Little did she know

Don't shy. Ask me anything.   I am a fierce storyteller.

"There is no such thing as a coincidence in your life, Pammu" -Jammi

twitter.com/MyPam:

    isnthesweet:

    dalbear:

    sylvysparrow:

    Robin Williams, 1951-2014

    goddamnit.

    Fuck. I forgot all about this.

    Fuck.

    The worstmost emotional part of this imageset is that…

    So these two meet up at a burial for a comedian they knew. They’re the only two there. So they meet afterwards over coffee and talk about how everyone HATED the dude. He was the worst, always taking money from people and just being a real asshole. He would always try to get people to go to this strip club with him, but no one would ever go.

    So to honor the deceased, these two go to the strip club. They sit down, observe the ambience. A stripper asks if they want a dance and they politely decline. She asks “well then why are you here?” and they explain that their friend passed away. After telling the stripper the name of the person who died, the news spread over the club with a wave of shock and tears. The DJ even turns down the music to give a shout out to the deceased. This comedian who was hated and loathed had a place in the world where he was important: Where he was loved.

    So in the wake of the news regarding Robin Williams death, please remember:

    You are loved. You may not realize it. Hell, the people who love you may not even realize it themselves. But you are. Loved.

    When love burns.

    (Source: theworthlesspeon, via marciethebird)

    — 1 month ago with 28345 notes
    octoberblood:

"What’s wrong with death sir? What are we so mortally afraid of? Why can’t we treat death with a certain amount of humanity and dignity, and decency, and God forbid, maybe even humor. Death is not the enemy, gentlemen. If we’re going to fight a disease, let’s fight one of the most terrible diseases of all, indifference."  
Patch Adams 

    octoberblood:

    "What’s wrong with death sir? What are we so mortally afraid of? Why can’t we treat death with a certain amount of humanity and dignity, and decency, and God forbid, maybe even humor. Death is not the enemy, gentlemen. If we’re going to fight a disease, let’s fight one of the most terrible diseases of all, indifference."  

    Patch Adams 

    (via halvingthetimeofmylife)

    — 1 month ago with 12678 notes
    Never. Ever. Roll your eyes.

    I don’t know about most people but I envy the Hare-Krishna’s sometimes. They’re a group people robed in pastel and they sing “Hare Krishna” all day. They’re usually at Union Square Park, occasionally underground at the Times Square subway station, or rarely, at the Jackson Heights subway station in Queens because why not.

    The Hare-Krishnas can be contagious. They chant in a key that is contagious. I’d use the word “intoxicating” but really, it’s a happy key that sustains above the traffic, the crowd, and the rest of the city. Like that one moment in a casino where everything hits the same major key simultaneously and the place lights up literally and aurally. At that very moment, more than just a handful of people are happy; that very moment euphoric.

    I saw them underground at Union Square after a long day. They were chanting at a pace that resembled a stroll in the park. Their voices a glorious unison, their music thronging like a heartbeat, and one lone dancer, her eyes closed and arms gracefully floating in muggy subway air. It looked like heaven and it sounded like home. I wanted to go to it. I wanted to join them. I wanted to hear it, taste it, feel it, bask in it. I would have danced naked in a meadow at that moment.

    Personally, I have nothing against the contagion of the Hare Krishnas or against the Hare Krishnas themselves. One of these days, I’ll be chanting along and dancing hand in hand with one of them for all of ten minutes at the most because whatever they are doing looks fun. Joy can be so appealing. It also looks like a good time. I might even get a free book which is the frosting on your grandmother’s red velvet cake.

    Walking by the Hare Krishnas one afternoon, I spotted someone whom I know is a Christian (I may know who is but he may not know who I am; that kind of thing). He was walking by them, and what I saw kind of ruined my joy buzz:

    He rolled his eyes. Then he gave a jeering once-over to a random (aka struggling and probably high) b-boy dancer who obviously didn’t care that his spastic attempts at b-boying was fueled by the joy of that moment. The unsuspecting dancer may have known about someone rolling their eyes at them, but still. He didn’t deserve that. Also, eye-rolling is unacceptable. Worse, it is a turn off, if not a disappointment, to see a fellow Christian rolling their eyes at someone who is, in more than one, different.

    Interlude: The former Archbishop Desmond Tutu said that God would never tell Ghandi “I love what you did for humanity, but too bad that you’re not a Christian though.”

    Also: I submit that when Jesus said you ought to love your neighbor, I believe that he meant to love those who are not included in your family. If Church is your family, then anyone outside of it deserves your love just as much as those whom you see Sunday to Sunday.

    Christian eye-rolling should be stopped. It’s kind of like casting prejudice on someone based on the kind of music they listen to. Like shooting someone for something that is clearly not their fault. (Shooting them would be your fault if it ever came to that) If Christians would stop thinking that anything or anyone who is different from what they supposedly believe in is “inferior” or “silly” or “ridiculous”, they’d have much more unselfish lives and their capacity to love would be near infinite. If Christians would stop rolling their eyes within earshot of anything that seems different from any Christian “norm,” we would be known for our compassion rather than the rigid fundamentalism that has closed us off from the rest of the world God loves. If Christians would stop rolling their eyes and actually see what’s going on, they would be the ones that society could rely on for help, hope, and love.

    I was eye-rolled by a friend who didn’t want to hear what I had to say about what I thought of the zodiac. Here’s the gist of what I wanted to say:

    Star signs have unique qualities and in my experience, my reading of people based on their signs and/or birthdays are for the most part very accurate. However, you can’t make your sign define you, or make it as a go-to excuse. Personally, I don’t subscribe to horoscopes because they trap you into thinking that your sign is all there is, that there is no room for improvement, that you have no other path other than what is typical to the dictates of your birth date. Your sign is a stereotype that you have to defy, not an excuse to your typical uniqueness. On the other hand, if you think about it, each person has a star chart uniquely based on their date of birth, time of birth, and specific location. I consider that a gift that God could only put together. Whether or not you can take something from that chart is up to you, but I think that that is absolutely beautiful and worth looking at.

    I never got to finish my point. Instead, I got shot down and this is what I was bombarded with:

    “I don’t worship the stars; worship the God who made the stars.”

    End of story. Like what I had to say didn’t matter. I get what they meant though. I just wish they had pondered, that they allowed a “selah” moment before dismissing what would have been a conversation with what seems to be a canned response that doesn’t really hold any other meaning other than carrying out the purpose of not wanting to hear something worthwhile.

    They didn’t even give me a chance to finish, and more awkwardly so, they expected that we could carry on with our fellowship over pancakes and bacon and pretend that a conversation was aborted.

    Christians can make the worst conversationalists. Ever.

    It’s got nothing to with consulting who or worshiping what. It’s got to do with how all of creation is unique but connected and united. It’s also about how God can somehow speak through his creation but it’s up to us to listen or obey or ignore.

    I won’t lie though, I love seeing the Hare Krishnas. Their endurance is champion and their joy is amazing. I’d stop by them for at least 2 minutes to take them in, sway a little bit, and let myself feel God for a moment. If God works in mysterious ways, then why should his presence be limited to things we “ought” to know, or by the things we think we should say? For all we know, we roll our eyes because we are blind to certain things. So stop doing that. I promise you it doesn’t look sexy. Ever.

    — 1 month ago with 1 note
    #hare krishna 
    Holds us all together, never apart

    Artie and I developed our own language. We had several looks that mean “Look there!” and then “I know right?” and then “That was stupid” or “Unbelievable.” “Unbelievable” mind you would have different tones of looks in and of itself. Then we’d have our own silly baby talk, which funnily stems from how we talk to animals and/or other people’s pets.

    Whenever talking to cats, he puts on a voice that makes him sound like an old cat lady. This old cat lady would have little southern ping to her consonants and a guarded swing to her vowels.

    He also had his own vocabulary.

    He had terms of endearment for animals by way of describing them. Adam couldn’t have done a better job in the Garden of Eden:

    "Fuzzy butt!"
    "Ferrocious!"
    "She’s a squirmy! She gives me squirmies!"
    "Aaaaah! Look at that silly cat! She’s a silly cat!"
    "Stupid dog."

    "Fudz!" and "Ssup!" all mean food. Or lunch or dinner.

    "Teep Tayneez Fudz" would be our go to for when we are hungry. Another variation would be "Teep Tayneez Ssup!"

    "What ah the wudz" means "So what she text you back with?"

    Most morning’s he’d say he had “Eggies for breakfast.”

    He had a handful of endearments for me, and for some reason, these would be paired what seems to be a silly English accent:

    "Where the little person?"
    "Silly person" for times like when I forget things or misplace things and eventually find them. ALSO, when I say something that one-ups him.
    "Crazy baby" is for times like when I dance with a kid out on Union Square Park on Sunday.
    "Crazy person" is for when he has nothing else to say after I myself say "I love you."

    "Kees!" Is very self explanatory.

    I haven’t spoken this language for a while except when I’m alone and playing with a stray cat. His words and nuance would come out, starting with a gentle hiss to call the neighborhod cats to come out. This works 70% of the time. When I see one, I whisper out to it “Hey!” And she’d look at me in mid-stealth crawl. At that point, she’d either crawl into a car or stop and sit to look at me. If she stops and sits, she will most likely squirm around my ankles and anoint me as her familiar.

    One time, I saw a cat chilling on a stoop a few blocks away from where I live and she saw me as if she had waiting for a human with a cat touch. She squirmed and purred and kissed my nose. She even let me carry her.

    But using our secret “Wuudz” to a cat isn’t enough. Indeed, the kind of connection Artie and I had was unique. Even when I was telling hurricane Arthur to away, it obeyed.

    Last weekend though, I met a kid. His name is Billy. Billy the Kid is my cousin Mellie’s nannying ward. When I met Billy, he himself opened the door for us at Mellie’s encouragements. An only child, his toys were sprawled all over the living room, and it’s apparent that he’s been at it for a few hours. As soon as I sat on the couch, he started showing his little knick knacks to me. I just smiled and let him do his thing - it’s his house.

    Soon, the show and tell was getting a little overwhelming and I walked towards the back of the house where I saw that they have a cat named Puddy. Puddy Tat for short, I’m sure.

    Puddy let himself approach me. Mellie yelled from the living room that the little fuzzy butt is actually 13 years old. He leaned against my legs and pushed his head against the palm of my hand. I went berzerk. One year of being disabled from using Artie’s silly wudz finally came out. I was calling him ferocious and fuzzy butt and he didn’t seem to mind.

    Ten minutes of Puddy Cuddles, the old timer wanted to go back to his spot. Who was I to deny him of that. I went back to Billy. He was showing me an action figure and then he showed me a book.

    Then all of a sudden, all of the things I did playing with my sister when she was little came back. I let him fly as Superman as I lay with my back on the floor and he was floating on my knees and feet. I bounced him on my knees and he would laugh and say he wanted to be Superman again.

    Then It happened again. I tickled Billy and started calling him a Silly Little Person. Then I’d calm down and ask meekly for a Kees. Then he’d run away from me and I’d grab an inflatable toy sword and poke him and go, with an all out Artie play voice:

    "Kees!"
    "Kees!"
    "Kees!"

    For about an hour, I spoke his language. As much as I’d love to create another language, another syntax for love, with someone, I know I’ll be speaking the same silly way Artie spoke with. At least our language is by no means dead.

    — 1 month ago
    #artie  #language  #the look in your eyes 
    zodiacchic:

ZodiacChic Post:Gemini

Why is this so true?My recent voice teacher told me this.Even my acting teachers tell me this.That, and after some seven years, the same cards still reprise their medley of “embrace your power.”Then I recall one of my teachers say: “Stop protecting other people from your own power.”After a year and a half of reinforcement, information overload, and opinions of how things work, things are starting to make sense. And it all made sense when I stopped saying things like:It’s too late to do that now, orMaybe I shouldn’t do that, orNext time.~I should just go and do it.

    zodiacchic:

    ZodiacChic Post:Gemini

    Why is this so true?

    My recent voice teacher told me this.

    Even my acting teachers tell me this.

    That, and after some seven years, the same cards still reprise their medley of “embrace your power.”

    Then I recall one of my teachers say: “Stop protecting other people from your own power.”

    After a year and a half of reinforcement, information overload, and opinions of how things work, things are starting to make sense. And it all made sense when I stopped saying things like:

    It’s too late to do that now, or

    Maybe I shouldn’t do that, or

    Next time.

    ~

    I should just go and do it.

    — 3 months ago with 626 notes
    Tough

    Losing a partner is devastating. It warps reality, stretches time, and opens up your perceptions to a million other things to think about.

    Tonight, as I think about the fortunate fellow who will eventually be called my husband, I also think about the face palming, finger wagging, joy riding, third wheel of this future relationship: God. I figured out that with a relationship with a Force who knows all and is in all and is around all, I don’t have much to worry about fishing for fish. So, whoever you are out there, Jesus and I will have to talk about you, because that’s what’s people do when they’re still out waiting for the rest of the party.

    I’ve been thinking out loud to God about loss. About the future husband. About losing said future husband if not future husband losing me and grieving me. It’s a tough thought to swallow, but because I had been there before, I’d rather not go through all that again.

    Artie and I had this conversation before.

    I told him that I’d want to have his babies one day.

    Then he said “Wow, how’d I get so lucky.”

    "I’m serious." Which was doubly serious with a serious face.

    "Why."

    "Because I’ll need a part of you to remember you by."

    He nearly cried. He kissed me to hide his tears aka his pride and then walked me home.

    If it were a choice, I don’t want to go through loss again. Tough thing to ask for, immortality for everyone until I finally die. On the other hand, I might be better at grief by then unless I go numb or stoic, or unless I slip into a stasis of shock.

    I’d imagine this is a conversation that couples have when their relationship has reached a solidifying point. It’s a brave conversation to have if not a truthful and honest one. For Artie and me though, it was pretty obvious but death is inevitable either way.

    Either way, it’ll be like leaving one party to walk into the next one.

    — 3 months ago
    #Death  #Artie  #hey future husband