One of the only photos from my birthday this year
i think he would have been happy to see us together.
mohawk & scrubs that have not been washed in 9 years (it has been 9 fucking years) for rememberance. miss you, bob <3
It snowed today!
my best friend just moved across the country & now we are living like 5 minutes away from one another & will get to see one another on a DAILY. freaking. basis. psyched!
i have no idea what my hands are doing in this photo, though. awkwardly clutching my cell phone…?
Here is the deal with me. My father is of Quechua descent, born and raised in Guayaquil and Quito, Ecuador. My mother is of Irish, German, and Dutch descent, born and raised in California. My father is dark and square, and my mother is round and light, with freckles. They turned into me. I am light and dark, a few freckles, a round ribcage, square shoulders. Thanks to a skin tone most often described as olive, I can pull off any hair color under the sun. I tan nicely.
In Greece people assumed I was Greek, or sometimes Spanish. In international airports people most often guess Persian, though I’ve heard Russian on occasion. In Latin America, people assume I’m from whatever country I’m in. In America, the perception generally depends on what color my hair is.
The difference, and this is a gross generalization, is as follows. I tried to explain it to a friend earlier. Overseas, when I tell people where I am from (California, to and Ecuadoran father and a white mother), people generally react positively. Sometimes with surprise. Here in America, people are shocked. Shocked. I told Tim, it’s a fine line. It’s very hard to describe. There is this slight difference in tone, or facial expression. People frequently seem to reject my own self-identification. When I describe myself as Ecuadoran or Latina, I hear: “No way!” “Really??” “I never would have guessed!”
Basically, and this is a quick summary because my date has just arrived, the feeling that I get here is of being somehow wrong. When I’m called out overseas for being “other” it’s generally seen as a treat. People want to know about my heritage and how I came to be wherever I am. Here, it’s more a sense of having to explain myself and the unusual circumstances of my parents’ meeting.
I just wasn’t meant to have long hair.
Part II of Dylan cutting my hair! (Part I is two minutes longer and is up on gabirose if you’re interested.)
my best friend <3
Hey, remember that post about free vibrators?
Totally legit. I’m super excited. And a little afraid. This thing is huge.
in case you thought that offer for free vibrators was a scam…
I LOVE YOU FOREVER
I LOVE YOU
tumblr is apparently the best way to get ahold of me, folks
it is my favorite pair of underwear.
my best friend & i happened to wear our matching strawberry underwears today!