do you ever feel embarrassed to be in your own skin like please just dont look at me i wish i didnt exist sometimes like i want to disappear because i cannot handle being me 

Things overheard in the music building:

“1/4? Really? Who writes a measure of ¼. WHY would you write a measure of ¼?”  “Because fuck you that’s why.”  “I will literally trade you my sandwich for that practice room.”  “Dude you should eat your lunch.”  “I won’t be able to eat it if my teacher decapitates me for not practicing JUST TAKE IT.” “I always wanted to look inside the percussion room. It’s like Narnia, but noisier.”  “Satan created piccolos to punish the trumpets for their pride.”  “I’m thinking about dropping music history.”  “But why, don’t you need that class?” “Yes but half of it is non-music majors and two people were having a discussion about why there were hashtags at the beginning of the music.” “So my teacher convinced me to take the History of Rock and Roll over the Summer but it was an online course and he found the webcam filters and inevitably the first unit ended up being taught by a talking dinosaur on my webcam. This man teaches college theory.” “SHH. Don’t say the theory teacher’s name. He’s like Beetlejuice. If you say it three times he’ll appear behind you and fuck your shit up.” “I found out Mozart had a butt fetish and I’m never going to be able to stop calling him Mozfart.”  “If I see a drink within 100 feet of that Steinway I will track you down and beat you with my harpsichord.”  

“Theres no way a tuba can fit in that tiny ass locker.” “Not with that attitude.”

~somebody accidentally slams the piano keys with the backpack~ “Same.”

“It’s just simple stomps and claps.” “I’m a SINGER. If I could stomp and clap don’t you think I’d be SOMETHING ELSE?!”

“It’s a simple repetition.” “You’re a simple repetition.” “Shut the fuck up.”

Me (drunk in a practice room at 3am because I wanted to see how it felt to play trombone when I can’t feel my face. Also, I’m slamming the piano keys with my forearms): FUCK YOU I’M HENRY COWELL

“I think the actors have been shortcutting through here again; I smell booze”

“what the fuck even is 5/4?″ “Mission: The Impossible Theme”

“radio feedback is absolutely a valid instrument” “spoken like a composition major”

“Help my fist is stuck in the tuba!”

And my personal favourite:

-Awful noise-

“What was that!?” “My hopes and dreams of making it in the industry.”

@caithes-blossom relatable

*in full operatic soprano, vibrato turned up to maximum* 

“APPLE BOTTOM JEANS, JEANS!

 BOOTS WITH THE FUR, WITH THE FUUUUURR!!!!!”

@spiderqueen98

I met Carrie Fisher exactly once at a convention, and when I met her she immediately bought a poster from our booth with the words “Hey Assbutt” on them with the intention of sending it to Harrison Ford for his birthday.

I’d like to think of that as the epitome of how I’d like to have met her and honestly wouldn’t want it any other way.

Apparently Fisher regularly went to cons and would spend hours in Artists’ Alley buying bags worth of art, to the point where you could track her path around the con by watching artists freak out on Twitter over the fact that Princess Leia just bought their stuff.

Carrie Fisher was a goddamn treasure.

*blows a kiss to the stars*

For Carrie.

TOMORROW IS CHRISTMAS EVE!!!

TODAY IS CHRISTMAS EVE!!!

TODAY IS CHRISTMAS DAY

CHRISTMAS IS ALREADY FUCKING OVER

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

catfish

LOL

Catfish:Horse Edition

last night I dreamt that there was like a new meme/slang and it was ‘bode’ as in like bodacious so like ppl would zoom in on pics of rlly fat cats and it would just say ‘BODE’

so the thing about my family is that we have two ancestors on my dad’s side who were buried in france, where I currently live. one died in the spanish civil war, and one died prior doing…we don’t know what. but he somehow managed to get buried in père lachaise. 

so anyhow, my gran sends me a message like “pls put flowers on ur uncle samuel’s grave because he’s gone over a century with none and it will make the ghost mad if he hasn’t already” because my family spends time in europe but never long enough to go all the way to père lachaise and give ya boy samuel jr. his death rites. so im like “ok gran I can do that” bc im a good grandson and you do not fuck with gran she doesn’t DESERVE THAT 

i figure out which plot he’s on and ask someone specifically where you can find uncle samuel jr. and they tell me where and so I arrive at the junction and. 

HE GONE. 

WHERE DID YOU GO UNCLE SAMUEL. 

*celine dion’s smash hit “my heart will go on” playing in the distance* 

in other words either someone stole my entire great great uncle samuel or he has risen again, ready to party in paris for all of eternity. 

You’re pretty chill about a corpse disappearing.

My guy, my dude, he’s been dead since 1851. He could be anywhere. He does what he wants.

UNMUTE THIS

THIS IS TOO PERFECT

I AM WHEEZING

I hope Obama booby traps the heck out of the Oval Office

Home Alone: White House Havoc