I have a lot of pet peeves but I think the biggest one is when people say things like “oh it’s such a small town, only 35,000 people” like bitch my town has 200 people, you need to pick a new adjective
According to Wikipedia, a small town is 1,000-20,000 people. So although you are correct in stating that 35,000 people is not a small town (it is a large town), you are incorrect in thinking that you live in a town. You live in a village. You are a villager.
I…… don’t know what to do with that information……a villager…
My mum falling asleep while reading Harry Potter and the philosopher’s stone out loud for me when I was a kid, was the reason why I learned how to read. Before that reading had been a thing I had some difficulties with, but in my frustration I picked up where she left and finished the books up until Goblet of Fire that was the last one to be published at that time. The series will always hold a special place in my heart because of that.
my friend said that whenever she has a bad feeling about her body/appearance, she asks herself “who profits off of this emotion?” and i really love how simple and incisive that is
draw women in post-apocalyptic world settings with armpit hair, leg hair, bushy brows and pubic hair ya cowards,, draw brown women/women with dark thick hair with arm hair and happy trails and sideburns and mustaches i’m sick of seeing silky smooth soapy clean make up wearing post apocalyptic dolled up women next to stinky sweaty crusty men with dirty nails and sweaty clothes and sweaty greasy hair and 3m long ugly beards
or, if you must depict women maintaining that shit, at least be interesting about it. I can actually buy someone shaving/putting on makeup if that’s their way of coping, something they do to tether themselves to the past or an ellusive feeling of normalcy. So show me the EFFORT put in, yeah? Show that woman risking a zombie horde because she spotted a fucking tube of scarlet lipstick and christ she hasn’t seen that color in five years but it’s what she wore on her first date with her now-dead husband. Show me the girl who is quietly starting to fucking lose it but covers it up with fanatical commitment to her appearance because if she gets these eyebrows right, maybe no one will notice how she stares at things that aren’t there.
I find it completely plausible that some women would go to incredible lengths to maintaining their appearance, because they’ve been socialized all their lives to caring about it, because it’s a part of their identity. So show me how that part gets negotiated with once the world has gone to hell.
Catch me in your local bunker doing a smoky eye with the ashes of my former life.
you guys really just don’t check your fucking phones huh? you don’t give a fuck and a half about your notifications? you just carry it around with you everywhere but don’t actually go on it? maybe someone texted you. maybe you received an email. maybe you need to take your daily duolingo lesson. but no, you really just can’t be bothered. fuck you
I once stayed at a game reserve in South Africa, and they had three cheetahs – two males and one female. The boys stuck together (they were brothers), but female cheetahs are solitary, save for when they are raising cubs. Which is hard work for cheetahs, because they don’t/can’t den, she’s working constantly to protect/move her cubs, as well as feeding both them and herself.
Now, these cheetahs ARE in a private reserve, but they’re still essentially wild. But they are more or less accustomed to the presence of people. And this cheetah, Ketswiri, got very badly injured in her leg one time, which usually would be fatal to a cheetah. The staff at the reserve helped her. Another time, she was starving, and they provided her a fresh antelope carcass. And she remembered this, because the science officer was telling us how one time he was watching Ketswiri and her cubs, and she wandered over and dumped all her cubs at his feet, and walked off. Like “watch my kids, I need some me time.” And he was panicking like COME BACK I CAN’T BABYSIT YOUR KIDS WTF
And this, children, is how cats literally domesticated themselves.
so i was watching cinderella while doing my nails and waiting for them to dry which was clearly a Mistake because now i can’t help but think -
the evil stepmother was always evil, okay. say her abuse of her own daughters was different than that of cinderella’s - but it was still abuse. giving them impossible expectations, telling them they were never good enough, never pretty enough, never smart enough. and then she gets married, and anastasia and drizella are ecstatic because this man seems kind and warm and maybe just maybe he can temper their mother, maybe with him around she won’t be so cruel. so they’re on their very best behavior in the beginning, they do just as their mother taught - they trot out their best upper court manners in an attempt to get their new stepfather to like them. but it just comes off as cold and snooty and they’re trying, they are, they’re just bad at it. and they see how he is with cinderella, the smiling girl their own age, and they are jealous. they don’t mean to be, they try not to be, they know it isn’t becoming of young ladies. but she gets hugs and kisses and affection and they get rulers slapped on their hands when they reach for desert and sharp jabs to their sides when they slouch and - soon they hate cinderella, not for anything she’s done, but for what she has and they dont
but then her father dies. and it’s all a tumble of things and cinderella is crying and they’ve lost their only chance at escaping their mother’s clutches and it’s terrible. and everything settles and there’s no reason to be jealous anymore but resentment is hard to let go of and they don’t know what to do. they’re only kids too after all. and they’re so terribly bad at comforting people, they can do flowery words and know all the right bows but cinderella is so sad and they just don’t know what to do with that, because they’re supposed to be sisters but they’re not even friends
and slowly but surely their mother starts abusing cinderella, starts making her a maid in her own home, and she’s their mother, what are anastasia and drizella supposed to do? she rules them with an iron fist, and cinderella doesn’t even like them anyway, it’s none of their business.
except one night anastasia crawls into her sister’s bed in the middle of the night and wakes her up. “i was thirsty,” she explains, eyes wide and shiny, and they’re bad at this with other people but drizella has no problems with pulling anastasia into her arms. the younger girl clutches her sister and continues, “i was thirsty and i went down to the kitchen to get some water and - and cinderella is still up! she’s doing the dishes, and she should be asleep, mom is going to make her make breakfast in the morning and -” she cuts herself off with a hiccup and whispers, “it’s not fair.”
“life isn’t fair,” drizella says, echoing one of their mother’s favorite phrases. but her sister is staring at her with wet eyes, and it’s not like their mother is likely to get up before sunrise anyway, she hates waking up, so she pulls herself and anastasia out of bed and off they go.
Bad News: Our boss locked the keys inside the building.
Good News: We didn’t have to wait around for a locksmith.
Bad News: My boss finds it very concerning that I know how to pick locks, and tried to unlock my Tragic Backstory™. I was too embarrassed to admit that the reason I learned was because, at thirteen, I figured that was the kind of skill that would impress cute girls.
Good News: A cute girl saw me do it.
Bad News: It was Maggie, and since she’s already seen me fall out of several trees, cry because I saw a fawn that was just too damn small, and knows I can ride a unicycle, she’ll never think I’m cool no matter what I do. It’s too late. She knows.
There are million dollar blockbuster movies that were less entertaining than the rollercoaster this post just took me on.
