My father is a classic layabout lazy bastard. He’s the guy that people try to stereotype people on benefits as when they call them “dole bludgers”. Sits in a filthy house all day whining that his wife won’t clean it up, gets a great idea for a new business every few months and gives up after two weeks when it becomes clear that starting a business is hard, does everything he can to avoid doing a single scrap of work in life, uselessly drags his feet when the government forces him to actually do some.
Or at least, he was, until about three years ago, when he was sent off to do mandatory Work for the Dole at a volunteer organisation. He’d done a lot of Work for the Dole in the past, of course, and like most people who are forced to do a shitty job under the threat of starvation, was neither enthusiastic nor particularly useful. But in this particular place, he was given a job that he could do better than anyone else (he was one of 2 men working with a legion of elderly women, and the only person able to easily haul around the heavy goods that the organisation works with). He quickly found himself with a job he could understand, he could see the clear utility in, and that his coworkers greatly valued him for. He started arriving on time every day, putting in the effort, getting shit done. He started caring about the results. And when his Work for the Dole time was up, he kept volunteering.
He’s one of two people paid to work in that warehouse now (the other person being the manager), and he’s a lynchpin of activity there, their sole regular and reliable source of physical labour. When he takes holidays, they have to plan around it, because his consistent hard work has become such a critical asset to their work. And he’s not taking nearly as many holidays as he should – he works extra unpaid hours, lifts loads that are somewhat heavier than he should be lifting, shoulders the work of others when they need breaks, and we all have to urge him to take more days off for his health since he’s not a young man any more. For my entire life this man has been a pile of old mud in the shape of a human, and the instant he found a job that fulfils his needs, he won’t fucking stop. He’s gonna die in that warehouse and die happy.
people who are just finding out about internet tracking and data mining in the year 2025 and that your special robot friend does not respect your privacy lol
I’m thinking about how my grandma had this guy who was super into her, enlisted in the army and sent her pictures of himself laying on his bunk staring at her picture moodily. She was not into him in the slightest. But it’s the funniest fucking picture of all time. Teenagers do not change. He’s someone’s Pappaw now. That’s crazy to me. He probably thinks of my grandmother as the foxy one that got away.
The fact that she kept it for 58 years is even funnier. I was like “Who the hell is this?” and she let out an exasperated sigh and was like “That was [NAME]. He was in love with me.” Feelings very much not reciprocated for soldier boy.
I think this incident is so funny to me because it reminded me of girls my age screenshotting cringy conversations with horrible horny men and posting them in the group chat for everyone to see. I think of all those extremely horny and verbose historical love letters in museums dating back as long as humans have been able to write. I wonder if there was a caveman who made cave art to impress a possible mate but it was so bad she made a point of visiting the cave every year to show her friends and laugh at it.
Before my grandmother passed away, we were going through some old pictures and there was a man there that I had never seen before in a photo with my grandmother and then another photo of this man in a military uniform. I asked her who it was and she laughed, and said “Oh! That’s a boy I knew in school! He wrote to me when he joined the service.” She then leaned in conspirator style: “He would tell people I was his girl so they would leave him alone. He had a boyfriend you know.” My grandmother was someone’s beard back in the day.
Discussions of trans women in sports often focus on elite/professional sports which honestly I find it hard to care about but the more common scenario of “we’re going to legally ban a high school girl from playing sports with her friends because she’s trans” is just profoundly evil
i remember when utah’s (republican) governor ended up vetoing a law banning transgender students from playing high school sports when he looked at the numbers, and there were only four trans students in the state playing sports at all. he released a clumsily worded but surprisingly compassionate statement about the decision.
I must admit, I am not an expert on transgenderism. I struggle to understand so much of it, and the science is conflicting. When in doubt, however, I always try to err on the side of kindness, mercy, and compassion. I also try to get proximate, and I am learning so much from our transgender community. They are great kids who face enormous struggles. Here are the numbers that have most impacted my decision: 75,000, 4, 1, 86 and 56.
75,000 high school kids participating in high school sports in Utah.
4 transgender kids playing high school sports in Utah.
1 transgender student playing girls sports.
86% of trans youth reporting suicidality.
56% of trans youth having attempted suicide.
Four kids and only one of them playing girls sports. That’s what all of this is about. Four kids who aren’t dominating or winning trophies or taking scholarships. Four kids who are just trying to find some friends and feel like they are a part of something. Four kids trying to get through each day. Rarely has so much fear and anger been directed at so few. I don’t understand what they are going through or why they feel the way they do. But I want them to live.
of course, it didn’t amount to much. they overrode his veto. it’s just so cartoonishly evil. an entire state’s political body so desperate to terrorize this one little trans girl.
[img ID: Two edited still-frames taken from Futurama, showing the character Leela. The first image shows her picking up a conversation heart, smiling down at the it. The second image shows a close-up of the conversation heart, which says, “Your art matters even if it isn’t making money”. /end ID]
thinking about how my history teacher was talking about the french revolution one time and he wrote “bourgeoisie” on the board and said raise your hand if you think you can pronounce this and i raised my hand and he looked at the hammer and sickle pin on my backpack and said “ill come back to you”
I often refer to my bottle-raised lamb as my adopted daughter, because it’s mostly true, it temporarily keeps nosy strangers from knowing I’m an eeeevil childfree woman, and it’s hilarious when people find out. And by that time they’re usually too disturbed by the “her-daughter-is-a-sheep” thing to get on my case about the “woman-with-no-husband-or-kids-oh-the-horror” thing.
Most of my friends are aware that I do this, and will back me up in conversations without batting an eye when I reference my daughter. And the best part is that they literally never drop the story. They just 100% all the time accept that I have a two-year-old adopted daughter. The fact that she happens to be a sheep is an unimportant detail, not worth mentioning until an anecdote gets too weird to plausibly be about a human toddler.
Which actually takes much longer than you’d think, since human toddlers apparently have absolutely zero sense. “She bites if you stop paying attention to her” is believable, “she tries to eat rocks out of the landscaping” is believable, “she stuck her head through a fence and couldn’t get out” is believable. “She jumped a five foot fence and came screaming back into the house through the dog door when I left her outside in the pasture” does get some strange looks, though usually not for the right reason.
Occasionally the joke gets turned around on me, though. I posted a picture on my not-tumblr blog of her wearing my glasses, and every comment was “Oh my gosh she looks just like you!!!” “I would never have known she was adopted If you hadn’t told me!!” “Are you sure that’s not an old picture of you?!”
So apparently this is what I look like:
At least she does look cute in glasses.
[ID: a close-up photo of a brown sheep, stylishly sporting a pair of glasses. End ID]
You can tell when someone’s frame of reference for “normal people” is more “people at the church sponsored ice cream social” and less “people on the bus”
the people in the notes saying “people on the bus aren’t normal” are the people this post is talking about.
I took the bus for three years when I lived in Honolulu and haven’t lived anywhere with even usable public transit since, but in those three years I had dozens of utterly bizarre experiences that were also Perfectly Normal. This is because the human condition is vast and also Very fucking Weird.
Kid one the bus next to me whose backpack starts moving and it turns out he’s got three chickens and a painted turtle he caught in there? This is Perfectly Normal. Humans have been catching small game and transporting it home in whatever they had since we invented bags to put chickens and turtles in.
I traded him three king-size snickers bars I had on me for the turtle because I vaguely remembered that many freshwater turtles were toxic to eat (incorrectly, as it turns out, but this was when I still had a Nokia Brick that lived a blissful, internet-free existence), and didn’t want him accidentally poisoning his family, but didn’t want to just. Steal his hard-won turtle. This is Perfectly Normal. Humans have been cautious about poisons, looking out for strangers kids and bartering shit since before we were technically humans, probably.
Having acquired a turtle, I now needed to transport the turtle to the on-campus pond that effectively served as an Invasive Freshwater Turtle Containment Zone, but did not have a bag that could adequately contain him so I had to sit the rest of that bus ride, at the station and all through the next bus ride holding the turtle like the world’s angriest hamburger. Multiple people were curious about and delighted with the turtle. This is Perfectly Normal. Humans love an animal, especially one that is capable of appearing grumpy, and hands are for holding things.
By the time I got back to Campus, the anthropology and child psychology building that the Invasive Turtle Containment Pond was in had closed, so I had to figure out how to climb the tree over the wall and get down off the roof while holding The World’s Angriest And Sharpest Hamburger. I eventually ended up having to briefly shove the turtle into by bra to get up to the initial branch and off the roof without breaking an ankle. This is Perfectly Normal. Humans are, as a species, a bunch of barely-evolved arboreal frugivores and really good at Tree Physics, and I don’t know a single titty-having bitch out there that hasn’t used their bra as Emergency Pockets at least once, if not daily.
I released the turtle into the Turtle Containment Pond and then had to solve the problem of getting back OUT of the locked building, but Nokia Brick never loses a signal or drops a call (including that time I accidentally dropped it off a 13-story building in the middle of a call to my parents and the damn thing BOUNCED but kept the line open. I miss that phone every day.) and while campus security has been carefully trained to not let people IN to places without proper ID and a call to someone inside, they assume that if you got locked in somewhere, that you got in by legitimate means and not Lemur Shenanigans, so i just called them, apologized that I’d been working late with headphones on and didn’t realize I’d been locked in. This is Perfectly Normal, people have been lying to cops since laws were invented, and will continue to do so because all cops are bastards.
Anyway, everyone should have access to good public transportation because freedom of movement is a human right and meeting a broad spectrum of humanity is good for your mental health and spiritual welfare.
This wild ride of a story made me smile so I’m reblogging in hopes it makes others smile as well.
