*shakes head* I feel like a Luddite, but they're just so *satisfying*.
I fucking love this man.
This post contains a photo of Robert and other vital information. Any help is appreciated.
I remember being surprised when Wendy Richard predeceased her. What a loss. A shame she'd been ill for so long...
Break up some graham crackers (or better yet, use whole Teddy Grahams--they have a better consistency after baking) and either chop some marshmallows into quarters, or use mini-marshmallows. Make a bowl of your favorite brownie mix or scratch brownies. Stir in the Teddy Grahams and marshmallows and bake as directed.
I like to frost mine with chocolate glaze or milk chocolate frosting, just to up the gooeyness factor. And as usual, I maintain that they are best when still slightly warm. Oh, and a scoop of really good vanilla ice cream doesn't diminish them in the least.
...looking out my office window at dusk.
April, asleep on my desk in the sun.
- Location:US, New Jersey
I support my right to be a girl. I just happen to curse like a truckdriver, haul firewood all winter with which to heat my house, and know more than my boyfriend does about his car. I also love french nails, ridiculously high heels, too many handbags, and long hair. I have an entire room for a closet, get off on the perfect shoes, and buy things that are *pink* jut because they are, and I can. I'm service-oriented, a bottom, and a collared submissive. I love, love, love being a girl, and I resent the annoying tendency of the world at large to label any female who hauls a cord of wood a "feminst", to rhyme with "butch."
I. Am. A. GIRL.
"Woman," frankly, doesn't even come to mind unless I am nudged to actively consider it. And that doesn't bother me. I can talk farming and trucks and alternative energy while leaning on the back of a pickup in the middle of the workyard in 4-inch heels. And while that probably makes me white trash, it doesn't make me butch. I like who I am, and I don't like being pigeonholed any more than butch-identifying folks do.
I'm so annoyed, I think I'll go blonde again.
Because I can.
Child abuse, anyone?
Raw video can be viewed by clicking here.
- Mood:
infuriated
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Rules for Living by Olivia Joules
1.) Never panic. Stop, breathe, think.
2.) No one is thinking about you. They're thinking about themselves, just like you.
3.) Never change haircut or color before an important event.
4.) Nothing is either as bad or as good as it seems.
5.) Do as you would be done by, e.g., thou shalt not kill.
6.) It is better to buy one expensive thing that you really like than several cheap things that you only quite like.
7.) Hardly anything matters: if you get upset, ask yourself, "Does it really matter?"
8.) The key to success lies in how you pick yourself up from failure.
9.) Be honest and kind.
10.) Only buy clothes that make you feel like doing a small dance.
11.) Trust your instincts, not your imagination.
12.) When overwhelmed by disaster, check if it's really a disaster by doing the following: (a) think, "Oh, fuck it," (b) look on the bright side and, if that doesn't work, look on the funny side. If neither of the above works then maybe it is a disaster, so turn to items 1 and 4.
13.) Don't expect the world to be safe or life to be fair.
14.) Sometimes you just have to go with the flow.
15.) Don't regret anything. Remember there wasn't anything else that could have happened, given who you were and the state of the world at that moment. The only thing you can change is the present, so learn from the past.
A green highlighting marker that fell off my desk. She is kicking its green, highlighting ass from one side of my office to the other.
She is really, truly a kid. Buy them a toy kitchen suite, and they play in the box it came in. *shakes head* Still, she's devastatingly cute.
- Location:US, New Jersey, Golden Triangle
of kitteny goodness. Have decided to call her April May June, since all the cats that I have named have three names, and they are all "people names." The reason for April May June: she was born in April (or so say all estimates), survived May, and I found her in June. Also--Autumn, the only other female animal in the house, has a seasonal name. I think it works.
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- Location:US, New Jersey
and all is well. Kitty (and she is a she, fwiw) has tested negative for everything, and has been treated for a raging case of earmites. She is emaciated, and nuked a small can of food before demanding to be held while she slept it off. Not bad for a kitten that was spitting and hissing like a hellion when I first grabbed her.
Posted via LiveJournal.app.
- Location:US, New Jersey
This was my lap about 5 minutes ago.
Like I need this. Needless to say, I am at my vet's office making sure he or she is safe to take home.
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- Location:US, New Jersey
When taking the obligatory Bathroom Mirror Picture, you might want to make sure that the (formerly) white towel hanging on the door behind you doesn't look like a farm animal has given birth on it.
Just a thought.
On the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, a group of African-American veterans and U.S. Army soldiers --some of whom traveled by motorcycle from as far away as Arizona and California--paid their respects Cpl. Mays received a hero's burial at Arlington National Cemetery.
Mays was born into slavery in Virginia in 1858. He headed West at an early age, joining the famed Buffalo Soldiers and fighting in the frontier Indian Wars. In 1889, he was deployed to guard a wagonload of US Army gold. His brigade were ambushed, and most were either killed or seriously wounded, allowing the bandits to make off with nearly $30,000 in gold coins. Mays, shot in both legs, still managed to crawl two miles to a ranch for help.
In 1890, Mays was awarded the Medal of Honor, the military's highest award for bravery. However, when Mays applied for his pension in 1893, he was flatly denied. Shortly thereafter, he was found indigent and committed to an Arizona state hospital for the poor and mentally ill. After his death in 1925, he was buried in an unmarked grave in the hospital's potter's field.
After several years, members of the hospital staff located his grave and arranged for a formal ceremony on Memorial Day, 2001. This year, those paying their respects included William McCurtis, a regimental sergeant major of the Buffalo Soldier group. "One more out of 6,000 has his day of recognition," he said during the ceremony. "We need to get the rest recognized."

