Pink’s speech after receiving the Video Vanguard Award at 2017 VMAs x
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I’m watching an older season of Hell’s Kitchen and there’s a bit with a guy who had a shitty abusive childhood getting triggered (and like, nobody uses the word “trigger” but it’s pretty obvious: his eyes glaze over, he becomes spacey and disoriented, he bursts into tears at inopportune moments) by Gordon Ramsey calling him by a nickname he associates with his abusive father, and like, he explains this to Ramsey, and Ramsey is like “I totally understand and I’m sorry, I only wish you had told me about this sooner so we could have avoided this issue compromising your performance in the kitchen” and it’s like… there’s all these ridiculous anti-sj types who are like “TRIGGERS R DUM, NO TRIGGER WARNINGS IN REAL LIFE!!!!!!!!” and meanwhile Gordon fucking Ramsey, the guy whose JOB it is to berate people until they break down on television, understands the validity of trauma-based triggers and is willing to work around them? like come on
This is the Sunken Alcove Garden in New Zealand.
Clap your hands if you’re actually low key mentally ill as fuck and can hardly handle anything and you feeling like no one actually likes you at all and all you wanna do is sleep your life away
Two things
Two amazing things happened yesterday
1) My replacement copy of the Wild Unknown Tarot arrived, and after checking every inch I can confirm it is P E R F E C T.
2) For the first time in my (almost) 36 years on earth, I have talked to a doctor who took my word for it that dinky breathing exercises, yoga, meditation, and talking therapy do fuck-all for my anxiety, and that I need help. So she listened, and without any drama, she gave me my first ever script for Valium. I haven’t cried yet, but every time I think about it, I feel like I’m going to. Now, next time I get a day like Saturday, I don’t have to grit my teeth and ride out the misery and hide in my house. I have something that is going to help me step back from that miasma of fear and panic and just get on with my fucking life. I’m so fucking thankful.
innytoes
replied to your post “AAAAAAAnd my temporary crown cracked and half of it came off. But only…”Sam honestly if you go to baseball you will probably get hit in the jaw with a baseball that will knock the rest of your crown out.
I mean, I would probably get a nice autographed ball out of it, and the crown’s loose anyway….:Dtehnakki
replied to your post “memprime
replied to your post “AAAAAAAnd my temporary crown cracked…”JOIN ME IN HOME OWNERSHIP SAM, ADULTING IS TERRIBLE AND GRAND
I’M TRYING. TRYING SO HARD. BUT I AM POOR AND THE BANK IS SUSPICIOUS.
If I get my place you can pick out one (1) piece of Star Wars merchandise that I shall purchase and place in my home. 😀
srprincess
replied to your photoset “amemait: @copperbadge @scifigrl47, what did you two do?!
TOO MUCH…”Must be alternate reality accounts bleeding through. I wouldn’t worry. Should be fine…
Oooh! I wonder if one of the other mes has a goatee!
katestamps
replied to your photo “Stress baking!”Chocolate gingerbread with ginger ale? Recipe please.
Here ya go! I didn’t do the frosting, and I substituted a half cup of maple syrup for a half cup of the white sugar, and I used diet ginger ale, but it came out great. Super moist, almost more like a bread pudding. I’m thinking rather than frosting I might do icing, since drizzling icing will be easier than spreading frosting on it.
A friend of mine is living full time in her RV at her Mom’s place and taking Regional Rail to get into work. Would you ever consider alternate options such as a mobile home or RV to live in?
Not in this case. I wouldn’t say no to living in a mobile home/trailer in theory, like I’m not against it by policy. But it would mean living outside the city and commuting in, as your friend does, which I have a lot of reasons for not wanting to do – it’s hella inconvenient, it’s expensive (and also inconvenient, given the times the Metra runs) to commute in on Metra, and in order to afford a lot for the mobile home or be in an area where there’s a hookup for the RV, I would be living in the exact opposite of the kind of situation I’m trying to attain (in the deep urban area, close to the center of the city). Also I specifically designed my life around not owning a car, let alone an RV. 😀 I hate driving passionately. The further outside the city you go, the more inconvenient it is not to have one.
I’ve been looking and waiting for a place in this neighborhood because I want to live in this area, since it’s convenient to the city itself and to transit to my work. You can’t really park an RV in the city, at least, not for long or with any level of convenience.
I did actually consider a houseboat, since there are marinas close to public transit, but there are other inconveniences involved in that which I didn’t want to deal with.
My friend Kevin, who lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, lived in a trailer for years. (He lives in a house now.) Highlights of trailer life included needing to keep a space heater going under his house in the winter months so the pipes wouldn’t freeze and burst. So, I know you’re in a different state, but it’s not THAT far away, and being in an actual building has its perks.
Sometimes I just wanna go back 20 years in time and fucking punch all those adults who believed in Indigo Children.
Like, I don’t know if you guys know how they used to speak about Millennials? We were supposed to save the fucking Earth. Indigo Children were supposed to be a generation born with the dawning of the new millennium who were more creative, empathetic, sensitive, intelligent, and loving than ordinary children; Indigo Children were also supposed to be fucking psychic. We were literally theoretically fucking born for the express purpose of coming in and using our fucking magic powers to save the entire goddamn earth from all the problems previous generations had left us: War, famine, pollution, disease, you name it. Psychically.
I got invited to speak at Gifted conferences when I was a teenager in the early 2000s because I’d done some self-advocacy work in the area, so I got to see this in action a lot. Like, a lot of kids want to solve world peace, right? You’re thirteen, you do Model UN, you believe in the power of love, it all seems so possible.
And fucking Indigo Parents would be like, “Of course I believe you can do it! I can’t wait until you’re 25 and I can come visit you in Switzerland when you’re working on world peace summits! You can achieve what no other generation can!”
Then the kids would come over to me, as the only Gifted Child at the conference who got to speak for myself instead of a parent speaking for me (my mom was in a corner, looking dubious) and be like, “I think maybe I wanna be an animal trainer? Or a rock star? But I’m afraid that’s too selfish. I’d be wasting my gifts. I know I have to do something great with them.”
And like… these days, I know so many former Indigo Children who are, for example… living in attics in the outskirts of Washington DC, struggling to pay their student loans from the triple-major they graduated from an Ivy League college with at age 18, writing policy briefs for an NGO about the questionable nature of foreign aid and feeling like they’ve failed as people because this isn’t living up to their potential. They were supposed to have solved everything by now. The best parts of their weeks are Saturdays when they can dress up like an elf and hang out with their friends, though lately it’s been taken up more by going to protests. But there’s still this faint sense of having failed on some fundamental cosmic level.
I’m left being really angry at parents who wanted an easy way out of the pain and fear of sending their children out into the world.
Who didn’t want them to be “labelled” with “fake disorders”, so we’re now helping each other crowdfund our ridiculously expensive autism diagnoses so we can finally get disability benefits, or giving each other advice on ADHD meds so our lives stop looking like slow wrecks.
Who didn’t want their children to encounter difficulties, and therefore told them they’d never have any.
Fuck Indigo Parents. Fuck them.
Krysten Ritter teaching Charlie Cox to knit while in full Defenders gear. My life is complete.
While I was born here in Bluff, I was raised amongst my mother’s people in Whakarewarewa. I grew up in a village within a hapū, Tūhourangi Ngāti Wāhiao. One of my fondest memories as a child was sitting in the baths with all the kuia who had moko. I was just fascinated, fascinated with lines. I used to stare at them. I just loved moko. Back then a lot of the kuia had moko, and growing up in the pā you used to run around and into everybody’s house, and they fed you, cuddled you, looked after you.
The moko was very common, but only among the kuia.
By Mum’s generation, nobody was being done. That would have been post-war, I suppose. When we had only one kuia left in the pā, I asked my Mum, “Why don’t you get one?”
She said, “Too sore.”
She’d seen it done in the old way as a child; it was a whole lot of blood, and they never flinched or made a sound. My mother was absolutely not having any of that. And by that point I think people thought it was gone, a part of the old world.
But I loved looking at the moko and at the kuia.
I came back to Bluff as a young woman and helped develop the marae; we were quite young to be doing that. There was nothing visibly Māori here, or little to none, back in 1973. There was what they called the Māori house and the Waitaha Hall for functions. After the wharekai was opened, I’d chat with my peers and we’d say we should all get a moko when we turned 40. But no-one was game enough, and it wasn’t the thing to do. It had almost become invisible.
As they started to revive the moko in the past 15, perhaps 20 years, I would see the women and see photographs and think how beautiful it was. A few years ago Mark Kopua, who had come down to do a tā moko wānanga, asked me about my kauae. “Funny you’d say that,” I told him, “because I’ve always wanted one, but now that I have the opportunity I’m a bit scared.”
Three years later I said yes. I’d given myself enough time to get the courage.
I’m thrilled with the revitalisation of the arts. I love seeing the other women and it’s almost like we have a link; an unspoken thing. I don’t know if it’s our moko talking to each other or if it’s the wairua that goes with it.
I think I was fortunate that my parents who raised me understood the beauty behind it; the beauty of the moko. If I think back, there were photos on the wall of two of my kuia with moko kauae – my grandmother’s sisters – from the time I was a baby. And I had a picture of my great-grandmother, and she had one as well.
Mihipeka Wairama of Tūhourangi, painted in 1912 by Charles Goldie, is Hana’s great-grandmother.
Tā moko rising
knitting in the dark 