you ever just hand things to ur pet to sniff so they can feel included

Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt (2015-2020) Season 1 | Episode 4

Thinking about the Goku and Vegeta foils in that Vegeta’s armor changes (gets lesser and lesser) throughout the series (until he isn’t wearing any by his most vulnerable point in the Buu saga which we’ve talked about before here) while Goku’s uniform doesn’t change at all and he remains a stable constant as Vegeta (and the others) evolve around him which is just a neat detail and thinking about that made me think about a detail I also like which is that the armor set that would become synonymous with Vegeta is the set that Bulma designed and built for him during the Android Saga and aside from Res F he hasn’t changed it and I think it’s neat that his design stabilized and solidified after he met someone who put time and energy and effort into keeping him safe that’s just really special to me

You know what else is cool about that is she didn’t push it on him or insist upon it or just decide he needed new armor on her own — It wasn’t Woman’s Intuition vs Tsundere Malicious Compliance. She built him a new battle suit because he asked her to. He asked Bulma for help and then received help from Bulma. Protecting yourself but holding somebody’s hand about it.

writing tip they don’t tell you is that in addition to reading good books you should occasionally read one really bad one so that it inspires you to write something better out of pure rage

nopilled notcore ain'tmaxxing won'tcel

"Friends outside of Minnesota please read. I'm sharing a post written by a personal friend and medical doctor: Friends outside MN, you need to know what is happening here. Everyone knows that ICE shot and killed a woman here on Wednesday. But that’s not the only thing that’s going on:

Here's an AP news brief with a little more info. It's limited in the way major news outlets are right now but provides context that supports the personal account shared.

when I tell you I had to do a double take because I thought these were 2 parts of the same whole joke

Truten x TV girl 🫐💕

this fanfic shit easy as hell

Write if you can.

If you can't write: Edit.

If you can't edit: Outline.

If you can't outline: Brainstorm.

If you can't brainstorm: Rest.

Writing is many tasks. Do whichever ones you can handle and you'll still be making progress.

Sometimes knitting is making stitches and sometimes knitting is untangling yarn. They both move the project forward even though only one actually looks like progress.

Hate it when TikTok farm cosplayers and cottagecore types say stuff like "I'm not going to use modern equipment because my grandmothers could make do without it." Ma'am, your great grandma had eleven children. She would have killed for a slow cooker and a stick blender.

I’ve noticed a sort of implicit belief that people used to do things the hard way in the past because they were tougher or something. In reality, labor-saving devices have historically been adopted by the populace as soon as they were economically feasible. No one stood in front of a smoky fire or a boiling pot of lye soap for hours because they were virtuous, they did it because it was the only way to survive.

Taking these screenshots from Facebook because they make you log in and won't let you copy and paste:

[TEXT ID: 3 screenshots of a Facebook post from the account The Curiosity Curator. the post reads:

"When the washing machine arrived in 1925, she sat on the kitchen floor and cried for three hours-not from joy, but from grief for the fifty years she'd lost.

Mary Richardson was 62 years old when she turned on an electric washing machine for the first time. Her daughter found her sobbing, surrounded by soap and laundry, and asked if someone had died.

Mary looked up, tears streaming down her weathered face, and whispered: "All those Mondays. All those years. It didn't have to be that hard."

For fifty years-every single Monday since she was twelve years old-Mary had done laundry by hand. Not the romantic version you see in nostalgic photographs.

The brutal reality: waking at 4 AM, hauling 50 gallons of water from a frozen well, scrubbing clothes in boiling lye soap that stripped skin from her knuckles, bending over washtubs for ten hours straight until her back spasmed and her hands bled.

2,600 wash days. 26,000 hours of backbreaking labor.

Her diary entries, discovered by her great-granddaughter a century later, tell the truth history books sanitize:

"Monday again. My hands are so raw I can barely hold the pen. I watch Father reading while I scrub his shirts and think: why is his comfort worth more than my hands?"

She was only fourteen when she wrote that.

There was no "bonding" over shared labor. There was exhaustion and silent resentment. There were no songs-only groaning, water splashing, and women too tired to speak.

The washing machine had been invented in the 1850s.

Electric models existed by 1900. Wealthy women in cities had them for decades. But Mary was born poor and rural, so she scrubbed on a washboard until her hands became gnarled and her back permanently bent.

That's a 25-year gap between technology existing and Mary being able to afford it. Twenty-five years of unnecessary suffering.

When the machine finally arrived, it did in fifteen minutes what had taken her two hours of brutal physical labor. She watched it fill with water automatically, agitate the clothes without anyone touching them, and she understood-truly understood for the first time-how much had been stolen from her. She cried for three hours. Not tears of gratitude. Tears of grief.

Her daughter Alice wrote: "Mother grieved for all the Mondays she'd lost. For her ruined hands. For the life she could have had. I tried to comfort her, but what could I say? She was right. It didn't have to be that hard."

Mary lived fifteen more years. She never did laundry again-not because she was too elderly, but because her daughters understood intimately what fifty years of wash days had cost her.

At her funeral in 1940, Alice said: "My mother's hands were destroyed by laundry. Her back was broken by it.

Half her life was stolen by a task that should have been mechanized decades earlier. We're told to celebrate women like her for their resilience. I think we should be angry instead. Angry that she had to be resilient at all." The women in attendance-who'd lived their own decades of wash days-applauded. Because they knew. They all knew.

The washing machine didn't just save time. It liberated women. It gave them back their hands, their health, their Mondays, their lives.

When we romanticize "simpler times" and "family traditions," we erase the reality: women were trapped in systems of domestic labor that destroyed their bodies and stole their futures.

Mary Richardson never got to pursue education, travel, or develop talents beyond domestic skills. Because every Monday was wash day.

She was 62 when a machine did in fifteen minutes what had taken her fifty years. And she grieved for every Monday she'd lost.

Sometimes progress isn't about losing tradition.

Sometimes it's about ending suffering we mistook for virtue.

Sometimes the "good old days" were only good because we've forgotten who was hurting.

And sometimes the greatest gift isn't resilience-it's liberation from ever needing it again."

END TEXT ID]