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vastderp: nuwanda13: irefusetobedefined: ddowney: i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap” I will never, ever, not reblog this.  *huggles RDJ*  Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger.  I wish knew where the link was so I could share it.  Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below.  If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that. I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me  cry. “True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.     Mine does.     His name is Robert Downey Jr.     You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.     It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.     I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.     I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?     The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.     I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.     We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.     We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.     The volume of blood was staggering.     I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?     Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.     He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.     He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.     She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”     He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”     He was a movie star, after all.     Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.     We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.     I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.     But I didn’t.     Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.     I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.     I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.     He remembered.     “I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”     He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.” What a great story. Forever reblog.
Zoom
vastderp: nuwanda13: irefusetobedefined: ddowney: i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap” I will never, ever, not reblog this.  *huggles RDJ*  Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger.  I wish knew where the link was so I could share it.  Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below.  If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that. I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me  cry. “True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.     Mine does.     His name is Robert Downey Jr.     You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.     It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.     I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.     I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?     The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.     I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.     We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.     We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.     The volume of blood was staggering.     I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?     Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.     He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.     He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.     She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”     He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”     He was a movie star, after all.     Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.     We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.     I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.     But I didn’t.     Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.     I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.     I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.     He remembered.     “I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”     He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.” What a great story. Forever reblog.
Zoom
vastderp: nuwanda13: irefusetobedefined: ddowney: i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap” I will never, ever, not reblog this.  *huggles RDJ*  Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger.  I wish knew where the link was so I could share it.  Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below.  If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that. I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me  cry. “True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.     Mine does.     His name is Robert Downey Jr.     You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.     It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.     I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.     I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?     The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.     I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.     We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.     We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.     The volume of blood was staggering.     I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?     Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.     He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.     He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.     She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”     He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”     He was a movie star, after all.     Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.     We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.     I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.     But I didn’t.     Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.     I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.     I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.     He remembered.     “I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”     He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.” What a great story. Forever reblog.
Zoom
vastderp: nuwanda13: irefusetobedefined: ddowney: i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap” I will never, ever, not reblog this.  *huggles RDJ*  Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger.  I wish knew where the link was so I could share it.  Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below.  If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that. I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me  cry. “True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.     Mine does.     His name is Robert Downey Jr.     You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.     It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.     I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.     I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?     The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.     I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.     We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.     We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.     The volume of blood was staggering.     I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?     Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.     He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.     He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.     She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”     He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”     He was a movie star, after all.     Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.     We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.     I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.     But I didn’t.     Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.     I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.     I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.     He remembered.     “I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”     He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.” What a great story. Forever reblog.
Zoom
vastderp: nuwanda13: irefusetobedefined: ddowney: i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap” I will never, ever, not reblog this.  *huggles RDJ*  Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger.  I wish knew where the link was so I could share it.  Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below.  If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that. I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me  cry. “True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.     Mine does.     His name is Robert Downey Jr.     You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.     It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.     I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.     I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?     The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.     I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.     We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.     We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.     The volume of blood was staggering.     I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?     Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.     He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.     He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.     She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”     He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”     He was a movie star, after all.     Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.     We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.     I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.     But I didn’t.     Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.     I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.     I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.     He remembered.     “I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”     He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.” What a great story. Forever reblog.
Zoom

vastderp:

nuwanda13:

irefusetobedefined:

ddowney:

i’m just gonna leave this here as a reminder that “hitting bottom” doesn’t mean “staying on bottom for the rest of your life and dying as a piece of crap”

I will never, ever, not reblog this. 

*huggles RDJ*  Anyone on here who loves him, someone posted an amazing story about him when he was younger.  I wish knew where the link was so I could share it.  Instead, it’s just cut and pasted below.  If I find the link, I’ll replace it with that.

I will also say that I have read this several times now and it still makes me  cry.

“True story: His Name is Robert Downey Jr.” by Dana Reinhardt

I’m willing to go out on a limb here and guess that most stories of kindness do not begin with drug addicted celebrity bad boys.

    Mine does.

    His name is Robert Downey Jr.

    You’ve probably heard of him. You may or may not be a fan, but I am, and I was in the early 90’s when this story takes place.

    It was at a garden party for the ACLU of Southern California. My stepmother was the executive director, which is why I was in attendance without having to pay the $150 fee. It’s not that I don’t support the ACLU, it’s that I was barely twenty and had no money to speak of.

    I was escorting my grandmother. There isn’t enough room in this essay to explain to you everything she was, I would need volumes, so for the sake of brevity I will tell you that she was beautiful even in her eighties, vain as the day is long, and whip smart, though her particular sort of intelligence did not encompass recognizing young celebrities.

    I pointed out Robert Downey Jr. to her when he arrived, in a gorgeous cream-colored linen suit, with Sarah Jessica Parker on his arm. My grandmother shrugged, far more interested in piling her paper plate with various unidentifiable cheeses cut into cubes. He wasn’t Carey Grant or Gregory Peck. What did she care?

    The afternoon’s main honoree was Ron Kovic, whose story of his time in the Vietnam War that had left him confined to a wheelchair had recently been immortalized in the Oliver Stone film Born on the Fourth of July.

    I mention the wheelchair because it played an unwitting role in what happened next.

    We made our way to our folding chairs in the garden with our paper plates and cubed cheeses and we watched my stepmother give one of her eloquent speeches and a plea for donations, and there must have been a few other people who spoke but I can’t remember who, and then Ron Kovic took the podium, and he was mesmerizing, and when it was all over we stood up to leave, and my grandmother tripped.

    We’d been sitting in the front row (nepotism has its privileges) and when she tripped she fell smack into the wheelchair ramp that provided Ron Kovic with access to the stage. I didn’t know that wheelchair ramps have sharp edges, but they do, at least this one did, and it sliced her shin right open.

    The volume of blood was staggering.

    I’d like to be able to tell you that I raced into action; that I quickly took control of the situation, tending to my grandmother and calling for the ambulance that was so obviously needed, but I didn’t. I sat down and put my head between my knees because I thought I was going to faint. Did I mention the blood?

    Luckily, somebody did take control of the situation, and that person was Robert Downey Jr.

    He ordered someone to call an ambulance. Another to bring a glass of water. Another to fetch a blanket. He took off his gorgeous linen jacket and he rolled up his sleeves and he grabbed hold of my grandmother’s leg, and then he took that jacket that I’d assumed he’d taken off only to it keep out of the way, and he tied it around her wound. I watched the cream colored linen turn scarlet with her blood.

    He told her not to worry. He told her it would be alright. He knew, instinctively, how to speak to her, how to distract her, how to play to her vanity. He held onto her calf and he whistled. He told her how stunning her legs were.

    She said to him, to my humiliation: “My granddaughter tells me you’re a famous actor but I’ve never heard of you.”

    He stayed with her until the ambulance came and then he walked alongside the stretcher holding her hand and telling her she was breaking his heart by leaving the party so early, just as they were getting to know each other. He waved to her as they closed the doors. “Don’t forget to call me, Silvia,” he said. “We’ll do lunch.”

    He was a movie star, after all.

    Believe it or not, I hurried into the ambulance without saying a word. I was too embarrassed and too shy to thank him.

    We all have things we wish we’d said. Moments we’d like to return to and do differently. Rarely do we get that chance to make up for those times that words failed us. But I did. Many years later.

    I should mention here that when Robert Downey Jr. was in prison for being a drug addict (which strikes me as absurd and cruel, but that’s the topic for a different essay), I thought of writing to him. Of reminding him of that day when he was humanity personified. When he was the best of what we each can be. When he was the kindest of strangers.

    But I didn’t.

    Some fifteen years after that garden party, ten years after my grandmother had died and five since he’d been released from prison, I saw him in a restaurant.

    I grew up in Los Angeles where celebrity sightings are commonplace and where I was raised to respect people’s privacy and never bother someone while they’re out having a meal, but on this day I decided to abandon the code of the native Angeleno, and my own shyness, and I approached his table.

    I said to him, “I don’t have any idea if you remember this…” and I told him the story.

    He remembered.

    “I just wanted to thank you,” I said. “And I wanted to tell you that it was simply the kindest act I’ve ever witnessed.”

    He stood up and he took both of my hands in his and he looked into my eyes and he said, “You have absolutely no idea how much I needed to hear that today.”

What a great story.

Forever reblog.

Chernobyl nuclear disaster anniversary next week

voxlunch:

In just over a week, the world will mark another year past the worst nuclear accident in history. This coming April 26, as I do every year on that day I will be livestreaming a series of documentaries about the disaster, as it has been a topic as interesting to me as it is tragic. I feel it is important that this event be remembered, for whatever implications it may have on all of us.

For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or… too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.
F. Scott Fitzgerald (via hobosheek)
critink: [[Skank Flank: The New Tramp Stamp]] A few days ago, @forestine sent me {this article}. It’s another “tattoos are soo trendy” article from a major news source. Like we haven’t heard a thousand people tell us this before. But here’s the part that really bothered her, and me: … a popular placement for women’s tattoos has moved from the lower back to the rib area. “We call it the ‘skank flank,’” [the tattoo artist we interviewed] said. “Every week or two, I see another girl with another rib piece, and you have to tell them that.” Excuse me? Wanting to get a discrete tattoo that you can easily cover up makes you a skank? Since when are ribs considered a sexual body part? Really, if nothing else this makes the fact that “tramp stamps” are body shaming that much more clear. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term body shaming, it’s a cultural phenomenon that essentially makes everything you do with your body wrong. You’re fat? Lazy and disgusting. You’re skinny? Eat a cheeseburger you look anorexic. You’re fit? You look like a man. And so on. It’s designed to make women (and increasingly men) feel bad about their body, no matter what they do or how they look. Here is how the same douchebags would like us to view tattoos: Lower back tattoos: you’re a tramp Rib tattoos: you’re a skank Wrist tattoos: you’re a dumb skank Arm tattoos: you’re a whore Leg tattoos: you’re a whore Feet tattoos: you’re a whore Shoulder tattoos: you’re a whore Tattoos anywhere: you’re a whore No tattoos: you’re still a whore. There is no bit exaggeration in this. Anyone who would call the girl above a skank for getting a Disney tattoo on her ribs is a fucking idiot. All of this language is used to control women. To make us judge each other’s bodies, feel self-conscious about our own, or dictate what we can or can’t do (with tattoos, weight gain/loss, or anything else.) Really, the best way to nip this in the bud is by calling out anyone who uses the language of “tramp stamps.” The logic is the same in both, and by having conversations with people on why this sort of language hurts women, we can start reclaiming our ability to tattoo whatever parts of our body we want.
Zoom

critink:

[[Skank Flank: The New Tramp Stamp]]

A few days ago, @forestine sent me {this article}. It’s another “tattoos are soo trendy” article from a major news source. Like we haven’t heard a thousand people tell us this before.

But here’s the part that really bothered her, and me:

… a popular placement for women’s tattoos has moved from the lower back to the rib area.

“We call it the ‘skank flank,’” [the tattoo artist we interviewed] said. “Every week or two, I see another girl with another rib piece, and you have to tell them that.”

Excuse me?

Wanting to get a discrete tattoo that you can easily cover up makes you a skank?

Since when are ribs considered a sexual body part?

Really, if nothing else this makes the fact that “tramp stamps” are body shaming that much more clear. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term body shaming, it’s a cultural phenomenon that essentially makes everything you do with your body wrong. You’re fat? Lazy and disgusting. You’re skinny? Eat a cheeseburger you look anorexic. You’re fit? You look like a man. And so on. It’s designed to make women (and increasingly men) feel bad about their body, no matter what they do or how they look.

Here is how the same douchebags would like us to view tattoos:

  • Lower back tattoos: you’re a tramp
  • Rib tattoos: you’re a skank
  • Wrist tattoos: you’re a dumb skank
  • Arm tattoos: you’re a whore
  • Leg tattoos: you’re a whore
  • Feet tattoos: you’re a whore
  • Shoulder tattoos: you’re a whore
  • Tattoos anywhere: you’re a whore
  • No tattoos: you’re still a whore.

There is no bit exaggeration in this. Anyone who would call the girl above a skank for getting a Disney tattoo on her ribs is a fucking idiot.

All of this language is used to control women. To make us judge each other’s bodies, feel self-conscious about our own, or dictate what we can or can’t do (with tattoos, weight gain/loss, or anything else.)

Really, the best way to nip this in the bud is by calling out anyone who uses the language of “tramp stamps.” The logic is the same in both, and by having conversations with people on why this sort of language hurts women, we can start reclaiming our ability to tattoo whatever parts of our body we want.

lascaldaferri: sodakick: smalllindsay: Hey, come’re. Come’re did you know it’s time for a.. BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY PACK! Oh gosh it is SUPER TRUE. For the first time ever we have made official Baman Piderman merchandise. The bad news. Almost every, single, solitary piece of it sold out at our first convention. Booourns. BUT WAIT. There is a silver lining little friend, that being I SAVED A PIECE OF EACH JUST FOR YOU TUMBLR BECAUSE TUMBLR IS GREAT! “What is in this pack”, you ask me incredulously as you add a comment to the latest Baman Piderman video on youtube asking for moar Dick Figures and Happy Tree Friends. Oho. Ohoho my precious little one, I WILL TELL YOU. One official, ladies cut Baman Piderman tee shirt. This shirt is seriously red and seriously fashionable. Wearing it makes you at least 17% more likely to find true love. A set of five Baman Piderman buttons. Frighten your friends and frenemies with the pizza portal, jeeze!! A signed drawing on real honest to goodness paper. Sell it on ebay maybe and then donate the money to your local library? Okay. Okay okay now you are excited maybe; How do you win this stuff?? Whoa friend calm down. Shhh shhh, it’s okay.  I have all the answers you seek. Come sit on my knee and let me spin you a yarn about the BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY RULES: Just Reblog this Post! Likes don’t count, neither do multiple reblogs, OOPS. The winner will be drawn randomly on the 30th! THAT’S ALSO THE DAY THE NEW EPISODE PREMIERES OH MAN AAAA. AAAAAAAAA. Also I will kiss the envelope before sending it off to the winner. Just kidding! OR AM I. GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! Rebloggin a cartoon series I like for a chance to win free stuff? I can’t lose! …except I actually can, but we don’t talk about that. Don’t forget tuba.  Woooo!
Zoom
lascaldaferri: sodakick: smalllindsay: Hey, come’re. Come’re did you know it’s time for a.. BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY PACK! Oh gosh it is SUPER TRUE. For the first time ever we have made official Baman Piderman merchandise. The bad news. Almost every, single, solitary piece of it sold out at our first convention. Booourns. BUT WAIT. There is a silver lining little friend, that being I SAVED A PIECE OF EACH JUST FOR YOU TUMBLR BECAUSE TUMBLR IS GREAT! “What is in this pack”, you ask me incredulously as you add a comment to the latest Baman Piderman video on youtube asking for moar Dick Figures and Happy Tree Friends. Oho. Ohoho my precious little one, I WILL TELL YOU. One official, ladies cut Baman Piderman tee shirt. This shirt is seriously red and seriously fashionable. Wearing it makes you at least 17% more likely to find true love. A set of five Baman Piderman buttons. Frighten your friends and frenemies with the pizza portal, jeeze!! A signed drawing on real honest to goodness paper. Sell it on ebay maybe and then donate the money to your local library? Okay. Okay okay now you are excited maybe; How do you win this stuff?? Whoa friend calm down. Shhh shhh, it’s okay.  I have all the answers you seek. Come sit on my knee and let me spin you a yarn about the BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY RULES: Just Reblog this Post! Likes don’t count, neither do multiple reblogs, OOPS. The winner will be drawn randomly on the 30th! THAT’S ALSO THE DAY THE NEW EPISODE PREMIERES OH MAN AAAA. AAAAAAAAA. Also I will kiss the envelope before sending it off to the winner. Just kidding! OR AM I. GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! Rebloggin a cartoon series I like for a chance to win free stuff? I can’t lose! …except I actually can, but we don’t talk about that. Don’t forget tuba.  Woooo!
Zoom Info
lascaldaferri: sodakick: smalllindsay: Hey, come’re. Come’re did you know it’s time for a.. BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY PACK! Oh gosh it is SUPER TRUE. For the first time ever we have made official Baman Piderman merchandise. The bad news. Almost every, single, solitary piece of it sold out at our first convention. Booourns. BUT WAIT. There is a silver lining little friend, that being I SAVED A PIECE OF EACH JUST FOR YOU TUMBLR BECAUSE TUMBLR IS GREAT! “What is in this pack”, you ask me incredulously as you add a comment to the latest Baman Piderman video on youtube asking for moar Dick Figures and Happy Tree Friends. Oho. Ohoho my precious little one, I WILL TELL YOU. One official, ladies cut Baman Piderman tee shirt. This shirt is seriously red and seriously fashionable. Wearing it makes you at least 17% more likely to find true love. A set of five Baman Piderman buttons. Frighten your friends and frenemies with the pizza portal, jeeze!! A signed drawing on real honest to goodness paper. Sell it on ebay maybe and then donate the money to your local library? Okay. Okay okay now you are excited maybe; How do you win this stuff?? Whoa friend calm down. Shhh shhh, it’s okay.  I have all the answers you seek. Come sit on my knee and let me spin you a yarn about the BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY RULES: Just Reblog this Post! Likes don’t count, neither do multiple reblogs, OOPS. The winner will be drawn randomly on the 30th! THAT’S ALSO THE DAY THE NEW EPISODE PREMIERES OH MAN AAAA. AAAAAAAAA. Also I will kiss the envelope before sending it off to the winner. Just kidding! OR AM I. GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! Rebloggin a cartoon series I like for a chance to win free stuff? I can’t lose! …except I actually can, but we don’t talk about that. Don’t forget tuba.  Woooo!
Zoom
lascaldaferri: sodakick: smalllindsay: Hey, come’re. Come’re did you know it’s time for a.. BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY PACK! Oh gosh it is SUPER TRUE. For the first time ever we have made official Baman Piderman merchandise. The bad news. Almost every, single, solitary piece of it sold out at our first convention. Booourns. BUT WAIT. There is a silver lining little friend, that being I SAVED A PIECE OF EACH JUST FOR YOU TUMBLR BECAUSE TUMBLR IS GREAT! “What is in this pack”, you ask me incredulously as you add a comment to the latest Baman Piderman video on youtube asking for moar Dick Figures and Happy Tree Friends. Oho. Ohoho my precious little one, I WILL TELL YOU. One official, ladies cut Baman Piderman tee shirt. This shirt is seriously red and seriously fashionable. Wearing it makes you at least 17% more likely to find true love. A set of five Baman Piderman buttons. Frighten your friends and frenemies with the pizza portal, jeeze!! A signed drawing on real honest to goodness paper. Sell it on ebay maybe and then donate the money to your local library? Okay. Okay okay now you are excited maybe; How do you win this stuff?? Whoa friend calm down. Shhh shhh, it’s okay.  I have all the answers you seek. Come sit on my knee and let me spin you a yarn about the BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY RULES: Just Reblog this Post! Likes don’t count, neither do multiple reblogs, OOPS. The winner will be drawn randomly on the 30th! THAT’S ALSO THE DAY THE NEW EPISODE PREMIERES OH MAN AAAA. AAAAAAAAA. Also I will kiss the envelope before sending it off to the winner. Just kidding! OR AM I. GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! Rebloggin a cartoon series I like for a chance to win free stuff? I can’t lose! …except I actually can, but we don’t talk about that. Don’t forget tuba.  Woooo!
Zoom
lascaldaferri: sodakick: smalllindsay: Hey, come’re. Come’re did you know it’s time for a.. BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY PACK! Oh gosh it is SUPER TRUE. For the first time ever we have made official Baman Piderman merchandise. The bad news. Almost every, single, solitary piece of it sold out at our first convention. Booourns. BUT WAIT. There is a silver lining little friend, that being I SAVED A PIECE OF EACH JUST FOR YOU TUMBLR BECAUSE TUMBLR IS GREAT! “What is in this pack”, you ask me incredulously as you add a comment to the latest Baman Piderman video on youtube asking for moar Dick Figures and Happy Tree Friends. Oho. Ohoho my precious little one, I WILL TELL YOU. One official, ladies cut Baman Piderman tee shirt. This shirt is seriously red and seriously fashionable. Wearing it makes you at least 17% more likely to find true love. A set of five Baman Piderman buttons. Frighten your friends and frenemies with the pizza portal, jeeze!! A signed drawing on real honest to goodness paper. Sell it on ebay maybe and then donate the money to your local library? Okay. Okay okay now you are excited maybe; How do you win this stuff?? Whoa friend calm down. Shhh shhh, it’s okay.  I have all the answers you seek. Come sit on my knee and let me spin you a yarn about the BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY RULES: Just Reblog this Post! Likes don’t count, neither do multiple reblogs, OOPS. The winner will be drawn randomly on the 30th! THAT’S ALSO THE DAY THE NEW EPISODE PREMIERES OH MAN AAAA. AAAAAAAAA. Also I will kiss the envelope before sending it off to the winner. Just kidding! OR AM I. GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! Rebloggin a cartoon series I like for a chance to win free stuff? I can’t lose! …except I actually can, but we don’t talk about that. Don’t forget tuba.  Woooo!
Zoom Info

lascaldaferri:

sodakick:

smalllindsay:

Hey, come’re. Come’re did you know it’s time for a..
BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY PACK!

Oh gosh it is SUPER TRUE. For the first time ever we have made official Baman Piderman merchandise. The bad news. Almost every, single, solitary piece of it sold out at our first convention. Booourns. BUT WAIT. There is a silver lining little friend, that being I SAVED A PIECE OF EACH JUST FOR YOU TUMBLR BECAUSE TUMBLR IS GREAT!
“What is in this pack”, you ask me incredulously as you add a comment to the latest Baman Piderman video on youtube asking for moar Dick Figures and Happy Tree Friends. Oho. Ohoho my precious little one, I WILL TELL YOU.
  • One official, ladies cut Baman Piderman tee shirt. This shirt is seriously red and seriously fashionable. Wearing it makes you at least 17% more likely to find true love.
  • A set of five Baman Piderman buttons. Frighten your friends and frenemies with the pizza portal, jeeze!!
  • A signed drawing on real honest to goodness paper. Sell it on ebay maybe and then donate the money to your local library?
Okay. Okay okay now you are excited maybe; How do you win this stuff?? Whoa friend calm down. Shhh shhh, it’s okay.  I have all the answers you seek. Come sit on my knee and let me spin you a yarn about the BAMAN PIDERMAN GIVEAWAY RULES:
  • Just Reblog this Post!
  • Likes don’t count, neither do multiple reblogs, OOPS.
  • The winner will be drawn randomly on the 30th!
  • THAT’S ALSO THE DAY THE NEW EPISODE PREMIERES OH MAN AAAA. AAAAAAAAA.

Also I will kiss the envelope before sending it off to the winner. Just kidding! OR AM I. GOOD LUCK EVERYONE!

Rebloggin a cartoon series I like for a chance to win free stuff? I can’t lose! …except I actually can, but we don’t talk about that.

Don’t forget tuba. 

Woooo!

lifesucksthenyouregenerate: Doctor Who Giveaway! Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included! Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana. Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop. TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers. Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome. TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible.  Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country. ??? Allons-y!
Zoom Info
lifesucksthenyouregenerate: Doctor Who Giveaway! Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included! Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana. Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop. TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers. Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome. TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible.  Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country. ??? Allons-y!
Zoom
lifesucksthenyouregenerate: Doctor Who Giveaway! Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included! Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana. Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop. TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers. Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome. TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible.  Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country. ??? Allons-y!
Zoom Info
lifesucksthenyouregenerate: Doctor Who Giveaway! Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included! Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana. Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop. TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers. Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome. TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible.  Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country. ??? Allons-y!
Zoom Info
lifesucksthenyouregenerate: Doctor Who Giveaway! Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included! Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana. Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop. TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers. Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome. TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible.  Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country. ??? Allons-y!
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lifesucksthenyouregenerate: Doctor Who Giveaway! Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included! Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana. Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop. TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers. Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome. TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible.  Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country. ??? Allons-y!
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lifesucksthenyouregenerate: Doctor Who Giveaway! Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included! Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana. Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop. TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers. Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome. TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible.  Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country. ??? Allons-y!
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lifesucksthenyouregenerate:

Doctor Who Giveaway!

Who doesn’t love giveaways? Surely some people, but they most likely live on Raxacorciofallapatorious. This giveaway is sort of back-to-school, school-is-cool themed, but well kind of just awesome. So, on to what’s included!

  • Super fantastic reusable bag equipped with Time Lord technology. Yes, it’s bigger on the inside! 5”x6” pouch expands into an 18”x20” bag. Put everything you need to rule the world in here (Toclafane not included. Probably best to keep running shoes in here). Created by the lovely Geekiana.
  • Steel wallet/cigarette case with TARDIS printed on it. Excellent for keeping credit cards, ID, and psychic paper. Open it up to see Ten’s TARDIS console. Another great Etsy creation made by FrostingOnTheTop.
  • TARDIS pencil pouch! Perfect for keeping pencils and pens so you can scribble BADWOLFBADWOLFBADWOLF on all your papers.
  • Eleven’s Sonic Screwdriver Pen. This is one sonic screwdriver that will do wood. Welllllll… paper. Also capable of looking awesome.
  • TARDIS spinning air freshener. All that traveling through time and space can make things sort of smell. Especially if your time and space is 6th period gym. Technically this is for your car (mounts on dash) but we all know the only rule is don’t run off, and clearly that’s flexible. 

Phew. Glad you’re still reading. Now onto the rules strictly enforced guidelines.

  1. You don’t have to follow me; I’m not your mother.
  2. Only reblogs count. And you can only reblog five times max.
  3. The winner will be chosen on August 20th. Yes I know it’s a ways away, but I’ll be out of the country.
  4. ???
  5. Allons-y!
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