I just want a witchy girlfriend. A girl who’ll help me take care of my plants. A girl who’ll make me tea. A girl who I can go shopping for crystals with. A girl who’ll surprise me with a jar spell or something she made for me. A girl who’ll let me cleanse her apartment. A girl I can give herbs to. A girl who’ll remind me of the moon. A girl who’s magic.
this show is a fascinating mix of lovable weirdos and absolutely insufferable motherfuckers
“i filled my house with fun walkways and enrichment for my ridiculous number of cats!”
“i made a goth dreamhouse and then gave it to one of my friends for free because she seemed to really like it and it makes me happy to know it’s in good hands”
“i’m just really into pink”
“i imported all my furniture and had it brought up via crane to my luxury penthouse, where i spent the whole time being really anxious about the possibility that the people doing all the work for me might scratch the floors”
“i’m making doomsday bunkers that i’ll never explicitly say are for when we nuke all the brown people but that’s definitely what they’re for”
it’s really something how many of the features were men doing some weird shit and their wives just having to deal with it
there were couples who would do things together (like the russians who painted a masonic lodge for twelve years or w/e), but iirc there were literally zero instances of a husband having to deal with his wife’s weird house preferences. single and widowed women did whatever they wanted, but married women only ever did weird house things with their husbands.
Upchuck the black vulture (Chuck for short). Happy Halloween!
I’d never thought I’d say this, but that is a very cute vulture.
You might be surprised at how cute vultures can be! While Chuck is a little uncomfortable about large crowds, he is super cuddly with people he trusts and is a total ham for the camera. I’ve only gotten the chance to hang out with him a few times, but he’s very clever and a joy to work with!
(here’s the original post, plus another picture, so we can stop reblogging the repost)
The first time I met my boyfriend’s grandparents, I was terrified. First, I really wanted them to like me, and second, he told me they were pretty religious. They’re Roman Catholic, but I’m Jewish, and I didn’t get the impression from the rest of his family that that would upset them, but I wasn’t sure they’d be chill with us dating, and I’m always afraid of those unconscious, anti-semitic micro-aggressions.
Sure enough, within an hour of meeting me they asked if I was religious, in a way that was obviously asking if I had a religion, and which one it was. I calmly told them I was Jewish, and my boyfriend’s grandmother lit up. Her mother was a Syrian who moved to Brooklyn in the early 1900′s and she grew up in a Syrian and Jewish community in Brooklyn and boy wasn’t it nice to have someone around who could help her with her Jewish pastry. It was really pleasant. His grandfather was mostly quiet.
After lunch, he and I shared a cup of coffee and some cookies and I told him about my brothers. He asked if my mom was ok with me dating a gentile. And then he looked around, saw we were alone for a sec, and asked me to follow him out to the garage. In the garage he asked me to take an old picnic basket down from off a cabinet. And then he told me to open it. The moment the lid came off I knew. I knew that shade of red. He told me to take it out and lay it across the floor. It was a Nazi flag. Not just a Nazi flag, but one that was big enough to fly outside a government office, like a massive one. I laid it out, ice in my veins, trying to figure out what was about to happen next. And then he told me to take my shoes off and stand on it.
He told me his vision wasn’t good enough to get into the army, so he snuck on a ship and figured that they’d have to deal with him when he was in Europe, and that’s what happened. He told me he went because they all knew it was bad, and he wanted to help. He told me he took the flag off of some dead Nazis. He told me to go home and tell my mother that I was safe with these goyim she’d never met, that I was loved and welcome and that they’d fight for me. He told me “Never Again”.
He passed away a few years ago, and only after his death, cleaning out his closets did we find his old patches and look up his division. This quiet man who said very little but always shared a cup of coffee with me after lunch was in an anti-tank division, and he and his division liberated camps in Poland. He saw the horrors, first hand.
Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day. Today is a day to reaffirm our promise of “Never Again”. Today is a day to remember that the only way for things to get better is to fight. Today is a good day to punch a Nazi. Do it for me. Do it for Grandpa Rocco. Do it for the world.
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