if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry...– “The ‘Busy’ Trap”. The New York Times. Oh. In support of the opposite of how I’ve lived. Hmm…
Reblog so people know who you are.... →
TBB Endorsed so I’m in. Name: Christina Torres Tumblr Name: christinasayswhatsnext [West Wing reference] Nickname(s): CT, Baby (parents+brother), Torres, Chrissy (when I was younger), and TT or Double-T by a few random people here on the aina (who are only getting this shout out because they pulled me off a moutain once). Birthday: Oct 6th Relationship Status: Does it matter? Random...
Cling and Flail: Hackneyed Thoughts While Falling...
I’m not scared of death. That was a commonplace sentiment in my life for… as long as I can remember. My biggest fear was (and is) losing a family member. The mere thought of anything happening to my mother, father, or brother can send me into tears or even a panic attack. As for my own mortality, however, I was fairly nonchalant, especially after I became more religious in my teens....
When it's awkward on a date and I don't know what...
Nothing is Lost
Stop, breathe, and find the cool, green place where we have met before. I will be there, waiting again with open arms when you, with your 20 million words and 40 million miles have finally crashed, skidded, and burned to a stop. Stop. Breathe. Again. Now, find that silver second inside that hides away until you need to find the center again. It’s okay. It’s not lost....
On Kahua: Fatherly Foundations
I’ve written a lot about my dad before. This father’s day, much like the Mother’s Day I experienced last month, is the first I will ever not physically be with my dad. This is nuts to me. Fortunately, both my parents come out here in a few weeks (!!!), so that eases the pain a little. I’ve been thinking a lot about this word I learned in Hawaiian: Kahua. Kahua means...
Go fuck yourself, Santa Monica. →
Boooo SM. Booo.
WHEN SOMEONE MENTIONS WATCHING A DISNEY MOVIE
Isabel's Notes: There Are Those Rare People →
isabelkeating: There are those rare people who can look at the world and see things the rest of us don’t see until they show us. These are the writers. There are the special few who can take that vision and turn it back into a world. These are the directors, the designers. There are fearless beings who can live…
I Love My Blender, and Other Items For Catch-Up
‘Sup guys? Ya, I know. Haven’t really written in forever. My bad. I’ve done a lot of reblogging though, so that counts, right? No, I know it doesn’t. Especially since I honestly mostly write for myself, and these past few weeks have been such a whirlwind. Anyway things on the aina are pretty nuts and, well, pretty fantastic. It’s funny, a few times I’ve come...
When Dr. Dre comes on
whatshouldwecallme: Me: My parents:
Toby: He calls you and me the Batman and Robin of speechwriting.
Sam: I... don't think he does.
Toby: He doesn't, but he should cause that's what we are.
Toby: We're Batman and Robin!
Sam: Which one's which?
Toby: Look at me, Sam. Am I Robin?
Sam: I'm not Robin.
Toby: Yes you are.
Sam: Okay, well, let's move off this.
Toby: You bet, little friend.
Sam: Listen, we're really not Batman and Robin.
Toby: Well, we'll keep those identities secret. I'm Bruce Wayne and you're my ward.
Toby: Dick something.
If we listened to our intellect we’d never have a love affair. We’d never have a...– Ray Bradbury [Bradbury on Fresh Air] (via nprfreshair)
I understood education as a means of warding off death. You went to school to...– Ta-Nehisi Coates, on wonder. (via theatlantic)
Possible Titles for the Memoir I Will Never Write
Stress-Eating Cupcakes at 10 in the morning (& Other Things I’m Not Proud of) Things I Have No Authority to Discuss Eating My Way Through My Twenties Number of Fucks Given: 0 (The Christina Torres Story) I Regret Nothing! (The Christina Torres Story) (I really feel like most memoirs could have that parenthetical attached) On Cupcakes and Comic Books When Dancing around to Carrie...
Me: ...so, what do you think?
Maggie: Oh, I mean, you're totally fucked. You know that, right? Totally screwed.
An Ode to Smelling Guavas, or Minefields Part 2
I buried my face in your shirt that I found where I swore I could smell a whiff of you on the collar. Like a child I sat there, using rudimentary senses to take me back to places I had long left behind. I went about my day and returned to the shirt and gave myself one last chance to be sentimental. I held it to my face and realized it was no longer you. “Oh,” I thought,...
Minefields and Memory
I found your shirt in my luggage today. I guess I accidentally packed it after that last adventure we took, trouncing through green and winding down hills and up valleys. Despite a healthy dose of Tide and scrubbing the sleeves with Pacific Ocean and sand I was marveled at how easily I was put back into the hotel room before we went home. I hold it now, catch a whiff of you off the collar, and am...