Cariad

eflind said: Now I am crying. You are amazing. Love you so freaking much.

It’s all true. You have changed my life in so many ways.
You are perfect. Don’t ever change.
I love you more than I thought it was humanly possible to love someone.
You will always be my girl.

I’m a million miles from home, laying in a hotel room, thinking about life.
Around a year ago, I met a girl who changed my life. She is the sweetest, smartest, most beautiful, funniest, incredible woman. She’s so strong, and cares so much about her friends. I broke her heart (because I am a really shit person), but she is my best friend, my soul mate, the love of my life. She is so beautiful. Seriously, I look at her and my heart flutters, and my stomach hoes all jumbly. She makes me want to be a better person. She has made me a better person. She is so perfect.

FOFOP Episode 89 - Channing Potatum

tofopquotes:

Felicity: I’ve got these brown spots because I got these fake teeth when I was fourteen, because I have pointy teeth at the front. They’re all caps — spoiler alert.

Wil: So it’s like you’re always shouting, ‘cause your teeth are all caps.

Felicity: Yep.

Wil: I’m here all week.

(via wherethewilthingsare)

FOFOP 55 - How Australian are you?

tofopquotes:

Wil saw a homeless man arguing with a tree.

Wil: He was having this fucking full on argument… with a tree. Like, he was so angry with this tree. I don’t know what the tree had done, but—

Dave: Were they arguing about something specific or…

Wil: Well, they weren’t arguing. It was one-sided… the tree could not get a word in.

Dave: Well, you say that, but maybe trees just talk really slow and in like five hundred years it will be like, “No!

(via wherethewilthingsare)

eflind:

jangelowarner:

     I remember being about 8 or 9 years old when I was on vacation with my mom. We’d go up to the northern part of the lower peninsula every year for my birthday, just her and I on the road. We’d adventure, explore the state of Michigan, and find somewhere cool to make a pitstop for a couple days before hitting Mackinac. We’d usually stop in Grayling first, at a strip motel called The Hospitality House. That’s where I learned that grown-ups are far different than children, but also a little bit the same.  Through the comedy of Robin Williams.
     See, we’d get take-out from the local pizza place and sit and watch TV, picking out modern stuff from old movies, or laughing at dumb stuff we usually didn’t take the time to watch. Also because this hotel had premium channels like HBO, and we were living in a trailer at the time, so you could say we weren’t in the highest income bracket. I remember Robin Williams’ special came on and he was swearing and talking about p*ssy and cocaine and all this stuff and I looked at my mom like “What is Mork doing right now?!?!”. 
     As a kid, you’re sheltered until you find out about truth yourself. Or someone slips up and lets you see behind the curtain a little. She let me sit and watch some of his special because I really wanted to. I begged her to. I loved Mork and Mindy, and Peter Pan, and I also think she knew even at that age that it wasn’t going to corrupt me, that I was just interested in something funny, and it wasn’t going to turn me into a horrible adult. At that age, I just knew I liked it, I knew it made me feel good, and my interest was piqued by this new rhetoric I was exposed to, Like I somehow saw behind the Wizard of Oz’s curtain a little. Not everything in life is like it is on Sesame Street.
     Fast forward about 20 years and I’m sitting on a rooftop, contemplating if 11 floors is enough to make the fall quick enough but still painless when I hit the pavement. I called a comedian friend and told him where I was and what I was doing. That I’d hit a point where I didn’t have control over my own emotions or actions, and that I desperately needed help. I made this call 3rd. After my mom and my girlfriend, and neither had picked up. My mom was working and my girlfriend was still angry at me over the fight we’d just been having. Thankfully that third phone call had a voice at the other end. My friend made me laugh a little. Asking about the roof, he cracked a joke and then assured me that he’d get me some help. I went back downstairs, cried, and then listened to an old Robin Williams special. The same one from when I was a kid. I started cracking a smile when we was doing the bits about p*ssy and coke that I’d remembered from my youth. Feeling more comfortable listening to them since my mother wasn’t in the same room with me this time. 
     My mom and I shared many memories watching Williams’ movies, old Mork and Mindy episodes on Nick At Night, or his live specials, and he was one person that always moved me. Always lit a fire inside of me. Always showed me that life is…magical. Yes, I said that and I know how horribly corny it sounds. Living in LA, when I meet celebrities, talent, directors… people that have touched my life in a deeply profound way, my biggest joy is shaking their hand and thanking them. That’s my closure on the years of nostalgia and pop icon that they’ve created over the years, the same emotion that pushed me to pack my car and drive here having never visited, only knowing my whole life LA is where I belong. He’s now one person I’ll be forever chasing that closure on. I’ll never be able to tell him how I grew up with fond memories of his work, or that he’s somewhat responsible for me being out here. Or STILL being here. I’ll never get to shake his hand and share a moment I waited so long for.
     I wish Robin Williams had picked up the phone and called his own comedian friend. To make him laugh, to make him feel less alone. Someone to pick up at the other end of the phone can sometimes mean the world to someone in need. Not every beggar is going to spend that money on alcohol or drugs. I have to believe that or the world isn’t worth its existence at all. I have to believe that sometimes, someone wants help so bad, that a little moment of hope can snowball into recovery.
     Every time I tell someone I suffer from depression I see the look in their eyes. I see them say to me ‘cheer up and stop being sad’ or ‘life’s not THAT bad’. The truly sad part is that sometimes they actually say it with their mouths. They don’t get it, though. At all. If there’s one amazing thing that comes from this I hope it’s that we all look to another person and just say thank you. Tell them thank you for still being here, for not giving up. We only talk about suicide when one happens, and then we forget about it and are too shameful to talk about it because it disgusts us, and it’s scary. Try being on the other side of it, powerless. Try sitting on the roof. 

For me, one of the hardest parts is the intellectual disconnect from my own depression. I know that depression is a disease. I would never tell someone that they just need to cheer up or that they shouldn’t be depressed because their lives are actually pretty good.  I’d never even think it. Except when it comes to myself. There’s always this voice at the back of my head telling me that it’s shitty for me to be feeling shitty. That people have such worse lives than I do and that I just need to get over it and stop wallowing in self-pity. The very fact that I have depression makes me hate myself even more. A feedback loop of misery.We need to talk about mental illness in this country. And not just while this wound is still fresh in the national psyche.  Something like this happens and twitter and tumblr is filled with suicide prevention hotline numbers. But only right after something like this happens. We need to do better. Depression is insidious. I know that for me when I need the most help is when I am the least likely to ask for it. So please, reach out to your friends, to your family, even to that coworker you barely ever talk to. Tell your people that you love them. Tell them that you are there. Listen them that they have someone who will listen. Even if you don’t have a solution, simply listening can do a world of good.Look after your people.

eflind:

jangelowarner:

     I remember being about 8 or 9 years old when I was on vacation with my mom. We’d go up to the northern part of the lower peninsula every year for my birthday, just her and I on the road. We’d adventure, explore the state of Michigan, and find somewhere cool to make a pitstop for a couple days before hitting Mackinac. We’d usually stop in Grayling first, at a strip motel called The Hospitality House. That’s where I learned that grown-ups are far different than children, but also a little bit the same.  Through the comedy of Robin Williams.

     See, we’d get take-out from the local pizza place and sit and watch TV, picking out modern stuff from old movies, or laughing at dumb stuff we usually didn’t take the time to watch. Also because this hotel had premium channels like HBO, and we were living in a trailer at the time, so you could say we weren’t in the highest income bracket. I remember Robin Williams’ special came on and he was swearing and talking about p*ssy and cocaine and all this stuff and I looked at my mom like “What is Mork doing right now?!?!”. 

     As a kid, you’re sheltered until you find out about truth yourself. Or someone slips up and lets you see behind the curtain a little. She let me sit and watch some of his special because I really wanted to. I begged her to. I loved Mork and Mindy, and Peter Pan, and I also think she knew even at that age that it wasn’t going to corrupt me, that I was just interested in something funny, and it wasn’t going to turn me into a horrible adult. At that age, I just knew I liked it, I knew it made me feel good, and my interest was piqued by this new rhetoric I was exposed to, Like I somehow saw behind the Wizard of Oz’s curtain a little. Not everything in life is like it is on Sesame Street.

     Fast forward about 20 years and I’m sitting on a rooftop, contemplating if 11 floors is enough to make the fall quick enough but still painless when I hit the pavement. I called a comedian friend and told him where I was and what I was doing. That I’d hit a point where I didn’t have control over my own emotions or actions, and that I desperately needed help. I made this call 3rd. After my mom and my girlfriend, and neither had picked up. My mom was working and my girlfriend was still angry at me over the fight we’d just been having. Thankfully that third phone call had a voice at the other end. My friend made me laugh a little. Asking about the roof, he cracked a joke and then assured me that he’d get me some help. I went back downstairs, cried, and then listened to an old Robin Williams special. The same one from when I was a kid. I started cracking a smile when we was doing the bits about p*ssy and coke that I’d remembered from my youth. Feeling more comfortable listening to them since my mother wasn’t in the same room with me this time. 

     My mom and I shared many memories watching Williams’ movies, old Mork and Mindy episodes on Nick At Night, or his live specials, and he was one person that always moved me. Always lit a fire inside of me. Always showed me that life is…magical. Yes, I said that and I know how horribly corny it sounds. Living in LA, when I meet celebrities, talent, directors… people that have touched my life in a deeply profound way, my biggest joy is shaking their hand and thanking them. That’s my closure on the years of nostalgia and pop icon that they’ve created over the years, the same emotion that pushed me to pack my car and drive here having never visited, only knowing my whole life LA is where I belong. He’s now one person I’ll be forever chasing that closure on. I’ll never be able to tell him how I grew up with fond memories of his work, or that he’s somewhat responsible for me being out here. Or STILL being here. I’ll never get to shake his hand and share a moment I waited so long for.

     I wish Robin Williams had picked up the phone and called his own comedian friend. To make him laugh, to make him feel less alone. Someone to pick up at the other end of the phone can sometimes mean the world to someone in need. Not every beggar is going to spend that money on alcohol or drugs. I have to believe that or the world isn’t worth its existence at all. I have to believe that sometimes, someone wants help so bad, that a little moment of hope can snowball into recovery.

     Every time I tell someone I suffer from depression I see the look in their eyes. I see them say to me ‘cheer up and stop being sad’ or ‘life’s not THAT bad’. The truly sad part is that sometimes they actually say it with their mouths. They don’t get it, though. At all. If there’s one amazing thing that comes from this I hope it’s that we all look to another person and just say thank you. Tell them thank you for still being here, for not giving up. We only talk about suicide when one happens, and then we forget about it and are too shameful to talk about it because it disgusts us, and it’s scary. Try being on the other side of it, powerless. Try sitting on the roof. 

For me, one of the hardest parts is the intellectual disconnect from my own depression.

I know that depression is a disease. I would never tell someone that they just need to cheer up or that they shouldn’t be depressed because their lives are actually pretty good. I’d never even think it.

Except when it comes to myself. There’s always this voice at the back of my head telling me that it’s shitty for me to be feeling shitty. That people have such worse lives than I do and that I just need to get over it and stop wallowing in self-pity. The very fact that I have depression makes me hate myself even more. A feedback loop of misery.

We need to talk about mental illness in this country. And not just while this wound is still fresh in the national psyche. Something like this happens and twitter and tumblr is filled with suicide prevention hotline numbers. But only right after something like this happens. We need to do better.

Depression is insidious. I know that for me when I need the most help is when I am the least likely to ask for it.

So please, reach out to your friends, to your family, even to that coworker you barely ever talk to. Tell your people that you love them. Tell them that you are there. Listen them that they have someone who will listen. Even if you don’t have a solution, simply listening can do a world of good.

Look after your people.

My family has always been private about our time spent together. It was our way of keeping one thing that was ours, with a man we shared with an entire world. But now that’s gone, and I feel stripped bare. My last day with him was his birthday, and I will be forever grateful that my brothers and I got to spend that time alone with him, sharing gifts and laughter. He was always warm, even in his darkest moments. While I’ll never, ever understand how he could be loved so deeply and not find it in his heart to stay, there’s minor comfort in knowing our grief and loss, in some small way, is shared with millions. It doesn’t help the pain, but at least it’s a burden countless others now know we carry, and so many have offered to help lighten the load. Thank you for that.

To those he touched who are sending kind words, know that one of his favorite things in the world was to make you all laugh. As for those who are sending negativity, know that some small, giggling part of him is sending a flock of pigeons to your house to poop on your car. Right after you’ve had it washed. After all, he loved to laugh too…

Dad was, is and always will be one of the kindest, most generous, gentlest souls I’ve ever known, and while there are few things I know for certain right now, one of them is that not just my world, but the entire world is forever a little darker, less colorful and less full of laughter in his absence. We’ll just have to work twice as hard to fill it back up again.

— My only statement. My brothers’ are also online. Thank you for all your kindness, and goodbye for awhile guys. xo (via zeldawilliams)

I did a photo shoot last month. These are 2 of the images. I love them

Gareth: Did you wake up in the night and think about it?
Dave: I woke up this morning and I just rolled over and I went 'fuck, competitive tickling'.

Can’t stop giggling at eflind. She called me dumb! Cos I keep complimenting her. Which just makes me want to compliment her more. Cos she’s adorable. And sweet. And funny. And super pretty. So ner!

frankie-boyle:

Comedian, Frankie Boyle, on women’s representation in Comics at “Kapow! Comic Convention

(via eflind)

eflind:

I love it when my friends become fans of things that I am a fan of. After me gushing over them repeatedly,  mel-is-sherlocked is now reading Richard Kadrey’s Sandman Slim series. I’m excited to have someone to fangirl over these books with. 

That’s because you have impeccable taste.