when I was 5 or 6 we had a father-daughter day at my school where you eat lunch together and play games and shit, but my dad didn’t wanna come so I went on my own. but my mum called my uncle real last minute and he immediately got off work and drove straight over to eat lunch w me so I wasn’t alone, and he even picked flowers from his garden to give to me and that’s when I realised that anyone can be a father but not everybody can be a dad
I was walking out of the gym on campus and over to my bike to unlock it, and looked up just in time to see a goose attack a woman as she walked past. I’m talking grabbing at her jacket, flapping its wings, biting and honking. I’m no stranger to our aggressive campus geese but hot diggity damn. Then. Then the goose turned and looked at me and let out a horrifying honk and suddenly, it was like bullet time, suddenly this massive goose was flying towards me.
So I squared up.
I tried to protect my expensive headphones.
And I braced for Goose.
When that thing flew at me I kicked higher and harder than I ever have and landed a solid blow to its huge, boat like body. It was so much harder and heavier than I expected. No one expects to kick a goose. It let out this awful squeaky toy noise, tried to grab at my hat, and then flew up and landed on the roof of the gym, watching me. I couldn’t turn my back for fear it would attack.
The worst part? There was no one around. No one saw me kick this deranged goose.
For five minutes I stood there, terrified of this goose.
And then people started walking out of the gym.
“I saw you kick that goose.”
“Man, that was a mean goose.”
“Nice kick on the goose.”
Eventually it took off and I was able to resume my day but not after solidifying my identity as The One Who Kicked The Goose.
I don’t know why but I feel like you guys will enjoy this story.
When I was a teenager, I got really fed up with people asking me what my plans were for school and where I wanted to go to college. It was relentless at every family gathering, and my family is all pretty well off, making it a bit anxiety-inducing. So I made one up. I just invented a college. I wasn’t trying to fool anyone, I just wanted people to stop asking about it, so I gave it an absolutely ridiculous name; “The Velociraptor Institute of Chicago” - worth mentioning that I lived nowhere near Chicago at the time.
This evolved into a rather large joke between my aunt and I. We would occasionally hang up “school fliers” in my room - one of which being an “X Days Since Last Dinosaur Related Incident” and making bad “school sweaters”.
One day, I decided that it would be hilarious if my all-too-boring voicemail message was something related to the reptilian fallacy.
I went to Google Translate, English to English, and typed out a message from the school staff, something along the lines of; “Hello. You have reached the Velociraptor Institute of Chicago. None of our operators are available at the moment due to dinosaur related incidents. Please remain calm. This is not an emergency. Leave your name and number and we will return your call shortly.”
This was a hit among my aunt and any friends or relatives that happened to call, but as most jokes do, it faded out into the back of my head eventually. I don’t really like phone calls so I essentially forgot about it completely.
Until I received my first voicemail from a potential job interviewer.
Walk up to FNM and slap this bad boy onto the table as my playmat. I place my deck of Magic Cards sleeved with yugioh card backs on the “Zona de Deck”. My opponent tells me “i think you’re in the wrong place.” I respond “are you afraid to find out you are wrong?” while looking him dead in the eye. His face pales as I shuffle my deck without breaking eye contact. He knows that no matter what happens next, i have the high ground.
Reading @gallusrostromegalus‘s stories about their dogs (especially Arwen’s shenanigans) made me miss my fur babies. Unfortunately I don’t have many good dog stories as my lab is twelve and has the countenance of a dowager queen. However I do have a ton of stories about my asshole horse Doc that I think tumblr might enjoy. I know a large portion of tumblr sees horses as these bizarre, soulless reptiles disguised as 1500 pound death mammals and honestly, after buying Doc I totally get it.
“He doesn’t have great ground manners,” the seller warned me. Pshaw, I thought. I’ve been working in a thirty horse barn since I was seven. I’ve been stepped on, bit, kicked, dragged, and head-butted more times that I can count. I even survived Daisy, who was 14 hands of pure spite and arthritis. Surely he couldn’t be any worse.
My vet was much more direct. “Your horse is a f***ing asshole.” Apparently Doc was Not Pleased by the pre-purchase exam.
When Doc came off the truck at his new home, he may as well have been spitting fire. It took several people to wrestle him into the barn, and, after he’d acclimated, even more to put his saddle on. The assistant trainer (bless her) volunteered as tribute for his first ride. Even with one person at his head and another boxing him in, he still knock her clean off the mounting block. However once she managed to make it onto the saddle (after several unsuccessful attempts) he immediately went completely still, ears forward, ready to work. Since then he has developed a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde reputation- an angel under saddle, a dragon in the barn.
I want to make it clear that Doc does not hate people. He has since made a ton of progress in acknowledging that humans are small and fragile and that he can’t play with them the way he can play with his other four legged friends. He’s probably best described as a cat, if cats could stand six feet at the shoulder and survive off a plant based diet. He gets upset when people don’t pay attention to him. He is a very good cuddler if it is on his own terms, especially if you scratch his neck for him first. And sometimes he is far, far too smart for his own good.
Here are some other things about Doc:
The day before I left for college I tried to hug him goodbye. He bit my hand so hard it started bleeding, which I have to say is impressive for an animal with flat teeth. It’s been two years and I still have a mark from it. Thanks buddy, miss you too.
When he is particularly upset about something, the way he twists his neck seems less horse and more serpent in a way that makes it easy to remember we all crawled out of the ocean at some point not too long ago. I’d say there’s some kelpie in him except I haven’t managed to get him close enough to water to test it out. The grooms call him tiburón.
He has Opinions about anything that might be described as Weather, especially Cold Weather. I know movie horses have a lot of edited sounds added, but in real life they typically save loud, piercing noises for circumstances of Dire Stress, such as extreme pain or being separated from the herd. My horse screams like he’s been impaled when his blanket is removed. It’s honestly the most relatable thing he’s ever done.
He tried to sit on the vet tech once when she picked up his hoof to do a routine exam. The angle between his body and the ground was reminiscent of the titanic hitting an iceberg. She ended up supporting most of his body weight while I tried to pull him back to an upright position. She’s about five feet tall and I’m afraid to cross her now.
He’s really, really bad at eating apples.
He breaks things. A lot. By my count he has snapped a halter, two sets of reins, four nosebands, and a lunge line. He has also torn his blanket multiple times. He is the reason my bank account is crying.
He spooked at a pony once while we were cantering- like really spooked, doing a full 180 spin and almost pitching me over his shoulder. I can’t even be mad. Everyone should fear ponies.
He likes babies? Once at a horse show some guy walked up to us with his six month old child and asked to pet him while we were waiting for the schooling ring to clear. I’m sorry, I tried to tell him, my horse has poor manners and your child is distinctly snack sized. “Oh don’t worry, I grew up with horses,” the stranger reassured me. He then proceed to immediately shove his Appetizer straight in Doc’s face, which is not something you do if you grew up with horses. I stopped breathing. Doc stopped breathing. My trainer, standing on the other side of the ring and watching this interaction with mounting terror, stopped breathing. The baby tugged on Doc’s nostrils with its meaty little baby hands. “See, it’s fine,” the man laughed before walking off, presumably to find a pack of wolves for his baby to cuddle with.
“Holy shit,” my trainer said when she finally managed to reach me. “How stupid can you be?” We stared after the man for a minute in dumb silence. “Maybe he’s secretly a softie,” she suggested, reaching out to pat his shoulder.
Doc immediately salvaged his reputation by trying to take a chunk out of her ribs.
He has a better sense of direction than I do, which translates into some interesting trail ride attempts. He Will Not be ridden to the ring; attempts to do so will be met with the kind of acrobatics that make me think he might have been a lipizzaner in a past life. However, he is more than game for a trail ride after work time is over and will happily cross bridges, splash through puddles, and say hi to some deer friends as long as our destination the barn.
Oftentimes he scratches himself behind the ear with his back foot while I am on his back. Alternatively, he will chew on his hind leg like a dog with a bone, also while I am on his back. Horses do this fairly often, but usually not in the middle of a ride. He often manages to kick my foot during this process. He never seems concerned about this small detail.
Listen, I know horses have a third eyelid but it STILL weirds me out when he yawns and his eyes roll back and you can see it. Why doesn’t it look this creepy on my dog. (Side note, this also is how he snapped at least three of the nosebands)
So around 4 weeks ago I left to leave for work. Walked down to my car and as I got there I noticed something on the floor.
Now this kitten was tiny and was next to a tyre of a car. He was absolutely covered in fleas. Head to toe and he wasn’t in a good shape.
I managed to pick him up and get him into a small box and inside.
I managed to get hold of a vets (it was around 6am) and managed to drop him down there.
I called them up later and they said that he really wasn’t in a good way. He was sevearly dehydrated, malnourished and he had anaemia. They didn’t think he was gonna survive the night and he was refusing to eat.
I called back the next day hoping for good news… and it was, he had survived the night. They’d managed to get most of the fleas and he had a small amount to eat.
Day by day he was eating more and getting stronger. After a week I asked if I could take him and give him a home.
I couldn’t, he had a really bad leg and they couldn’t work out why. He was in a bad way again.
I spoke to them most days, checking up on him, hoping he would pull through.
So I was first introduced to “Love, Simon”, in the form of it’s book, “Simon vs. the Homosapien Agenda,” while I was on vacation on Washington Island like two summers. My parents and I went to this little book shop and I was immediately drawn to the table with the rainbow proudly displaying queer books for Pride Month.
Now I’m a proud lesbian, but my parents are pretty homophobic and as a result I’m still firmly in the closet for the time being. My dad tries to be understanding, but my mom, well, there’s a little hope.
But anyway, I’m trying to be inconspicuous about appreciating this beautiful rainbow themed display when this GORGEOUS girl around my age comes barreling over and tells me I HAVE to read “Simon Vs. the Homosapien Agenda.” Now I’m always up for a book rec, especially when it’s from a cute girl who keeps smiling and telling me about how she was the one who put the display together.
So she and I start talking about our favorite queer books and giving each other recs, and she keeps talking about “Simon vs the Homosapien Agenda” and how I’ll love it and how I HAVE to eat Oreos during it because and I quote, “you’ll never eat an Oreo the same way again!”
I took the book to my dad, seeing as he was my best shot of getting it, and my mom got really upset about the idea of her only daughter getting a book about “homosexual men,” I don’t know what my dad said to her, but somehow she finally agreed to let me buy the book.
So the cute bookstore girl is checking me out, I guess her mom owns the store, and she keeps smiling at me and telling me how absolutely perfect the book is. I thanked her over and over again. I got a queer book and to flirt a little with a very cute bookstore girl. And so I’m walking out the door when suddenly I hear a “WAIT!”
My parents and I turned around and the girl was running out of the shop with a small sleeve of Oreos she had packed for lunch that day. She pressed it into my hand and told me to eat them as I read. Best. Day. Ever.
I wish I had been smooth enough to somehow slip her my number, because a cute island bookshop girl? Amazing.
Long Story Short: a cute girl at a book shop told me about Simon vs the Homosapien Agenda while I was on vacation and gave me free Oreos and I’m super gay.
Okay, ich bringe ungern Pfand weg. Dementsprechend viel Pfand hatte ich eben dabei, als ich zum Rewe ging. Am Pfandautomaten im Rewe angekommen - natürlich hat diese Filiale nur einen einzigen Automaten - stehen dort schon drei Kunden und zwei Rewe-Mitarbeiter. Der Automat ist offen und ein Schild hängt dran mit der Aufschrift “Techniker ist informiert”, wobei das “informiert” durchgestrichen und “bereits da” per Hand daneben geschrieben wurde. Ich wundere mich kurz über das Schild, da ja offensichtlich zwei Menschen gerade an diesem Automaten arbeiten. Offensichtlich auch schon recht lange, denn die Kunden scheinen bereits sehr genervt. Doch bald darauf sind die beiden Mitarbeiter fertig und der Automat wieder einsatzfähig. Ich lächele ihnen freundlich zu, als sie gehen, denn sie können ja nicht dafür.
Die Kundin, die anscheinend gerade dabei war, ihr Pfand abzugeben, als der Automat streikte, stellt nun fest, dass der Automat sich ihren Pfandwert nicht gespeichert hat, womit ihr drei Flaschen verloren gegangen sind. Das schreit sie laut durch den Laden, doch bekommt keine Reaktion von den umstehenden Kunden, außer ein Seufzen. Kein Mitarbeiter ist in der Nähe, um sie zu hören. Nun beginnt sie ihre restlichen Flaschen in den Automaten einzugeben. Nach zweien erscheint auf dem Bildschirm des Automaten, dass man das Personal informieren solle, da es zu einer Störung gekommen sei. Alle seufzen, eine Kundin geht. Die Kundin am Automaten drückt die Klingel. Nichts passiert. Sie drückt noch einmal die Klingel. Als Antwort ruft ein Mitarbeiter, der scheinbar im Raum hinter dem Automaten war, dass sie nun weitermachen könne. Aus Angst weitere Flaschen ohne Gegenwert an den Automaten zu verlieren lässt sich die Kundin nun nach jeder einzelnen Flasche einen Wertbon ausgeben. Der Kunde hinter ihr seufzt erneut. In dem Moment, als sie fertig ist, drängt sich eine ältere Dame an mir vorbei und erzählt mir, dass sie nur vier Flaschen hätte und ob sie als nächstes dürfe. Ich willige ein, doch der Kunde vor mir antwortet ihr in einer Sprache, die weder ich noch sie versteht.
Er beginnt seine Flaschen in den Automaten zu geben. Die ältere Kundin äußert sich empört, was das denn solle. Ich erkläre ihr, dass der Kunde schon sehr lange gewartet hat, da der Automat defekt war. Das stellt sie offenbar nicht zu frieden. Ich füge hinzu, dass er sie außerdem wahrscheinlich nicht verstanden hat. Dem stimmt sie zu und kommt zu der Schlussfolgerung, dass dieser Mann ein Flaschensammler sein müsse. Ich bereue meine Freundlichkeit, sie vorgelassen zu haben, und sage, dass sie das so ja nicht wissen könne, und schaue sie verständnislos an. Sie versteht mich nicht. Eine weitere ältere Dame kommt hinzu mit einer Flasche in der Hand und fragt, ob sie nach dem Mann kurz die eine Flasche in den Automaten stecken könne. Die andere ältere Frau beschwert sich, der Mann würde niemanden vorlassen. Ich erkläre wieder, dass der Mann da schon lange gewartet hat. Die Frau mit der einen Flasche nickt verständnisvoll und berichtet, dass sie das gesehen habe, bevor sie einkaufen war, und daher erst jetzt ihre Flasche abgeben könne. Ich lasse auch sie vor. Die Frau mit den vier Flaschen äußert laut, dass sie auch nur vier Flaschen habe und lässt die Frau mit der einen Flasche nicht vor. Der Mann ist nun fertig und geht, die Frau mit den vier Flaschen kommentiert “geht er weiter Flaschen sammeln.” Ich bin zu entsetzt, um zu reagieren.
Die Frau beginnt ihre vier Flaschen in den Automaten zu stecken. Nach zwölf bin ich stark versucht zu fragen, wie viele von ihren vier Falschen sie denn habe. Sie ist endlich fertig. Die Frau mit der einen Flasche steckt diese in den Automaten, bedankt sich freundlich bei mir und geht ebenfalls.
Nun beginne ich, meine 20 Flaschen hineinzugeben. Ich gebe die erste Flasche in den Automaten. Barcode nicht lesbar. Ich nehme sie wieder heraus und gebe sie wieder ein. Barcode nicht lesbar. Ich lege sie zur Seite und gebe die nächste Flasche ein. Barcode nicht lesbar. Murmeln in der Schlange hinter mir. Ich nehme sie heraus, überprüfe sie noch einmal auf Dellen, aber nein, keine Dellen. Ich gebe sie wieder ein. Der Automat nimmt sie. Ich gebe die nächste Flasche ein. Barcode nicht lesbar. Ich probiere es erneut. Barcode nicht lesbar. Ich werfe dem Mann hinter mir einen entschuldigenden Blick zu. Ich lege auch diese Flasche zur Seite. Die nächsten 17 Flaschen nimmt der Automat ohne Probleme, obwohl diese teilweise stark zusammengedrückt waren. Erstauntes Gemurmel vom Mann hinter mir. Ich probiere noch einmal die erste Flasche. Barcode nicht lesbar. Ich probiere es erneut. Der Automat nimmt sie an. Überraschtes Gemurmel aus der gesamten Schlange hinter mir. Ich probiere es nun mit der letzten Flasche, die er zu Beginn nicht wollte. Beim zweiten Versuch nimmt er auch diese. Erleichtert und siegreich schaue ich in überraschte und frohe Gesichter hinter mir. Viele lächeln mich an und gratulieren mir zu diesem Erfolg. Ich habe noch nie Menschen so emotional bei der Pfandrückgabe erlebt.
Ich gehe nun endlich einkaufen und stecke den Pfandbon zu meinem Studentenausweis in die Handyhülle. Der Rewe hat sogar wieder M&M’s mit Erdnüssen und Haselnüssen, ein Lichtblick bei diesem Einkauf. Ich stehe an der Kasse, räume meine Sachen ein und bezahle. Auf meinem Weg zu Bushaltestelle möchte ich meine Musik wieder anmachen, nehme mein Handy aus der Hosentasche und öffne die Hülle. Beim Studentenausweis steckt noch immer der Pfandbon. Ich seufze.
The only animals we have are cats from two different shelters. So these two people, probably in their mid twenties, walk in, presumably a couple. They look around for a minute and then come up to the counter. One says, kind of in a hurried manner, “is there any way we could hold a kitten?” At that point I misunderstood the question for some reason, thinking they meant ‘could we put a kitten on hold’ so I started to explain the adoption process; then i was cut off, with “no he’s just having a shitty day, and I was just wondering if he could hold one to make him feel better.” So I pointed them toward sweet little Morty who deserves all the cuddles, and they held him for a couple minutes. I really hope my good little pal Morty helped to make the day better
Random Guy: *looks at me while walking by* you look cute in that outfit
Me: why thank you sir
Cousin: aw come on bro..
Cousin: Bro are you gay or something
Me: No, what would make you assume that?
Cousin: Because you just let that dude call you “cute” and you thanked him for it
Me: Listen bro, i barely had the energy to come outside today and i feel like this conversation is going to take the rest of it
Cousin: Listen man all i’m saying is that, that shit is kinda gay
Me: ok lord. i guess we’re having this talk
Me: why is accepting a compliment from another man gay?
Cousin: Because you’re letting another dude look at you a certain way that could be sexual
Cousin: you’re only suppose to say that to women
Me: Oh for fucks sake, when was the word cute ever meant to be sexual and only used for women
Me: Dogs are cute my nigga, babies are cute, any Pixar movie is cute
Cousin: you know what i mean
Me: No i really fucking don’t. being gay means that i want to date or have sex with other men, and i don’t. So when did accepting a compliment = lets have sex?
Homophobic Cousin: Nigga you’re letting another man fantasize about dating you, that’s just as bad
Me: How the hell do you know he wants to date me!? are you Professor X now? i can’t stop that man from thinking about me in any way, shape or form. Nor do i care what he thinks about, just like with anyone else. But even still i rather have him think i’m cute than “hey i wanna punch this nigga in the face”
Me: i take compliments as they are; nice things that people say to other people because they like something about you. No more No less
Homophobic Cousin: im just saying, thinking about another man like that is gay to me
Me: you literally model yourself to be just like Meek Mill. You have all his songs, mixtapes and a bunch of his T-shirts. You follow him on all social media’s and try to dress and act just like him
Me: Going by your logic, If anyone is gay here it’s the guy that likes and thinks about another man so much that he tries to be him
Confused Homophobic Cousin:
Moral of this story: Words cannot make someone anything.
Words have and always will be a way to communicate thoughts and feelings to a certain extent. A dude can say that he’s gay, but if he isn’t taking dick from or giving dick to another man, then its just words.
WORDS ≠ ACTION
If you’re so homophobic that you think compliments from another man is equal to a dick being up your ass then you need to seriously get over yourself.
We live in a society where niggas like this want to look better or be better than other men, but also don’t want any men to compliment them. What kind of fucked up world do you want to live in? Where everyone hates each other but still want to impress each other?
Take the compliment, Smile, Go on with your day.
No magical dick will be put up your ass if you do so
Ya’ll don’t think shipping is a force for good in this world?
Today I was in a Starbucks with a new friend of mine. We were talking about Thor Ragnarok and I went off on my usual rant about how I wanna be the Grandmaster when I grow up because he:
A, is georgous.
B, runs his own trash planet.
C, has the most beautiful trophy twink ever (aka Loki).
And just as I was finishing the last point a random gay sitting at the next table just turned around full of enthusiasm and went “YES!!!”.
We all made friends, chatted and swapped fb. It was a fantastic platonic gay moment in real life that cut through the normal isolating bullshit. Because no matter how much you aren’t supposed to just make friends with strangers the power of ships overrides that.
P.s. Said new friend and me had super connected earlier on spideypool and with this new guy we also talked about Stucky. Gay nerd power ftw!
This was done … ’Just Smile’ … a while ago when my dad had passed away. ‘Cause we were doing like hundreds of Meet & Greets and I remember just thinking: “Just smile, just smile, just smile. They don’t care what’s happening in your personal life”. But I wrote a poem and I turned it into a song and the words that come after ’Just Smile’ is ’Stay a While’ so I got that tattooed on my other hand.
Finn saw got yelled on and slapped by a girl capable of changing into an actual fire monster and immediately declared he had a crush on her. Finn is attracted to women capable of kicking his ass and, quite honestly, what a fucking mood