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abearthatdoodles:

When I was a kid around 10 years old, I had a brace on my leg a-la Forrest Gump… I wore it for about two years to correct a hip disorder called Perthes disease. I spent those two years either hobbling around in a prototype brace (which I was lucky to be in the test group for), on crutches, or in a wheelchair. I wasn’t able to play much outdoors, not able to run around and be a kid, and not able to walk faster than an uncomfortable waddle. I was really lucky, but honestly – from a kid’s perspective? it sucked. A lot.

During this time, there were a handful of kids – not a lot, but five or six out of the thirty or so in my class – who were actually shitty to me about my situation. Seriously – they actually teased and bullied the kid in the leg brace like the antagonists in a bad 80?s coming-of-age movie. They were mad because I “got to be” pushed around in a wheelchair all the time. They were pissed that I got “preferred” seating near the restroom so I could manage more effectively. They were frustrated because I got attention that they perceived as something they deserved. They viewed the elements of my medical care as a “privilege” that they were being denied. They were actually jealous that I was stuck in a goddamned leg brace.

The point of all this back story is this: every time I see people moaning and whining about the lack of “straight pride”, this is the part of my life that provided my understanding of why. These kids were so jealous and shitty and selfish that they could completely overlook the discomfort and struggle (and outright misery, at times) of my situation because they wanted the attention I was getting. They took their health and their freedom completely for granted because they valued attention and privilege above all else, and had a complete inability to look any deeper at the consequences of the situation. If the attention wasn’t on them for one second, they did whatever it took to get it back.

I suspect that these kids grew up to become the jealous douchenozzles who write the posts bemoaning the lack of “straight pride” celebrations that show up everywhere around this time every year.

shadesofmauve:

Took a week of vacation

Have been back at work for 8 hours.

Asked for more vacation time. 

mirrific:

maire-annatari:

eggypeggy:

A feature of English which I think is stupid,

If we’re carrying on with this game,

Is how we abolished the thorn and replaced it,

With two letters that meant the same.

The þ was a letter, amazing, astounding,

Perfect in every respect,

Representing the ‘th’ sound and shortening words,

The one thing it didn’t expect;

One day T and H went and burgled its meaning,

And then, thanks to the printing press,

Its symbol mutated and morphed into Y,

Which is pointless, I must confess.

Þoughtlessly, the þ was forgotten,

Þreatened as the language evolved,

Þankful for þose who knew of old English,

A topic where it was involved.

It only survived in Modern Icelandic,

In English it’s treated with scorn,

And as barely anyone knows it exists,

Please try to remember the thorn.

ð!

Saving the thorn from obscurity
Is surely a laudable aim
But if this letter deserves our praise
The eth should receive the same.

The scribes of the Anglo-Saxons
interchanged the eth and thorn
until the first one fell from use
and the second was left forlorn,

But for the modern Icelander
their roles are more defined
and could improve our English texts
if we were so inclined.

The thorn (Þ, þ) denotes a voiceless dental fricative
as in the English ‘think’ or ‘thresh’ but not the ‘th’ in ‘hither,’
whereas the eth (Ð, ð) is a voiced dental fricative
perfect for ‘this’ and ‘that’ and most especially for ‘thither.’

So I propose ðey boþ be used 
in the Icelandic manner;
ðen students won’t be loaþ to learn
our spelling and our grammar.

To þink we’ve never fixed ðis mess
is really quite astounding.
One letter cluster for two sounds?
Ðat’s damnably confounding!

 

Þank you for ðis informative post!

leigh-pea:

1) Break up with your significant other. His collection of “vintage” computer hardware isn’t going to make the cut in the Great Culling of Things. Don’t let the knotted power cords hit you on the ass on the way out, Mark. No seriously, it’s going to be difficult to get through the tiny door carrying all that stuff without tripping. Be careful.

2) Suspend your cat from the ceiling—position the litter box directly below him (litter box = potted plant—everything must have a double purpose!) He’ll have a blast watching birds out of that darling porthole skylight, and you don’t have to worry about him being underfoot. Beware though—when he starts swinging back and forth to attempt escape, he essentially becomes an angry razorblade-wielding mobile. Throw a towel over him until he calms down.

3) Combine your shower and toilet. Hear me out! Showers and toilets basically serve the same purpose—they discretely carry filth away from your terrible, shameful body (to where I don’t know—I assume it all gets fired into the sun via a rocket??) I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this sooner!

4) Lose 40 lbs. Hey, you’ve been wanting to drop a few pounds anyway. When you’re washing the dishes in the kitchen, your ass is playing peekaboo in the bedroom. You’re going to want to get yourself down to a “one room body”—a waifish figure is key to tiny house happiness. Have you ever seen a tiny house article in Dwell featuring a plump owner? No. And this is going to be easier than you think—your kitchen is four square feet so you won’t be doing a lot of cooking and can only store a day’s worth of food at a time. Plus, the moment you move into your tiny house you’ll suddenly develop an overwhelming desire to eat nothing but locally sourced, ethically raised kale and quinoa. The extra pounds will melt off.

5) Train yourself to sleep upright in a wardrobe, like a vampire. I know what you’re thinking—but then why did I build that sweet ladder bed? The ladder bed looks *amazing* in your Dwell mag spread, but what they don’t talk about is the sustained brain damage you’ll acquire from falling out of that thing fortnightly. Instead, store your childhood stuffed animal collection that you couldn’t part with up in the bunk (Mark had some choice parting words regarding this). Your furry friends will watch over and comfort you as you #followyourbliss in your Pinterest shed.