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saw a grown woman on tiktok snidely calling gen z the christopher columbus generation bc someone’s fifteen year old son ‘thought he’d discovered weezer’. newsflash every generation finds out about the music of the previous generation at some point it comes free with being fifteen. being annoying about music also comes free with being fifteen. a kid saying yeah i’ve just found this band nirvana have you ever heard of them should be a thing of joy

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Shoutout to everyone feeling “behind in life." Know that this is a myth. Your life is unfolding at its own unique, perfect pace. Every path is unique, and every step, no matter when it’s taken, is exactly on time. Stay the course; triumph awaits.

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you should be able to say "line" if you don't know what to say in a social situation

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So we all know that Tumblr is US-centric. But to what degree? (and can we skew the results of this poll by posting it at a time where they should be asleep?)

Reblog to increase sample size!

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happy lesbian visibility week

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The Least Intimidating bakery in the village has closed for good so now I’ve got to go to the Intimidating Bakery, it’s awful. If you don’t have a PhD in being French I don’t recommend going to that bakery, here’s the humiliating account of the 3 times I’ve visited it so far:

the first time I went in there I pointed at one of those extra-skinny baguettes and said “a flute, please” feeling pretty sure of myself, and the baker said “… that’s a ficelle” (you idiot) (was implied) “a flute is twice as large as a baguette.”

That’s insane, first of all, a flute is a skinny instrument. Call your fat baguette a bassoon, lady—I made some timid remark about how it would make more sense for a flute to be a skinny bread and the baker said, “In Paris it is. I thought you were from the South?”

oh, that hurt

I guess I’m from the part of the South that’s so close to Italy the bread’s waist size matters less than whether it’s got olives in it, but I left the bakery having an existential crisis over whether living in Paris had made me forget my roots

the Least Intimidating Bakery just had normal baguettes vs. seedy baguettes vs. horny baguettes (easy mode, some have seeds, some have horns), while the new bakery has breads that are only different on a molecular level—there’s a good old loaf and then another, identical loaf called a bastard? google told me a bastard is “halfway between a baguette and a bread” but denouncing them like “those are not regulation-sized bastards” would get me banned from the bakery for life

on my 2nd visit (while I stood in line discreetly googling baguette terminology) there was an English tourist who asked for a baguette while pointing at what was either a rustique or a sesame and I felt a bit worried for them, but the baker just clarified “this one?” to waive any responsibility if they found out later it wasn’t a classic baguette, then handed them the bread without educating them in a judgmental tone and I felt envious

I know it’s because she thinks the English are beyond saving but still it made me want to come back with a fake moustache and an English accent so I wouldn’t be expected to play bakery on expert mode just because I’m French. I asked for a pastry this time and the baker asked “no bread with that?” which felt cruel, like she wanted me to sprinkle myself with ashes and admit out loud that my level of bread proficiency isn’t as advanced as I once believed it was

The third time I went, I had lost all self-confidence and I hesitantly pointed at a bread and said “I’d like this, uh—what is it called?” and the baker looked at me in disbelief and said “That’s a baguette.”

God.

for the record, if that stupid bread had been flanked by a skinny bread (ficelle) and a fat one (flute) then yeah of course I would have known to call it a baguette, but in the absence of reference points I now felt lost and scared of being called a Parisian again

it’s hard to express the depth of my suffering so I’ll just let the facts speak for themselves: this morning a French person (me) stood in a French bakery in France surrounded by French people and pointed at a baguette and said “what is this called”

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au where Wille and Simon are twenty-something friends and roommates, and there's always been something between them and it's getting unbearable, but Simon has convinced himself that Wille doesn't feel the same way, so he's very actively trying to date, which is having an interesting effect on Wille. If Simon didn't know better, he'd think Wille is jealous. Simon starts to push the issue, testing his hypothesis, and ultimately one night he comes back from a date with another man and he and Wille end up making out for reasons that aren't relevant right now and at some point Wille is kissing Simon's neck and he whispers something about how Simon put on a fragrance for someone else but it's he, Wille, who gets to smell it on Simon's skin, who gets to inhale the base notes that linger after hours of wear, who gets to make Simon sweat the rest of the fragrance off

#young royals #someone write this PLEASE

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He’s coming to boop you

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ill keep writing about surviving because i don't know what else there is

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Get you a person that’s just as feral as they are tender. Get you someone that is a complete and utter bastard but in a good way. Get you someone who’s also sweet and soft but will still do the dumbest fucking shit just because they want to make you smile