missjudge-me

[missjudge-me]

Voters in Iowa have the opportunity to do something very funny here.

[missjudge-me]

[missjudge-me]

In case any Americans are not aware of this: the rest of the world is FUCKING TERRIFIED of how this election is going to go. If trump wins, it affects more than just America. If trump wins, it will fuck so many other countries in so many ways.

So first of all, PLEASE VOTE. The rest of the world doesn't get to vote in your election, but we do get directly impacted by your election, so please do what we can't, and vote.

Secondly, remember that you're not just voting for America. You're voting on behalf of the all the countries that will be impacted by this election.

Please, for the love of God, vote blue, and save not just America from a second trump term, but the whole goddamn world.

[missjudge-me]

[missjudge-me]

[missjudge-me]

[missjudge-me]

[missjudge-me]

It sounds funny but I’m actually a second generation sex shop employee. My mom worked in one for a while when I was little. It definitely set a very blasé tone around sex growing up which was great until it was mortifying because I was a teenager.

I don’t have many clear memories from when I was a kid but a few stand out. First is that when I was too sick to go to daycare I’d get to hang out in the back room of the shop my mom worked in. It was basically paradise.

Firstly, because my mom was in charge of inventory and there was always a kings ransom in boxes. So most of my sick days were spent in custom box fortresses filled with blankets and pillows. I got to watch the TV in the safety of my cardboard castle. My mom’s boss would also usually let me play with the stone otters she kept on her desk. I adored those otters and looked forward to sick days where I got to caress their carved stone features.

Second, mom’s work had the best candy. There was a novelty brand they carried that I still think about. Sure, the chocolates were shaped like boobs, but I did not care because they were the most delicious chocolates I’d ever had. I only got a candy if I were very good so I stayed on my best behavior most of the time.

I did get in trouble once for wandering into the back stock while looking for props to play with. I ended up finding a joke pack of condoms that were super tiny and using them as hats for my little toys. Thank goodness they were unlubricated. I was chided for this and the teeny condoms were carefully returned to their package.

But my absolute favorite was when I go to stay until closing. While mom was counting down the til I could wander the display shelves and touch all the sample dildos. I only had a vague sense that these represented anatomy- mostly I just cared about their relative texture merits. I poked and squeezed my way through the displays dongs, approving particularly squishy ones, disdaining the hard plastic offerings.

I rated them from worst to best until my mom secured her cash box and we went home, leaving behind a wonderland of yummy candy, stone otters, and cardboard kingdoms.

[missjudge-me]

i listen to this podcast by two priests who talk about what life as a priest is like because I find their stories interesting, and one of the best moments was when the younger priest, baby priest we shall call him, absolutely lost it on the podcast because he had been preaching, then he saw someone do a full body sigh, shoulders up and down, then look at their watch, and then shoot baby priest a dirty look. Because priests are human too, this priest found it irritating on a human level, which, okay, I can see that--and then, he spent several minutes vehemently (and jokingly, but also, vehemently) proposing that Catholicism should update its rules so if anyone does that, the priest is allowed to come down from the altar and challenge the person to hand-to-hand combat. He argued that more people would come back to church if there was a chance of seeing the priest getting in a fistfight and in fact they might go to church multiple times a day. He stubbornly refused to allow exemptions for little old ladies. he was fully and passionately committed to the idea of Catholicism allowing priests to fistfight parishioners in the middle of mass, and I'm going to say it: i think he was right

[missjudge-me]

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

WHO IS USING THIS

AN APP??? THEY HAVE A FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

THE LAST FUNCTIONING WEBSITE

[missjudge-me]

[missjudge-me]

...

i'm gay.

ooookay im still putting you in my bubbling stew..? 💖

[missjudge-me]

using "what were YOU doing at the devils sacrament" to mean "yeah i made an embarrassing reference but you understood it which is also embarrassing" is very funny to me

[missjudge-me]

i am so absolutely utterly scared that my insane grandfather in his 80s who runs miles every morning is going to leave me a bird in his will and i am especially scared he is going to leave me a large cockatoo named "captain hook". hook has been trying to make me his child bride since i was like 6 years old and every time i see him again which has only been a couple times with decades in between hook is like "you. it's always been you. ever since you were born i've known we were meant to be" captain hook you are a bird and i am a LESBIAN and i don't WANT an eternal sentinel captain HOOK!!!!!!!

[missjudge-me]

[missjudge-me]

as a knitter, you start to notice how rare it is for characters in tv shows and movies to knit correctly. from worst to best, it ranges from:

- laughably incorrect, just flinging yarn around

- knitting the most basic scarf incredibly slowly because the actor Learned How To Do It For The Role

- old lady actresses casually knitting an intricate lace pattern while doing a monologue

- gromit from wallace and gromit

[missjudge-me]

so my highschool was huge, and for god knows what reason, cross country was super popular. at my highschool of maybe 6000 kids we have close to 750 cross country runners. we needed four or five busses to take us to meets. it was absolutely fucking insane.

anyway, i have this core memory of us running as this big, thundering herd down the main stroad of my hometown, and this one car had inched up pretty far past the stop sign to try and see around the car, and the guy leading our group decided, for god knows what reason, to open this big car's passenger door, scooch across the back three seats, and pop out the other side.

but then the guy behind him did the same, and we all just decided, why not, so we all did, and there was this old guy yelling at us but he couldn't just pull away because there was this unending 750 person long conga line of overheated hyperventilating sweat slick scrawny mormon kids slithering all over his leather seats and if hed tried to pull away at any point after the first guy he'd have kidnapped at least three of em.

for bonus points this guy lived in the area, and every time we ran past him he'd just lay on the horn, but to get back at him wed run into neighborhoods that we saw him enter and wed make these giant congo lines at crosswalks and shit just to fuck with him. we tormented that man.