(via noirtaquin)

smashintoyous:

press record, baby, film me

shawty whatchaw name iz

my favorite part of this song are the first thirty seconds.

(via allthestarsaboveyoureyes)

so i got i a fight via text with my brother and this is exactly how it went, word for word. 

Please tell me what you think. I feel, of course I’m very personally biased, that what I said was fine in standing up for myself. 

Context: I am doing an editing job for a man, we’ll call him Tommy. I met Billy through who we’ll call Sarah, who is my brother’s girlfriend. I am currently staying in my brothers room while finding a more suitable place to stay. He has a cold and a sore throat right now. 

so, the conversation: 

brother: were you late to a meeting with Tommy the other day?

me: wtf. yes i was, why do you know this? I already feel shitty enough about it man. 

brother: how late?

me: none of your business. i apologized, I’m doing the best work I can as fast as I can and I was trying to get last seconds of editing in. He accepted my apology and I’m not going to be late for him again.

brother: nice

brother: i’m simply asking you a question and that’s how you respond to me?

me: thats how i feel! youre my brother not my manager. i’m not trying to be disrespectful but it sucks hearing these questions because it implies i’m being talked about and that doesnt feel great. I know I sucked being late, I dont need anyone else to tell me

brother: you think i’m not going to hear about you being 45 minutes late to a meeting?

me: i dont ask YOU stuff like that. I say, “aw man, i hope your meeting still went well.” Not, “you were late? how late?” pressing makes it feel like not only was Tommy annoyed, but he told Sarah and now she’s annoyed with me, and she told you and now youre annoyed with me. which makes me feel terrible. So im sorry you took offense but its how i feel. 

brother: grow up. 

brother: goodnight

me: if you already knew the answer why did you ask me

brother: because i wanted your side of the story

brother: but im not really interested in it anymore after your attitude

me: thanks for the immediate wall up. you’ll have an empty room back soon, sorry for being late with that too. i hope your throat heals up soon so we can talk in person and not get lost in text translation. gnite. 

i fucking hate los angeles.

its like a dagger in my chest how much i miss that feeling.

corny, i hate posting things like these weird title card placard things, but this rings so true that i couldnt not share it.

-having my own kitchen and cupboards with room for my food and spices and tea

-sleeping under my own blankets

-or knowing that if i get too drunk somewhere there is more than likely a safe friend with a house nearby I can crash at

-not having to use my gps to get fucking EVERYWHERE

-hangers

-stairs. because everywhere is elevators or ranch houses here

-walkability

-gasoline less than $4

-dancing on the tables at barbarella

-shots with friends

-Circles thai

-dog walking

-real dive bars

-friends. 

-friends.

-friends.

-friends.

.

.fuck

nedhepburn:

Today on The Worst… Elizabeth. 

reading this. i should read this every day im here. i am so confused. but relieved that this has appeared here today. what odd timing. what odd advice. i dont quite know if i like what its saying, that is, if i like what LA is at essence. Because I love nostalgia. and the excited climb of accomplishing things to garner recognition. ill admit that. 

im happy to read this article because its reassuring that im not the only one who didnt quite understand this place at the beginning. maybe i will slow my roll. 

read it. for real. 

actuallygrimes:

hehe 

shadowscene:

This rules.

WHERE DOES THIS EXIST

Alec Soth on creating a career in photography, and how he pays the rent today. Read our full interview here. (via nedhepburn)

sigh. scary is good, right? because no ones done it before. there isnt a path. there isnt a path, there isnt a path….

(via nedhepburn)

Im not sure why I look so hard for someone’s reassurance. I havent stuck to the random “California goals list” at all. I feel tiny here, which is good say, if youre standing in front of a mountain. But I’m here to do a job, no one knows me here, I have the personal freedom to be as big as I want. To show my self, there should be nothing holding me back. 

And yet every minute I sit alone I feel worse and worse, more and more pathetic, convinced that I’m weak and who cares if I leave my room or not, no one knows me here, no one will know any difference if I exist out there or not. 

The people who’ve hired me for editing have never seen my work before.

I am terrified of doing a poor job. 

I mean, I know I’m not sitting here doing poorly. Matter of fact I keep deciding to stay locked up inside instead of exploring LA. Social anxiety plus the fear of fucking up these jobs is making me use work as an excuse to hide away. So I know I’m not doing a poor job, because if I was… I feel like I’d be out having fun somewhere. 

So essentially I’m doing an okay job simply because I’m sitting here obsessing over it. 

But. I am terrified they wont like what I can do. And that, is something I cant change. And its fine… its life… rejection is what it is and I’ll learn no matter what… But I feel like. 

Well I feel like so far I’ve trapped my brain into failing socially

and so, 

if I fail with work, too… then this will have been a stupid idea coming here at all. 

I’m clawing at Philadelphia to somehow reach out and tell me it needs me. Which is pathetic, I’m aware. 

I’ve never really felt quite like this before. 

Fear is good, because its growth. Right? 

I dont know what I’m doing. Or even writing about. This should all be happening in a journal where no one will see it ever but my fingers type faster than my hand moves a pen. And honestly this is definitely another reach for soothing, “youre going to be ok” “this wasnt a bad choice” “confusion means youre trying something new, which is something to be proud of”… 

I feel lost as fuck, man. 

I had been at a job there for, what, three years or so, where no one really asked anything of me. So that comfort is gone now. Now I’m expected to make cool shit. I understand the fear and anxiety from that. And time will tell, I guess, what will come of it.  I want to be able to take a deep breath of understanding, but I still feel like a wussy little girl. 

And I’d finally become comfortable with a group of friends. My roommate, a couple girls I was getting great with, couple rare gem platonic guy friends, a couple male muses. An easy social dancing scene and a favorite bar. A safety net. 

I still dont know if it was stupid or not, to walk away from that. 

Because not knowing anyone the first time I was in Philly was fine, I was essentially walking away from highschool, home where I grew up, which I hated at the time. I felt ready to move forward.

But walking away from Philly, right when things felt so good… 

Sucks. 

Especially sitting alone here, on fucking Facebook every two seconds, hoping to chat or connect or text someone or call someone or anything, to reassure me that Philly really WAS that good, that when I come back it’ll be back to open arms. That I’ll be safe again and pick up where I started, but with a tan. 

maybe no such luck? I suppose? And the mature side of me is like, well DUH the world doesnt revolve around you, Joanna. at all. Thats fine and dandy. You know how to get over that. 

But who doesnt want to be missed, I mean come on. 

So I’m here. In “sunny motherfucking soCal!” Editing, signing on to Facebook to desperately stay connected to home, when I could go out here in LA, IF I didnt have such anxiety about being good enough at my job that I keep myself inside editing more, and checking facebook more, when I could be going out, but instead I edit, and check facebook, and edit, and check facebook, and edit, and 

FLIP OUT. 

There are things I want to say but I’m afraid to say them because I think my emotions are too big because I’ve been alone in a room too long and everything feels huge and dramatic. And I really want to say specific things to specific people but they’ll come out crazy. Probably. Maybe not. Because I’m over thinking the entire EVERYTHING right now and I’m in the mindset that everything I do is wrong. 

So maybe what I want to say wouldnt be crazy. 

Either way I’m shutting the fuck up now and getting back to editing. 

I want to believe that its safer alone with work. Even reading that now I only feel it halfway. Because I want to be healthy and social, but I’m scared. So being scared is going to keep me here in front of this fucking screen until I edit something incredible and get a pat on the back from the people who hired me. 

I’m afraid to be a disappointment. 

I want to believe the world wants me out there. 

/end freakout typing spazm