(via thecharminginnocence)
Posts tagged quote.
This kickass lady (and Kansas state representative) really said that.
(via luciel0u)
(via babe-you-played-my-heart)
(via itshellawindyoutside)
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Abraham: They don’t accept us over there. They never have.
Selena: Hello, we’re Mexican.
Abraham: No, we are Mexican-American, and they don’t like Mexican-Americans. And they can be mean. And they can tear us apart over there. And Selena’s Spanish is…
Selena: What about my Spanish? I’ve been singing in Spanish for 10 years. It’s perfect.
Abraham: Singing, yes. But when you speak it, you speak it a little funny. And down there you gotta speak perfectly or the press will eat you up and spit you out alive. I’ve seen them do it.
Selena: Overreacting as usual.
A.B.: Dad, the music will speak for itself, Dad.
Abraham: Listen, being Mexican-American is tough. Anglos jump all over you if you don’t speak English perfectly. Mexicans jump all over you if you don’t speak Spanish perfectly. We gotta be twice as perfect as anybody else. I’m serious.
A.B.: I know you’re serious, Dad.
Abraham: Our family has been here for centuries. And yet they treat us as if we just swam across the Rio Grande. I mean, we gotta know about John Wayne and Pedro Infante. We gotta know about Frank Sinatra and Agustín Lara. We gotta know about Oprah and Cristina. Anglo food is too bland. And yet when we go to Mexico, we get the runs. Now that, to me, is embarrassing. Japanese-Americans, Italian-Americans, German-Americans, their homeland is on the other side of the ocean. Ours … is right next door. Right over there. And we gotta prove to the Mexicans how Mexican we are. And we gotta prove to the Americans how American we are. We gotta be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans both at the same time. It’s exhausting. Damn! Nobody knows how tough it is to be a Mexican-American.
(via pointedeyes)
Playboy: If you woke up tomorrow in the body of a Victoria’s Secret model, what would you do for the rest of the day?
Lena Dunham: I’d be really disoriented and wonder what had happened in the night. Which enemy had dragged me to the doctor? I don’t think I’d like it very much. There would be all kinds of weird challenges to deal with that I don’t have to deal with now. I don’t want to go through life wondering if people are talking to me because I have a big rack. Not being the babest person in the world creates a nice barrier. The people who talk to you are the people who are interested in you. It must be a big burden in some ways to look that way and be in public. That said, I probably would want to see if I could get free food at restaurants. Then I’d call a doctor and see if she could return me to my former situation.
(via dora-bell-hutchinson)
You know when you’re young and you drop a glass and your dad says like ‘Get out of the way,’ so you can be safe while he cleans it up? Well now, no one really cares if I clean it up myself. No one really cares if I get cut with glass. If I brake something, no one says ‘let me take care of that.’ You know?
I guess my feminism and my race are the same thing to me. They’re tied in one to another, and I don’t feel an alliance or an allegiance with upper-class white women. I don’t. I can listen to them and on some level as a human being I can feel great compassion and friendships; but they have to move from their territory to mine, because I know their world. But they don’t know mine.
(via justlikemiel)





