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goldenheartedrose:

yukine-chan:

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theknowledgethebeastandinferno:

This is a great movie.

What I want to say EVERY SINGLE TIME. 

Baristas are paid minimum wage to follow their company’s policies. That includes using whatever terms their company decides on for branding purposes. If you want a frappuccino instead of a frappe, a large instead of a venti, or whatever other thing you wanna call your drink, that’s fine. Your barista? They are paid shitty wages and work shitty hours and have to deal with hundreds of people telling them medium instead of grande, or large instead of venti (which refers to the fact that it is, actually, 20 oz of liquid, meaning you’re being a jackass for no reason).

Your barista isn’t stupid. They know what a fucking ‘large’ is and they know their store’s branding and slang sounds dumb to a lot of people. So how about, instead of being an asshole to a minimum wage worker, you consider why you keep buying $6 coffees instead of making that shit at home.

I’ll say that one more time.

Your barista is not stupid.

They know what a large is, what a medium is, and what a small is.

They also know they can be fired for not toeing the company line. And they can be fired for not standing there and taking the abuse you’re spewing at them.

They are being paid to not fight back. They are being paid to stand there all day and translate medium to grande and venti and large and regular and all while you bitch about the specific words you “have” to use. They are being paid to be welcoming and friendly and nice to you while you call them stupid.

Bitch, I know baristas with Ph.Ds, okay? Back the fuck off.

bless you

This. We are also taught to clarify the customer’s order according to our company’s wording, as evidenced in the gif set. I worked at Starbucks for 3 years and daily I would encounter someone asking for a small, medium or large and I always had to say, “so, you want a tall caramel macchiato?” It’s not hard to say yes or no, especially once the barista picks up the cup and you know that’s the size you want.

We are pretty flexible at McDonald’s. Like I don’t care if you order a frappe or a Frappuccino. I know what you meant. Now espresso drinks sometimes take a bit more clarification but still are easily ordered.

Anyway, yeah. Don’t be an asshole and it’s okay to ask questions.

(Source: brohemianrapcity)

My Parents are Dead and My Sister is Disabled

congalineofdurin:

cockismybusiness:

team—wolverine:

therealbarbielifts:

eisforedna:

On May 28th, my sister, Edna, turned 31.

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Her mental age is about three years old. She loves Winnie the Pooh, Beauty & the Beast, and Sesame Street. Even though the below picture is unconvincing. 

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Edna and “Cookie.” I think she was trying to play it cool. 

My name is Jeanie. I’m Edna’s younger sister. I’m also her guardian and caregiver. 

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That’s me on the left. (Hey, you never know. After a year of writing a blog about online dating - Jeanie Does the Internet - I’ve come to learn that there are A LOT of fools on the internet.) 

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ANYWAY, I’m not “doing the internet” anymore. I’m taking care of Edna full-time, after completing my MFA in Writing for Screen & Television at USC.

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May 16, 2014. I wanted a picture. Edna wanted breakfast.

In case you’re wondering where our parents are, they’re dead. Our mom died of breast cancer when she was just 33. 

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Us with mom before she died. (Obviously.)

As for our dad, he peaced-out around the time my mom got sick. His loss - we’re awesome. 

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Here we are being awesome at the beach. Pushing a wheelchair in the sand? Not so awesome. 

In case you’re wondering “What’s wrong?” with my sister - as a stranger once asked me on the street  -  NOTHING. Yes, Edna has a rare form of epilepsy - Lennox-Gastaut syndrome - but I don’t know if that’s anymore “wrong” than people who don’t have manners. 

Basically, Edna was born “normal,” and started having seizures as a baby. They eventually got so bad that they cut off the oxygen to her brain, causing her to be mentally disabled. Or impaired. Or intellectually disabled. Or whatever you want to call it - except “retarded,” because in 2010, President Obama signed Rosa’s Law into effect, replacing that word with “intellectually impaired.” 

Which is cool and all, but services for the disabled and the people who care for them are SEVERELY LACKING. Also, there’s a bunch of people working in taxpayer-funded positions who are supposed to help families like us, but don’t. (Big surprise, I know.) They just fill out paperwork (whenever they feel like it) with asinine statements like this: 

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YUP. I transport my sister down the stairs in her wheelchair, because that is not only safe, but TOTALLY PRACTICAL. Why doesn’t everyone in a wheelchair just take the stairs, for God’s sake? Stop being so lazy, PEOPLE WITHOUT WORKING LEGS! 

But, as it says above, Edna’s legs do work. Whether or not she wants them to, is another story. 

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Edna refusing to go inside. 

These are the stairs that I have to carry her up - by myself - on a daily basis. That is, until one of my legs break and both of us are just sitting at the bottom of the stairs, helpless. 

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For six months, I have begged - BEGGED - the State of California to help my sister, which they are required by law - The Lanterman Act specifically - to do so. But they’ve told me “these things take time” and that I “need to amend my expectations.” (That was said to me when I refused to place Edna at AN ALL-MALE CARE FACILITY. Because yes, that was an “option” that was offered to me.) 

Prior to Edna moving in with me in my one-bedroom apartment, she was living with her amazing caregiver, Gaby, back in Tucson, where we went to high school and I did my undergrad. Edna’s reppin’ the Wildcats below. 

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But back in November, Gaby also died from breast cancer. (FUCK YOU, BREAST CANCER!) This picture was taken a month before she died. She never even told me she was sick because she didn’t want me to worry. 

By the way, we were raised by our grandma. Edna and her were very close.

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She’s dead, too. Surprise.

She died when I was 20 and Edna was 21. That’s when I became Edna’s legal guardian and Gaby stepped into the picture to help me out with Edna. 

So, six months ago, after Gaby died, I moved Edna to California, where I tried to get the folks over at The Frank D. Lanterman Regional Center to help me. I’ve told them I’m worried about our safety - that one of us could get hurt on the stairs -  I’ve told them I can’t afford to pay the private babysitters $15/hour because the ones social services sent me who make $9/hour were unreliable (they didn’t show up on time or at all so I could get to school and work), untrustworthy (one of them let Edna go to the bathroom in the kitchen and then took her into the bathroom because “that what I thought I was supposed to do.”) 

But the people over at the FLRC don’t return my calls, they don’t file the paperwork on time - and the first caseworker that was assigned to us actually LAUGHED AT my sister when he came to our home to evaluate her. When I reported him to his supervisor, she told me, “That’s just [insert name of said jackass].” 

He was one of the two caseworkers that contributed to the report I mentioned above, which also included this: 

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So let me get this straight - I have to feed, bathe, dress and help Edna in the bathroom and you can’t deduce whether or not she is able to vote? What in the fuck?!

Now I realize I seem angry. And you can bet your balls I am. I’m also sad. Sad for those who don’t have family to stick up from them and who waste away God knows where, monitored by no one. Or monitored by people who physically and sexually assault them

I’m also sad for the caregivers who are SO EXHAUSTED - trying to take care of their loved ones - while also trying to take care of themselves and battling a system that is supposed to help, but does nothing of the sort. And I know a lot of people give up. They let their dreams, their marriages, their friendships slide. All while trying not to resent the very person you’re doing it all for.

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Edna wanted to sit next to me the other day while I was writing. Clearly, she’s not impressed. 

Here’s the thing: I REFUSE TO GIVE UP. I’M NOT GIVING UP ON HER OR MYSELF. I’m going to pursue my dreams while taking care of her, AND while ensuring that the people paid to do their jobs ACTUALLY do them.

That’s where you come in. I need you to help me get my story out there. Because I know I’m not alone in this. I want to connect with families who are in similar situations and also show people who have no idea what it’s like to care for someone with a disability (or even a loved one who is sick) that it can be rewarding. Super fucking hard. Exhausting. Painful. Isolating. But, rewarding. 

I’m going to get help for my sister - and others. My hope is that by sharing our story, I can bring awareness to the lack of services and help for the disabled. 

Thank you, 

Jeanie 

Facebook:  facebook.com/eisforedna

Twitter: @EisforEdna 

This made me cry

SIGNAL BOOST

STOP SCROLLING. THIS PERSON ISN’T ASKING FOR MONEY AND THIS POST WON’T MAKE YOU SAD.

This is a really uplifting and inspirational story of a family sticking by each other and making things work despite a whole lot of shit

They just want to find other people in the same position they are, for a sense of community and to feel like they aren’t alone.

I know out of all of you, some of you have followers who are living with and taking care of intellectually or emotionally disabled family members, and this lovely and unbreakable pair of sisters need to find them.

SIGNAL BOOOOOOOOOST

(Source: )

yesmissmori:

THINX Underwear:

OH SHIT YOU GUYS THIS COMPANY IS MAKING UNDERWEAR THAT IS STAIN RESISTANT, ANTIMICROBIAL, AND WILL ABSORB UP TO 6 TEASPOONS OF LIQUID BUT STILL LOOKS FUCKING SEXY

AND DID I MENTION THIS PART:

For every pair of THINX you buy, you help one girl in the developing world stay in school by providing her with seven washable, reusable cloth pads.

AND WHY IS THAT SUCH A BIG DEAL? HERE’S WHY:

After doing some research, Agrawal says she found that more than 100 million girls in the developing world were missing a week of school because of their periods, and using things such as leaves, old rags, or plastic bags in the place of sanitary pads.

THE SIZES RUN FROM XS TO XXL AND THE PRICES ARE NOT INSANE, THEY’RE OBVIOUSLY HIGHER THAN THOSE 5 FOR $10 SALES AT TARGET BUT YOU WON’T HAVE TO THROW THEM OUT BECAUSE YOU MISCALCULATED YOUR FLOW AND BLED ALL OVER THEM BEFORE YOU COULD GET TO A BATHROOM

I’M SORRY FOR SHOUTING I’M JUST REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THIS

LIKE HOLY FUCKBASKET IT’S ABOUT DAMN TIME

averypottermormon:

pezzington:

fithome:

imgonnariverdance:

shadowkat104:

kellyjacobsbooks:

HOW TO SURVIVE A HEART ATTACK WHEN ALONE

Let’s say it’s 6.15pm and you’re going home (alone of course), after an unusually hard day on the job. You’re really tired, upset and frustrated. Suddenly you start experiencing severe pain in your chest that starts to drag out into your arm and up into your jaw. You are only about five miles from the hospital nearest your home. Unfortunately you don’t know if you’ll be able to make it that far. You have been trained in CPR, but the guy that taught the course did not tell you how to perform it on yourself..!!

NOW HOW TO SURVIVE A HEART ATTACK WHEN ALONE…

Since many people are alone when they suffer a heart attack, without help, the person whose heart is beating improperly and who begins to feel faint, has only about 10 seconds left before losing consciousness.

However, these victims can help themselves by coughing repeatedly and very vigorously.

A deep breath should be taken before each cough, and the cough must be deep and prolonged, as when producing sputum from deep inside the chest.

A breath and a cough must be repeated about every two seconds without let-up until help arrives, or until the heart is felt to be beating normally again.

Deep breaths get oxygen into the lungs and coughing movements squeeze the heart and keep the blood circulating.

The squeezing pressure on the heart also helps it regain normal rhythm. In this way, heart attack victims can perhaps buy precious time to get themselves to a phone and dial 911.

Rather than sharing another joke please contribute by broadcasting this which can save a person’s life!

Be prepared and become part of the solution. Get your free next-of-kin notification card today. Click here: https://www.InCaseOfEmergencyCard.com/

major signal boost

Reblogging cause this could save someone’s life

This could save many lives, reblog

http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/More/CardiacArrest/Cough-CPR_UCM_432380_Article.jsp

thank god for people like you who add sources

irisblasi:

theatlanticcities:

“‘There’s always that joke that there’s a Starbucks on every corner,’ says Justin Grimes, a statistician with the Institute of Museum and Library Services in Washington. ‘But when you really think about it, there’s a public library wherever you go, whether it’s in New York City or some place in rural Montana. Very few communities are not touched by a public library.’

In fact, libraries serve 96.4 percent of the U.S. population, a reach any fast-food franchise can only dream of.” 

There are more public libraries (about 17,000) in America than there are McDonalds (about 14,000) or Starbucks (about 11,000).

Read: Every Library and Museum in America Mapped

[Click here for the original map]

This makes me happy.

(Source: thisiscitylab)

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