LAME

Ariana Miyamoto was crowned Miss Japan 2015 this past March

At 20 years old, not only is Ariana Japan’s first and only half Japanese contestant to claim the title, beating out her more “Japanese looking” peers, but Miyamoto will also go on to represent Japan at the Miss Universe pageant later this year.

The sign reads “I am me.”

Ariana was born to an African American father and a Japanese mother, and spent most of her life growing up in the port city of Nagasaki. She speaks fluent Japanese and English.

In the articles that I’ve read about her she mentions how she was always verbally abused by other kids because of her race. Being half black she was the target for racial slurs and other mistreatment by her own peers. But to her she is 100% Japanese, and having the opportunity to represent her country is something that she is glad to have.

In the “Avengers: Age of Ultron” bath bomb pack, you get all six Avengers themed bath bombs from my shop for the price of just five! This is a limited time pack so this deal will be up through mid-May. You’ll get the following in the pack:

Project Rebirth: Bathing with this bomb will be like becoming a super soldier yourself, just like Captain America. With scents that are said to boost your immune system and bring relief to your muscles, you will feel like you’ve accelerated your body’s healing functions yourself! The scent includes the following essential oils: Cinnamon Leaf, Clove, Eucalyptus, Lemon, Rosemary, Helichrysum, Peppermint and Wintergreen.

Bomb of Thunder: You can practically hear the thunder rumbling overhead with the scents this bomb creates, a mix of rain and thunder storm watch. This bomb would be perfect to use on a rainy evening or during a gentle storm, relaxing as Thor rages into battle overhead.

Doesn’t Play Well With Others: Apparently he’s volatile, self-obsessed, and doesn’t play well with others…but Tony Stark is more concerned with where he’s getting his next scotch. This Iron Man themed bomb smells like a long night out at a fancy gala, expensive cologne with even more expensive chardonnay, with overtones of hard whiskey.

Target Practice: Give a boost to your early morning start as you head to target practice with Clint Barton. This purple and white bomb may look like it carries a light scent but Hawkeye needs something strong to get him going, and keep him going, so this bomb is scented like a blend of coffee beans!

Widow’s Bite: Natasha Romanoff’s Widow’s Bite is nothing to mess around with, just like this bomb! The scent of sexy perfume lures the victim in and you can barely make out the whiff of leather and flash of a black catsuit before you’re out like a light. But really, this bomb smells very nice and is far more relaxing that the sting of the real Widow’s Bite!

We’ve Got A Hulk Bomb: Bruce Banner could use one of these bombs or five, to help him relax and lower his stress levels to keep The Other Guy at bay. Drop this bomb into your bath to help with stress relief and take a long, deep breath! Essential Oils included in this bomb are: Bergamot, Patchouli, Blood Orange, Ylang Ylang, and Grapefruit.

It’s coming up on a year now since I got my current job as a pizza delivery girl, and I thought this would be a good time to delve into the little ever-expanding “WTFPIZZA” note I keep on my cell that helps me remember some of my more, uh - interesting deliveries.

So without further ado and in no particular order, here’s some pizza customers who left a lasting impression on me thus far:

- A bearded man who answered the door and periodically spat blood into a crusted Harley-Davidson coffee mug while counting out his cash.

- A woman who slipped me a business card (in lieu of tip) for a laser tattoo removal clinic, explaining “In case you want to bring your mutilated skin back to how God intended it to be.”

- At least three Batmans so far, but only one who did the voice.

- An elderly Spanish woman who meekly presented me with a (rather classy) pearl-handled .32 snub nosed revolver and asked if I knew how to load it (I do) and also, if I could load it for her (I didn’t).

- A group of EMT’s hanging out in the back of an ambulance at a recently extinguished (but still smouldering) house fire.

- A man with a thick Alabama accent who admonished me for standing in front of his mailbox while I waited for him to answer the door.  He then explained how this was a federal offense because I was “obstructing the mail system” and demanded my social security number so he could “report me to the proper authorities”.

- A group of young teenage girls (like 14-16) who begged me to buy a case of Bud Light (ew why) and bring it back to them.

- A hotel room full of badass middle-aged women all dressed as Professor McGonagall from the Harry Potter films, who were also completely wasted on Jello shots.  They kept encouraging me to stay and party with them.

- A 20-something dude who answered the door with an unsheathed katana dangling through a belt loop on his jeans.

- Multiple instances of people asking if I would sell them pot. (bitch get your own dealer sheesh)

- A guy who slipped a twenty directly into my shirt because I apparently was the “spitting image” of his deceased daughter.

- A woman who admonished me for driving a Mazda, and wrote “get a real car” in the tip portion of my credit receipt.

- A very drunk dude who gave me his iPhone and had me take a bunch of Myspace-esque pictures of the both of us.  He did the duck lips thing in every shot.

- Multiple prank deliveries (joke’s on you motherfucker, I get paid for the gas AND I eat the pizzas you ordered)

- An elderly man who wrote “FUCK OFF” as his signature on a credit receipt.

- A thirty-something guy who begged to get his order for free because he “works so hard”.  He visibly teared up and sniffled when I told him I couldn’t do anything.

- A dudebro wearing a bath robe and socks + sandals (indoors) who straight up wordlessly yanked the pizzas out of my hands without paying and shut the door.  Multiple knockings were of no avail.

- A woman who angrily demanded to see my ID because she refused to believe my claims that I’m female.  She proceeded to snatch my driver’s license out of my hand, run back into her house and show it to her children while pointing back at me.

- A kid no older than 14 who desperately tried to convince me to play WoW on the free custom server he was playing on. (But it has double XP!)

- A guy who spent the entire time I was there digging a (impressively large) booger out of his nose.  He proceeded to smear it on, thankfully, HIS copy of the receipt.

- An on-duty cop who flagged me down by intercepting me on the road before I got to the police station and pulling me over to get his pizza.

- A drill instructor looking-guy who filled out his entire credit card receipt, specifically wrote “0.00” in the tip portion, then proceeded to write out a check for seventy-eight cents and handed it to me.  It said “pizza tip” in the “For” section.

- A furious lady who yelled at me for a solid five minutes (I kept track) all about how long it took for her delivery to get to her.  She then tipped me an extra ten bucks on a six dollar order.  I dunno.

- An incredibly stoned teenager trying and failing to look sober.  When I complimented his Adventure Time wallet (which was super cute) and asked where he got it, he immediately looked terrified, sat down on the floor and muttered “I… I don’t know….”

- Obligatory naked man with unimpressive penis

- A chick at a house party who answered the door and immediately turned to vomit into her mailbox.

- A surly Korean mom with an amazing shoulder tattoo of a baby giving birth to a full-grown woman.

- A man who lived in one of those mini-mansions inside a gated community, who sported a seemingly massive collection of what appeared to be solid glass spheres of varying size and color.  I only got a quick glance in his house but there had to be hundreds of them in display racks, tables, shelves - everywhere.

- A group of 20-something guys who challenged me to sing the original Pokemon theme song, which I did.  And perfectly, I may add.

- A completely iced-out musclebound gangster kid who was blaring Regina Spektor so loud and with so much bass I actually couldn’t hear anything he was saying.

- An elderly guy who deadpan asked me if I knew anyone who could score him hollowpoint bullets.

They followed this with Mugen Edamame, which emulates squeezing edamame:

Then they did the Mugen Peri Peri, which simulates the action of opening boxes with tear tabs (like FedEx packages, Pocky boxes, and so on):

I can explain! Rn in Japan they have this thing 壁ドン (kabedon, literally “wall thump”): when a dude slams his hand on the wall by a girl to keep her caged there with his arm. It’s supposed to be hella manly and sexy, but really people just meme the hell out of it, like the above. 

the greatest variation i’ve ever seen of this is called “cicada block”, it’s where the dude has both hands and both feet on the wall 

Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them).

Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes–she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.

Harry grew up small and skinny, with knobbly knees and the unruly hair he got from his father. He got cornered behind the dumpsters and in the restrooms, got blood on the jumpers Petunia had found, half-price, at the hand-me-down store. He was still chosen last for sports. But Dudley got blood on his sweaters, too, the ones Petunia had found at the hand-me-down store, half price, because that was all a single mother working two secretary jobs could afford for her two boys, even with Vernon’s grudging child support.

They beat Harry for being small and they laughed at Dudley for being big, and slow, and dumb. Students jeered at him and teachers called Dudley out in class, smirked over his backwards letters.

Harry helped him with his homework, snapped out razored wit in classrooms when bullies decided to make Dudley the butt of anything; Harry cornered Dudley in their tiny cramped kitchen and called him smart, and clever, and ‘better 'n all those jerks anyway’ on the days Dudley believed it least.

Dudley walked Harry to school and back, to his advanced classes and past the dumpsters, and grinned, big and slow and not dumb at all, at anyone who tried to mess with them.

But was that how Petunia got the news? Her husband complained about owls and staring cats all day long and in the morning Petunia found a little tyke on her doorsep. This was how the wizarding world chose to give the awful news to Lily Potter’s big sister: a letter, tucked in beside a baby boy with her sister’s eyes.

There were no Potters left. Petunia was the one who had to arrange the funeral. She had them both buried in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had chosen her world and Petunia wouldn’t steal her from it, not even in death. The wizarding world had gotten her sister killed; they could stand in that cold little wizard town and mourn by the old stone.

(Petunia would curl up with a big mug of hot tea and a little bit of vodka, when her boys were safely asleep, and toast her sister’s vanished ghost. Her nephew called her 'Tune’ not 'Tuney,’ and it only broke her heart some days.

Before Harry was even three, she would look at his green eyes tracking a flight of geese or blinking mischieviously back at her and she would not think 'you have your mother’s eyes.’

A wise old man had left a little boy on her doorstep with her sister’s eyes. Petunia raised a young man who had eyes of his very own).

Petunia snapped and burnt the eggs at breakfast. She worked too hard and knew all the neighbors’ worst secrets. Her bedtime stories didn’t quite teach the morals growing boys ought to learn: be suspicious, be wary; someone is probably out to get you. You owe no one your kindness. Knowledge is power and let no one know you have it. If you get can get away with it, then the rule is probably meant for breaking.

Harry grew up loved. Petunia still ran when the letters came. This was her nephew, and this world, this letter, these eyes, had killed her sister. When Hagrid came and knocked down the door of some poor roadside motel, Petunia stood in front of both her boys, shaking. When Hagrid offered Harry a squashed birthday cake with big, kind, clumsy hands, he reminded Harry more than anything of his cousin.

His aunt was still shaking but Harry, eleven years and eight minutes old, decided that any world that had people like his big cousin in it couldn’t be all bad. “I want to go,” Harry told his aunt and he promised to come home.

Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them).

Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes—she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.

Harry grew up small and skinny, with knobbly knees and the unruly hair he got from his father. He got cornered behind the dumpsters and in the restrooms, got blood on the jumpers Petunia had found, half-price, at the hand-me-down store. He was still chosen last for sports. But Dudley got blood on his sweaters, too, the ones Petunia had found at the hand-me-down store, half price, because that was all a single mother working two secretary jobs could afford for her two boys, even with Vernon’s grudging child support.

They beat Harry for being small and they laughed at Dudley for being big, and slow, and dumb. Students jeered at him and teachers called Dudley out in class, smirked over his backwards letters.

Harry helped him with his homework, snapped out razored wit in classrooms when bullies decided to make Dudley the butt of anything; Harry cornered Dudley in their tiny cramped kitchen and called him smart, and clever, and ‘better ‘n all those jerks anyway’ on the days Dudley believed it least.

Dudley walked Harry to school and back, to his advanced classes and past the dumpsters, and grinned, big and slow and not dumb at all, at anyone who tried to mess with them.

But was that how Petunia got the news? Her husband complained about owls and staring cats all day long and in the morning Petunia found a little tyke on her doorsep. This was how the wizarding world chose to give the awful news to Lily Potter’s big sister: a letter, tucked in beside a baby boy with her sister’s eyes.

There were no Potters left. Petunia was the one who had to arrange the funeral. She had them both buried in Godric’s Hollow. Lily had chosen her world and Petunia wouldn’t steal her from it, not even in death. The wizarding world had gotten her sister killed; they could stand in that cold little wizard town and mourn by the old stone.

(Petunia would curl up with a big mug of hot tea and a little bit of vodka, when her boys were safely asleep, and toast her sister’s vanished ghost. Her nephew called her ‘Tune’ not ‘Tuney,’ and it only broke her heart some days.

Before Harry was even three, she would look at his green eyes tracking a flight of geese or blinking mischieviously back at her and she would not think ‘you have your mother’s eyes.’

A wise old man had left a little boy on her doorstep with her sister’s eyes. Petunia raised a young man who had eyes of his very own).

Petunia snapped and burnt the eggs at breakfast. She worked too hard and knew all the neighbors’ worst secrets. Her bedtime stories didn’t quite teach the morals growing boys ought to learn: be suspicious, be wary; someone is probably out to get you. You owe no one your kindness. Knowledge is power and let no one know you have it. If you get can get away with it, then the rule is probably meant for breaking.

Harry grew up loved. Petunia still ran when the letters came. This was her nephew, and this world, this letter, these eyes, had killed her sister. When Hagrid came and knocked down the door of some poor roadside motel, Petunia stood in front of both her boys, shaking. When Hagrid offered Harry a squashed birthday cake with big, kind, clumsy hands, he reminded Harry more than anything of his cousin.

His aunt was still shaking but Harry, eleven years and eight minutes old, decided that any world that had people like his big cousin in it couldn’t be all bad. “I want to go,” Harry told his aunt and he promised to come home.

Even the most obvious things are not very clear-cut or easy to remember when you’re in a car accident and since I work at an insurance office I thought I’d make a post. Please note that it’s California-US based but the first part should be overall helpful! (Please note, these are only suggestions/recommendations.)

AT THE SITE:

1) DONT PANIC! Even if it’s your fault (if it is, don’t admit it, at least not right away). A lot of the times people panic & try to flee the scene (you can be reported & arrested for hit & run) or unnecessarily give into the demands of the other party. IF the other party flees, take plate number if possible & file a police report. 2) Take as many photos as possible. People often claim additional damages that were previously there but they can’t argue against solid photo evidence. Fortunately smartphones make this really easy these days. Take photo of your vehicle & dmg, other party’s vehicle & dmg, and other party’s insurance info & Driver’s License. (optional: plate number & site of the accident) 3) Ask for Other Party’s contact & insurance info (take photo if possible). You are required to give your insurance info if requested. If they refuse, you have the right to call the police. Definitely take plate number if they refuse. 4) Ask if they are injured. This is very important! If there is bodily injury, you will need to file a police report. There is also always a chance that they will say no, then claim injury later. Record the convo on your phone if you need to. You can easily print out a form and keep it in your car in case of accident, and just fill out the info as much as possible. These are basic info and should you file a claim, they will ask you these questions. It should look something like this:

1) Date & Time of accident: ____________________ 2) Location of accident (cross street if possible): ____________________ 3) Other party’s Name: __________________________      Phone number: ____________________________      Insurance Company: ____________________________      Insurance Policy #: ___________________________      Insurance Company Phone #: ____________________________      Vehicle Year/Make/Model: ______________________________      Plate Number: _____________________ 4) Bodily Injury:  Y/N 5) Did you file a police report?: Y/N 6) Passengers in either vehicle? 7) Damages to your vehicle? Is it driveable?: ______________________________________________________ 8) Damages to Other Party’s vehicle? Is it driveable?: ______________________________________________________ 9) Fact of Loss (aka What happened): ______________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________ ______________________________________________________________ AFTER ACCIDENT: