I went in to CVS today to pick up some prescriptions and one of the employees told me they’re having a HUGE clearance event right now.

Up to 75% off on tons of different makeup items with eyeshadow, nail polish, lipstick, etc. on sale. I didn’t get anything but the prices are great for anyone who is looking.

Brother’s girlfriend is a cosmetologist. She asked me to go to Cosmoprof with her today to pick up some bleaching supplies. Cosmoprof is a beauty supply store that only sells to licensed cosmetologists. 

The stuff is good, and she gets a discount.

I’ll try not to buy all the things.

When People Tell Me How Great It Is That I’m Working

rollingforwardwithobama:

sasha-smithy:

-This post is courtesy of an older gentleman (and I use that term quite loosely) who felt the need to praise me for having a job. His exact words at the end of the transaction were, “good for you for having job in a wheelchair.”

This wasn’t the first time I’ve been told something like this and I know it won’t be the last. I can’t say all that I want to in a minute or less. I can’t tell him to fuck off or to stop being so damn ignorant. I couldn’t remember on the spot to tell him that job or no job, I have a life worth living.

What they’re telling me, with how great it is that I have a job, is how great it is that I’m not a lazy faker mooching off the system, how great it is that they’re tax dollars don’t fund my pitiful life, and how great it is that I continue to get out of bed every morning despite ~adversity~ that would make THEM want to “kill themselves”.

They don’t know my life. They don’t know that I have two college degrees by the age of 23. They don’t know that I was an honors student. Or that I have friends who have stuck by me over the years, that I have family I love, things I love doing. They don’t know that I can only work a certain number of hours a week. They don’t know that I worry what happens when my settlement runs out what exactly I plan on living on. They don’t know that there might come a day when I can no longer work an “official” day to day job.

And they’re saying to me, ‘we’re glad you’re not the person you might come to be.’

They’re saying, ‘we’re glad you’re not the people in your support group and in your disabled community’.

They’re saying, ‘we’re glad you look and seem as normal as possible.’

And all this over a job. Life is SO much more than a job. A job is SO much more than your life. Life is about experiences, family, friends, and love. Life is bonfires and fireplaces. Sticking your tongue out to catch falling snow. Wishing on stars and creating hopes from dandelions. It’s picnicking in the grass and swatting the bugs away. Walking down streets and doing a jig as two people try not to run into each other. It’s hugs and sex and cuddles and strokes.

Miracles, missed moments, captured dreams, and starving hearts. It’s laughter and tears both good and bad. It’s gentle nods and supporting silence. It’s bad gifts wrapped in silk and good gifts wrapped in newspaper. It’s glitter and sun and sparkles and rain. Thunderstorms and lightning, hurricanes and cyclones, wind and fire. It’s about carrying and being carried.

It’s about love and life and tragedy and romance and heartbreak and hardships. And there is not one person who doesn’t take part of it.

And if you think for one second, that my life is only worth living because I have a job, then I pity you. It must be terribly hard to enjoy so little and to experience nearly nothing. What kind of hopes and dreams must you have if you judge worth by someone’s job? It must be hard to miss all that wonder.

As for me, there’s so much more to life than my job. I do enjoy it and the money does help. But I’ll be damned if that’s all my life is. Because there’s so much more to experience. I like to wear as much glitter as I can get away with, smile as much as I need to, cry when it’s necessary. I want to fall in love and have picnics. Go see plays and musicals and travel to different places. I want to try horseback riding and have a pet goat. Or at least pet a goat. I want to give comfort to those I know, hope to those who need it, strength to those who think they aren’t strong enough. I want to fall in love with the world and I want it to love me back.

Beautiful, POWERFUL, read. 

While searching for articles about Blake Lively’s hair (to give to my stylist/friend Susie) I came across one where the stylist interviewed said “the look only works for tall, slim women.”

Ahem, excuse me, but I’m short and fat and my hair is awesome and you can go fuck yourself. 

I GET how certain hairstyles may be at odds with some face shapes, but ultimately, it’s the hair owner’s decision and face shapes aren’t necessarily dictated by body size. And they have NOTHING to do with height.

So, I’m gonna have shiny black Blake Lively hair, and the guy interviewed in that article can fuck off in the nearest direction.