Apparently ICE now has agents posing as utility workers to get into people's homes. The electric and gas companies have posted information on how to tell if it's one of their workers, and numbers to call to confirm whether they've sent someone to do utility work on your house.
Some people have shared stories of suspicious “sales representatives” knocking on homes, asking about the home owners and who lives there, fishing for phone numbers, but do not provide business cards, company id, company phone numbers, etc when asked.
They come in pairs, never one person though one may hag back a bit. They have been seen using cars with significantly tinted windows, no business logos anywhere on the vehicle, or parking close to the home they walked up to only to drive away right after without visiting other homes, almost as if they’re not real sales people.
True door to door salespeople need a sort of peddler’s license, subject to city and county law, to solicit at your door. You can ask to see this permit. If they don’t provide one or make an excuse, they are likely bogus.
They wear a jacket with a company logo but likely don’t wear name tags and the Don’t provide id.
Tell them you’ll call the company about a noncompliant representative. Make them leave. Better yet not to open the door to them, and tell them nothing.
Actual sales reps also generally do follow “no soliciting” signs. Be aware, be safe, don’t give out your information or that of others under duplicitous means.
you think i’m pretty, and i like the way you talk. i like your music, and you like the way i walk ♫⋆｡♪
dr jack (r)abbot, my beloved whimsigothical peepawwww ;;;; when i tell you shawn hatosy has genuinely brought my artistic motivations back to life, you better take me seriously
also my older sister has noticed the “alarming” quantity of drawings i’ve been doing of hatosy and that conversation was. something ig 😀
🍰 a familiar taste for Dana and Katie (Datie??) nor totally sure their ship name lol
Okay, some context: for this I went with the assumption that Dana is part Korean (based on her calling her grandfather 'harabeoji')!
“Is this—” Dana pauses with the little pastry halfway to her mouth. “This tastes like the yakgwa my halmeoni used to make.” She bites into it, chews, and swallows. “No, this is exactly like she used to make.”
When she looks up, she finds Katie grinning at her.
“Oh my god, did you call my mom?”
“Yep!” Katie says brightly. “She was surprisingly helpful. Sent me a video of her making them and everything.”
Dana’s mom is never that accommodating to Dana’s girlfriends. Which—okay, sure, there haven’t been that many girlfriends, and even less that Dana has actually dared to introduced to her parents, but the point still stands. Girlfriends are just a reminder that their daughter is a lesbian.
How on Earth did Katie get Dana’s mom to actually like her?
Dana asks as much, spluttering and indignant.
That makes Katie’s smile widen. “Oh, you know me. I’m personable.”
“No one is that personable!”
“Clearly,” Katie says, teasing, “you are underestimating your girlfriend here.” She tilts her head to one side, bob swishing with the motion. “Honestly, Dana, I expected better.”
“You,” Dana says, “are not allowed to make my mom like you.”
One of Katie’s eyebrows arches. “Oh, is it not allowed?”
“No, it’s not!”
Katie laughs, low. “Okay, then,” she says. “I guess I’ll just turn down the invitation to your family Christmas.”
That makes Dana gape. “You—”
“Actually got an invite.” Katie looks smug. “What was it you were saying, about your partners never being allowed to come?”
“I can’t believe it,” Dana says faintly. “I can’t believe it.” She shakes her head, which feels full and buzzy from the noise of her own thoughts. “Maybe you actually are, like, personable.”
“Finally, you agree,” Katie says, and it’s light. Playful.
How does Katie always manage to make her feel better with just a few words? It’s actually kind of annoying. Scratch that—it’s really annoying.
Katie reaches out to the little plastic tupperware she’d set down on the table when she came into the apartment. It’s stuffed to the brim with bite-sized golden pastries. They’re yakgwa, a deep-fried Korean sweet that Dana’s grandmother used to make every Sunday when she was arguing with Dana’s mom about going to church, and they taste of honey and a long-gone childhood.
Katie eats one whole, then hums appreciatively, nodding. “You know what,” she says, “that is good.”
“Well, now you’re just complimenting yourself.”
“Am I not allowed to compliment myself?”
“You,” Dana tells her, “are too perfect.”
“I’m so sorry,” Katie says, sounding amused. Then she hesitates. “I don’t have to come to your family Christmas. If you don’t want me to.”
“What, are you kidding?” Dana shakes her head. “Having someone who’s actually on my side is going to be great. Besides.” She grins at Katie. “It’s always nice to have a pretty girl around.”
“Oh, so I’m pretty now?”
Dana leans in and kisses the crumbs away from Katie’s mouth. “You’re always pretty.”
Josh has been slaving over the stove for over an hour now, and there’s still nothing to show for it but a delicious smell that’s making Oliver’s stomach rumble.
When Josh holds his glass out for a refill, Oliver pretends to think about it for a moment. “I’m not sure I should give you any more until you’ve finally finished with the cooking.”
Josh flashes him a playfully annoyed look. “Really, Wolf?”
Oliver leans back against his kitchen counter, crossing his arms. “Maybe you need some motivation.”
“Explain to me how that’s supposed to motivate me.” Josh turns back to the stove, grabbing the handle of the pan and give the bubbling sauce a stir. The glow of the oven is lighting up his jeans, making them look strangely yellow. “This is a delicate operation,” he goes on. “It takes as long as it takes.”
“It’s not exactly brain surgery,” Oliver says, dry.
Josh huffs a laugh at that, even as he shakes his head. “I can do brain surgery.”
“Yet you can’t cook?”
“I’m not saying that it’s harder brain surgery.”
“You’re saying it’s not easier, though.”
Josh just shrugs.
Oliver can’t help his snort. For all that Josh likes to pretend he’s the normal one in their relationship, he’s not. He takes a sip of his own wine, then says, “How much longer is it going to be?”
“You’re worse than your interns,” Josh tells him.
“Hey, my interns are competent.”
“I never said they weren’t competent,” Josh says. “I implied that they aren’t patient. No interns ever are.”
Mild, Oliver says, “I’m pretty sure that’s just your interns. Have you ever considered that maybe you’re the problem?”
Josh laughs at that. “Maybe,” he allows. Then he finally – finally – crouches down to peer into the oven.
Whatever he sees in there must be to his liking, because the next thing Oliver knows, Josh is yanking the oven door open, taking the oven gloves from Oliver when he hands them to him, and pulling the casserole dish out.
Steam billows, but no smoke, and no smell of burning.
That’s always a good sign.
Josh twists the dials, turning the oven off, then pushes back to his feet with a groan to dump the dish on the side, discards the gloves on the side, and knocks the oven door shut with his knee as he peers down at the cooked food.
“Well,” he says eventually. “It looks edible.”
“You’re doing awonderfuljob of advertising it.”
“I didn’t think I had to convince my boyfriend to eat the food I cooked for him,” Josh replies absently, not looking up from the dish.
“You could at least try to make it sound appetising to me,” Oliver says. “You know; sell it.”
“I’m not doing that,” Josh mutters. He blindly reaches to the side for his glass, holding it out to Oliver again. “Top me up?”
This time, Oliver fills it up for him.
Josh dips his chin in thanks, then lifts the glass to his mouth and tips his head back, exposing the long line of his neck as he swallows it all in one go.
Oliver takes a moment to appreciate the view.
The urge to bite is strong, but Oliver resists. After Josh has spent all of this time and effort on cooking, he’s not going to let it go to waste. Even if he still doesn’t understand why they couldn’t just get their usual takeaway and avoid all this effort.
Josh sets his emptied wine glass down on the top, smacks his lips, then moves over to the stove to check on the bubbling sauce.
He stirs it counter-clockwise, just once, then brings the spoon out of the pan to inspect a smaller portion.
“How does that look?” he asks Oliver, glancing up at him.
“Um.” Oliver wasn’t expecting to be questioned about the food. “Like any other sauce?”
The look that Josh levels at him is unimpressed. “No, I mean—” He thrusts the spoon in Oliver’s direction. “Taste it, and tell me what you think.”
“You’re being weird about this,” Oliver tells Josh. “Why are you being weird about this?”
Josh frowns. “I’m not being weird about this.” He presses the spoon closer towards Oliver’s mouth.
Sighing, Oliver steps forward, taking the spoon from Josh, and licks just the tip of the spoon clean. Swirling the flavor around in his mouth and pointedly ignoring the heated look that Josh is now giving him, he realizes that it tastes familiar. Strangely familiar. “Is this—”
“Giovanni’s famous casserole recipe,” Josh finishes for him, looking pleased.
Oliver swallows the last of the sauce down, then wets his lips. Says, slow: “I thought that place closed not long after our date there.”
Their first date. At least – the first one where they went out and spent an evening together before stumbling into bed.
Josh ducks his head, looking down at the pan, even as his cheeks turn pink.
“I got the recipe from the owner.”
“I didn’t know you knew him.”
“He’s on Facebook,” Josh says. He shrugs. “Was only too happy to give it to me.”
“…And remind me what Facebook is?” Oliver says. The name sounds like something technological, which Oliver historically steers clear of, but he’s been trying more lately. Even if he doesn’t see the point in any of it.
Josh looks fond. “Nothing you need to worry about.” Then his face crinkles into a more serious expression. “Okay. So. The sauce.” He turns to Oliver. “What do you think? Is it ready?”
I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔
The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war.
Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚
Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty.
What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️
I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍
If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support.
Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨
"I am Abdel-Majeed… writing to you from the heart of hunger and bombardment"
Peace be upon you,
I never imagined I’d write a plea to the world like this…
But today, I have no other choice.
My name is Abdel-Majeed.
I’m a father to a baby girl who hasn’t even turned one 👶,
and a husband to a patient, broken-hearted wife —
she has nothing left but her tears and prayers.
We are now living under a sky raining fire 💥
and on a land with no food and no water 🚫💧.
Hunger is eating us alive.
The shelling never stops.
Even the soup kitchens have closed 🚷 —
And the only hope left is in the hearts of the kind and merciful ❤️.
I know the world is tired.
I know everyone is struggling.
But I am writing to you from deep pain —
From the heart of a father with nothing left:
No milk 🍼, no bread 🍞, not even a drop of hope.
A bag of flour here costs $600 💸.
Can you imagine?
We don’t dream of meat 🥩 or fruit 🍎 —
We just want a small piece of bread to silence my baby girl’s cries.
I cry in silence 😢
as I watch her tremble from hunger,
while my wife tries to soothe her
with the softest voice full of broken tenderness…
But love alone doesn’t feed.
And it doesn’t protect us from the bombs 💔.
Please… Don’t scroll past.
Even $5 could be the line between life and death.
I’m not asking for the impossible.
I just want to keep my family alive.
To give my daughter one more day…
My name is Abdelmajed, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Everything I once knew has been taken away—my home, my safety, and the people
Please share — don’t let this post fade.
Let it reach every living heart.
Save a life today.
Be the hope we no longer have. ✨
In case anyone finds it helpful because mobility aids are horrifically expensive and inaccessible…
And for those people who have access to mobility devices but might benefit from a second chair they can abuse without risking expensive damage…
Erik Kondo has made a website, Open Source Innovations, that details plans for DIY wheelchairs. These wheelchairs can be made from common materials like wood, plastic, and pvc. They are lightweight and can be custom fit to the user allowing from the same degree of movement you would get from a custom chair. And they are durable and easily repairable. (he has been stress testing his latest design by dropping it down stairs, dropping it out of a car, launching it across a driveway, and throwing it off a deck). Its 12lbs and I think he said its was in the $200 ish range for parts.
He also is working on cheap, open source, accessible designs for beach chairs, off road chairs, motorized attachments (think smart drive), and so on. Plus he skateboards in his wheelchair. Cool dude, helpful info, pass it on.
It's incredibly sad people have to resort to this, but it's a damn good resource. Use it. Spread awareness. Maybe one day people with physical disabilities won't need DIYs like this. But until then, reblog and share.
I’m a survivor from Gaza, holding on to hope in a world that has fallen apart around me. 💔
The life I once knew — my home, my family, my sense of safety — has been shattered by war.
Today, I live among the ruins, trying to find a path forward through the rubble and heartbreak. 🏚
Every moment is a battle against fear and uncertainty.
What was once ordinary — a safe place to sleep, a future to dream of — now feels like a distant memory. 🕊️
I share my story not to seek pity, but to keep hope alive — to believe that even in the darkest places, kindness can still find a way. 🤍
If my story touches your heart, please consider sharing it or offering support.
Every voice, every act of care, brings me one step closer to safety. ✨
Verified by Butterfly effect project line 355 in spreadsheet🇵🇸🚨here
Yes this is the only thing that all of our family thought about it. Everyday we ask ourselves if we going to live anymore or not . Everyday in this cruel war we imagine one of us dead and feeling so sad about what will happen next day.
Now after the war all the building are destroyed here and there is no life around us please we need to evacuate 🙏🥺
Please help my kids and my family to evacuate from here. Gaza now is not for human being living we need you support to stand with 18 members of the family to travel to another place that could find some peace and start new life without wars. We live in many wars and we are so tired.
Please share for more people you know can help me and my family.
Please donate here
My name is Melissa and I am supporting Areej to h… Melissa Saul needs your support for Areej's Family Needs Help Rebuilding T
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