Where do I apply for a new brain because apparently mine is broken and forgot my body needs food, and made me go through a whole 12 hour shift with the fuel of one (1) croissant and a milkshake
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if you decorated your apartment/house/homespace to be beige/grey/off-white/basically a noncolor i automatically do not trust you. why are you afraid of colors. why do you want to live in a realty photograph or a hampton inn. i asked my sister why people do this (she's my go-to for explanations of normies bc she would've been one except she does drugs and was raised by me so got early immunity from full frontal lobe shut down) and she said "people find it calming" like wow really how strange. expressing zero personality/taste calms them down? that shit makes me feel like there could be a threat lurking near. it puts me on edge. it sets off alarms in my instinct center. i feel like a dog who senses an approaching animal has rabies. warning: some shit is deeply wrong with this organism and they pose a threat to your well being. flee without engaging. my grandparents are 90 and conservative and even they had a house with colors and patterns and art they enjoyed. millennial apartments terrify me. our boomer parents were hit or miss with their ticky-tacky suburban houses. some of those houses had a soul but many didn't. "hanging stuff on the walls decreases the property value" and other such statements that prove you're already dead. millennials seem worse though bc they do it to rentals bc they LIKE it. maybe those old women haircuts all the girls had in hs in the 2000s (this is my fav gen z criticism of us millennials bc so fucking true in hs i was like wtf are these middle aged hairstyles how did this become cool everyone looks 35) are responsible for this particular variety of brain damage. from now on i believe in this link. 32 year olds live in light grey horror boxes bc sporting 40 year old hairstyles at age 16 makes you permanently boring and unable to display any taste or personality. these are people who get uncomfortable looking at art or when a friend cries. these are the people who say "i'm sorry for your loss" to a grieving person instead of "life is cruel af my brother no answers come still we must try to survive do you need a fierce hug at this moment or not also i brought you a xanax" like a real human being would. the craziest thing i ever saw my mom do was pay to paint our foyer "eggshell" when the damn walls were already white. this is actual mental illness. not me screaming in the road about how the modern world makes no sense and all the food is microplastic poison. not a single child on earth says their favorite color is light grey or dark white. your soul is sick if beige calms you down. i diagnose you with a severe deficiency of humanity. you need to be hospitalized and forced to discuss philosophy and engage with music until you remember what is valuable about consciousness, which is beautiful as well as cruel, both a gift and curse but it's worth it. i'd rather be awake and have to go to the hospital sometimes when it becomes too much and i end up sobbing drunk in the yard than lobotomized to the point of trading my precious time on earth for money i then spend on beige curtains and a sign that says "caution: caffeinating" to hang in the kitchen proving i am a corpse whose bland heart forgot to stop beating. i mean they shoot horses don't they.
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Did you know guinea pigs are born just like. Tiny adults? They’re fully cooked. They come out, eyes open, fully furred, ready to do the whole array of guinea pig activities.
I learned this as a child. I was perhaps ten when this story took place. Our female guinea pig was pregnant, but she’d gotten mites and needed a bath. She was wildly pregnant. Bulging at the seams with babies. Ready to burst at any moment because all the babies needed to stay in there long enough to be full pigs. But we wanted to avoid the babies all getting mites and needing baths. We failed, they all needed baths. Mites are a bitch.
We knew she had three babies cooking in there. How did we know? We could feel each individual bulge in her belly. My mom was overseeing the pig bath but I was pretty much just doing my own thing, scrubbing her gently, rinsing the soap carefully.
After the bath our mother pig was not in the best mood. I was carrying her back to her freshly made mite free bedding when she’d had enough.
I was acutely aware that I was holding four lives in my childish grip, and I bore her along as if she were made of precious jewels and spun glass. Balanced in my hands I could feel the bulge of each of her babies slithering wetly around under her skin.
Which is why when she hauled off and sank her teeth into the meat of my hand I didn’t flinch. I didn’t drop her. I bore her as carefully and steadily as if I weren’t now bleeding freely, and I set her gently into her pig palace.
As I drew my hands away I screamed:
“FUCK!!!”
I then turned to look at my mother, who’d been watching the process intently.
I was fully aware that I had just done the worst possible swear directly in front of an authority figure and was very probably going to be punished. My mom was looking at me with a blank expression that I was waiting to turn stormy or disappointed.
“That must have hurt a lot,” was all she said.
She helped me throughly clean and bandage the bite. All the babies were born healthy and sound, looking like someone had used a shrink ray on trio of a guinea pigs.
Years later my mother confided in me that contrary to my belief that she’d be angry for swearing what she’d felt for me in that moment was overwhelming pride that in the face of pain and shock I had refused to let harm befall my little charges.
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i actually do kinda like delivering groceries on the side because it gives me such a unique cross-section of the community. i never know whose groceries im shopping for until i finish the delivery and see them/their home and it's like it adds more detail to the picture of who they are. the baby supplies going to the apartment that i know for a fact is one bedroom (they'll be moving soon - i bet they're apartment hunting, i hope they find a place). the new cat litter box, bowl, and kitten food going to the house covered in "i <3 my dog" paraphernalia (a kitten definitely showed up on the porch recently and made itself at home). the fairly healthy boring grocery order that includes an incongruous tub of candy-filled ice cream going to the home of an elderly woman with toddler toys in the yard (it's clearly for her grandkids, whom she sees often).
shopping for someone else's groceries is a fairly intimate thing. i've bought condoms and pregnancy tests, allergy medicine and nyquil, baby benadryl and teething gel, a huge pile of veggies paired with an equally huge pile of junk food, tampons and shampoo and closet organizers and ant traps and deodorizing shoe inserts and a million other little things that tell a million different stories in their endless combinations. one time someone had me buy one single green bean. i messaged them to confirm that's actually what they wanted, and they said yes - neither of them liked green beans very much, but they had a baby they were introducing to solid foods, and they wanted to let him try one to see if he liked them. another time i had someone request 50 fresh roma tomatoes - not for a restaurant, but for a person in an apartment. the kitchen behind them smelled like basil and garlic when they opened the door. another time i brought groceries to three elderly blind women who share a house. that was one of the few times i have ever broken my rule and gone inside a place i've delivered to, because they asked if i could place the grocery bags in a specific location in the kitchen for them to work on unloading and there was no way i was going to refuse helping.
i gripe about the poor tippers, but people can also be incredibly kind. one time i took shelter from a sudden vicious hailstorm inside an older lady's home in a trailer park, while i was in the middle of delivering her groceries. we both huddled just inside the door, watching in shock as golf-ball-sized hail swept through for about five minutes and then disappeared. she handed me an extra $10 bill on my way out the door.
when covid was at its deadliest, people would leave extra (often lysol-scented) cash tips and thank-you notes for me taped to the door or partially under the mat. i especially loved the clearly kid-drawn thank you notes with marker renderings of blobby people in masks, or trees, or rainbows. in summer of 2020 i delivered to a nice older couple who lived outside of town in the hills, and they insisted i take a huge double handful of extra disposable gloves and masks to wear while shopping - those were hard to find in stores at the time, but they wanted me to have some of their supply and wouldn't take no for an answer.
anyway. all this to say people are mostly good, or at least trying to be, despite my complaints.
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louis was like "this is the love of my life...... the vampire armand....."
and I was like "girl...... you're both bottoms...... traumatized bottoms with daddy issues....... where are ur shitty boyfriends??????"
louis and armand out here having the world's most boring pathetic sex, they're like "we're so healthy, we have grown past our shitty-boyfriend-having phase, now we're always Safe Sane And Consensual 😌 we don't have unhinged sex anymore 😌😌😌" they are going insane. this is why louis is having a mental breakdown. he's been having intensely hinged sex for 77 years, like 100% slow lovemaking with clear communication and so much lube and always "one finger, two finger, three finger, cock" and the traffic-light consent system in place even though they don't practice any kinks that would involve words like "stop" and "hang on a sec" meaning anything but literally that. no one in this house has been rimmed in 77 years. Every night they have a very polite Discussion (it's not an argument, it's not) about whose turn it is to top because nobody here wants to. louis is not built to handle this psychologically. lestat's going to text him "hey mon cher miss u sooooo much i can't live without you, haha i got your number by killing some people at your phone company, actually several phone companies because i didn't know which network you're on, anyway come over and sit on my face WINK WINK i'll do that thing you like so much, you know the one!! the one where you're always like 'ew lestat you're so gross' but then it makes you come so hard you pass out [eggplant emoji, eggplant emoji, water drops emoji, blood drop emoji]" louis is going to see these texts and go into a fugue state and be OUT! THAT! DOOR! in nanoseconds. NANOSECONDS!!!! meanwhile lestat is double- and triple- and quadruple-texting about how he's always wanted to try roadhead and blithely using words like "pussy" in reference to louis' anatomy without asking if that's cool and also sending seven unsolicited dick pics clearly taken in an airplane bathroom
armand has never sent a dick pic in his life, even a solicited one, because it's "crass" and there are "privacy concerns" and he's "unsatisfied with the current standard of end-to-end encryption technology". lestat doesn't even know what end-to-end encryption is, and if he did he wouldn't care about it because "if a hacker is going to all that trouble to look at my nude photographs, louis, i think they've earned them :))) even though they could just follow me on instagram and tiktok or sign up for my onlyfans" this is why armand about to get dumped at terminal velocity. he doesn't even have instagram.
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