Fidèle (May 2003–January 2016), a Belgian yellow Labrador Retriever, made famous due to his habit of sleeping on a windowsill facing the Groenerei canal in Bruges, Belgium.

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Fidèle (May 2003–January 2016), a Belgian yellow Labrador Retriever, made famous due to his habit of sleeping on a windowsill facing the Groenerei canal in Bruges, Belgium.
GET A LOAD OF THAT DOG
[distantly] THAT DOG
“We adopted a senior doggo and he loves sleeping under our bed. This is our new morning routine”
(Source)
is there anything super easy and fast you could do right now to make yourself a lot more comfortable, like take off your bra, change clothes, sit somewhere else, get a glass of water, turn on or off lights or a fan, etc.? reblog to save an adhd life
That’s because fat shaming is derived from misogyny
a renaissance painting
constant mood
Watching my toddler figure out how to language is fascinating. Yesterday we were stumped when he kept insisting there was a “Lego winner” behind his bookshelf - it turned out to be a little Lego trophy cup. Not knowing the word for “trophy”, he’d extrapolated a word for “thing you can win”. And then, just now, he held up his empty milk container and said, “Mummy? It’s not rubbish. It’s allowed to be a bottle.” - meaning, effectively, “I want this. Don’t throw it away.” But to an adult ear, there’s something quite lovely about “it’s allowed to be a bottle,” as if we’re acknowledging that the object is entitled to keep its title even in the absence of the original function.
Another good post to read for those writing small human characters.
My son was about three when he came to me in the middle of the day and said, “Mommy, there’s a knight behind the bush.” I thought he meant a toy knight or something. So I follow him outside and he goes, “Listen. Do you hear it? It’s night behind the bush.” It was a cricket. A cricket was standing in the little patch of shade under the bush, chirping. So, my son saw this dark area with accompanying nighttime sounds and decided, okay, well, that is a night right there. Their brains are incredible.
My little bean knows she’s two, constantly saying proudly ‘I’m two!’ And the other day she saw this very frail old lady who looked one foot in the grave, pulled a face and said ‘oh shiiiit. She’s three.’ I almost screamed.
I live in Korea and have a lot of international friends, and the same is true with language barriers in adults.
*Looking at a bowl of pears* “Can you please pass me the… apple’s friend?”
OH SHIT SHE’S THREE
a chapterbook: *came with a stitched in ribbon bookmark, had a cloth spine, had those rough edged finished pages, or came with a map*
8 year old me: i am a 500 year old librarian and this is the most valuable book in my collection. i rescued it myself from a castle as it burned to the ground. *gingerly runs my little grubby hands down its spine and gazes wistfully out of the school bus window* i am the keeper of all civilization’s knowledge
so women are supposed to grin and bear the books, the comics, the movies, the plays, the tv shows, the stories, the sci-fi, the translated ancient poems, the fucking millennia of men writing about their self inserts torturing women and it being declared as High Art by other men, we’re supposed to read it in our free time, study it in classrooms, include their styles in our own writing, accept their cultural influence as natural, watch it in the cinema, write about it, talk about it, accept it, aspire it, but men can’t tolerate three seconds of female wish fulfilment of a woman snapping the wrist of a creep without feeling personally kicked in the balls.
This reminds me of something I observed in college while I was doing my honors thesis on women in modern horror films. I watched a LOT of horror during that time as part of my research, and sometimes that was done with my family around.
And my dad and brothers? Were deeply disturbed by the movie Jennifer’s Body. I was flabbergasted. It’s not scary! It’s not even that gory. But they were horrified by it. These men who grew up on 70s slashers were legitimately shook by 90 minutes of Megan Fox eating a few teenage boys, mostly off-screen.
Similarly, my all-male reading panel for my thesis? Were so disturbed by my synopsis of the film Teeth that they couldn’t even talk about it. One of them said he couldn’t look at his wife for a week after reading it.
Again, grown-ass men who study and teach media for a living. Who definitely watch and enjoy horror movies. One of whom was a huge Tarantino buff. We watched and read worse in his intro to mass media class! But one movie about a girl whose vag could bite was enough to haunt him.
Then of course you have things like the Gone Girl backlash–men yelling that Amy Dunne is evil and women clamoring to assure everyone that they know she is not someone to emulate–the backlash against Carol Danvers, and, more recently, the griping from MRAs against the upcoming film Hustlers, which is about strippers scamming their Wall Street clients.
My conclusion? Most men–at least most straight, cisgender men, who are both my sample population and most of the ones whining that Carol is a “villain”–are perfectly fine with, and desensitized to, media where men do violence to women (horror movies), or men do violence to men (horror and action movies). They’re even sort of fine when women do violence to women (“ooooo cat fight!”).
But they get intensely uncomfortable when women are depicted doing any kind of violence to men, especially in films that tilt the balance of power to the other side of the m/f gender binary beyond a single moment or scene.
So woman as flesh-eating monster with men as her preferred cuisine? Woman who responds to unwanted sexual contact by biting it off? Woman who frames her cheating husband for murder? Woman whose response to harassment–behavior that many of the loudest whiners know is both creepy and reflective of their own thoughts/actions–is to break something?
Too scary. Unacceptable. Disturbing. These men hate being presented with the idea, even in fiction, that their position of power is socially constructed, that it could easily be flipped the other way. It terrifies them.
In feeling that terror, they experience a tiny modicum of what living, existing, moving, being perceived as a woman in the world is like.
And they flinch every time.
Here have a newspaper comic from 1993
I really love stupid murder plans that go awry. There’s this show called Snapped on Oxygen. It’s just women who are always plotting to kill their husbands. I don’t know why I love that show, I’ve seen every episode of it. Also Dateline and 48 hours, kinda like Fargo type stuff. Just a bunch of people trying to do some sort of scheme. There’s another show I like called American Greed, I’ve seen all of those too.
I’m gonna build my garden today.
Before:
Boring, sad. Full of splinters and negligent HOA policies.
Currently (WIP):
Sexy, full of re-used materials (srsly check out your local habitat for humanity, I got all this for like. $50). 18 cinder blocks, 24 red bricks, 6 large tubs, an old RV mat and an unopened package of weed mat. I’ll call it an upper body workout and get the dirt and plant seeds tomorrow.
So I ganked up my arm a bit carrying cinder blocks Yesterday, so I only drilled holes in the bins for drainage, cut weed mat to keep the dirt from coming out when watering happens, and bought dirt.
the actual putting of dirt into bins and planting seeds will happen tomorrow.
Assembling the bins:
1. Hydrate yourself
2. Drill drainage holes in bottom. If you don’t have a drill and are a feral gnome, you can stab some holes in with a utility knife but this is not recommended.
3. Hydrate again.
4. Wave at your neighbors. Forget you are holding your knife while doing so.
5. Cut a swath of weed mat. Doesn’t have to be pretty or fitted, just large enough to cover the drainage holes. Weigh down with bricks so they don’t fly off with the slightest breeze and you end up accidentally chasing your neighbor. With you knife. Again.
6. D I R T
Open various bags of dirt and pour in, breaking up any particularly large clods with your hands so it areates. It’s also good for your soul to shove your hands into dirt.
7. Realize you’re really bad at math and that you will need to go get more dirt for the last 2 tubs.
8. Wrangle hose from around the other side of the house and give everything a light squirt. Hydrate again, directly from the hose if safe.
So it took a while for our (probably) last frost to pass, but if I didn’t get stuff in the dirt soon I’d miss most of our growing season. And it’s been warm enough to leave the Lemon Shrub outside so It’s probably warm enough for seedlings.
So unless I REALLY fail the hell out of a Will Save I’m not planting 5 tomato plants, but the cages are real handy for keeping the soaker hose in place and indicating to Erin the HOA Snitch that what I have going on here is a GARDEN, THAT THING THAT IS TOTALLY LEGAL FOR ME TO HAVE, HAHAHAHAHA FUCK YOU.
We may have run into a small snag in that while the plumber was here fixing my sink he got my seeds wet and some of them have germinated/slightly moldered but I’m leaving for FoCo tomorrow and they’re on a timer for water so what lives, lives and if it really comes to it I’ll put starts in.
I have no idea what’s going on but honestly spill the tea on Erin OP
OK SO- I own a house that’s in the jurisdiction of an HOA, which is supposed to be an organization that does the stuff a super does for an apartment complex, but for a neighborhood, except that ours sucks and doesn’t do dick fuck but annoy me.
As of right now, I don’t have running water between 8AM and 5PM because the HOA never allowed the city to do sewer maintainence because then they’d have to spend money fixing the parking lot, and now something catastrophic has happened to the pipes, and there is a colossal hole in the ground where the parking lot used to be. Also a hideous amount of noise and terrible smells.
In addition to generally sucking, we have Erin. She was probably born in the Triassic, smokes like a factory victorian children would lose fingers in, and She’s my most recent Mortal Nemesis.
I found out about her when I came down for breakfast about a week after we moved in and found her, on a stepstool, both hands on the glass, peering into my kitchen window at 5 AM. I slapped the window and swore at her, assuming she was the neighborhood loon*, and a week later got a letter threatening me with a $300 fine if I didn’t remove the nonapproved storage bins off the porch. She then took 9 months to approve me putting the gate the HOA had owed the property since 2012 up, and threatened me with another fine when I put up the damn thing anyway. Other neighbors have been harassed for things like having repairs she’d already approved done, having loud children, and having “too revealing” swimwear.**
She doesn’t get paid to do this, by the way. She volunteered.
So I’ve taken two lines of precaution.
Firstly, my reading-disordered ass went down to the library where the actual copy of the rules are kept, INSTEAD OF ONLINE, LIKE EVERY OTHER ORGANIZATION IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY, and read the whole thing until I found a neat loophole to an issue- The porch is very nice in the summer, but it’s also exposed and people look in the windows and my idiot dog will bound right over that wall after any rabbit he sees, so I want a tall visual barrier put up. But the rules say no artifical fences or blinds. They do specify that having plants that just so happen to grow up over the edge of the wall are A-OK. So I’ve planted corn and sunflowers all around the outside. Should give me a nice 9-foot and perfectly legal fence when they’re done.
Secondly, I’ve made friends with her Priest, a Father McAffery, who runs a legit food bank. So as far as he knows I’m running the Saint Fiacre’s Food Bank Supplemental Garden and Spiritual Refuge***. He thinks I’m delightful and Catholic. I am probably one of those things and good at faking the other, but the illusion is enough that I can probably sic him on Erin if she sees fit to complain about the garden.
*I mean, I’m not wrong.
**Colorado recently legalized allowing people with breasts to have them out in public regardless of gender. Karen in number 6 is also a Mortal Nemesis**** but I’m looking forward to the partially topless fight she and Erin are going to have any day now.
***By which I mean I like growing crops but only want to eat some of them and like feeding other people, and when my mind is troubled and my soul restless, I shall retreat betwixt the corn with an iced coffe and a trashy fanfic until I feel better.
****I have many nemesises. It runs in the family. Karen in Number 6 is her own post though.
Well, it’s been about a month, and everything came up really nice! The corn is about knee-height from where it’s planted the sunflowers are going to be HUGE, and the Lemon Tree made a tiny, tiny little lemon that the birds ate.
I also found my snap pea and pumpkin seeds and stuck them in the dirt because better late than never and last year my MIL was picking tomatoes off her plant well into the middle of November
Also: the first of the flowers has bloomed!
I don’t know what it is but it’s cute and the butterflies love it.
Unfortunately, I cannot explain about the Drama of Karen in Number 6 becuase the situation escalated like crazy a few weeks back and now I’m a potential witness in a court case involving her.
I’m sorry, I’m stuck on the part where the op CANT HAVE BLINDS???
Some places have ridiculous rules like that. I used to live in an apartment that faced the street in the “historic” part of town and we could only have curtains if they were pale colored and patterned and my landlord made me stop lining my books up on my windowsill, because you could see them from the street and apparently the historic committee didnt want people to know that the residents can read? I still don’t understand that one because 1) the spines faced the indoors so it’s not like anyone could tell that they were trashy YA romances and 2) it looked freaking charming with my barely permissible pale yellow curtains
i feel like we don’t talk about things like this enough
One time I was playing the sims and I wanted to make me and mike but I wanted to make us separately and have us meet. But when I moved into my house, I had this sexy ass neighbor. I figured I could have a fling with him and break it off and get with Mike later but then the neighbors kid got attached to me and I couldn’t just end it when I was so close to his daughter. I really cared about him too.
So the only thing I could do was have it end in tragedy. That way I wouldn’t have to break up with the guy and I could adopt his daughter to stay close to her. He passed away peacefully on fire in the kitchen. Now in previous games, when a kid is taken away by CPS, the next kid you adopt is the same kid. Welp that didn’t carry over into sims 4 so the daughter ended up being taken away and erased from the game by the great sims deity.
I’m a sentimental man, so I kept neighbor mans tombstone around. I’d occasionally chat with his ghost, but he seemed cold to me. I can’t help but thinking he was a bit mad his daughter no longer existed. But this escalated once I started seeing Mike. His ethereal visits became more frequent and more hostile, usually breaking my electronics or creating a mess. But he went overboard when he started the fire.
Being a sim the died in a fire, his ghost had certain abilities specific to his death (setting fires). He got pissed because I kissed Mike so he set my couch on fire that ended up barricading us in the bedroom. Now I couldn’t find the fire alarm in buy mode and I hadn’t had the foresight to predict my spiteful ghost died-in-a-fire ex boyfriend would be an afterlife arsonist to care about it that much so a lot of the house had burned by the time I could get the FD there.
After having almost nothing covered by insurance (thanks Obama), Mike sat me down to have a talk with me. While I couldn’t understand him, I imagine he said “What the fuck you need to deal with your crazy ass ex boyfriend ghost. This never would have happened if you weren’t a thirst little sim bitch and dated me first.”
I approached the grave. It was time to release him. He was waiting for me. He knew this was the end. That after this, there was no coming back from the afterlife. I know he tried to kill me, and he knows I got his daughter deleted, but at that moment, it was just like old times. Telling each other jokes 27 times in a row until he would have sex with me.
We had a final ghostly embrace and he was gone. I sold his tombstone for 300 bucks and bought a microwave.
I enjoyed this more than the last season of AHS
“He died peacefully on fire in the kitchen.”
The stages of acceptance