Someone, who shall remain nameless, but their name is Rita, is seriously lacking in reading comprehension skills.

Rita are you fucking serious!! How dare you! You have no right to tell someone that as a boy felt bad about his looks because hating dark skin is as American as apple pie to grow up. He did what millions of black and brown people across the planet are doing right now in 2017!!! Why don’t you grow the fuck up and stop…

I did. Read the 1st line of the story again.

Yeah, every 10 year old kid should just grow the fuck up.

I been married 26 years and with my husband for 30. For a lot of our marriage he worked 2nd shift - especially when our kids were younger. It just stopped this year (kids are 15 and 20 now) so he missed loads of them growing up and it was all on me. Which really fucking sucked. It has been an adjustment to get…

In my family, the last thing a bleacher wants to do is hang around us. I have one relative, who bleaches and now whenever I look at her, I think about what my grand-aunt said about her:

I’d miss my wife terribly, but whatever works for them.

The setup that Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera had was good too. Neighboring homes connected by a catwalk on the second floor. Frida kept the kitchen in her home, ensuring Diego would take breaks from painting and philandering to eat.

“I sat on the toilet until my father pounded on the door shouting, needing to take a father shit.”

Yes, a guy silently kneeling at the beginning of the game to highlight the problem of police brutality is “bullshit” and “nonsense” on par with Terrell fucking Owens’ antics.

It always seems to take many white people several years/never .... to understand very basic concepts when it comes to black people. For example:

YASS! I was all “TAKE THEIR MONEY BABY!”

I want it so Imma go get it.

Tony Shalhoub? Seems like a nice, down-to-earth guy.

I don’t agree with his decision, but that’s a whole ass, grown ass man. I doubt he “let” anyone tell him what to do.

This is a sweet, not scary ghost story, and it’s not exactly a ghost story either, but I love telling it. When I tell it in person, I get choked up.
In my dad’s culture, after a person dies, we don’t say their name again, and we don’t pass down names. If we have to say the name of a dead person, we add on an honorific…

starring not only because the story is excellent, terrifying and sweet all at once? but also because my drunk husband came home in the middle of it and scareed the SHIT out of me, banging around outside before he could unlock the door.

I am just writing to let you know you are not alone; I also had an abusive extreme npd mother.

Around five years ago, I was a TA for an undergraduate literature course that had 300 students; there were two TAs and our job was mostly to do grading (sigh) and hand out exams and set up PowerPoints and stuff of that nature. Basically, assist the professor in all manner of tedium while she lectured. Due to a…

Jesus, I’m so sorry.