Ah. Hello middle school complexes, my old friend.

I’ve come to talk to you again.

About how just because your mother very reasonably pointing out that purple hair goes terribly with the color of your skin and would not match with pretty much anything in your wardrobe, added to the various other warnings she’s given you about how the colorist you were planning on using doesn’t like making people’s hair ‘unnatural’ colors is not a very good reason to call the whole project off. After all, you know very good and well your mother doesn’t care what color your hair is, and agreed that a nice dark blue or the burgundy hair you had for senior prom was or would be a nice look for you. She just also knows about your borderline obsessive fixation on purple, and was warning you against it. There is no reason at all to combine that perceived disapproval with the nervousness you feel whenever you have be mildly confrontational with someone and the anxiety you feel at having a bunch of people who are basically strangers treat you like you’re a good friend so you have to pretend you like them and want to spend time with them even though you don’t know who they are.

(Aside: most people do not entertain thoughts of switching salons because the people there know them by name and greet them like friends, in the same way people do not consider visiting frequenting new bank buildings because the bank employees recognize them and engage in friendly chats with them while doing their banking. Remember, if you push through the awkwardness for long enough, you’ll have a mental script you can run through and it won’t feel or sound nearly as awkward as it is now. Just keep going.)

Basically, this is me informing myself to reach down deep into that place where I keep my stubbornness (okay, maybe not so deep, shut up), set a plan of attack and just make that goddamn appointment already. I am nearly 100% certain it will be worth the hassle I am putting myself through, plus the humiliation of not following through after I’ve already told several people I would is just not worth it for something so silly.

I love being in so much pain I can’t sleep.

Especially when I have to wake up at 5 in the morning so I can work from 6am-3pm at returns.

Now my only question is: should I just stay awake the measly four hours until my alarm goes off, or go back to the unsatisfactory on and off sleeping I have managed tonight?

ahkmenra-h:

hellabitcoins:

sansaspark:

magconbabe-matt:

This shit better work

HAH I REBLOGGED THIS LAST NIGHT AND LOOK WHAT I GOT FROM MY DAD TODAY OUT OF THE BLUE


what if we all got paper lol

GUYS I REBLOGGED THIS LAST NIGHT AND I JUST GOT $150 

ahkmenra-h:

hellabitcoins:

sansaspark:

magconbabe-matt:

This shit better work

HAH I REBLOGGED THIS LAST NIGHT AND LOOK WHAT I GOT FROM MY DAD TODAY OUT OF THE BLUE

what if we all got paper lol
GUYS I REBLOGGED THIS LAST NIGHT AND I JUST GOT $150 

Home Depot, promoting equality by reminding its associates 3 or 4 times annually that the people most likely to steal things are old white men. Or contractors. Who, funnily enough, are usually old white men.

Ahhh, the Fourth of July

That time of year that will always represent, to me, that a whole cavalcade of kids will be parading down my street, heedless to my haphazard sleeping patterns, decked out in garish and sparkly bikes, oftentimes followed faithfully by a loyal dog, similarly festooned. A neighborhood parade organized by the sweetest, most soft-spoken woman in the area, someone who is so gentle and kind it is quite easy to forget she’s a highly intelligent lawyer. I remember when this first started, just a handful of kids parading down the streets for their neighbors, ending at the elementary school for a a picnic. We have since escalated. We have police officers in patrol cars, we have horses, we have a freaking miniature airplane, and we have the freaking mayor. We have a freaking neighborhood band, catered food, chili contests, water balloon tosses, egg tosses, water gun fights, homemade rootbeer, pet contests, bike contests, speeches. Everyone in the area knows about the 4th of July parade, and looks forward to it. It’s very community-central and camp and pretty much what you expect on the 4th.

Those who know me will affirm to the fact that my mother is a badass. She is a tough, hardcore woman who’s lived through a lot, survived a lot, and built herself the life she always wanted, with nothing more than her bull-headed stubborness and her strength of will. There are some that would say that this kind of affair would be exactly the one she would look at askance, that she would roll her eyes at and make sarcastic comments about. You would not be wrong. But, you would also not take into account the fact that my mother, badass though she is, is also a complete soft touch for certain things, namely animals. We joined the 4th of July parade organizers simply because one year there was a huge, shaggy dog that went right by our house one year, panting its little heart out, and my mother practically ran into the house to fetch it a bowl of water. Of course, this started her down the path of ‘well, what about the other dogs?’ and soon we became known, officially, as the ‘dog water providers’. And because our neighbor, as sweet as is she, is also exceedingly clever, she also managed to get my parents to start the pet judging contest, with them as the judges. And where our parents went, my brother and I were (often gently forced) to follow.

All of this has culminated in my mother, who is now the president of the Home Owner’s Association somehow (it would be more of an honor if the association wasn’t made up of four women and their husbands, or if it had actually involved a vote instead of my mother demanding, in her usual blunt way, if they wanted her to be president and their subsequent immediate agreement), being forced to make a little speech and present a gift to the mayor (she hates being the center of attention), while my father and I judge pets and hand out prizes to every one of them (strictly on my mother’s orders; ‘can you imagine dressing up your beloved pet, entering them in them in the neighborhood pet contest and not have them win something? Now divide your age in half.’) which she bought with her own money, excepting the pet beds, which she asked my aunt to make (since she owns a cat bed/toy business and makes them all herself) while my brother works the flavored ice machine (this sounds easy until you realize you have to grind all the ice by hand. Last year we ended up having a production line) while another table is set up for voting on what should be done with the neighborhood signs, which is being monitored by my aunt (who does not live in the neighborhood).

Why. Why mother, why. This is your fault, mother. Why.

Having now torn apart and more or less slapdashedly put back together every known, secret or forgotten cache of books in the household I, with some dedicated help from my father have; broken and subsequently cleaned up a florescent bulb that shouldn’t have been back there anyway; freed up at least three boxes of books that have been in storage for the past three years; asked my old lady cat at least ten times in increasingly exasperated tones of voice if I could help her-say, out of this plane of existence, maybe; and found every single Orson Scott Card book we own except the one I was looking for, an extremely extraordinary feat, given that I didn’t know more than two existed. All I wanted to do was reread a book I have studiously avoided for just over a decade to wash the taste of the absolutely horrible movie adaption of it. Was that too much to ask?

strangeasanjles:

the-fly-agaric:

caring more about animals than humans is not a sign of empathy, it is a way to distance yourself from problems that makes you uncomfortable.

when you talk about the treatment of animals and say “what if this was done to humans!?” remember that this was, or still is done to humans.

I have zero patience for people who prioritize Veganism over anti-racism and feminism

Exactly my stance.

Fun fact: while some people would be more than content to eat ice cream, pudding, and jello for three days straight after getting their wisdom teeth out, I got sick of it about three hours in (not counting the period of time where I was atually sick and the only thing I could keep down was gingerale). Apparently my body doesn’t condone this whole ‘don’t eat anything for 16 and half hours and then scarf down a pudding cup and half a bowl of jello with pain pills crushed into it’ ordeal.

For anyone who’s wondering, pureed spaghetti sauce tastes pretty much just as delicious as it does regularly.

Did you know that cats who live indoors live longer? Because there are bad things outside, like infectious diseases, coyotes, cars, and horrid people. It’s hard to believe that anyone who loves a cat will let it go outside. Rrrgrahfrazle.

Cats aren’t stupid, people. Even the dimmest cats I’ve ever had (and I’ve had a lot, considering young I am) have only rarely fallen victim to the horrors of the outside world. Twelve cats that I can remember having from childhood to now, and of them, four still live with us today, one had to be sent to a family that had a barn because she was too feral to live in our suburban home, and is living quite happily, one who ran away because he was too feral, three died of old age (the two I remember dying being 18 and 17, respectively), two died of cancer, and one died of unknown causes that we strongly suspect was because our neighbors of the time had put out poisoned nuts for the squirrels and we think he may have eaten some of the grass they were on. All of these cats were indoor/outdoor cats. Adding on the cats from my friends and family, we can add at least three more that died of old age, one that got run over by a car, and six that still live today. Of all these cats, only three are/were strictly indoor cats (one cat has just recently become an indoor cat and let me tell you how miserable he is) and one is an outdoor only cat. All the rest were indoor/outdoor.

Adding all these up, we come to 22 cats that I am personally aware of. Of those 22, two of them have died due to avoidable outdoor causes. That’s about a 9% fatality rate. I’m not talking feral cats here; feral cats generally do have a much higher mortality rate, because they don’t have constant access to food or water, or a highly defended safe place to retreat to that’s warm, or people who take them in to be checked and to forcibly feed them medicine, whether they like it or not (hint: they never like it). Feral cats have high mortality rates because of this, it’s true. But cats that are owned by people who care about them are perfectly safe going outside, as much so as humans are. After all, a human could get bitten by a mosquito carrying the West Nile disease and die, or get run over by a car, or trip down a flight of stairs and break their skull open, but you don’t see people advertising we keep all humans inside for their own safety, now do you?

So I have not yet sunk to the levels of reading porn at work, but oh god was it so tempting today.

And I just want to make something perfectly clear.

I am a cashier at Home Depot. Do you know how hard it is to browse the Internet at work? Basically impossible. The moral of the story, kids, is don’t open up your garden department register when it’s still averaging 28-30 degrees out.

I had nine customers over a six-hour period. Nine. Ugh, I’m doing it again tomorrow. I’m so going to end up reading porn at work, I just know it.