Q:This is not an anonymous message. You seem like a very lovely person. I'm sorry I yelled at you that time. I'm not right in the head, you know. Do you like pizza? What are your favorite toppings?
Oh hush. You’re just fine in the head and you’re terrific. I’m sure I don’t even remember what you speak of.
I adore pizza. It’s kind of a prerequisite for anyone living in this area. I’m pretty sure pizza is in our baby bottles.
As for toppings: I love olives. If there are olives on your slice and not on mine—put your slice on lockdown because I will steal it. Also, pepperoni, sausage, and pretty much any cheese. Basically, ALL of the cheese. Mushrooms get the side-eye. I also happen to love pizza that has sliced tomatoes as opposed to sauce. A little basil, some balsamic, and I’ve pretty much died and gone to heaven. Ricotta? Yes, please.
I’ve also been known to eat ziti on my pizza.
Q:I think you're a super champ. and i don't know if you follow me anymore. because all i post is ladies puking on one another. but it was fun whilst it lasted. you is also are a very pretty woman, censor bar and all. I never get any of your references to shows or anything, because I only watch QVC but i still sit here like HAHAHAHHAHA YEAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! also, TLOTH sounds like the sound I make when I eat chocolate when im high. i cant write very well.
Anonymous
TLOTH is a nearly unpronounceable thing. Much like Muad’dib, my name is a killing word. In your defense, QVC is highly entertaining. Anyone who isn’t watching Quacker Factory is missing out.
As for puking, well. Forgive me. A tale of terror:
I suffered a terrible reaction to Levaquin (a powerful antibiotic) while undergoing treatment for a sinus infection that would eventually result in surgery. The adverse reaction was vomiting, projectile, profuse, and prolonged. I was out with a friend when the reaction hit. I had to excuse myself from a reading in order to be sick. I thought I’d be able to make it home, but I vomited on the street. In fact, I vomited every ten feet for the entire mile and a half walk back to my house. I couldn’t call a car or cab because none would take me. I wasn’t sure if I could get an ambulance or if I needed to go to the hospital, because I was too busy vomiting to think straight.
I vomited every two minutes for what I believe to have been eight hours. Once there was nothing more to vomit I dry heaved. I crawled across the bathroom floor that night because my stomach muscles had cramped up too much to allow me to stand.
You sound like a lovely thing (I think know who you are, if so I do still peep in on you from time to time), but oh my dear, you’ll forgive me if I choose to no longer have vomit be involved in my life.
-TLOTH
Q:I secretly think you are possibly the most brilliant, hilarious, magnificent, and entirely incredible person I know.
Anonymous
Look out, folks! It appears my mother has gotten hold of Tumblr. Be warned, you’re going to hear all about how I was *robbed* when I didn’t take first the 6th grade speech competition, and how I brought down the house during my senior show because I’m just like Joan Cusack, only better…
You’ll probably also be told to dress warmly, and make sure that you cook chicken thoroughly because chicken is always suspect.
Okay, no seriously, I love this. I’m probably going to print it out and frame it.
Q:Do you want to know about my menstrual happenings over the next few days?
Anonymous
Ooh! A shy exhibitionist, are we? I think what would be more impressive is if I told you about your menstrual happenings over the next few days. Namely:
- Plot vicious murder
- Curse uterus
- Cry at fabric softener commercials, because *bears* and *babies*
- Plot revenge against manufacturers of denim
- Bitch about the costs associated with feminine hygiene
- Wonder how anyone ever made it out of the Red Tent without decapitating another woman
- Simultaneously pray for and fear menopause
- Swear that no one truly understands your pain
- Attempt to solve world’s problems via chocolate
FYI, not only am I a menstruation psychic, I also read Tarot Cards.
-TLOTH
Q:I like that you know random things and share them with us.
Anonymous
Y’know, honestly, this is probably the real reason why I blog. Because it looks sort of strange when you wander around in life spouting off things like, “Do you know how to cook crack? Because I learned while transcribing a drug bust. Here, let me tell you all about it.” Whereas on the internet, that’s perfectly normal behavior.
Q:You're my favorite jaunty-chapeau-wearing heroine..
I think this ask is important, because I think it somehow implies that I either A) have some sort of properly attired gentleman caller, probably in regimentals, or, B) a Bat Cave.
I’m going with Bat Cave.
[insert very important hug things here]
Well, this is working out smashingly!
I may be able to skip my afternoon restorative chocolate today…
Reblog if you want your followers to tell you one thing they secretly think about you.
(snipped: via the whole world)
I like to hear what people think. xoxoxo
Ah, screw it. Lets hear what you lot think.
Oh, bother. Have at it, or me, rather. I’m in the last stretch of the final stretch of a draft and might find these results interesting. This is also a nice way of telling you that the Mighty Hole of Asking is, in fact, open though I may not get to it in the next five minutes. As ever, Anonymous asks are on… until Google finds you.
-TLOTH
Source: hopefloatsandsodoesshit
Ever Increasing and Declining Beauty
Since starting a tumblr and following others I’ve found that every day I’m inundated with pictures of the same few incredibly attractive faces over and over again. A set couple of actors and actresses, models and athletes. At first their physical beauty was almost shocking but over time I’ve become anesthetized to it.
Quite frankly, they’ve become boring. There are now at least three actors who I’m painfully sick of, one of whom I now find downright unattractive. I suppose familiarity does in fact breed contempt.
I think I once loved the idea of a physical beauty so powerful that it felt like a punch to the gut. That’s changed somewhat over the years. I’ve come to the conclusion that standards of what societies deem physically attractive can be, as proved by my current reaction to my dashboard, quite boring.
For someone who is considered to be the peak of physical perfection there is only one way to go—down. Gravity is a wonderful equalizer. I think at times there is very little affection for those who are physically “perfect”. What exists is something that borders a little more on awe mixed with a dash of envy. And, occasionally, boredom.
The imperfect have an advantage when it comes to time. One can grow to love a broken nose, a birthmark, scars, weak chins, bowed legs, the extra bits and the bones. Imperfections are often how we mark each other as individuals, why we stand out from one another—separate from the idea of perfection—and often our flaws are what others recognize us by. They are the things people grow to love most about our bodies, because they are unique to us. It’s strange, but I think sometimes I’m loved not in spite of my big chin, broken nose, soft arms and crooked teeth, but in part because of them.
Ideal beauty and physical perfection are not unique and time has a way of punishing those who possess them. One has to look no further than Warren Beatty to see that effect. While he still by all accounts remains a good-looking man, it is always with the caveat of “But did you see him in Splendor in the Grass? He was just gorgeous.” The man in his youth was so beautiful it was an assault to the senses, a standard so impossible to maintain that the rest of his life, no matter how wonderful, will always have that sense of decline—a problem Dustin Hoffman does not suffer from.
The perfect faces that pepper my dashboard every day, to be honest, I’ve started to find them not only painfully similar, but quite frankly, unattractive. This sameness in the current definitions of physical beauty is bland. Were it food, it would not be what I choose to eat every day for the rest of my life.
People often wonder how it is that someone like Tim Roth or Steve Buscemi might be considered sexy, when they are not by current standard beautiful. I think it’s because when you look at them, there’s no mistaking who they are. There is no “He looks sort of like that guy…” It’s in the non-perfect noses, crooked teeth, the bow legs, and the eyes. Something in those imperfections accidentally lets the soul slip through, the spirit of the animal.
Just musing here.
-TLOTH
Notes I Made for Myself
“Blah, blah, mangy, blah.”
What I take this to mean is: “Dearest Lady Of The House, perhaps you might want to insert some description in here, as it appears you left it out in your last go-round. I might suggest that you include some notes on the appearance of the creatures indicated therein, as, Darling, this is something of a pivotal scene?”
I am an effective communicator.
-TLOTH
