#my license plate

[indigo6f00ff]

need to share an experience i had 30 minutes ago

(edit: thanks to @walks-the-ages for providing and reminding me to put alt text, sorry it slips my mind alot lol)

[ca-dmv-bot]

Customer: A QUICK CAR DMV: testicles Verdict: DENIED

[liltingaway]

license plate pngs

[animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

[onesnoopyaday]

going for a drive

Snoopy #27

28/10/2024

[plaguedocboi]

LOBSTAH

[josephtrohman]

do we fw the saturday themed license plate frame

[hillbilly---man]

been trying out different color filters on my phone to see if there was one that might help my Vision Issues™ (I heard someone on a podcast mention tinted lenses for neurological vision problems)

HEAVY sigh to discover that the one that helps the most is a bright green. I'd never live that one down if I got bright green tinted glasses...

[maelorderbride]

i love it so so much when the sparks fandom refers to ron dressed up as a girl as "heidi" like yeah. that IS a woman named heidi and she IS beautiful

[ricksanchezbignaturals]

hyperfixations make my brain so goofy. you can just mention oregon or jersey around me to cast Spell of Think About Those Guys

[ca-dmv-bot]

Customer: NICKNAME FOR MY CAR DMV: POOPER-SHIT Verdict: DENIED

[licenseplateshowdown]

GREAT NORTH AMERICAN LICENSE PLATE SHOWDOWN FINAL CHAMPION

Nunavut!

Casting 1,400 votes in the final round, the people have spoken: the greatest license plate in North America is Nunavut's! Though Maine was a beloved plate, its chickadee and pines couldn't hold up against Nunavut's polar bear and aurora. Nunavut also boasts the only license plate in the contest to feature text written in an indigenous North American language.

Thank you to everyone who voted, commented, and shared the polls around. When I started my own version of this nearly two years ago, I worried no one would be interested, so it's gratifying to see other people put thought into the aesthetics of ordinary objects we mostly ignore in our day-to-day lives. Hopefully the future brings even better designs to our plates!

Thank you and congratulations!

[applecidersstuff]

My not so close to cannon hc is that, after getting into college, Clarrise gets a car somewhere.

Some people assume she got it from her mom, or that Chris stole it for her, but the truth is she actually got it from Ares. Which means you can pretty much imagine what kind of car that is. It’s also unconfirmed but some of her brothers insist the car is magical in some way. Leo tried many time to convince her to let him see what the cars system is like on the inside, but was turned down in a not very nice way.

Very quickly she becomes the ‘carpool friend’ and also the one Chiron tasked with picking up demigods who go to school in NY at the end of semester and get them to CBH, there’s very few of them so she doesn’t mind, +some of them are mortified at the thought of getting in Clarrises car because of how fast she drives. The fist time Percy and Annabeth asked her for a ride, Percy said he was glad Ares didn’t offer to drive them to Vegas that one time, and Annabeth asked if the car really is magical, because she was convinced they should’ve crashed like ten times.

The only two people who will get in the car willingly and without any reason are Chris and Drew. Clarrise picks Drew up from school on regular basis whenever she comes to NY, and they just drive around. One time Sadie saw Clarrise picking Drew up and was convinced Drew was being kidnapped, the only reason she didn’t call the police was because she was stopped by Annabeth who introduced her to Clarrise.

[deadpanwalking]

Portrait of TS Eliot by Wyndham Lewis, 1938. Oil on canvas, 133.3 x 85.5 cm. Durban Art Gallery

[rascal-shark]

fucking saw a car with the license plate "LAPIDOT" at the kroger near me today in this the year of 2024. little lapis bumper sticker in the back windshield. i will never recover and will be thinking about this forever thanks.

[brinkle-brackle]

family

(a/n: SURPRISE FIC!!!!!!!! I wrote this prose poem thingy for a class writing exercise last semester and I'm very proud of it, and I wanted to put something out for bttf day so here it is now :) I hope yall enjoy it!!)

- - - - -

I have a father. A father who I am unsure if I will ever truly know in any real way. His eyes have been fixed to the television every night for as long as I can remember. He blinks in tandem with the static. He is wired, he laughs along with the laugh track. He is wired to cringe and cower beneath and stutter and laugh and laugh and laugh. His laugh, what a shaky, unsure laugh. He laughs and nods and laughs, full of fear. "Yes, sir, of course, sir, I know, sir-- hah, ouch-- yes, sir, I know, sir. You can- can count on me, sir." I ask him why he does what he does. He tells me he can do nothing else.

I have a mother, although I wonder if I ever truly had a mother. I wonder if this was something that developed as I grew up. Maybe it is just that I cannot remember her for who she used to be, or maybe she has always been like this. So jaded, so distant. A haze lies over her eyes, they are glass. Every evening they become glass. Tonight she is two vodkas in.

I have a brother who does not take his life as seriously as he should. Ever since graduating he has sat in the same place, flipping and frying. He does not like effort. He tells me that he is content as he is. A lazy smile, the stench of grease lingering from the spot he stands in even long after he has left. It is everywhere in his room. It creeps out in the wash and corrupts the rest of our clothes and bedsheets. He is turning gray before my eyes. Any longer, and I fear he will become a stone.

I have a sister, and she is miserable. Wanting and yearning, yet stifled. Aware, though. She is aware of what our parents have and what they do not have, and what they do not have she wants for herself. Her heart calls out. It tires of living in such a perpetual state of stillness, it wants to beat. A companion. A dinner for two, caring not if it will work out, just to try. That is what she wants: to try.

I have a family, and they are not you.

I have a girlfriend and she is my world. She is the sun when the clouds get thick and the clouds when the sun gets hot. She is musical laughter and stolen kisses before algebra class. She is planned-out road trips and a walk hand in hand through the town square. She is off-key, loudly-sung ABBA under the stars after leaving the cinema. She is a ride through the neighborhood, a skateboard date to 7-Eleven at twilight. She has been in the front row of every gig I have ever done (exactly two). She sings along when I practice my guitar-- not loudly, not off-key-- but just right. From her heart. She is solace.

She is everything to me, but not in the same way you are.

I sit down at the dinner table. My brother eats, but my sister prefers talking over chewing. I do not blame her, I am not hungry either. My fork becomes a rake on my plate with its slow and languid movements. Our mother speaks of her brother who will be visiting tomorrow. My sister makes a snarky comment, a blunt knife shot from between her teeth. Our mother just laughs, and it is the closest thing to genuinity I have heard from her in a long time, although it is not quite there. She calls out to our father. He does not answer, he has wired himself up to the television the way he does every night. Our mother waits, but he does not answer. He laughs along with the laugh track.

I have a father, and he is not you.

Stomach turning, I retreat to my room for the evening. I play my guitar until I hear my sister snap through the wall for me to quiet down. I prop my guitar against the wall and dial on my landline, and it rings one, two times before you answer. You greet me with warmth in your voice, you ask me how my day was. I tell you. You ask me about algebra, and I make a strange noise. You help me with my homework, we are on the phone for hours as numbers clash and meld together in my mind's eye. It is late now, and you can hear the tiredness in my voice. The math book is long gone, but we are still talking, although there are more pauses in our voices. Tomorrow is my audition, I say. You know, you remember. Come by my garage in the morning before school, you tell me-- I made something for you that might help you out with practicing. You can play without having to worry about waking your family up.

I have a father, and he is not you. But he does not ask me about my day with genuine interest. He does not help me with my algebra homework. He does not tell me his dreams and aspirations, and he does not encourage mine with equal enthusiasm. He does not give me pep talks. He does not get Burger King and offer to watch cheesy older movies with me when I have had a bad day. He does not put his heart into everything he does and include me in all of it. He does not stay on the line with me until I fall asleep, smile on my face and phone resting limply in my hand.

I am not in his world and he is not in mine. But you and I, we are engrained, woven into each others'.

I have a father, and he is not you. But family is not always the thing written in one's blood.