He gets it. He gets it.
This is a reminder that I have work to do. I have people to uplift. I have people to inspire. And today, I wear my uniform proudly as a Cover Girl. I want to be clear, young girls, I didn’t have to change who I was to become a Cover Girl. I didn’t have to become perfect because I’ve learned throughout my journey that perfection is the enemy of greatness. Janelle Monae
I am so sorry I have not been posting! My computer has decided to take the big sleep and until I can sort out a new one, I’m very limited in researching and posting new things. I hope to be back soon!
You’re probably thinking of words like slut, bitch, cunt (I told you not to hold back!), skank.
Okay, now, what are the worst things you can call a guy? Fag, girl, bitch, pussy. I’ve even heard the term “mangina.”
Notice anything? The worst thing you can call a girl is a girl. The worst thing you can call a guy is a girl. Being a woman is the ultimate insult. Now tell me that’s not royally fucked up. Jessica Valenti
Seriously, y’all. I’m suffering from OSAD. Off-seasonal Affective Disorder. I miss you, baseball. Come back soon.
Gloria Steinem, activist, feminist, and journalist, on the most important message to instill in young girls.
On November 20, 2013, Steinem was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
Excerpts: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
Dumbledore’s funeral was the absolute saddest part of this book for me. I held it together until the description of Luna and Neville. Then I totally lost it. This series means so much to so many people. Dumbledore means a lot to so many people, and the amount of love at his funeral is really amazing.
They filed out from behind their benches in near silence. Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long emerald green robes embroidered with silver. He had never seen Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuffs, looking so clean; there was not a single patch on her hat, and when they reached the entrance hall, they found Madam Pince standing beside Filch, she in a thick black veil that fell to her knees, he in an ancient black suit and tie reeking of mothballs.
They were heading, as Harry saw when he stepped out onto the stone steps from the front doors, toward the lake. The warmth of the sun caressed his face as they followed Professor McGonagall in silence to the place where hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows. An aisle ran down the center of them: There was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. It was the most beautiful summer’s day.
An extraordinary assortment of people had already settled into half the chairs; shabby and smart, old and young. Most Harry did not recognize, but a few he did, including members of the Order of the Phoenix: Kingsley Shacklebolt; Mad-Eye Moody; Tonks, her hair miraculously returned to vividest pink; Remus Lupin, with whom she seemed to be holding hands; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Bill supported by Fleur and followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin. Then there was Madame Maxime, who took up two and a half chairs on her own; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron; Arabella Figg, Harry’s squib neighbor, the hairy bass player from the Wizarding group the Weird Sisters; Ernie Prang, driver of the Knight Bus, Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and some people who Harry merely knew by site, such as the barman of the Hog’s Head and the witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny filed into seats at the end of a row beside the lake. People were whispering to each other; it sounded like a breeze in the grass, but the birdsong was louder by far. The crowd continued to swell; with a great rush of affection for both of them, Harry saw Neville being helped into a seat by Luna. Neville and Luna alone of the D.A. had responded to Hermione’s summons the night that Dumbledore had died, and Harry knew why: They were the ones who had missed the D.A. the most… probably the ones who had checked their coins regularly in the hope that there would be another meeting.