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Birthday, Tumblr, and Best: WHAT THEy DON'T UNDERSTAND ABouT BIrtHDAYS AnD wHAT they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. Yotu open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still ten. And you are-underneath the year that makes you eleven Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs to cry. Maybe she's feeling three. Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's how being eleven years old is You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days, weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven when they ask you. And you don't feel smart eleven, not until you're almost twelve. That's the way it is. lose-in-my-world: aseaofquotes: Sandra Cisneros, “Eleven” the best thing i read today
Birthday, Tumblr, and Best: WHAT THEy DON'T UNDERSTAND ABouT BIrtHDAYS AnD wHAT
 they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten,
 and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and
 three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your
 eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don't. Yotu
 open your eyes and everything's just like yesterday, only it's
 today. And you don't feel eleven at all. You feel like you're still
 ten. And you are-underneath the year that makes you eleven
 Like some days you might say something stupid, and that's
 the part of you that's still ten. Or maybe some days you might
 need to sit on your mama's lap because you're scared, and that's
 the part of you that's five. And maybe one day when you're all
 grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you're three, and
 that's okay. That's what I tell Mama when she's sad and needs
 to cry. Maybe she's feeling three.
 Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like
 the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that
 fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one. That's
 how being eleven years old is
 You don't feel eleven. Not right away. It takes a few days,
 weeks even, sometimes even months before you say Eleven
 when they ask you. And you don't feel smart eleven, not until
 you're almost twelve. That's the way it is.
lose-in-my-world:

aseaofquotes:
Sandra Cisneros, “Eleven”

the best thing i read today

lose-in-my-world: aseaofquotes: Sandra Cisneros, “Eleven” the best thing i read today

America, Apparently, and Bad: normal-horoscopes: pooraurora: postmarxed: inkandcayenne: wilfulwayfarer: rasec-wizzlbang: dalaisa-katili: local-emo-mom: anarcho-individualist: explanatorypower: i dont understand this at all and america scares the fuck out of me This is the america they don’t want you to see i love america This is what you call Waffle House at 2 am when the bars close and everyone is drunk and hungry *group of people having fun*this site: wtf this is so scary People having safe fun at a waffle house is scary for most Tumblr bloggers, reports say. Some context for those not familiar with Waffle House Culture:  Waffle House is one of the few chains in America that’s open 24/7/365, and where you can get both breakfast and lunch/dinner options at any time (I have had so many Breakfast Cheeseburgers at Waffle Houses). The food is really good, and people eat there at all times of the day or night, but it’s particularly popular as a late-night post-drinking spot because it’s all that’s open and it’s the kind of food that tastes especially good when you’re hammered. Part of Waffle House Protocol is that all the servers and cooks greet every single customer as they come through the door. It sounds lame, but I’ve never been to a Waffle House where that greeting didn’t feel completely heartfelt. My mom is a health nut who could barely find anything on the menu she was willing to eat and yet she describes the Christmas Day lunch we had there one year as one of the nicest meals she’s ever had because everyone was so warm and welcoming. That sense of camaraderie gets turned up to 11, of course, at 2 a.m. when everyone’s shitfaced. The jukeboxes have Waffle-House-themed songs on them (once you have heard “Raisins in my Toast” you will be earwormed forever) and there is an arcane system of hash brown ordering: scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced, peppered, and/or capped. The hot sauce bottles say “Casa de Waffle.”  Once, in Oxford (UK), my husband and I walked past a kebab van very late one night and he said “why do I smell Waffle House” The location of most Waffle Houses means there’s some… classism that tends to get tied up with Anti-Waffle House Discourse, which is probably lending itself, in part, to this being such a fraught topic. (I’m looking at a map and apparently I was born and raised right in the middle of the Peak Waffle House Density Zone) It is, in the words of chef Anthony Bourdain, “indeed marvelous— an irony-free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts; where everybody regardless of race, creed, color or degree of inebriation is welcomed.” We’re not even gonna mention FEMA’s Waffle House Index where they determine how bad a natural disaster is by calling the local Waffle House to see if they’re open? #and wafflehouse is one of those spiritual places#2am friendships#its the same hazy feel#of cicadas and front porches with your friends Waffle House is physical and spiritual neutral territory. Starting shit in a Waffle House isn’t just bad form, it tips the entire natural balance of the universe against you.
America, Apparently, and Bad: normal-horoscopes:

pooraurora:

postmarxed:
inkandcayenne:

wilfulwayfarer:

rasec-wizzlbang:

dalaisa-katili:

local-emo-mom:

anarcho-individualist:

explanatorypower:
i dont understand this at all and america scares the fuck out of me

This is the america they don’t want you to see

i love america

This is what you call Waffle House at 2 am when the bars close and everyone is drunk and hungry

*group of people having fun*this site: wtf this is so scary


People having safe fun at a waffle house is scary for most Tumblr bloggers, reports say.

Some context for those not familiar with Waffle House Culture: 
Waffle House is one of the few chains in America that’s open 24/7/365, and where you can get both breakfast and lunch/dinner options at any time (I have had so many Breakfast Cheeseburgers at Waffle Houses). The food is really good, and people eat there at all times of the day or night, but it’s particularly popular as a late-night post-drinking spot because it’s all that’s open and it’s the kind of food that tastes especially good when you’re hammered.
Part of Waffle House Protocol is that all the servers and cooks greet every single customer as they come through the door. It sounds lame, but I’ve never been to a Waffle House where that greeting didn’t feel completely heartfelt. My mom is a health nut who could barely find anything on the menu she was willing to eat and yet she describes the Christmas Day lunch we had there one year as one of the nicest meals she’s ever had because everyone was so warm and welcoming. That sense of camaraderie gets turned up to 11, of course, at 2 a.m. when everyone’s shitfaced.
The jukeboxes have Waffle-House-themed songs on them (once you have heard “Raisins in my Toast” you will be earwormed forever) and there is an arcane system of hash brown ordering: scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced, peppered, and/or capped. The hot sauce bottles say “Casa de Waffle.” 
Once, in Oxford (UK), my husband and I walked past a kebab van very late one night and he said “why do I smell Waffle House”
The location of most Waffle Houses means there’s some… classism that tends to get tied up with Anti-Waffle House Discourse, which is probably lending itself, in part, to this being such a fraught topic. (I’m looking at a map and apparently I was born and raised right in the middle of the Peak Waffle House Density Zone)
It is, in the words of chef Anthony Bourdain, “indeed marvelous— an irony-free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts; where everybody regardless of race, creed, color or degree of inebriation is welcomed.”


We’re not even gonna mention FEMA’s Waffle House Index where they determine how bad a natural disaster is by calling the local Waffle House to see if they’re open? 



#and wafflehouse is one of those spiritual places#2am friendships#its the same hazy feel#of cicadas and front porches with your friends



Waffle House is physical and spiritual neutral territory. Starting shit in a Waffle House isn’t just bad form, it tips the entire natural balance of the universe against you.

normal-horoscopes: pooraurora: postmarxed: inkandcayenne: wilfulwayfarer: rasec-wizzlbang: dalaisa-katili: local-emo-mom: anarcho-ind...