"It party time! Let's groove it! Pain remains and will not go away" (This is the best shirt I own)
I'm Erin, I'm a 23 year old human, I live in London. I am a filmmaker, writer, and homo.
friendly reminder that ╮(─▽─)╭
we*boo is a slur (◡‿◡✿)
it dehumanizes otherkin who identify as fictional characters from japanese cartoons (anime) (⇀‸↼‶)
dont call me a we*boo im a FICTIVEKIN who happens to identify as someone who speaks japanese (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻
how much yall gotta hate minorities to believe this kinda shit huh
Since we’re both single and roughly the same age, it was hard for me not to treat our interview as a sort of date. Surprisingly, Chris did the same, asking all about me, my family, my job, my most recent relationship. And from ten minutes into that first interview, when he reached across the table to punctuate a joke by putting his hand on top of mine, Chris kept up frequent hand holding and lower-back touching, palm kissing and knee squeezing. He’s an attractive movie star, no complaints. I also didn’t know how much I was supposed to respond; when I did, it sometimes felt a little like hitting on the bartender or misconstruing the bartender’s professional fliirting for something more. I wanted to think it was genuine, or that part of it was, because I liked him right away.
Is this the part of a celebrity profile where I go into how blue the star’s eyes are? Because they are very blue.
(It was around then that we were spotted by the gossip reporter that I didn’t know was a gossip reporter, or else I wouldn’t have explained to him on the way back from the bathroom that Chris was “soo flirty” and that I had “the biggest crush on him.” Haha. Oops!)
Edith Zimmerman on Chris Evans in his new GQ profile.
This interview is blowing up today, I am definitely not mad at that. (via onthechanggang)
CHRIS EVANS FEVER MAKES ME WANT TO READ THIS CLASSIC AND ICONIC ARTICLE BY EDITH ZIMMERMAN FROM 2K11 - A TRUE GENIUS AND HERO. DO URSELF A FAVOR AND KNOW IT BY HEART. (via rubdown)
I could re-read this article literally every day.
Today being the first day of humanitarian ceasefire in a little while, I took the opportunity to wander into Bethlehem on my own. The bus dropped me in the centre of town and I meandered for a while through crowded shopping streets, everyone around me shouting and smiling simultaneously. I asked a girl clutching textbooks to her chest the directions to Manger Square, and she took me there herself, telling me about her studies at Bethlehem University as we weaved our way around the swollen market stalls.
The Church of the Nativity was almost silent, huge and hollow without the tourist groups who would normally have crowded the nave at this time of year. Aimless shopkeepers, after hearing that I had already bought an olive-wood nativity set and probably wouldn’t need another, thanks, invited me inside for cups of sage tea. We talked about the conflict, their children, the Dead Sea, the Jewish friends they couldn’t visit beyond the wall, and how much it would mean to them if the world’s media didn’t paint the Palestinians as the monsters the state of Israel seeks to slay.
I left for the checkpoint that would take me back through the wall towards Jerusalem, tracing my path on a hand-drawn map given to me over my last cup of tea, dipping into a sweet-smelling bakery and being told that the cost of the handful of pastries I wanted to buy was “nothing. A gift.” A taxi driver I’d met last week spotted me as I walked beside the graffitied wall, and he insisted on taking me the rest of the way for free.
The rancid air near the checkpoint caught in my throat, like the “skunk” gas we had smelt in Jerusalem after the protests on Thursday night. Perhaps it had been used again, this time to dispel the 5,000 people who had been protesting by the wall last night. I left the taxi driver behind and climbed the slope to the security checks, through a narrow corridor enclosed by tall, concrete walls and metal grates.