were worth holding onto for the rest of my life.
I still have the rest of my life and I’ll hold onto myself if that remains the best option, as it is now.
"I’ve been dying to tell you anything you wanna hear, ‘cause that’s just who I am this week."
Robert Pattinson: “If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are. Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.”
Kid walking dog stops to play in the puddle
Just too cute not to reblog.
I love that the kid looks back a couple times to make sure the dog doesn’t keep walking.
PETA will not stop sending me shit in the mail, so I’m using their prepaid postage and sending them a nice little package.
Have you ever found silence? Life without sound?
We only dream of a life where words don’t find our ears. Where the wind doesn’t rush past our windows. Where there is no background noise.
How amazing life would be if just for an hour, we had nothing to listen to but our heads. Nothing to distract us from our personal praise and quarrels.
Nothing to argue with but ourselves.
Nothing to love but ourselves.
Nothing to complain about but ourselves.
Nothing to compliment but ourselves.
Just imagine such silence. Life without sound!
But it’s not enough. (Is anything ever enough?)
We must take away sight. We must take away smell. We must take away touch. We must take away taste.
Trapped inside our own minds. Nothing to do but think.
No one in the world would have any choice but to sit down and think.
For just an hour?
What if we had the ability to do this?
As if to sleep but keep consciously thinking. Instead of drowning out the world with music, or expressing our frustration through art, or eating away the holes in our hearts. We’d just sit. And think.
Think about everything! About life, about death, about everything in between.
Would the world be a better place if we simply had the ability to turn off all of our senses?
Or would this just be abused like every other gift we’ve been given?
Would the world be worse off if men with guns could shut down their ears? Would anybody learn their lesson if at the flick of a hat we could turn everything off?
Is there anyway we could guarantee peace?
No, I suppose their isn’t.
But wouldn’t that be nice?