In confusing news, someone twice my age (and entirely unfamiliar with punctuation) commented randomly on a status update my Dad made. The status update was about how terrible white people have been to basically every other race, I think Native Americans, especially. It’s hard to tell. People should have to test a basic communication test to be allowed on Facebook. Anyway, the commenter equated some weird altercation between themselves and my Dad on a bus when they were kids to the genocide of other races. 

My Dad was such an asshole growing up. I know that. But lately he’s been trying SO HARD to be a nice person. Unfortunately, he started late, and when he tries to be pleasant, it can come off confusing and odd. But it makes me heart break with all the pain of childhood, and seeing someone say something shitty and embarrassing to him makes me want to END that person. 

When you’re little, your Dad being in the room during a scary situation is generally the largest source of relief and safety the universe can offer you. If there is a bear coming at you, you’d close your eyes and pray your Father appeared. Not your Mom, not the police, not a blowtorch — your Dad. Or maybe that’s just me, because when I was younger, my Dad was a gigantic scary monster capable of making me more scared than anything on the planet. I knew he loved me, though, so I knew his blind rage could be turned on just about anything and anyone in my favor if the situation called for it.

Now I feel the need to be his champion, and that’s a new and strange world.

Ok Joey is home so it’s unlikely I will die now.

I really am not usually like this at all but when I locked my car door yesterday with the button it apparently left one door unlocked. I’ve known I needed a new battery because it takes a couple clicks, but that is not normal. There were a few pieces of clothing in my back seat I’ve been meaning to bring to buffalo exchange for like a week and all they took from my car was a single shoe. I mean Joey’s gps was in there, as was my rather worn down iPhone charger, and yet they chose the even less valuable single shoe.

I know it could have been a lot worse. I keep my glove compartment locked but all that’s in there is my manual anyway. Thank god I don’t keep literally anything of value in my car.

Still, it really creeps me out that someone was in there. Everything from the center console (Joey’s ancient gps and its charger and a nice card I wrote him that he put in my car for some reason) was spread out on the seat, which is what gave the whole thing away. They tossed the two shirts in the backseat around. Arnold’s emergency dog bowl was left untouched.

But the shoe. Why did they take my shoe? I was going to sell them (for very little) or give them away anyway so I don’t really consider it a loss, but it’s unsettling.

I imagine I will walk into an otherwise-normal room one day, and that shoe will be plainly sitting on the floor. And that is how I will know I have just entered the last room I’ll ever enter, because the shoestealer will be seconds away from doing me in for good.

Sigh.

So last night Joey and I were hanging out just snuggling on the couch when my eyes turned black and I suddenly could not function until I had consumed mozzarella sticks. These are a surprisingly tricky thing to find in Portland, but we set out and after a couple failures, found a stupid dude dive bar with mozzarella sticks that was slightly less offensive than the other stupid dude dive bars that also serve the elusive Portland mozzarella stick.

They were incredible, and Joey politely did not roll his eyes as I feasted intensely on the super fresh, hand breaded motherfucking mozzarella sticks.

I woke up pretty early to a fierce pain in my stomach, and was kind of glad that Joey’s plan to brew fell through. We watched a weird movie (Escape From Tomorrow) which did not do the trick of making me forget that my intestines are trying to break free from my body, so we went to see 22 Jump Street (side note: Channing Tatum is attractive, but I don’t really get why since his head and neck form a giant potato). Intestines are sadly still very much on fire.

The moral of the story is, I have no idea what the moral of the story is. But those mozzarella sticks were super good and I’m mad about my stomach.

avril-incandenza
avril-incandenza:

diamond-sound:

eridans-bullshit-magic:

super-galaxy-gurren-lagann:

just in case you somehow forgot how horrible the pro life movement is

if people have the right to the hospital then i have the right to  critically wound them

If people have the right to education then I have the right to give them brain damage


Reminder that Repubs are mysogynistic assholes.

avril-incandenza:

diamond-sound:

eridans-bullshit-magic:

super-galaxy-gurren-lagann:

just in case you somehow forgot how horrible the pro life movement is

if people have the right to the hospital then i have the right to  critically wound them

If people have the right to education then I have the right to give them brain damage

Reminder that Repubs are mysogynistic assholes.