i make them often

2

AHHHHHH MY BUSINESS CARDS FINALLY CAME!!! I designed them myself and therefore was super nervous about having them printed (things almost always look different when printed because design takes place on a screen, and the spot gloss was tricky due to the layering) but I’m so happy with them!

I make them for other people fairly often but rarely get to see the final product.

Sorry the phone is blacked out- everyone on here is awesome but you know how images can fall into the wrong hands and whatnot. Also my website is just a parked domain so don’t try it 😂

I used Moo.com if anyone is interested :)

I’ve been contemplating for several days something, and I’ve been trying to distill it into meaning, and put nice little bullet points on how this relates to things that have been bugging me about some common Discourses I’ve been seeing, but at the end, I only really have a story. So here, have a story.

About ten years ago, sometime in the eventful 2006-2007 George W. Bush-ruled hellscape of my identity development, I was just starting to figure out how I felt about my conservative upbringing (not great) and whether I was some brand of queer (probably, but too scared to think about what brand for too long). I was working as a server at a popular Italian-inspired sit-down restaurant that was the closest thing my tiny South Carolinian town had to “fancy” at the time but isn’t really fancy at all.

The host brought a party of four men to one of my tables. It was hard to tell their ages, but my guess is they were teenagers or in their early 20s in the 1980s. Mid-40s, at the time. It was standard to ask if anyone at the table was celebrating anything, so I did. They said they were business partners celebrating a great business deal and would like a bottle of wine.

It was a fairly busy night so I didn’t have a LOT of time to spend at their table, but they were nice guys. They were polite and friendly to me, they didn’t hit on me (as most men were prone to do – sometimes even in front of their girlfriends, a story I’ll tell later if anyone wants me to), and they were racking up a hell of a tab that was going to make my managers happy, so I checked on them as often as I could.

Toward the end of their second bottle of wine, as they were finishing their entrees, I stopped at the table and asked if they wanted any more drinks or dessert or coffee. They were well and truly tipsy by now, giggling, leaning back in their chairs – but so, so careful not to touch each other when anyone was near the table.

They’re all on the fence about dessert, so being a good server, I offered to bring out the dessert menu so they could glance it over and make a decision, “Since you’re celebrating.”

“She’s right!” one of the men said, far too emphatically for a conversation on dessert. “It’s your anniversary! You should get dessert!”

It was like a movie. The whole table went absolutely silent. The clank of silverware at the next table sounded supernaturally loud. Dean Martin warbled “That’s Amore” in some distorted alternate universe where the rest of the restaurant went on acting like this one tipsy man hadn’t just shattered their carefully crafted cover story and blurted out in the middle of a tiny, South Carolina town, surrounded by conservatives and rednecks, that they were gay men celebrating a relationship milestone. 

And I didn’t know what I was yet, but I knew I wasn’t an asshole, and I knew these men were family, and I felt their panic like a monster breathing down all our necks. It’s impossible to emphasize how palpably terrified they were, and how justified their terror was, and how much I wanted them to be happy.

So I did the only thing I knew to do. I said, “Congratulations! How many years?”

The man who’d spoken up burst into tears. His partner stood up and wrapped me in the tightest, warmest hug I’ve ever had – and I’ve never liked being touched by strangers, but this was different, and I hugged him back.

“Thank you,” he whispered, halfway to crying himself. “Thank you so much.”

When he finally let go of me and sat back down, they finally got around to telling me they were, in fact, two couples on a double date, and both celebrating anniversaries. Fifteen years for one of them, I think, and a few years off for the other. It’s hard to remember. It was a jumble of tears and laughter and trembling relief for all of us. They got more relaxed. They started holding hands – under the table, out of sight of anyone but me, but happy.

They did get dessert, and I spent more time at their table, letting them tell me stories about how they met and how they started dating and their lives together, and feeling this odd sense of belonging, like I’d just discovered a missing branch of my family.

When they finally left, all four of them took turns standing up and hugging me, and all four of them reached into their wallets to tip me. I tried to wave them off but they insisted, and the first man who’d hugged me handed me forty dollars and said, “Please. You are an angel. Please take this.”

After they left I hid in the bathroom and cried because I couldn’t process all my thoughts and feelings.

Fast forward to three days ago, when my own partner and I showed up to a dinner reservation at a fancy-casual restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. The whole time I was getting ready to leave, there was a worry in the back of my mind. The internet web form had asked if the reservation was celebrating anything in particular, and I’d selected “Anniversary.” I stood in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, wondering what I would do if we showed up, two women, and the host or the server took one look at us and the “Anniversary” designation on our reservation and refused to serve us. It’s not as ubiquitous anymore, but we’re still in the south, and these things still happen. Eight years of progressive leadership is over, and we’ve got another conservative despot in office who’s emboldening assholes everywhere.

It was on my mind the whole fifteen minutes it took to drive there. I didn’t mention it to my partner because I didn’t want to cast a shadow over the occasion. More than that, I didn’t want to jinx us, superstitious bastard that I am.

We walked into the restaurant. I told the hostess we had a reservation, gave her my last name.

She looked at her screen, then looked back at us. She smiled, broadly and genuinely, and said, “Happy anniversary! Your table is right this way.”

Our server greeted us, said, “I heard you were celebrating!”

“It’s our anniversary,” Kellie said, and our server gasped, beaming.

“That’s great! Congratulations! How many years?”

And I finally breathed a sigh of relief, and I thought about those men at that restaurant ten years ago. I hope they’re still safe and happy, and I hope we all get the satisfaction of helping the world keep blooming into something that’s not so unrelentingly terrible all the time.

2

Rejoice in all of this Black Girl Magic ✨

4

Hello yes today’s prompt’s nature and I’m super weak for Bakugou feeling mushy feelings (though you’re being weird again Blasty stop that)

Ghibli tears.

(Edit: i posted this late at night and i wasn’t very happy with how it looked. It’s fixed now!)

2

Sormik week day 6! Woohoo! I’m back.
No baby Sormiks this time, but have all the more fluff. This one is for @amarietie/ @tmariea for Storms in Our Blood. Today’s theme is “Lastonbell—Promises/Acceptance”, and although this scene indeed takes place in Elysia and has nothing to do with the Lastonbell promise, I figured the prompt was as good as any to do a marriage proposal.
I… I went over the top with the cheesiness, didn’t I? *hides*
The layers have fancy names to distract from the ridiculous romance going on here. Like “background panels”, background background”, “fucking rain”, “fucking lightning”, “rainy bits” and “rainy muchs”.

Anyway, I’m sorry this is so rushed, but I hope it gets the idea across just fine! I really really hope you like it, Mari! :,)
This is my little thanks for your kind words and deeds for me, and for your Earth Armatus Rose occasionally saving my ass in ToLink, hoho. HAPPY SEVERAL MONTHS LATE BIRTHDAY OR SOMETHING

For everyone else: go read the story, it includes more artistic use of seraphic artes, and more kisses in the rain, if that doesn’t convince you I don’t know what to tell you

rei-sakuma  asked:

So I have outdoor cats, but I live on a farm and they generally take care of the mice problem. I've been hearing all this talk of outdoor cats living shorter lives so I've been wondering if I should try and make them be more indoors more often? Is this a good idea?

It’s a nice thought, but it won’t actually do much to prolong their lives. Outdoor cats die young because of exposure to parasites, poison, disease, cars, predators, and all sorts of other risks. It’s not that they just live a harder life and die younger cause their bodies wear out. Things outdoors are just straight up more likely to cause their death. 

 Every time your cats are outdoors - especially if you’ve got anything down to try to poison the mice they’re hunting - they’re exposed to those risk factors. Sadly, keeping them indoors ‘more’ is only going to marginally decrease their likelihood of running into dangerous things that could kill them. 

Imagine

You walk outside to find HUNDREDS of fidget spinners floating in midair. They begin to spin, rotating faster and faster! Suddenly—you see him. Magneto.